Chapter Ninety-Seven: Grasping the Azure Mountain Sword Qi, Emperor Yuanmeng Aims His Bow at the Sacred Master [Please Support with Votes]
Sword energy and pearl-like light soared upward, serene as the green mountains and white clouds.
A streak of sword energy suddenly burst forth from the sheer cliff, surging into the heavens like a brilliant beam of light tearing through the dusk clouds above.
Beneath the Welcoming Pine, Li You’an’s scholar robe fluttered in the mountain breeze, his eyes fixed intently on the soaring sword energy, a trace of astonishment flickering within them.
He had thought An Le would fail. After all, An Le had sat motionless before the cliff for an entire day and night without a sign of progress—surely a sign of failure in his comprehension.
Of course, Li You’an was not surprised by An Le’s failure. It was normal for disciples to fail in comprehending the sword energy left behind by the Sage Master. Over the years, many prodigies he had brought here had all failed; none had succeeded.
Though curious about the Sage Master’s sword energy of the future—wondering if it truly revealed what was yet to come—Li You’an had no means to see it himself, bound by fate as the Sage Master had said: when the time comes, one will naturally comprehend it.
Yet today, Li You’an noticed a stirring within An Le’s sword energy.
Could one’s primordial spirit truly enter the cliff?
These were things Li You’an had never realized before. Previously, he had only observed the sword energy paintings on the cliff with his intellect, trying to grasp the two sword energies the Sage Master had imparted.
“The future cannot be glimpsed because it has not yet occurred; it is shrouded in mist, and all possibilities remain open.”
“To glimpse the future, one must possess something special.”
“Perhaps this youth is the fated one the Sage Master spoke of?”
Water vapor clung to Li You’an’s scholar robe, yet his eyes brightened, sweeping away his prior disappointment and helplessness, replaced by excitement and anticipation.
...
An Le gazed at the cliff—its surface perfectly smooth, initially seeming empty and imperceptible.
However, for one who had silently observed bamboo in the Forest of Questioning Heart and comprehended bamboo within his chest, staring at a cliff was no great challenge.
After only half a day, An Le sensed a painting emerging on the cliff—a painting of ink bamboo drawn by sword energy, identical to the ink bamboo he had painted himself.
His heart startled. He had not painted on the cliff, so how could such an image appear?
Carefully studying the work, he found the brushstrokes, the fluid ink splashes, the pauses in painting leaves—all matched his style perfectly.
Even the most skilled painter in the world could not replicate such similarity; it was as if he had painted it in the future.
Realizing this, An Le felt a shiver in his mind. Within his “mud pellet palace,” the sword furnace rang crisply. The sword energy within the cliff seemed to attract the heart sword of his “mud pellet palace.”
His primordial spirit involuntarily flew out, drifting toward the cliff.
His primordial spirit was like a second body—what it saw and touched was identical to his own sensations.
The moment it touched the cliff, the primordial spirit flowed inside.
Before An Le’s eyes, all became a vast whiteness, as if pressed into rice paper, transitioning from three dimensions to two. The view was all white, standing amid an endless snowy plain, where sky and earth were both covered in snow.
An Le remained calm, sitting cross-legged, grounding his spirit with the Sword Waterfall painting, steadying his mind to prevent being overwhelmed by the boundless white.
Suddenly, amidst the endless whiteness, a streak of sword energy flashed swiftly by—like a gust of wind, invisible and fleeting.
An Le looked but could not capture it; yet he knew this was the future sword energy Li You’an had spoken of.
The Sage Master had left three sword energies in the cliff: past, present, and future.
Li You’an had comprehended the past and present swords but was unable to grasp the future sword. Unable to comprehend it, he passed this chance on to others, all of whom failed as well.
The future cannot be glimpsed because it remains unknown, the events not yet unfolded.
Even a prodigy like Li You’an, who had seen the Sage Master’s presence, could not master the future sword energy.
Now, with An Le’s spirit inside the cliff, he sensed the sword energy—but could he control it?
Was he qualified to do so?
The future was elusive and opaque—is it something mortals can truly perceive?
Three questions weighed heavily in An Le’s heart.
He could see the light curtain, and within it, the aura of years passing, but that represented the past.
The future—he did not know if he could command it.
Yet gradually, An Le’s eyes grew resolute. A formidable aura gathered around his primordial spirit like a white python coiled, slowly opening its mouth against the boundless white world.
He would walk the path of invincibility, create a legend surpassing even Li You’an’s, and this miracle would begin with mastering the future sword energy.
A surge of heart energy rose.
He fixed his gaze upon the white expanse, striving to see the invisible sword energy.
Though he sensed the sword energy darting wildly before him, he could not catch it.
Suddenly, An Le recalled the ink bamboo painting before entering the cliff. The future sword energy captured future images—could the ink bamboo painting be one he would create in the future?
If so, an idea sparked in his heart.
The power of his mind within his primordial spirit began to release bit by bit, like a dense ink blot spreading across the white expanse.
The ink diffused as if a painter were splashing ink onto paper, guided by his mind’s pull.
An Le suddenly realized a streak of sword energy began to lead his mind, like the tip of a brush upon blank paper.
His mind was the ink, sword energy the brush, painting upon the boundless white world.
An Le’s mind followed the sword energy to paint.
The ink formed a scroll.
It depicted the future.
...
Suddenly, black clouds surged across the sky.
Li You’an, standing by the Welcoming Pine on Mount Fusong, abruptly raised his head. A powerful aura blossomed between his brows, starlight swirling around him. Thousands of sword charms appeared, flashing rapidly about his body.
“Future sword energy, glimpsing the future, disrupting heaven’s secrets...”
“The celestial phenomena shift! Mountains and rivers fall into chaos!”
Li You’an inhaled deeply; his scholar robe billowed. His eyes sparkled with a fierce light.
His gaze suddenly shifted to the white-robed youth seated before the cliff.
The youth’s eyes were closed, the “mud pellet palace” at his brow wide open. His primordial spirit had already stepped out, entering the cliff, where radiant whiteness bloomed. Amidst the white, a spot of ink color emerged!
As if a great curtain had been drawn back, revealing a grand scroll of mountains and rivers.
Li You’an clenched his fists behind his back, the starlight around him shimmering wildly, trembling as a clear sword chant rang out.
The sword’s song pierced the clouds, echoing among the mist-wrapped cold mountains.
His gaze fixed intently on the ink color on the cliff, watching the painting gradually unfold.
Gradually, he lost himself in it.
...
On the cliff, ink spread like a shower of smoky rain.
A painting emerged: upon a surging river, warships thundered, warriors crossed the waters, arrows rained from the sky, waves roared—battle was about to begin!
Yuan Mong cavalry crossed the river, breaking through defenses. Countless Zhao generals soared into battle, fighting fiercely. Ink-colored blood stained the sky, the river, and the battlefield black.
Yet the army pressed forward, burning, killing, pillaging, smoke billowing everywhere, war igniting across the land.
A fortified city was besieged by the Yuan Mong army. Defenders fought desperately, the ink-formed sun and moon shifting to mark the passing of time. The city was isolated—no reinforcements, no supplies, no aid...
A warrior with disheveled hair stood atop the city walls, sword drawn, heart lost, tears streaming. He exploded his meridians and then slit his own throat atop the city tower. Finally, the city gates opened wide.
The black-and-white scroll splattered with ink stains, as if fresh blood spattered across it. Even through the painting, one could feel the despair of isolation and helplessness.
The city fell; the Yuan Mong army surged onward, city after city breached, burning and pillaging, mountain and river shattered, earth cracked, sky collapsed!
Dark clouds crushed the city as if to destroy it. Amidst the ink’s spread, the city’s defenders repeatedly abandoned their positions and fled. The once flourishing Jiangnan region, prosperous for five centuries, could not mount an effective defense.
Like a bamboo stalk broken through, the land south of the great river was trampled likewise.
...
The ink scenes shifted continuously, portraying one ruin after another in Jiangnan.
Strong warriors rose to the heavens to battle Yuan Mong champions—heroic and tragic—but ultimately, all were stubbornly resisting defeat.
The five-century-old splendor of the court, riddled with wounds, collapsed like a sandpile.
The final image showed warships tossing on the endless Eastern Sea. After the Eastern Sea dragons submitted to the Yuan Mong Empire, they surged forth from the vast ocean, stirring wild winds and towering waves.
On the warship, a minister angrily drew his sword to strike a dragon, its blood staining the rain and wind upon the ship.
After slaying the Eastern Sea dragon minister, he cast aside his sword, carrying the young emperor and clutching the imperial jade seal.
He leapt into the sea and perished.
...
At some point, a violent downpour began, large raindrops pelting Li You’an, soaking his scholar robe.
He stared blankly at the cliff, watching the ever-changing scenes within. A wave of sorrow spread from his chest, weighing heavily on his heart.
Is this the future?
The future of the nation?
Even a powerful being like Li You’an, upon seeing the future, felt the heavens and earth collapse, his spirit struck by a shock never before experienced.
The five centuries of southern prosperity, the dreamlike bloom, ultimately could not escape this fate.
The greatest Yuan Mong emperor trampled all before him with iron cavalry.
Li You’an felt a profound sense of melancholy—the first time he had ever drawn his sword in confusion.
No wonder he could perceive the past and control the present sword energies but never grasp the future sword energy—it was because he could never believe in that true future.
The future is unknown; if it truly appeared before one’s eyes, for some, it would be cruel and unbelievable.
The rain continued, washing the mountain paths, the Welcoming Pine bent under the storm. Li You’an’s scholar robe was soaked through, and his sharpness seemed to drain away.
Suddenly, Li You’an looked again at the cliff, where the frozen painting suddenly split in two by a flash of sword light.
The ink painting began to rewind rapidly like lightning, each rewound image cut apart by sword energy.
Li You’an’s eyes shone brighter, his spirit surged, forming a roaring hurricane through the mountain forest.
The dozens of cold mountains shuddered in the rain, the spirits and demons within cowering and gathering their energy, unwilling to cause harm.
When the painting fully restored, it showed a youth standing atop the mountain, robes billowing, grasping a sword, capturing a streak of sword energy, commanding the future!
In an instant, like a bolt of lightning tearing through the clouds, brilliant blue arcs split the dusk.
Li You’an’s heart stirred, realization shining in his eyes.
“Only the one who commands the future sword energy can change the future?”
“Like the brush in the hand of a painter, capable of painting a new sky.”
Li You’an murmured.
So the fated one the Sage Master spoke of was this—that one who mastered the future sword energy. But even so, how could one change such a cruel future?
...
At the same time, as the celestial phenomena changed dramatically, the entire realm seemed to sense it.
In Lin’an Prefecture.
Within the Celestial Profound Palace.
The figure seated on the imperial throne slowly opened his eyes. A grand and magnificent aura spread forth, though tinged with faint twilight, yet still resplendent.
Beside him, Tong Diao Temple’s attendant stared in disbelief, eyes fixed on the changing sky over the cold mountains, heart filled with shock.
“What is that?!”
The figure rose slowly from the throne, taking three steps forward, eyes gleaming.
“That is the sword energy the Sage Master left in the mortal world.”
“Someone has mastered that sword energy.”
At the Ancestral Temple.
Zhao Huangting, recently returned, sat in his rocking chair, eyes closed lightly. The chair creaked beneath him, faint twilight weaving around his face and body.
Suddenly, he opened his eyes, stood, leaning on his bamboo staff, and looked out the window toward the shifting celestial scenes and soaring sword energy. A trace of emotion—whether sigh or resolve—flickered in his gaze.
Behind him were many ancestral tablets.
The aged figure stood before the tablets, illuminated by flickering lamps, incongruous with the dreamlike prosperity of Lin’an Prefecture.
In the Literary Academy.
Three masters stepped out of the thatched hall, crossing the Forest of Questioning Heart with the breeze, appearing before the Stele Pavilion.
On the Stele of Literary Stars, vast energy surged but did not erupt.
The three exchanged glances, eyes turning toward the endless cold mountains. Seeing the celestial phenomena there, their primordial spirits trembled slightly.
“The sword energy the Sage Master left behind.”
“Who could have possibly mastered this sword energy?”
In the Martial Temple.
By the massive chains near the Martial Champion Stone.
Wearing a bronze mask and disheveled hair, the Martial Champion Di Cang sat cross-legged there. Beside the stone, he looked into the distance, a grand Zhao ancestral Dragon-Slaying Blade resting across his knees, fingers gently stroking it.
...
At this moment, the entire realm seemed to tremble slightly.
On Dragon Tiger Mountain in Central Lands, at the True Martial Temple and the Celestial Master Mansion, Daoists opened their eyes.
At Lanke Temple, Ganye Temple, and Lianhua Temple, Buddhist monks chanted sacred sutras.
In the Western Liang Kingdom, within the Bone Temple built from tens of thousands of corpses, blood energy surged violently. A father and son added another corpse atop the temple, grinning as they looked southward.
In the Dali Kingdom, within a quiet courtyard, a refined national teacher sat in a wheelchair, surrounded by starlight. He calculated with fingers, brow furrowed like mountains and rivers.
...
North of the Canglang River.
Across the vast territories, the ancient capital of the millennia-old Central Dynasty rose grandly. A mighty aura spread from the imperial city, suppressing the dragon veins of the land, preventing their energy from rising.
Another overwhelming force drew in the dragon vein energy, gathering it within the imperial city, into a resplendent palace.
Within the palace, a burly man clad in golden robes and boots slowly opened his eyes. His gaze seemed to pierce the heavens, spanning mountains, rivers, and the world, sensing the strange celestial changes.
He also felt the surging momentum, subtle but undeniable shifts occurring at this moment.
The man stood slowly, the grand aura flowing with his every movement, each action seemingly influencing the world’s great fate.
“The sword energy the Sage Master left in the mortal world?”
“The one who wields this sword energy can stir the heavenly decrees, making the future ever more unpredictable?”
“No matter who wields this sword energy, none can change the outcome. My grand momentum will sweep across the realm.”
“When the world is fully under my control, then I shall bend my bow and aim at the Sage Master!”
...
The torrential rain was suddenly torn apart.
Like a celestial gate shimmering with immortal aura, ripping through the dusk clouds, ethereal sounds and brilliant light radiated.
The vast azure sky stretched endlessly, sun and moon illuminating the Golden and Silver Terraces.
Behind the gate stood celestial palaces of jade and pearl, twelve towers and five castles, silhouettes numerous as stars.
“Rest, rest, rest!”
At the same time, on the mortal world, six mountain peaks each surged with aura reaching to the skies.
Into the clouds flowed the immortal aura gate, slowly closing, and the dreamlike world dissipated from the mortal realm.
As the six streams of aura vanished, six figures crossed the stormy rain.
An old man riding a crane reclined on its back, smiling gently, surrounded by interwoven invisible runes of profound mystery.
Another figure appeared ethereal—an embodiment of spirit, indistinct and unseen, long sleeves and wide robes, a celestial demeanor, surrounded by the scent of various foods, as if bathing in mortal life’s warmth.
One after another, the figures were hazy and indistinct.
Until the last appeared—a clear human form.
The sixth mountain master, stern and cool, carried a pinewood sword case on his back, arms crossed over his chest, riding a sword’s light.
He hovered outside Mount Fusong, before the cliff.
Li You’an stood beneath the Welcoming Pine, looking at the six arriving figures. His expression was now fully concealed.
He smiled lightly and clasped his fists in greeting: “Li You’an greets the six mountain masters.”
The six nodded slightly, each returning the salute.
“The Sage Master’s future sword energy is profound and unfathomable. We all find it difficult to glimpse. The master said to wait quietly for the fated one. It seems the fated one has appeared.”
Among the six mountain masters, a hazy figure spoke.
“However, I am curious—what is the proof of this fated one? I once divined that no one in this world could ever wield the future sword energy. It is impossible, against the laws of heaven and earth. How can this youth wield it? Unless he has seen the future... but that is impossible.”
The old man on the crane narrowed his eyes.
The sixth mountain master crossed his arms, coolly regarding the youth seated before the cliff, a cold smile tugging at his lips. “No wonder he is the youth I value.”
After murmuring for a moment, the six exchanged glances and softly laughed, their gaze settling on the youth seated before the cliff.
Within the cliff, the primordial spirit, once ink stains, gradually returned to An Le’s form as the ink faded.
But this time, An Le saw the future sword energy flickering, ink-colored, captured in his hand and writhing continuously.
An Le felt somewhat dazed; he had also seen the shifting paintings—were these truly future scenes?
Or were they manifestations of parallel timelines within his mind, somewhat resembling past dynasties? The imagery of years and future overlapped?
Hence, he believed he had seen the future and thus captured the sword energy existing only in the future.
The future sword energy was heavy; An Le felt his primordial spirit nearly unable to hold it.
He did not linger long within the cliff.
Carrying this wisp of future sword energy, An Le stepped out from the cliff.
The cliff’s surface rippled like water, just as when he observed the years’ paintings. When the waves subsided, An Le’s primordial spirit leapt back to Mount Fusong.
The sword furnace at his brow rang crisply, strands of sword energy weaving out from his heart spirit.
Upon leaving the cliff, An Le felt the future sword energy struggle more fiercely, as if trying to leap into the world and vanish without trace.
In the distance, Li You’an and the six mountain masters by the floating mountain all looked toward An Le’s primordial spirit.
They could not see the ink-colored future sword energy An Le held—just as they could not see the future—but they sensed its struggling power.
All seven were deeply curious how An Le would wield this future sword energy.
If he failed to suppress it and it escaped into the mortal realm, that would mean failure in mastery.
An Le indeed felt the sword energy’s struggle growing stronger, his mind on the verge of losing grip, the energy seemingly about to break free and merge into the world, vanishing forever.
However, An Le had anticipated this. With a movement of his mind, countless threads of heart spirit spread through the world, linking and manipulating the bamboo sword and the green mountain.
The bamboo sword and green mountain instantly transformed into brilliant sword light, rushing forth to strike at the struggling sword energy in An Le’s hand.
When the green mountain collided with the sword energy, it was as if a towering mountain appeared... the sword energy was gradually absorbed into the mountain.
When the last trace of sword energy vanished, a clear, crisp sword chant suddenly rang out from within the green mountain.
An Le’s primordial spirit surged back into the sword furnace at his brow.
He sat cross-legged and abruptly opened his eyes. His white robes billowed in the clear breeze, wide sleeves fluttering.
His hand reached out, grasping the hilt of the green mountain sword.
And also grasping the faint, elusive sword energy.
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