Ti Flows Swiftly
"So, I hereby propose that our cultivation world should unite to jointly legislate against such behavior..."
Not far away, a white-bearded elder was droning on about sothing.
Bai Roushuang listened half-heartedly, her mind wandering back to the day her senior sister ascended to immortality.
That day, a tribulation of heavenly lightning beca a legend widely celebrated in the cultivation world for a long ti.
People are naturally drawn to strength, and Xu Shulou’s ascension at such a young age, attaining the Great Dao, ensured that regardless of her past reputation, she would beco an idolized figure in the cultivation world.
So composed poems and odes in her honor, while others turned her life into legendary tales...
So ticulously studied the life of this so-called "demon," only to find she had never committed any true evil—every life taken by her sword had been a wicked one.
Others plastered notices everywhere, claiming to possess Xu Shulou’s secret cultivation thod, offering to teach it for the price of ten thousand spirit stones.
Rumor had it that this person later spent a long ti in Dustless Island’s prison.
But enough digression. On the day of Xu Shulou’s ascension, it was said that tribulation lightning blotted out the sky, purple bolts churning in the clouds. Thunder as thick as a bowl descended with world-shattering force, and even Bright Moon Peak could not withstand the first strike—collapsing into ruins, leaving no living creature on its slopes.
The surroundings were plunged into darkness, with only the blinding flashes of lightning occasionally illuminating the world, as if nothing remained but a sea of thunder.
The heavenly tribulation tested one’s cultivation, while the heart tribulation asured one’s resolve.
Xu Shulou stood alone between heaven and earth, her small fra resisting the overwhelming might. Even as blood stained her robes, she neither retreated nor flinched.
Her ink-black hair danced in the wind, her crimson robes fluttering amidst the tempest. The snow-bright sword in her hand contrasted starkly with the black and red, forming the most dazzling sight between heaven and earth, making her appear divine, radiant as a deity.
When the tribulation took the form of a black dragon lunging at her, she beheaded it with a single strike—a sword technique so peerless it shook the ages.
At the mont of her ascension, golden light bathed the world like blooming lotuses, accompanied by celestial music. Xu Shulou’s triumphant laughter echoed through the heavens, leaving behind a final gift to the mortal realm.
Those who heard her laughter atop Bright Moon Peak were said to experience sudden enlightennt, gaining profound insights into the Dao...
It all sounded magnificent and legendary.
But according to Bai Roushuang, who had witnessed it firsthand, it was all wildly exaggerated—the only accurate part might have been the "crimson robes fluttering."
The reality was far less dramatic. Even the Dustless Island’s sect leader, who had overseen countless tribulations, swore it was the smoothest ascension he had ever seen.
Far from being drenched in blood, Xu Shulou didn’t even suffer a nosebleed.
After the tribulation, the only damage was her outer robe and the large red flower on her chest, which had been reduced to dust.
Given that the rest of her attire remained untouched, many couldn’t help but suspect she had done it on purpose.
But there was no way to verify that now. Xu Shulou had ascended smoothly, leaving no trace of herself in the mortal world.
Bai Roushuang hadn’t seen her in a long, long ti. In recent years, even the legends about her had faded...
"Elder Bai, Elder Bai?" A man’s voice called out.
"Hmm?" Bai Roushuang snapped back to attention, feigning solemnity as she nodded. "Elder Li makes a valid point."
"So, Elder Bai agrees?"
"Naturally," Bai Roushuang smoothly continued, "cultivators should never interfere in mortal wars."
She pulled herself from distant mories and glanced around. This was the largest gathering of the cultivation world in recent years, held at the summit of Mount Hua, with representatives from all major sects. The topic was whether to legislate against cultivators ddling in mortal conflicts.
The destructive power of cultivators against mortals was undeniable. If they took sides in wars, the consequences would be catastrophic. Besides, mortal factions weren’t fools—if one side hired cultivators, the other would surely do the sa. Today’s resolution was inevitable, and Bai Roushuang, representing Dustless Island, had no objections.
"Good, Dustless Island concurs," the speaker turned to the next sect. "What is the Immortal Mist Sect’s stance?"
"We agree."
Bai Roushuang rested her chin on her hand, lost in thought until the final verdict was announced by Elder Li: "Since there are no objections, I shall inscribe this law upon the stone cliffs of Mount Hua’s summit, proclaiming it to the world. Henceforth, any violators shall be condemned by all sects!"
"Agreed!"
"Condemned!"
The assembly echoed in unison, sealing the decision.
After the eting, Bai Roushuang rose and exchanged pleasantries before a young disciple respectfully guided her, "Elder Bai, this way."
She sighed softly. She had beco "Elder Bai" now.
The title didn’t sit well with her—it made her feel old, though she undeniably was.
After Xu Shulou’s ascension, she had walked the world alone for far too long.
The ti she had spent solitary had long surpassed the years they had shared.
Counting on her fingers, Bai Roushuang realized that, excluding Xu Shulou’s years in seclusion, they had truly been together for only a year or two.
Yet it felt as if they had known each other for a lifeti.
"I’ll miss you and your stories," Bai Roushuang had said before Xu Shulou ascended.
"You’ll have your own stories."
Those were Xu Shulou’s last words to her.
Now she wandered the world alone, reuniting with her fellow disciples at Bright Moon Peak every decade. Contrary to the legends, the peak had never been destroyed by tribulation lightning—that was just one of the more exaggerated tales from Xu Shulou’s mythos.
Over the years, Bai Roushuang had cultivated diligently, striving to be a good person. She still felt like the pampered junior sister of Bright Moon Peak—until one day, soone asked when she planned to take disciples, jolting her into realizing how much ti had passed.
It had been so long. New talents erged in the cultivation world, and even the once-peerless Xu Shulou had beco a re page in history, rarely ntioned outside academic circles.
To others, Bai Roushuang was now Elder Bai, a swordmaster renowned across the land, her na etched among the elite on the Celestial Prodigy Rankings.
Yet she found the title "peerless" rather hollow. Those who had never witnessed the brilliance of the past were too quick to bestow such grand accolades.
Over the years, Bai Roushuang’s habits hadn’t changed much. She still preferred wearing white robes and often carried her "Crossroads Sword" on her back. To onlookers, she perfectly embodied the rumored image of an ethereal immortal.
Yet few knew she often toyed with the idea of mimicking her senior sister and conjuring an elegant folding fan instead.
Once, while passing through the mortal realm, she saved a young girl. Faced with the child’s grateful gaze, Bai Roushuang shook her head and said, “No need for thanks. Upholding justice and aiding those in need is the duty of cultivators like us.”
Only after the words left her lips did she realize—she had unconsciously echoed a phrase her senior sister once used.
After journeying across the world and saving countless lives, Bai Roushuang suddenly understood: she wasn’t striving to be a good person for her senior sister’s sake anymore. She had simply beco one.
Occasionally, when confronted with the world’s cruelties, she’d catch herself wanting to vent to soone—only to rember that the one who’d once responded was no longer there. Left to grumble inwardly, she ironically preserved her aloof, immortal deanor in the eyes of others.
She loved admiring landscapes, though sotis her thoughts would drift to the one who taught her sword flight, who once stood with her atop mountain peaks, sharing vistas of rivers and mountains like brushstrokes on a scroll.
She still enjoyed cooking, but few remained to taste her dishes. On occasions when she prepared stead pork ribs, she’d almost call out for soone to join her—the one who never declined a al invitation, yet would never co again.
Bai Roushuang lived well. But in fleeting monts, a pang of longing would strike, and she’d startle at the realization: her senior sister had left traces in every corner of her life.
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