Betrayed - Chapter 1

I cultivate the Path of All Beings, am skilled with the sword, and also study formations.
At the beginning I was just one among the masses; my Master did not place great expectations on me. Above me were three senior brothers and sisters; below me were six junior brothers and sisters.
I was mediocre, upright, diligent, and obscure.
Five hundred years passed in a flash; I still practiced three thousand sword strikes daily, and only during the Immortal-Demon War, when one sword swept through thousands of enemies, did my name begin to be sung among the people.
Another five hundred years, honing my sword intent and sparring with others until there were no more opponents. They called me the Sword Venerable.
Many braved wind and snow, climbed the steps hidden in a sea of clouds, and knelt at my gate, all to take me as their teacher.
It was time to choose an heir.
But… I wanted to choose only one.
The cultivation world values fate; accepting a disciple even more so.
I searched for over a hundred years to find a disciple who could inherit my sword dao. This person had to have outstanding roots and bones, a resilient temperament, and above all a compassionate heart-so that where the sword pointed was not for slaughter, but to protect all living beings.
Fortunately, I found him.
Shen Jihan was thirteen that year, serving as a sweeper boy in an obscure little sect.
His coarse sleeves were rolled up, revealing a thin yet well-defined wrist.
He had Innate Sword Bones.
Such a physique is encountered but once in a millennium; bones and meridians are naturally suited to the circulation of sword qi, making sword cultivation twice the result with half the effort.
Someone had actually mistaken fine jade for common stone.
He stood on the steps sweeping fallen leaves, the dull and tedious motion repeated tens of thousands of times.
No complaints, no perfunctory effort; the very last step was still swept with meticulous care.
Practicing the sword is equally dull and tedious; only by enduring five hundred years of daily perseverance can one unleash that astonishing, peerless strike.
I concealed myself to observe him. Every day at the fourth watch he would rise; after cleaning the courtyard, he would secretly break off a branch as a sword and, facing the morning light, practice the most basic sword forms again and again.
Once, when several higher-ranked disciples bullied young children, though he himself was as skinny as a bean sprout, he still stood in front of them. He took the beating without striking back, only saying, “Those who walk the Dao should not bully the weak by relying on strength.”
I watched from the treetop without making a sound.
Until he could no longer endure it, and lifted his broom to fight back; rare indeed… that even in great anger he still held back at every turn.
Half a year later, having confirmed his fine character, I finally revealed myself.
He was crouched by the well drawing water when the wooden bucket thudded back into the shaft; the splash dampened his coarse cloth shoes.
“Would you like to enter my tutelage?” I asked him.
The boy was stunned, his black-and-white eyes widened; the hemp rope slipped from his hand without his noticing.
“Thud!” The bucket hit the water, making a muffled sound.
Only then did he awaken as if from a dream and kneel to kowtow; too excited, he bumped his head right on the well’s rim.
“Ma-Master!” he cried loudly, clutching his forehead.
I am in fact not very good at raising children.
With another person in the cave abode, my first reaction was to go down the mountain to buy ten sets of disciple robes and stockpile enough food for three years.
As for instruction… I know only the sword, so I supervised him to swing the sword five hundred times daily.
“Raise your wrist three more points.”
“Reel in the sword qi; you’re not smashing.”
“This form is wrong. Again.”
He practiced until sweat soaked his brow, while I sat under the peach tree drinking tea.
Sometimes he secretly rubbed his sore arms; when I caught him, he straightened his back at once and continued.
Other cultivation matters were explained by the elders of the Hall of Dao Instruction; I only guarded him during breakthroughs, added extra practice with a cold face when he slacked, and on his birthday…
“Master?”
One day he pushed open the meditation room door and found a three-foot blade of pristine white placed on the desk; from the tassel hung a piece of warm white jade carved with the characters “Jihan.”
The boy’s eyes lit up at once, but he restrained himself from touching it, only staring at me with eager eyes.
“It’s yours.”
I sipped my tea. “From today on, increase your daily sword swings to eight hundred.”
Hugging the sword, he grinned wide enough to show all his teeth. “Yes, Master.”
Petals swirled down, landing on the youth’s shoulders. I thought, this sword dao inheritance has finally found its home.
Two hundred years pass-several cycles of reincarnation for mortals, but only a snap of the fingers for cultivators.
When Shen Jihan first entered the sect, he was a boy who would secretly rub his hands when too tired from practice.
Now, he is the Kunlun Sect’s new generation Elder of the Sword, clad in white upon the mountain peak, sword qi restrained, brows calm.
“Master.” Seeing me leave seclusion, he bowed respectfully.
I sized him up. His Nascent Soul was formed; the spiritual power around him flowed smoothly, very stable.
Long, narrow eyes with brows sweeping toward the temples, a high nose bridge, and an overly sharp jawline gave him a somewhat austere look.
Fortunately his lips were ruddy and his gaze gentle, softening the coolness of his features.
The dull little disciple from those years has now become a swordsman who can stand on his own.
“Not bad,” I nodded, offering rare praise.
A hint of a smile flashed in his eyes, but he quickly returned to that steady demeanor. “Master, now that you have left seclusion, would you like to inspect your disciple’s swordsmanship?”
“No need,” I waved a hand. “I am at ease with your sword.”
These words carried more weight than any compliment. He paused, then solemnly bowed again.
The snow on Kunlun Mountain still fell in flurries. Standing on the cliff’s edge and gazing into the distance, I suddenly realized it was time to descend the mountain and seek that opportunity.
Shen Jihan can already stand on his own; there is no need to linger here.
“I will go down the mountain for a while.”
Shen Jihan blinked, a touch of hesitation in his eyes. “Do you require your disciple to accompany you?”
“You can now roam as you wish. Why follow this old fellow? Just guard the mountain gate.”
He seemed to want to say more, but in the end only bowed deeply. “Your disciple will obey Master’s command.”
On the day I left the mountain, I allowed no one to see me off.
Only at the mountain gate did I look back. Shen Jihan stood on the highest Sword Testing Platform, his stance like a pine.
He did not try to keep me, only offered a distant bow, as solemn as when he first became my disciple.
I smiled, turned, and stepped into the sea of clouds.
The mortal world below was unchanged.
Old friends had either founded their own sects or retired to the mountains and forests. Secret realms I had once ventured through had now become training grounds for the younger generation.
So I carried a jug of wine, visiting old friends and roaming old haunts.
The closest one… if I remember correctly, is now the Tower Master at Wanbao House.