Chapter 30: The Spirit Sword—Nether Edge

The paths within Divine Craftsmen Valley were narrow. As Gu Pinglin ventured deeper, the rhythmic clang of hammers, the whoosh of bellows, and the hiss of hot metal quenching in water filled his ears. Occasionally, he glimpsed disciples of the valley at work—scenes identical to his past life. These disciples, at most at the External Elixir realm, were bare-chested, their bronzed skin glistening as they labored—some pulling bellows by the furnaces, others wielding heavy hammers at the forging stations. Each was wholly absorbed in their task, oblivious to the outside world.

Steep cliffs rose on either side, their surfaces studded with swords—each buried hilt-deep in the rock. It was impossible to tell who had forged them or their true quality.

The air grew hotter as they neared the Heavenly Sword's location. Waves of sword intent surged from ahead, enveloping Gu Pinglin entirely. The resistance intensified, but in his past life, he had persevered through sheer willpower. Now, with higher cultivation and the supreme Creation Art circulating within him, this challenge was trivial.

Along the way, he passed many cultivators—pale-faced, their breathing uneven. Some had even collapsed from the sword intent's mental assault. A few still trudged forward with difficulty, others meditated to recover, and some had already turned back.

Duan Qingming trailed ten paces behind, his steps light and expression carefree—save for the faint pallor that had crept into his handsome face.

Gu Pinglin glanced back and smirked.

This man possessed the most formidable innate sword intent. Even without the Mending Heaven Art, he shouldn't struggle so. The only explanation was that he was faking it—his greatest skill. He knew exactly how much to feign to deceive Gu Pinglin. In their past life, Gu Pinglin had mused that if someone compiled Duan Qingming's acting techniques, it would rival the Mending Heaven Art as a divine manual.

Gu Pinglin paused, waiting. When Duan Qingming continued his sluggish pace, he called out, "How long do you plan to dawdle?"

"Alas, my talent is limited," Duan Qingming replied with a smile, his breath slightly uneven. "I can't compare to Junior Brother's prodigious gifts."

"True enough." Gu Pinglin's expression didn't flicker. Having been fooled too often in their past life, he wasn't falling for it again.

In this Heavenly Sword contest, even with the Creation Art, Gu Pinglin couldn't surpass Duan Qingming's innate sword intent. Yue Songting had already guessed the outcome. Yet Gu Pinglin still wanted to strive—this quiet rivalry was something he refused to believe Duan Qingming lacked. Which made the man's pretense all the more amusing.

"We're fellow disciples. Would you abandon me?" Duan Qingming sighed.

"Can't keep up?"

"Is that a challenge?"

"What do you think?" Gu Pinglin chuckled, satisfied as those eyes gleamed with a bewitching light. He turned and quickened his pace.

Sure enough, the moment he sped up, the man behind closed the gap effortlessly. Neither spoke as they pressed forward under the suffocating pressure, one after the other, toward the path's end. Few cultivators remained on this stretch—those still here were red-faced and drenched in sweat, each step a Herculean effort.

After another incense stick's worth of time, a sheer red cliff loomed ahead.

A hundred zhang of vertical rock, as if cleaved by a god's blade. Ten zhang up, a small platform held a sword resting quietly on its stand.

At the sight of that blade, Gu Pinglin felt Gu Ying's aura wane—not just his sword, but every cultivator's weapon nearby instinctively suppressed its presence.

Before the Sword King, all blades bowed.

The sword's body was pitch-black, unadorned, almost ordinary. Yet without sunlight, it emitted an eerie radiance. Its chilling sword intent and overwhelming majesty made it impossible to gaze upon directly.

Jade's End.

This was Jade's End.

Even seeing it again, Gu Pinglin was awestruck.

A flawless sword, without a single defect. And precisely because of its perfection, it bore the arrogance to destroy itself.

Gu Pinglin turned back. Duan Qingming was approaching leisurely—snow-white robes, ink-black hair, his gait unhurried. The scene mirrored their past life, yet something felt different. He stopped beside Gu Pinglin, admiring the Heavenly Sword with a hint of praise before shifting his gaze to Li Moqing nearby.

About twenty cultivators had gathered. Only six were at the Internal Elixir realm—this trial wasn't about raw power. Gu Pinglin recognized them all. Li Moqing's presence here proved his extraordinary sword talent. Zhou Yi was also present, though far worse off—he sat cross-legged, meditating, his temples beaded with sweat. A dozen others were in similar states.

Among the Internal Elixir cultivators, two stood out, catching Gu Pinglin off guard.

Two men, youthful and handsome—one strikingly beautiful. They stood side by side like ordinary companions, yet an inexplicable intimacy lingered between them. The surrounding cultivators kept their distance, many with undisguised disdain in their eyes.

The Frostbloom Twin Swords—Yan Han and Feng Ying.

These two were infamous in the cultivation world for being dao companions. Such a relationship left them ostracized among orthodox sects.

Once disciples of the Eight Great Sects' Guangling Sect, they were expelled for their scandalous bond. Later, when Duan Qingming's schemes led to Guangling Sect's siege by demonic cultivators, these outcasts returned without hesitation to defend their former sect. They repelled the invaders, but Feng Ying perished in the battle. Yan Han, refusing all pleas to stay, self-detonated to follow him in death.

The tale had moved many, as neither had committed evil deeds. Gu Pinglin wasn't a prude, but he'd never understood such relationships. Hearing their story in his past life had left him conflicted.

Back then, he'd barely made it here, too exhausted to observe others. Now, seeing them, he felt more respect than anything. Guangling Sect cultivated both zither and sword arts—their presence wasn't surprising.

Duan Qingming's gaze suddenly met his. Gu Pinglin averted his eyes just as the sword intent saturating the valley vanished without a sound.

The pressure lifted. Everyone looked up as one.

A clear chime rang out. The Heavenly Sword rose from its stand, circled twice in midair, and flew toward the crowd.

The Heavenly Sword was choosing its master!

Freed from the sword intent's suppression, onlookers surged in. The crowd held its breath, the scene utterly silent.

Gu Pinglin watched as the sword flew straight to Duan Qingming. He sighed inwardly—his own sword talent paled in comparison. Genius would always be genius.

At least, in this life, it wouldn't be named Jade's End.

The thought lightened his heart. But then—

Duan Qingming staggered. A mouthful of blood splattered onto the ground.

"What?" Gu Pinglin reacted fastest, seizing his wrist like lightning.

Disordered inner energy. Scattered sword intent.

"Impossible!" Gu Pinglin's face drained of color. "What happened?"

Duan Qingming withdrew his hand calmly, wiping blood from his lips. "A misstep in energy circulation."

"You pushed through with disrupted energy? Do you want to be a cripple?" Gu Pinglin hissed. Forcing innate sword intent without inner energy control was suicidal. A step further, and the backlash would shred his meridians.

Duan Qingming shrugged. "Seems my luck's run out. The Heavenly Sword and I aren't fated."

As if confirming his words, the sword circled him reluctantly before drifting to Gu Pinglin.

Every eye locked onto him.

The sword didn't linger. It flew to Li Moqing, paused, then returned to Gu Pinglin—hesitating, torn between choices.

The crowd tensed. Gu Pinglin's expression darkened.

Why was this happening? This wasn't the expected outcome...

Something felt out of control. As a swordsman, claiming disinterest in the Heavenly Sword would be a lie. Gu Pinglin's hand lifted unconsciously, drawn to the blade—

Then his storage pouch trembled.

Gu Ying.

Even suppressed by the Sword King's majesty, it refused to be abandoned.

Gu Pinglin snapped back to reality, startled.

Such sentience?

"If you meant to discard it, why bother with it at all?" Duan Qingming's voice was cool. "It's just a common blade. The Heavenly Sword could elevate you to the pinnacle of sword dao. Which will you choose, Gu Pinglin?"

Gu Pinglin stared at the Heavenly Sword, silent.

He'd taken Gu Ying from Duan Qingming for this moment—a debt to the sword. Now, he couldn't wield both. Returning it would be an insult.

The gaze beside him was sharp, mocking, as if seeing through everything.

Gu Pinglin snorted and withdrew his hand decisively.

What did it matter—Heavenly Sword or common blade? Gu Ying had gained fame under Duan Qingming. It would shine just as brightly with Gu Pinglin.

The moment the thought formed, the Heavenly Sword seemed to sense his resolve. It flew unhesitatingly to Li Moqing, its dazzling edge dimming into plainness as it settled into his grasp.

Li Moqing glanced at Gu Pinglin and clasped his hands with a smile. "My thanks for yielding."

"Congratulations, Brother Li." Gu Pinglin returned the gesture, relieved. He steadied Duan Qingming. "Let's go back."

Cheers and congratulations rose behind them.

The rest was anticlimactic. Li Moqing was whisked away by the valley's elders. The remaining cultivators, envious but resigned, began selecting their own swords. By tradition, each entrant could take one blade—one attempt to draw it.

Swords peppered the valley—some masterpieces, others practice works. All were embedded in rock, their quality indiscernible. For most, this was a dilemma, but in Divine Craftsmen Valley, even the worst was still exceptional.

Duan Qingming's internal injuries weren't light. Gu Pinglin supported him toward the exit—only to find the Frostbloom Twin Swords leaving as well, trailing behind. The visual contrast drew odd looks from bystanders. It didn't help that Gu Pinglin and Duan Qingming, in their white and purple robes, were even more striking.

Duan Qingming, sensing the attention, leaned further into Gu Pinglin.

The pure needed no defense, but Gu Pinglin wasn't about to indulge him. "Duan Qingming!"

Duan Qingming glanced back at the twins. "Men loving men—how intriguing. The world is vast and full of wonders."

Gu Pinglin was silent for a long moment. "Such things aren't rare. Hardly strange."

"Oh?" Duan Qingming arched a brow. "You seem fond of them. Do you share their tastes?"

Gu Pinglin fixed him with a frosty glare.

"Just a jest." Duan Qingming laughed, bracing on his shoulder. "You're so humorless, Little Nine."

Gu Pinglin halted. "Your 'jest' doesn't excuse your energy disruption. I expect a valid reason—no 'careless mistake' nonsense."

"Since when have I made excuses?" Duan Qingming stopped, smiling. "But first, let me choose a sword. I can't leave empty-handed."

Gu Pinglin said nothing. Having missed the Heavenly Sword, selecting another was natural. Divine Craftsmen Valley's wares surpassed outside goods.

Swordsmen had an innate sense for blades. Duan Qingming barely hesitated. His eyes swept the surroundings before settling on a hilt embedded in the cliff behind them. "This one. Let's hope my luck holds."

The sword slid free. Light erupted.

At the sight, Gu Pinglin froze.

Weather and time had caked the hilt in mud and moss. But the blade itself was snow-white, razor-sharp, gleaming with a familiar cold light—pristine yet sinister.

Nether Edge.

Gu Pinglin's sword from his past life.