By the time Luo Jiao returned to the mountain’s foot and stood in the spring once more, the daylight was already shimmering.
Warm water murmured; white clouds set off the deep shade of the forest leaves, like the depths of spring on the verge of tipping into summer. The mountain wind was crisp and cool—yet it carried a whiff of lotus fragrance that belonged to no proper season.
Luo Jiao now knew where Mount Sanqing’s Illusion Realm should be undone.
In truth, half an hour earlier, when she had first entered the illusion and plunged into this little spring at the mountain’s foot, a doubt had already stirred: outside the illusion, the wind was sharp and the rain chill—nothing like deep spring. Yet when she had fallen into this spring, apart from one instant of cold, everything after had been unmistakably warm.
But the night had been too dark then—no moon, no light—so Luo Jiao hadn’t seen clearly, and had merely filed the question away.
Now, standing in the spring again and catching that scent of lotus, she finally confirmed it—
This faintly lotus-scented spring water was the so-called Array Core.
The Phantom Heart Art’s Realm Mastery conjures false phantoms over real scenery. And to create a realm, one must want to make something—or keep something.
But this Mount Sanqing… from foot to peak, everything was as it had been; fallen leaves drifted along the mountain path, the lodging houses stood dilapidated and crumbling, the mid-mountain trails and secret passages had simply vanished. In these scenes, Luo Jiao could see no trace of attachment from the Realm Creator—or rather, from Ye Qingzhou.
Sky-light and cloud-shadows, dazzling and brilliant. Borrowing that brightness, Luo Jiao lowered her eyes.
The clear spring tinkled beneath her feet. Dimly, scarlet koi leapt among the ripples, swimming free in the void. But when the wind passed, those scarlet shapes scattered like sand, vanishing in an instant.
Only flecks of crimson light remained in the air, hazy as an afterimage.
When the wind stilled, the crimson points sank back into the water, gathering and gathering, ‘condensing’ once more into several koi, swimming lively through the spring again.
—All phantoms. Luo Jiao understood: even the Realm Creator’s art could raise autumn orchids from bare ground, but they were hollow shells, substanceless. It could never conjure true living things from nothing.
Like the koi before her now.
Following the stream, Luo Jiao walked a little further.
In truth, a hundred years ago, no one had known Mount Sanqing’s little spring better than Luo Jiao. She had practiced her sword here, played here; when she occasionally saw a Young Attendant passing by, she’d wheedle snacks—a packet of sunflower seeds, a plum candy—then hug her sword, lie in the grass, munching as she watched the clouds drift, perfectly content for a whole day.
But when even deep thought couldn’t recall where this spring’s source lay, Luo Jiao suddenly awoke to it: a hundred years had passed.
A hundred years, and so many memories had blurred. So many scenes, so many old faces—now only shadows she could barely grasp.
Half an hour ago, Xu Liangdi had still been with her; she’d had at least some tie to this world. Now, she truly stood alone.
Walking along the spring’s edge, Luo Jiao sighed without quite knowing why.
She only felt that she… no longer quite knew where she should go.
She hadn’t even finished a quarter hour of such melancholy—
When suddenly, a fierce wind rose from the spring’s depths and dragged her bodily under!!
“Oof!”
Sprawled flat in the mud, Luo Jiao was utterly speechless. Eyes wide, holding her breath, she thought, …Great. This spring water is a touch too spirited, isn’t it.
Barely a few melancholy words about not knowing where to go, and it drags me into this… this… Even as she grumbled, Luo Jiao reached down and touched the silt beneath her—only to discover that beneath the mud there was… nothing at all!
What… what is this?
She whipped her head around—and saw air currents churning beneath her, mud floating within them, as if sustained by something.
Rolling sideways, she swam under, gently parting the mud with both hands like pushing aside clouds to find the sun—
And there, beneath the shallow spring: a stretch of sand-like silt, and below it, air currents rising from nothing, forming a barrier that encircled a cluster of azure light.
Within the azure light, a long sword hung suspended in the air, unfurling ring after ring of radiance like flowing water.
At her first glimpse of that sword, Luo Jiao nearly cried out.
The Everlasting Sword!!
She held her breath and swam with all her strength toward the hilt, barely managing to halt before the Everlasting Sword. Wiping her nose with one hand, eyes red-rimmed, she stared at it—very much the picture of two villagers meeting in a distant land, tears springing to their eyes.
It was hardly surprising that Luo Jiao was so moved. This was the first genuine relic of her past she had encountered since returning to the world—
Only by truly touching it could Luo Jiao believe that this world she faced was no stranger’s world.
The Everlasting Sword.
Its hilt white as snow, its edge bright as jade—seeming clear and seeming turbid, seeming illusory and seeming real.
Its aura pure as orchid, its radiance bright as a rainbow—cut and polished, carved and ground—
The Everlasting Sword, renowned in its day a hundred years ago as it should be now.
And the sword of her Junior Sister Ye Qingzhou, back when Luo Jiao was still at Mount Sanqing.
And now…
It was bound at the bottom of this lightless, desolate, rarely-visited spring, serving as the Array Core of an illusion!
Luo Jiao was stunned.
But on reflection, it made sense. She had been wondering—Mount Sanqing was so vast; to raise a realm over all of it, what could possibly anchor it?
If it was the Everlasting Sword… then it was hardly strange at all.
Luo Jiao tilted her head, and her hand reached out without her meaning it to.
Only to stop dead an inch from the hilt.
After all, at the moment she was still wearing Xu Liangdi’s face. If this sword were one of those that judged by appearances and failed to recognize her… wouldn’t it just… fling her away?
Luo Jiao swallowed hard and dared not act rashly.
Within the barrier formed of air currents, all was silent. She could hear only her own breath and heartbeat, thump-thumping, utterly out of rhythm.
Guiltily, Luo Jiao glanced upward.
Then resolutely turned back and steeled herself:
Being flung away would be perfect! Otherwise I can’t even swim back. And if the Everlasting Sword exerts force—excellent, I’ll borrow that force to return to the spring.
Her right hand touched the hilt. The sword tassel stirred beside it, like holding a thread of clear current winding around her wrist, gentle as an old friend.
The sword recognized her! Luo Jiao’s eyes lit up. Just as she moved to draw it, she hesitated hard for an instant.
…Wait. She thought, If I break my Junior Sister’s array, will she… come collect the debt from me?
If so, she truly was a little worried—yeah, right!!
She’d been fretting over having no high branch to cling to—or rather, no one to take her in. Never mind whether those rumors of the ‘mad Elder’ were true or false; even if true, Luo Jiao felt no fear whatsoever.
So she grasped the hilt boldly and drew upward—and felt a current pierce to the marrow of her bones, spiritual energy surging from her arm out into her limbs.
She heard a sound like heaven cracking and earth splitting.
In an instant, sky cleared, earth brightened, eyes sharpened, mind opened—all in the space of a breath.
The Illusion Realm fell apart.
Luo Jiao heard wind and spring rushing past her ears, the hollow and the mud merging into one; the spring water surged toward the sky’s edge, the swimming koi soaring upward as if leaping the Dragon Gate.
The desolate mountain turned green and verdant on the spot. Following the daylight, mountain blossoms came fluttering down.
Against the sound of wind, Luo Jiao felt an exhilaration she’d never known.
She preened inwardly: Nine bends broken through, irresistible as a blade splitting bamboo. This Sword Immortal Unending truly hasn’t lost her touch—
The next instant, a razor-edged wind of a blade slashed down before her.
Hugging the Everlasting Sword, Luo Jiao dodged on reflex, ducking low—and stumbled over a stone, falling flat on her face.
Lying there half-dead, she allowed herself two seconds of resignation, then lifted her head.
Ten paces away stood a figure of snow-white, veiled and set apart from the world, holding a slightly curved Dagger.
White hair, white robes, an unreadable expression. A bearing cold and clear as snow.
But upon that dagger lay unmistakable, boundless killing intent.
