49: Chapter 49 Three Hundred Years

The stone door opened slowly.

Behind it lay a stone chamber, far larger than the one outside. It spanned at least ten zhang in width and three zhang in height, its four walls polished as smooth as mirrors and perfectly aligned. In the center of the chamber sat a skeletal remain in a cross-legged position.

The skeleton was dressed in tattered Daoist robes, its head bowed low, hands folded over its knees. The robes had originally been green, but the passage of time had faded them to a grayish-white, covered in mildew and holes.

Beside the skeleton, a long sword was thrust into the ground.

The blade was bright as snow, like a pool of autumn water, casting a faint, cold gleam in the darkness. The hilt was pitch black, made of an unknown wood, inlaid with seven gemstones—red, orange, yellow, green, cyan, blue, and violet—forming the colors of a rainbow. Engraved on the guard were two small, ancient seal characters—'Shuanghan'.

Three hundred years had passed, yet the sword showed not a speck of rust.

Shen Qingqiu stared at the sword, her breath hitching.

The aged voice sounded once more, emanating from the skeleton, ethereal and wavering like wind passing through rock crevices.

"Three hundred years have passed... Is the Canglan Sword Sect still well?"

Shen Qingqiu's lips moved, but she could not speak.

The skeleton slowly raised its head.

Its cervical vertebrae made a "creaking" sound, like a rusted mechanism being forced to turn. In its hollow eye sockets, two faint blue lights ignited. The blue lights flickered, dimming and brightening like two ghost fires on the verge of extinguishing.

It "looked" at Shen Qingqiu.

To be precise, it "looked" at her waist.

Hanging there were two tokens. One was intact, having just been retrieved from her father's remains; the other was a fragment that Uncle Ya had picked up outside the grottoes.

"The Disciplinary Hall's tokens..." the voice murmured. "Two of them. One new, one old. The old one was issued by this old man personally back then."

It paused, and the two blue lights suddenly flickered violently.

"Child, that intact token at your waist... whose is it?"

Shen Qingqiu gripped the token tightly, her knuckles turning white.

"It is my father's," she said, her voice trembling.

"Your father?" The voice was silent for a moment. "What is your father's name?"

Shen Qingqiu replied, "Shen Yuan."

"Shen Yuan..." The voice repeated it, then suddenly began to laugh.

The laughter was aged and hoarse, like a worn-out bellows being pulled. As it laughed, the sound turned into a sigh.

"Shen Yuan... This old man remembers. He was the Disciple personally taken in by the last Hall Master of the Disciplinary Hall, possessed of immense talent and a clear Sword Heart. Before I was trapped here, I had entrusted someone to send him a message, asking him to come. Did he come?"

Shen Qingqiu jolted.

"You... you knew my father?"

The skeleton slowly nodded, its cervical vertebrae making that "creaking" sound again.

"I knew him. He was the most spiritual junior I had ever met. If he were still alive, he would at least be in the Nascent Soul Stage by now." It paused. "Is he still alive?"

Shen Qingqiu lowered her head.

"He is dead."

"Dead?" The voice rose sharply. "How did he die?"

Shen Qingqiu was silent for a moment, then said, "I do not know. I only know that he was taken away by the Disciplinary Hall back then and never returned. More than twenty years later, I found his remains in these ruins."

The skeleton fell silent.

After a long time, it suddenly said, "The Disciplinary Hall... The Disciplinary Hall... This old man understands."

It raised its head, the two blue lights staring fixedly at Shen Qingqiu.

"Child, what is your name?"

"Shen Qingqiu."

"Shen Qingqiu..." the voice murmured. "Qingqiu... A good name. Did your father give it to you?"

Shen Qingqiu nodded.

The skeleton fell silent again.

After a long, long time, it spoke once more, its voice even more aged and weary than before.

"This old man is the seventh-generation Hall Master of the Disciplinary Hall of the Canglan Sword Sect, with the Daoist name 'Qingming.' Three hundred years ago, I was ordered to guard this place and wait for someone."

"Wait for whom?"

Daoist Qingming did not answer, but slowly raised his hand—merely a few skeletal bones, guided by an invisible force—and pointed toward the back of the stone chamber. There, there was a stone door.

"Behind that lies the place where the ancient 'Martial Dao' and 'Sword Dao' intersect. The ancestors of Canglan once discussed the Dao here with experts of ancient martial arts, leaving behind a portion of their Legacy. However, deep inside there are ancient martial arts Restrictions that conflict with Sword Dao, and this old man was unable to enter."

He paused.

"Your father came here specifically to investigate this place. He entered and met me. I condensed my lifelong insights into the Sword Dao into a wisp of Sword Intent and entrusted him to take it back to the Sect. But he..."

He did not continue.

But Shen Qingqiu understood.

Her father had left carrying that wisp of Sword Intent. Then, he was intercepted and killed on the way. The Sword Intent went missing, the token was snapped in two, and his remains were thrown into this sunless underground.

Who did it?

Countless thoughts flashed through her mind, but she could not piece together a complete answer.

Daoist Qingming looked at her, and the two blue lights suddenly softened significantly.

"Child, you have Sword Intent within you," he said. "It is very weak, but it is indeed Sword Intent. Did your father leave it to you?"

Shen Qingqiu was stunned, then remembered.

When she was little, her father often held her and lightly tapped her brow with his finger. At the time, she thought it was fun and giggled. Now, thinking back, every one of those light taps was planting the seeds of Sword Intent within her.

Her eyes grew hot.

"Yes," she said. "He left it for me."

Daoist Qingming nodded.

"Good. Very good," he said. "The person I, this old man, waited three hundred years for did not arrive. But waiting for his daughter is the same."

He reached out—those few skeletal bones—and beckoned to Shen Qingqiu.

"Come here."

Shen Qingqiu looked at Lu Zhao. Lu Zhao nodded. She took a deep breath, walked to the skeleton, and knelt down.

Daoist Qingming looked down at her, the two blue lights lingering on her face for a long time. Suddenly, he extended a finger—the tip of the skeletal bone—and lightly tapped her brow.

"Close your eyes."

Shen Qingqiu closed her eyes.

The next moment, she felt a heat at her brow, as if something was rushing in. It was not pain, but a feeling of fullness, as if too many things had suddenly been crammed into her brain, making her temples throb.

Images flashed before her eyes.

Someone practicing the sword. Someone comprehending the Dao. Someone locked in combat, sword light crisscrossing, killing intent soaring. Someone sitting alone on a mountain peak, watching the clouds roll and unfurl, with a sword on their knees, the person within the sword.

Countless Moves, countless Sword Intents, countless insights into the Sword Dao surged in like a tidal wave. She gritted her teeth, her whole body trembling, large beads of sweat breaking out on her forehead.

She did not know how long had passed—perhaps just an instant, perhaps half an hour—before the tidal wave finally receded.

She opened her eyes.

Before her, the two blue lights of Daoist Qingming had dimmed significantly, like a candle in the wind, ready to extinguish at any moment.

"All that this old man has realized in his life... I have given to you," he said, his voice so weak it was barely audible. "Do not fail... do not fail this sword."

He pointed to the long sword beside him.

"Shuanghan... a Medium Grade Spiritual Artifact... it has been with this old man for three hundred years... its Sword Intent has not been lost... its sharpness still remains... if you nourish it with your Sword Intent... one day... it will be able to regain its original appearance..."

Shen Qingqiu knelt on the ground, tears streaming down her face.

"Senior..."

Daoist Qingming waved his hand.

"No need to say more... This old man has guarded this place for three hundred years... I have long wanted to leave... but could not let go of these things... Now that I have entrusted them to you... this old man... can close his eyes..."

The two blue lights grew dimmer and dimmer.

He looked at Shen Qingqiu one last time.

"Child... the rules of the Sword Sect are chains... but the Sword Dao itself... is not... I hope you... do not fail this sword... do not fail... your father..."

As the words fell, the two blue lights extinguished completely.

The skeleton's head slowly bowed, returning to the appearance it had when they first entered.

Only this time, it would never rise again.

Shen Qingqiu knelt on the ground, remaining motionless for a long time.

Lu Zhao walked over and crouched beside her, not speaking, just quietly keeping her company.

A-Fei stood at the doorway, not daring to enter or make a sound.

After a long, long time, Shen Qingqiu finally raised her head.

Her face was covered in tear tracks, but the confusion in her eyes was gone. She stood up, walked to the Shuanghan sword, reached out, and gripped the hilt.

The moment the sword was in her hand, the blade trembled slightly, emitting a clear, resonant sword hum. It was as if it were responding to her.

Shen Qingqiu closed her eyes, feeling the warm Sword Intent emanating from the blade. That was the last shred of thought Daoist Qingming had left in the sword, now merging with the Sword Intent within her.

She opened her eyes and drew the sword.

The sword light was like snow, illuminating the entire stone chamber.

"Shuanghan..." she murmured. "From now on, you follow me."

The blade trembled slightly again, as if it understood.

She sheathed the sword and turned to look at the skeleton.

The skeleton bowed its head, motionless. The Daoist robes were covered in dust, with a few strands of spider silk hanging from the shoulders.

Shen Qingqiu knelt down and solemnly kowtowed three times.

"The grace of Senior's instruction, Shen Qingqiu will remember," she said. "If there is an Opportunity in the future, I will certainly return to Move Senior's remains back to Canglan and bury them in the Sword Tomb."

After kowtowing, she stood up.

Lu Zhao looked at her and suddenly said, "He sought benevolence and obtained it. As long as you live, his sword still lives."

Shen Qingqiu nodded.

She turned, about to leave, when a "creaking" sound suddenly came from behind.

Everyone turned back.

The stone wall behind Daoist Qingming slowly cracked open, revealing a gap. The gap grew larger and larger, until it finally swung wide, revealing a deep, dark passage.

On the stone walls on both sides of the passage were carved ancient, primitive human figures.

Some were standing in stances, some practicing punches, some sparring, some comprehending the Dao. Every Move was vivid and lifelike; although they were merely stone carvings, it was as if one could see those people moving, breathing, and thinking. It was a manual of Moves for Martial Dao Cultivation.

Lu Zhao stared at the figures, his pupils contracting slightly. He recognized them. Those figures were identical to what he had seen in the Longshan Grottoes.

Only here, it was more complete, more systematic, and more numerous. From stance training to power generation, from fist techniques to leg techniques, from solo practice to sparring, from external skills to Internal Skill, it was layered and interconnected. This was a complete Martial Dao Legacy.

He took a deep breath and stepped into the passage.

The passage was long and winding, leading to an unknown destination. Lu Zhao walked in the lead, his gaze sweeping over the carvings on the walls on both sides, silently memorizing them in his heart. When he reached the thirty-sixth carving, he suddenly stopped.

On that carving, it was not a Move depicted, but a person. A person standing on a mountain peak, with his back to the masses, gazing up at the firmament. Beneath his feet lay a sea of clouds, and behind him were countless kneeling figures. He held no weapon in his hands, standing with his hands behind his back, yet he possessed an Aura that looked down upon the world.

Below the carving were two lines of ancient seal characters.

Shen Qingqiu leaned over to look, her expression changing slightly.

"These two lines of text read..." she paused, her voice tight, "Martial Dao reaching divinity, can suppress the mountains and rivers."

Lu Zhao stared at that carving, suddenly feeling his Dantian stir slightly.

The heart of the martial ancestor pulsed gently. It was as if it were responding to something.

Just as he was about to examine it closely, a faint sound suddenly came from the end of the passage—"Thump."

It was like something beating. Or perhaps like something knocking against the stone wall.