Chapter Sixty-Three: Pursuit

Within the world of illusion, Fang Junmei lay motionless in the pool of blood, as lifeless as a corpse, until at last a change appeared.

For the first time, a different light shimmered in those wide, unmoving eyes—a radiance of joy.

Having found his original intention, Fang Junmei finally felt alive again, knowing he had found the right path.

But in the very next instant, joy gave way to terror. When his gaze fell upon the pitch-black longsword impaled through his heart, that nameless dread surged forth once more. The pupils, which had only just begun to regain their luster, suddenly contracted.

It’s not enough!

I must reclaim—an even deeper passion for the Way of the Sword!

His mind still clear, Fang Junmei instantly realized something. After a silent resolve, he plunged once more into painful memories.

…

As an infant, he grasped at swords when presented with choices.

At two or three, he played with a wooden sword carved by an old servant, waving it about in delight.

The Sword-bearer, an elder with gentle and kindly eyes, always watched over this young disciple.

At fifteen, Fang Junmei journeyed across the world with the Sword-bearer, seeking to comprehend the highest truths of the sword in the human realm.

In bustling markets, desolate mountains, among wild beasts and beneath starry skies, Fang Junmei’s hand never left his sword. To him, the sword was not merely an instrument of death, but a companion in fate, breathing as one, pursuing ever higher realms together.

“Junmei, tell me—why do you love the sword so much?”

One night, beneath the moon on a wild mountain.

The Sword-bearer reclined on wild grass, listening to the chorus of insects, and posed the question.

Whoosh, whoosh—

The song of the sword unfolded beneath the moonlight.

Not far off, Fang Junmei continued his practice, movements lively and focused, expression intent.

At sixteen, his intellect had blossomed. He understood who the Sword-bearer truly was, and that every action of the old man carried deep meaning. His eyes flickered, and instead of answering, he countered, “Why does Master love the sword?”

“You are mistaken!”

At these words, the Sword-bearer’s aged, slightly gaunt face broke into a childlike smile. “I’ve never loved the sword. I only love the strength it gives me, the power, the wealth, the authority. If an axe had given me as much—perhaps even more—maybe I’d have practiced with axes in my youth.”

In old age, the Sword-bearer was truly a carefree soul. His words, sincere and moving, carried no trace of menace or arrogance.

Hearing this for the first time, Fang Junmei felt a strange sensation within.

After a moment’s thought, he replied, “Master wields the sword for the strength, wealth, and power it brings. But in the end, it’s the joy and fulfillment those things provide that matter. I also love the sword because it brings me joy and fulfillment—but only the sword can do that for me, not knives or axes.”

The Sword-bearer laughed heartily at his words.

Whether that laughter held disagreement, or simply saw the innocence of youth in such naïveté, Fang Junmei did not care.

“Junmei, never forget what you’ve just said. Do not fail the sword, nor your own heart. One day, you will surpass me!”

Beneath the moonlight, the Sword-bearer gazed at Fang Junmei, his eyes filled with delight.

That voice, that smile, was vivid as if before his eyes.

A gleam of spirit grew stronger in Fang Junmei’s gaze.

“My whole life, I have loved the sword, been obsessed with the sword. How could I possibly hate or fear it?” he said silently to himself.

With these words, Fang Junmei finally moved. One arm slowly rose, reaching for the pitch-black longsword embedded in his heart. In his eyes, there was no longer any trace of fear—only unbreakable resolve.

With a swift movement, he gripped the hilt and pulled the sword free.

No pain, no blood. Instead, golden radiance burst from his body as the black sword dissolved into countless golden lights, merging into his flesh.

Lying on his back in the pool of blood, his body then rose upright, resplendent and grand.

As the golden light fused with his being, Fang Junmei felt a sharp, powerful, and pure force infuse every corner of his body, as if transforming him into an existence beyond the bounds of humanity.

Even his mind became clearer, as if a layer of dust had been swept away, ready to comprehend countless truths of heaven and earth with a single turn of thought.

That sensation was beyond exhilarating!

A roar—

After the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, a long, joyous howl burst from Fang Junmei’s lips.

“It’s over. The medicine’s effect must have ended. Is this what it feels like to enter the second realm of the Way of the Sword—the Realm of Bleeding?”

Standing in the void, fists clenched, Fang Junmei closed his eyes, savoring the intensity, and spoke in a low voice.

But as he opened his eyes, he was momentarily stunned.

The world around him was not the real world he had expected, but a new scene entirely.

The boundless pool of blood had vanished, replaced by a vast, misty plain stretching endlessly beyond the eye’s reach, wild grass rising four or five feet high.

Whoosh—

The song of the sword arose over the endless earth.

A giant, silvery-white blade of sword light darted swiftly just above the grasses, its path causing the tall stalks to sway and rustle with a sound like a myriad insects passing through.

Amidst the grass, Fang Junmei stood in white robes, staring blankly into the distance at the enormous silver-white blade.

What is happening? Why haven’t I returned to the real world?

Staring at the sword light, Fang Junmei’s gaze grew increasingly peculiar, an indescribable feeling welling up within him, as if the great sword light was calling to him.

…

After a moment of observation, Fang Junmei’s eyes suddenly shone.

I see! I must have only just comprehended the first realm, the Realm of Bone. The Realm of Bleeding isn’t fully realized yet, so I haven’t escaped the illusion.

He spoke aloud.

Now comes the second secret of the Bleeding Pill. Perhaps, only by catching up to that sword and fusing its power can I succeed…

Reacting swiftly, Fang Junmei’s eyes flashed with excitement. He formed a hand seal, intending to use his Cloud-walking Technique to pursue the blade. But no clouds rose beneath his feet. Startled, he reached for his storage pouch, only to find it insubstantial, unable to produce a single item.

Pausing only briefly, he steadied his gaze, then strode forward in great steps toward the sword light.

His strides were as swift as the wind.

With his own feet, Fang Junmei raced in pursuit of the blade.

…

In the real world, Fang Junmei’s mortal body now radiated golden light—light blooming from his very bones.

If any cultivator of broad knowledge had witnessed Fang Junmei’s current state, they would have been struck speechless with awe.

Alas, atop the Motionless Peak, aside from the slumbering Taoist of Bygone Days, there was no one else—no one to know that a miracle of the Way of the Sword was being forged!