95: The rebirth of a loser, memories of past lives

When Lin Tian's name, like an immortal star, hung high in the firmament of the Golden Age, shining brightly and illuminating the Universe, the story of another person had long been forgotten by the world. It sank into the darkest, most foul corners of the city, rotting and stinking in the cold rain, until it became neglected sludge.

Ye Fan.

This young man, once hailed as a “miracle of a commoner's Heaven-Defying rise” and embodying the template of a “Son of Destiny,” was now just a useless person (useless person) curled up under a city overpass, worse than the most humble vagrant.

His cultivation was crippled, his Dantian and Qi Sea like a porcelain vessel shattered by a heavy hammer, riddled with irreparable cracks, unable to gather even a trace of energy. His Dao Heart had collapsed; the pride and belief that once supported him in shouting “Don't bully a young man for being poor” had long been utterly crushed into dust by Lin Tian's absolute, unreasonable, and even slightly mocking suppression.

His heart was like dead ashes.

Time had lost its meaning for him. The alternation of day and night was merely a shift of light and shadow. Hunger and cold were just numb sensations. Every day, he drifted aimlessly, like a soulless walking corpse, his eyes hollowly gazing at the endless stream of traffic outside the bridge underpass, watching those hurried ordinary people bustling for their lives.

Once upon a time, he was one of them, yet far superior to them. Now, he had lost even the qualification to be one of them.

He no longer thought of revenge; those two words were like a distant and ridiculous dream, bringing only deeper, heart-wrenching despair whenever he thought of them. He no longer thought of the future, because his future, along with his Dantian, had long been completely shattered by that one palm strike. He no longer even thought of the figure that once haunted his dreams and that he once believed to be the entire meaning of his life, because that memory now only held the deep-seated shame of being publicly betrayed and reprimanded.

All emotions, all desires, all hopes... all seemed to have been completely scattered from his life with that one palm strike.

Living, for him, had become a torment more prolonged and painful than death. He had lost even the strength and courage to commit suicide.

The mysterious old sweeping man who saved him also seemed to have seen through his complete downfall. He didn't say much, didn't try to comfort him with passionate words as written in novels, nor did he try to motivate him with harsh methods. He simply brought a warm steamed bun and a bowl of clear water every day at dusk, placing them beside Ye Fan. Then, he would sit on a drier stone stool not far away, light a pipe, and with his hoarse voice, as if carrying the vicissitudes of ages, he would intermittently recount some ancient martial Dao legends that had long been forgotten by the world.

Ye Fan listened numbly. Those ancient stories about divine emperors creating eras, demon venerables staining the star river with blood, and sages enlightening myriad races were meaningless to him, sounds more distant than the noise of cars passing over the bridge underpass.

Until that day.

It was a continuous rainy afternoon. The bridge underpass was cold and damp, as if despairing chill seeped into his very bones. Ye Fan huddled, feeling his life's flame about to be completely extinguished in this damp cold.

The old man's voice, as always, sounded, but today's story was a little different.

“In the late ancient era, a hundred schools of thought contended, and myriad Daos withered. Some Prodigies sought to enter godhood through martial arts, some sages sought to become Buddhas on the spot, but in the end, all were defeated by the supreme ‘Heavenly Dao’... Only one person was an exception.”

For the first time, the old man’s voice carried a hint of imperceptible, deep reverence and sorrow.

“He had no prominent background, no Heaven-Defying fortuitous encounters, and he didn't even leave a name. The world only knew him as a swordsman. A swordsman... who, with the body of a Mortal, ultimately swung his sword towards the endless firmament.”

“That one sword strike cut through the eternal night, severed the shackles of gods and demons, and also shattered his own Dao fruit. He failed, failing spectacularly, dying, his Dao vanishing, his Soul Flying Away and Spirit Scattering... But the splendor of that one sword strike made the lofty ‘Heavenly Dao’ fall silent for three thousand years.”

This story, this tragic story full of indomitable will and defiance, was like a faint yet incredibly tenacious spark, piercing through layers of ice and falling into Ye Fan's long-dead heart lake.

With the body of a Mortal, swinging a sword towards Heaven?

For some reason, these simple words, like the heaviest war drums from the primordial Chaos, fiercely pounded deep within his Soul! An inexplicable, intense sorrow and unwillingness, as if spanning hundreds of millions of years, erupted from the root of his Soul!

“Ah—!”

Ye Fan suddenly clutched his head, letting out an extremely painful, inhuman roar!

His mind, as if struck by a lightning bolt of creation, was fiercely split open!

Boom! Boom! Boom!

A massive, chaotic torrent of memories, completely unrelated to his current life, like a surging flood breaking through ancient dams, wildly poured into his mind with an unstoppable, destructive force!

That was... a lonely figure, carrying a rusty iron sword on his back, traveling alone for ten thousand years on the desolate ancient star path, one man, one sword, solely to seek the scenery at the Peak of the Sword Dao.

That was... an ancient battlefield where countless corpses of gods and demons were buried. He sat in meditation for a hundred years amidst mountains of corpses and seas of blood, finally comprehending that supreme Sword Intent capable of annihilating the Divine Soul and reversing Reincarnation.

That was... above the Nine Heavens, endless Chaos Lightning Tribulations transforming into chains of order, attempting to shackle and suppress him. Yet, he merely raised his head, his eyes devoid of any fear, only filled with an ultimate, pure Battle Intent, desiring to contend with Heaven!

That was... the final sword. He burned everything he had, integrating his life, Soul, and Dao fruit into that one sword, transforming into a brilliant sword light capable of cleaving the entire Universe, fiercely striking towards the unnameable “eyes” that coldly, like observing ants, gazed down upon all things from the endless firmament!

“So... it was me...”

Ye Fan knelt on the ground, tears streaming down his face, muttering to himself, his voice hoarse, as if spanning ten thousand years of Reincarnation.

He had Awakened.

He had Awakened the memories of his “previous life”!

In his previous life, he was none other than the “Nameless Sword Emperor” from the ancient era who proved his Dao with the sword and ultimately failed in challenging the “Heavenly Dao”!

And this mysterious old man who saved him... Ye Fan slowly raised his head. His eyes, once filled with numbness and despair, now became incredibly profound and ancient, as if containing a shattered starry sky and the desolation of ages. He looked at the old man and, with a hoarse voice that was incredibly familiar and transcended Reincarnation, softly called out.

“Sword Slave...”

The mysterious old man trembled violently. Tears streamed down his wrinkled face, which resembled old tree bark. The dry tobacco pipe in his hand clattered to the ground. Trembling, he slowly knelt, performing the oldest and most respectful master-servant bow to Ye Fan.

“Old slave... respectfully welcomes... Emperor back to his position!”

After Awakening the memories of his previous life, Ye Fan's mindset and perspective underwent an earth-shattering change in that instant.

His hatred for Lin Tian had faded.

Ridiculous.

Truly ridiculous.

In the eyes of him, the “Sword Emperor” who once swung his sword towards Heaven, desiring to contend with the Heavenly Dao, what was Lin Tian? Merely a destined “tribulation” on his path of Rebirth and Dao-proving in this life. Victory was natural. Defeat was also a part of tempering his Dao Heart and rebuilding his Foundation. How childish and pathetic he had been before, hysterical over a woman and so-called worldly dignity!

His Dao Heart, at this moment, was completely reshaped amidst the ruins.

His goal also instantly elevated from the narrow “revenge on Lin Tian” to an unprecedented, supremely grand ultimate goal.

“Return to the Emperor Realm, and once again reach the Peak of the Dao...”

In his eyes, a flame re-ignited, more brilliant and resolute than ever before. In that flame, an arrogant figure swinging a sword towards the firmament was reflected.

“...Once again, challenge that supreme ‘Heavenly Dao’!”

This was his destiny as a “Sword Emperor”!

He slowly stood up. The aura of decadence and defilement on him seemed to be cleansed by an invisible, sharp Sword Intent. He looked at the old servant kneeling before him and calmly said, “Get up. The past is gone. In this life, you and I are no longer master and servant. If you are willing, you shall be my Dao Protector on my cultivation path.”

“Old slave obeys!” the old man responded excitedly, trembling as he stood up.

Ye Fan then solemnly performed a disciple's bow to the old man, bowing deeply.

“Please, Master, teach me!”

He was about to embark on a brand new, supreme Dao path belonging to the “Rebirth of a Sword Emperor”!