The Sword She Set Her Heart On - Chapter 1

I was obsessed with swords.

Ever since childhood, I had dreamed of owning the finest sword under heaven.

But I was an orphan from a poor family. I could not even afford a decent scabbard.

My fellow disciples all laughed at me.

“You haven’t got two coins to rub together, but you sure can dream. What, do you think sincerity alone will make a sword choose you?”

Then, ten years later, the Sword Tomb awakened.

A divine sword rose from its long slumber to choose a young new wielder.

The stone tablet outside the Sword Tomb bore only four words:

**THE SINCERE MAY ENTER**

My fellow disciples, barred at the gate: “…?”

Me, strolling in without the slightest trouble: “Well, would you look at that.”

Someone laughed. I will not say who.

Not many people made it into the Sword Tomb.

The requirement of sincerity eliminated all the halfhearted cultivators, while the formations and razor winds inside weeded out anyone who had merely been coasting through life.

In the end, only three of us reached the deepest part of the tomb.

As it happened, I knew both of the others.

I was certain neither could beat me.

The divine sword would surely choose the most gifted sword cultivator. That meant my odds were obviously the best.

Outwardly, I stared into space. Inwardly, I was waiting for the divine sword to give the word so I could knock both rivals flat.

Then the seal around the Sword Tomb’s core opened.

What emerged was not a blade blazing with lethal brilliance, but an extraordinarily beautiful young man.

Cultivators had exceptional eyesight, yet even as he passed directly before us, none of us could find the slightest flaw in his face.

He was as lovely as a fragile porcelain figure—something that ought to be worshipped in a treasure pavilion, not left in the perilous depths of a sword tomb.

Even so, none of us dared underestimate him.

The pressure that flickered around him and the bewitching fall of his silver-blue hair made his identity clear.

“Lord Sword Spirit.” The heir of the Yun Clan bowed respectfully beside me. “This junior is a descendant of the Yun Clan. I have come to invite you back into the world.”

The young man—or rather, the divine sword’s spirit—gave a soft laugh.

He raised one hand. Every sword around us began to tremble, then flew beneath him and assembled themselves into a couch fit for a beauty.

The sword spirit reclined at his leisure. The hem of his loose Daoist robe fell away from a pair of crossed, snow-white legs, which swung idly back and forth.

The sight made me dizzy.

“The Yun Clan…” His lips curved. “Who are they? Are we close?”

His tone was perfectly pleasant. His words cut like a blade.

“Little boy, if you’re so fond of announcing your family name, do you still need someone to nurse you?”

Yun Xin, who was accustomed to hearing people fawn over his clan, went livid.

He probably had not expected the pedigree that worked so well everywhere else to mean nothing to the sword spirit.

I failed to hold back a snort.

When Yun Xin glared at me, I innocently turned my head and pretended I had done nothing.

The commotion drew the sword spirit’s attention. His chin still propped on one hand, he shifted slightly and let his gaze drift toward me.

“You…”

I silently straightened my back, hoping to leave him with a good first impression.

The next moment, he frowned.

“Where did this wooden-faced woman come from? Just looking at you makes me angry.”

He glared. “You. Ten steps back. Get away from me.”

Me: “?”