When Qian Renxue had learned from Dugu Bo about the news of possible reincarnators, she understood one thing clearly—she had to act early.
The plan she had prepared was originally scheduled for weeks later, but the presence of unknown variables threatened everything. If soone with future knowledge dared to twist fate, she could not allow herself to fall behind.
Thus, during the very days when Ning Fengzhi and the Elders of Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Clan had gone to support the Clear Sky Clan in their confrontation with Spirit Hall, an envoy dressed in silver and black robes arrived at the Seven Treasure Clan gates.
The envoy carried with him a solemn scroll, sealed with Spirit Hall’s sigil, and announced to the gathered disciples:
“By the decree of the Great Worshipper of Spirit Hall, His Holiness the Pope’s funeral will be held in two weeks’ ti. The Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Clan, as one of the Three Great Upper Sects, its leader, Clan Master Ning Fengzhi, is invited as an esteed guest.”
The words spread like ripples. The disciples murmured respectfully and welcod the envoy inside.
Yet while all attention rested on formalities, not a single soul noticed a slender blonde girl slipping past the crowd as though she belonged there. Her presence seed natural, her footsteps unhurried. She strolled through the clan like a golden thread weaving through silk, unseen, unquestioned.
Qian Renxue’s gaze swept across courtyards, pavilions, and training grounds. she read the fleeting thoughts of passing disciples. With every glance, thoughts were pulled into her mind like scattered leaves drawn into a vortex.
It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for.
A modest yet well-kept courtyard stood slightly apart from the bustle. The air slled faintly of polished wood and dicinal herbs. Within, a boy of about twelve or thirteen practiced sword slashes. His white training clothes were soaked through, his face glistened with sweat, yet his movents were steady. Each slash was simple, unadorned, yet filled with persistence.
Step. Slash. Step. Slash.
Again and again, until his arms trembled.
Qian Renxue lingered at the gate, her golden eyes narrowing. The boy’s form was raw but disciplined. She recognized the thod instantly: the basic swordsmanship set, the very sa her grandfather Qian Daoliu once forced upon her during her training. It was a style that emphasized foundation over flair, a grind that polished patience and spirit.
Her lips curved slightly.
“Oh? What a surprise…” she whispered inwardly. “I thought I’d find another fool, like that perverted idiot in the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan—gifted with a god-level martial soul, yet rotten inside, lust clouding his ambitions.”
Before coming to the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile she had visited Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan and Yu Ming the reincarnator had disappointed her.
Her gaze deepened on the boy’s unwavering back.
“But this one… he has persistence. His spirit doesn’t waver under the sun. Interesting.”
The faint smile on her face held both curiosity and calculation.
Inside Chen Dao's mind, from the sword amulet bound to his spirit, the ancient voice rang out in his mind:
"Good boy. Complete the basics. They may appear repetitive and cumberso, but every stroke, every stance will temper your body and spirit. Rember this — a grand castle can only rise from a solid foundation."
Chen Dao’s sweat dripped onto the stone tiles as he whispered “I understand, Old Li.”
Few weeks after he awakened his martial soul, he finally discovered the true source of its strange evolution. The sword amulet was not a simple accessory — it was a sanctuary, holding the lingering will of nine mighty sword masters, each embodying a path of swordsmanship that touched upon the laws of the world.
Old Li, the one awake now, continued his low but steady guidance.
“As I told you before, my brothers and sisters each perfected their own path of the sword — Fire, Water, Wood, Earth, Wind, Poison, Thunder, Gold (tal), and Space. Each one could cut apart heaven and earth in their pri. But now, you are our heir, boy. And I will pass down my specialty to you — Fire Swordsmanship, the fla that burns all obstacles to ash.”
Chen Dao’s eyes glead with determination as he corrected his grip and slashed once more, feeling the faint warmth in his blade-like martial soul. His movents were crude, but a spark of rhythm was beginning to form.
To improve the effect of swordmanship, the soul beast he had hunted was a 750 year old Blazing Fire Lion. The effect of the soul skill is that it coated his martial soul in a blazing fire. Afterward Old Li, had promised him that he might have a way to increase the age of the soul ring.
Then, Old Li’s steady tone suddenly shifted, laced with sharpness.
“Wait… Who’s there?”
Chen Dao froze mid-swing. His heart skipped a beat as he whispered anxiously, “What happened, Old Li…?”
A flicker of hesitation passed through the old master’s voice.
“I felt sothing — soone was close to us. Listening. A presence brushing against my spiritual sense…”
Chen Dao’s expression paled. “How can that be? Didn’t you say your spiritual sense is on a level far higher than even Grandfather Chen Xin’s? With that strength, how could anyone approach unnoticed? Moreover, there’s no one here.”
The boy turned his head, scanning the quiet courtyard. The only sounds were the rustling leaves and the distant chirping of sparrows.
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