Chapter Seventeen: Sword Immortal Qin Hongxiu

Seeing that Su Bailu showed him no courtesy whatsoever, Zhao Jinian stood in silence for a long while, swallowing his humiliation before turning to leave. He was the youngest among his fellow disciples, and their master had once doted on him the most. Now that his master had established a connection with a sword immortal, Zhao Jinian was certain he would not be left out when it came to gaining benefits. There was no need to rush forward in front of so many people, lest he arouse the suspicion of the elders of Huayang Peak. It would be better to find a time when no one was around to pay his respects. Since their master’s birthday was approaching, he could prepare an additional gift, which would surely please him.

“Third Senior Sister, your words do not count for much,” he sneered. Though he did not know how the old man had managed to get in touch with an inner sect elder, it would not be so easy for him to monopolize all the advantages and leave Zhao Jinian out.

Once he had gone, Zhao Ling quietly tugged at Su Bailu’s sleeve, lowering her voice. “Junior Sister, we should leave now.” By this time, most of the disciples who had been watching had dispersed, likely hurrying back to inform their elders. It would not be long before news of the change in ownership of Green Mountain spread across all the peaks. If the two of them, disciples of Clearwind Mountain, continued lingering at the foot of the hill, it would surely arouse suspicion within their sect. If Master Qingfeng learned they had accompanied Elder Lin back to the sect, Zhao Ling feared it would bring about all sorts of unnecessary trouble.

Noticing Su Bailu’s reluctance to move, she sighed in exasperation. “Are you trying to bring trouble upon Elder Lin? You know our master’s temper as well as I do. Be good and come with me.”

“I…” Su Bailu hesitated, glanced at the Xiao Bao in her hand, and whispered, “Let’s wait a little longer.”

...

[Simulation ended]

[Today’s simulation attempts have been exhausted]

Lin Ze’s face was pale as he stepped over the last stone stair. In the eyes of others, only half an hour had passed, but within that brief time, he had experienced five different deaths—all because of luck in answering three questions correctly.

Before him, the phantom of a great sword pierced the sky, unleashing a deep and resonant sword cry.

“The weight of a sword lies not in its edge.”

At that moment, his vision opened wide. There were altogether eight stages, each representing the array master’s understanding of the way of the sword. It was a pity that Lin Ze was not a sword cultivator; otherwise, he would have benefited greatly.

He raised his palm and saw a white radiance swirling within it, which suddenly extended more than three inches, sharp and dazzling. Even so, comprehending the sword array had allowed his Frost Sword Intent to take form, advancing to a higher grade of Frost Sword Qi, with its lethality increased tenfold.

A sword cultivator, it is said, begins by nurturing a thread of intent, from which the edge is born, then condensed into sword force. Thus, the three realms are distinguished: Sword Intent, Sword Qi, and Sword Force.

“So this is the reward for breaking the formation.” Lin Ze withdrew the sword qi, then noticed several prompts popping up on his panel.

[Total simulation attempts have reached fifty. Simulator level increased.]

[Daily simulation attempts increased to ten.]

[Simulation duration increased to three years.]

[Card slot capacity expanded.]

He opened the panel and carefully examined it. The slots for storing skill cards and character cards had increased from three to ten. Moreover, the number of skill cards he could place in the simulator at once had risen to three. Most importantly, a delete button had been added—he could now remove unneeded card materials and free up space.

This unexpected delight washed away Lin Ze’s lingering dissatisfaction. Even the most even-tempered person would have their mood soured after dying five times in a row—he was no exception.

Reaching the summit, he saw seven or eight wooden cottages clustered together, with a well at their center. Dense spiritual energy radiated from the well, spreading out in all directions. Lin Ze did not pay it much mind, instead gazing toward the edge of the cliff.

There, a woman sat. Her black robe whipped in the fierce mountain wind as she leaned against a broadsword wider than her body, pouring wine from a small gourd into her mouth. Her delicate face was pale and smooth, her eyes slightly tipsy.

She glanced back at Lin Ze, the surprise in her eyes fleeting. After a moment’s silence, she tossed the gourd his way. “A reward for you. Take it and get lost. Don’t bother me.”

Lin Ze caught the gourd casually. The rich aroma of wine hit him, yet he said nothing, merely continuing to look at her.

“Hm?” Qin Hongxiu raised an eyebrow.

As her expression changed, Lin Ze sensed the mountain wind at the cliff’s edge grow still, as though cowed by something.

After a moment’s thought, he calmly produced the Green Mountain Seal. “Green Mountain belongs to me,” he said.

The implication was clear: you should be the one to leave.

A faint smile played on Qin Hongxiu’s lips. She lazily reached behind her and gripped the hilt of the broadsword, effortlessly drawing it from the stone crevice as if it were a chopstick. Rising to her feet, she cocked her head. “Say that again?”

Now it was Lin Ze’s turn to fall silent. He opened the simulator, tossed in the materials, and when faced with an unknown opponent, he spared no effort in using up his simulation attempts.

The simulation began; his perspective soared. There was no need to simulate three long years—seeing the middle-aged Daoist’s pitiful descent from the mountain was enough for Lin Ze to promptly halt the simulation, summarize his experience, and try again.

After several repeats, he opened his eyes and stated firmly, “Green Mountain belongs to me.”

At his words, Qin Hongxiu walked toward him, her broadsword dragging a deep groove through the stone path, scraping and rasping. She stood half a head shorter than Lin Ze, yet her gaze was probing.

Suddenly, her pale hand slammed the broadsword into the flagstone, her tone cold. “I don’t care how you passed the sword array, nor do I wish to know why Zhang Dahai’s seal is in your hands.”

“Put your things down and get lost.”

If he hadn’t seen this scene already through the simulator, Lin Ze might well have been frightened off. This sword could shatter stone, and if she wished, she could just as easily smash the whole mountain. This was not a threat, but pure intimidation.

Lin Ze sighed, his eyes clear, and met hers steadfastly. “You cannot interfere in outer sect affairs.”

Crack.

The stone beneath the sword split further.

He gave her no chance to get angry, continuing, “But I can—and as it happens, I am very good at teaching disciples.”

In the simulator, the Daoist always ended up being driven from the mountain by this sword immortal, but through the process, Lin Ze had come to understand her intentions. Neither argument nor pleading would move this inner sect senior before him.

What she needed was someone capable of holding Green Mountain, someone who understood this. With this realization, Lin Ze chose to harden his stance.

Qin Hongxiu lifted her head, expressionless, about to speak.

“I know Elder Zhang doesn’t care about me as a disciple; he’s just stubborn, unwilling to concede when he believes himself in the right. There’s no need for you to remind me.” Lin Ze shook his head, cutting her off. “I’m not here to die.”

He had barely finished before a flicker of surprise glimmered in her eyes.

How did he know what she was about to say?

“What Green Mountain needs now is an experienced teaching elder, someone who can dispel the illusion, carefully constructed by certain rival sects, that our traditions are lacking. Only then can we attract new disciples and revitalize our sect—not a powerful sword immortal who, bound by the rules, cannot act freely.” Lin Ze finished in one breath and gestured for her to leave.

“Besides, you cannot stay on the mountain forever. The great formation may keep out the entire outer sect, but it cannot prevent news of Green Mountain’s change of hands. So, please, take your leave.”

Qin Hongxiu’s eyes finally grew serious as she sized up the Daoist before her. His aptitude was poor, his appearance ordinary, and he lacked any sense of presence. Yet here he was, speaking with such composure, his clear eyes as if seeing straight through to the heart, as though everything was within his grasp.

There was even a hint of arrogance.

“What is your name?”

“Lin Ze.”

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” Qin Hongxiu arched an eyebrow. She did not like the feeling of being manipulated.

“At least I wouldn’t do anything so foolish as sealing the mountain with a great formation,” Lin Ze replied blandly.

Qin Hongxiu looked at him, her voice slow. “I’m tempted to give you a beating.”

Lin Ze met her gaze, a faint smile on his lips.

His arrogance was a necessity; even she lacked the confidence to keep Green Mountain, which was why her anger was impotent, why she resorted to childish tricks like sword arrays that only made the outer peaks laugh.

This place had no use for humble gentlemen; only those with pride could give others confidence.

After a long moment of being stared at, Qin Hongxiu finally sighed, somewhat helplessly retrieving her broadsword and taking back the wine gourd from his hand. She strolled leisurely down the mountain.

“Your disciple respectfully bids farewell, Little Martial Aunt.” Now Lin Ze’s tone softened. After all, she was Zhang Dahai’s junior; though she had entered the inner sect at a young age, she still had ties to Green Mountain. A helper at the Golden Core stage—only a fool would pass up such support.

“You know who I am?” Qin Hongxiu glanced back, her gaze complicated. She found herself increasingly unable to see through this Foundation Establishment novice before her. Had she been mistaken? Was he really Zhang Dahai’s carefully cultivated successor?