Although it was unclear how many years the skeleton had been dead, one could faintly tell from her attire that it was a female corpse.
An ornate necklace adorned her neck, and a delicate floral-and-bird sachet hung at her waist. Faint plum blossom patterns were subtly embroidered across the yellow disciple robes, and a small piece of bodhi wood signifying an inner sect disciple was pinned to her collar.
Within a ten-meter radius around the skeleton, the ground was spotless, without the slightest trace of flesh or blood.
Nan Zhi glanced around, taking in the dozen or so weasel corpses facing the skeleton, and understood.
Though the female corpse was dead, her sword qi lingered.
The Huang family had likely known that the secret to the floating giant sword lay with this skeleton.
Someone had grown greedy and met the end of having their body obliterated without a trace.
Above, the giant sword hung suspended in the air, radiating waves of oppressive weight.
【Side Quest: The Wutong Has Roots, the Wanderer Yearns for Home.】
【Quest Details: Qiu Wutong was an outstanding talent among the younger generation of the Wuwei Sect, born in the final years of the Four Provinces Continent and dying in the year 11,300 of the Immortal Calendar.
Before her death and the dispersion of her cultivation, only a single thought remained. One person, one sword, guarding the secret realm for a thousand years; though her physical body has dissolved, her obsession endures forever.
Cultivator, please fulfill Qiu Wutong’s obsession.】
【Quest Reward: 《True Intent of the Sword Dao》 ×1】
【Accept this quest?】
“Excuse me, Fellow Daoist. I mean no offense; I only wish to read your dying words so that I might fulfill your wish.”
Nan Zhi circled the corpse, muttering under her breath as she noticed a scrap of silk bearing what looked like writing at the skeleton’s chest, then retrieved it to inspect it closely.
It was a piece of bright yellow silk, likely torn from the disciple robes. Inscribed upon it were not traces of ink, but speckles of aged blood writing:
[My name is Qiu Wutong, a native of the North Province. The date of my birth cannot be determined; I was eight hundred and sixteen years old at the time of my death.
Looking back upon my life, I feel as though I was trapped forever in the Ten Directions Mountains. In my youth, I once heard tales of how prosperous the North Province used to be, how humanity flourished, and how the immortal Dao endured.
Alas, once the twelve nations of the four directions fell, demons entered the North Province, and Sky Demons invaded. The Qingjing Sect, the Hehuan Sect, and the Wuwei Sect merged into one, uniting to resist the Sky Demons.
Yet the Sky Demons held overwhelming might. Forced into retreat, we fell back to the Miaoling Secret Realm of the North Province’s Ten Directions Mountains. As one entity, the Three Sects sealed the secret realm until the spiritual energy was exhausted. For countless generations spanning ten thousand years, none saw the light of day, trapped here, declining generation after generation into mere mortals.
The Ten Directions Mountains stretch one hundred and eight thousand li from east to west, with no path forward and no end in sight. Some fellow disciples ventured outward, yet never returned; only their life lamps extinguished, leaving them presumed lost to this world.
Blessed with natural talent, I achieved Foundation Establishment at eighty, formed my Golden Core at three hundred, reached Nascent Soul at five hundred and thirty-one, and finally attained the Nascent Soul Great Circle at eight hundred, reaching the end of my lifespan.
After me, there will be no more cultivators in the Ten Directions Mountains Secret Realm.
I hold that in life, I lived freely and settled every grievance, leaving behind no regrets. Only before death do I resent my inability to fulfill the ancestors’ wish—to ascend as an immortal and return to the North Province.
When the demons attacked, the Three Sects laid down formations. I vowed to stand guard, never to return to the sect.
Now with ascension hopeless, I wish only to cultivate myself into the floating giant sword, guarding the sect forever and swearing to eradicate the Sky Demons.
If humanity rises once more and a successor comes along, I ask only that you bury my fellow disciples and return them to the North Province. Should fortune allow, please watch over the descendants of the Qiu lineage.
I possess no worldly goods; the suspended sword cannot be bestowed upon you. Only my Glazed Sword Bones remain serviceable, free for you to take.
Final words of Qiu Wutong.]
Nan Zhi read every single word, her heart surging with deep sorrow and gravity.
The Three Sects united into one, retreating to the Ten Directions Mountains.
Back then, humanity had actually been pushed to such extremes by demons and monsters.
Qiu Wutong was a junior from who knew how many generations later, ten thousand years down the line of the Wuwei Sect.
What on earth had happened in those five hundred years to force even the three great sects to seal themselves away inside a secret realm?
Even if Sky Demons devoured spiritual energy and cultivated at a terrifying speed, all things still followed natural laws of development.
How could a newly emerged race completely wipe out the entire North Province Continent in just five short centuries?
Nan Zhi put away the blood letter and chose to accept the quest.
Qiu Wutong’s wish was to gather the remains of her fellow disciples who had perished in the secret realm and bury them in the North Province.
Her handwriting was bold and flamboyant, sharp and unyielding, just like the fiery, unrestrained life of this female cultivator.
Achieving Foundation Establishment at eighty, Golden Core at three hundred, and reaching the Nascent Soul Great Circle at eight hundred, she had become the very last cultivator in this secret realm.
Fellow disciples, masters, friends, and family—none knew whether they were dead or alive.
Only Qiu Wutong remained, utterly alone, waiting endlessly for over a thousand years.
Until her death and the end of her Dao, she poured her entire cultivation into the suspended sword.
Even when her soul returned to the heavens, her physical body remained on guard, stubbornly waiting for the next person just to ask:
Does the North Province still stand?
Have my fellow disciples been laid to rest?
Has humanity risen once more?
The pitch-black eye sockets of the skeleton held no emotion, yet Nan Zhi could see a trace of longing for her ancestral homeland.
“Rest easy. I will change all of this.”
Retrieving an empty storage bag, she placed the bones inside and said calmly, “I will take you home.”
The moment Qiu Wutong’s remains were gathered, the giant sword overhead trembled, letting out continuous hums.
It sounded like mourning, a plaintive wail that wept and murmured in grief.
Beneath the chessboard, a hidden formation was triggered. Blinding light surged forward, forcing Nan Zhi to close her eyes.
...
The Ten Directions Mountains truly lived up to their name.
The moment she opened her eyes, boundless and ever-expanding lush greenery greeted her. Majestic mountains snaked endlessly into the distance, thick with forests of verdant ancient trees, each one immensely thick.
Ten-thousand-year-old trees stood tall, tangled with hundred-meter vines that reached straight into the clouds.
The rolling green mountains stretched without end. Before a winding cliff covered in moss, a small path led directly to the pavilions, halls, and palaces at the mountain peak.
Having seen no human presence for ages, small forest critters darted about while various demon beasts of bizarre shapes and sizes roamed freely.
Nan Zhi walked straight up toward the sect entrance. Meeting no resistance, she reached the mountain gates, only to find overgrown weeds and total disarray everywhere.
Ten thousand years had already passed in the secret realm. Even if corpses had been left behind, most had long turned to ash, leaving only a scattered few vaguely recognizable human skeletons lying in disarray before the mountain gate.
It was utter chaos, with diverse causes of death.
Some had fought one another, perishing with swords pierced through their chests.
Others had caved-in ribs, beaten to death by sheer force.
There were even Dao companions embracing each other, their cause of death indistinguishable.
The ground was a mess, riddled with crater marks blasted out by talismans and formations. Even the golden bricks and jade tiles bore scars from various magical battles.
There were also the carcasses of colossal spirit beasts whose bones had weathered away over ages, moss growing over the exposed white bones where birds nested within.
Time was the most formidable spell of all.
After ten thousand years, barely a hundred skeletons remained before the mountain gate and main hall.
Standing in midair and looking down, Nan Zhi could not spot a single sign of human habitation within a hundred li.
According to Qiu Wutong, after the Three Sects united, mortal descendants had remained scattered across this secret realm.
Yet with the secret realm fraught with perils, it was unknown whether any descendants of the Three Sects had survived to this day.
Even if any descendants still lived, they were likely mortals without any cultivation.
—Otherwise, the structures before her would not have fallen into such ruined decay.
Across the entire Three Sects, hundreds of mountains held tens of thousands of pavilions and towers scattered among them. Upon the highest peak, a dozen grand halls sat in utter silence, standing quietly for thousands, tens of thousands of years.
It was as if they had never been disturbed.
Nan Zhi’s divine sense could not reach that far, so she turned and headed toward the sect's main hall.
The main hall remained magnificent and resplendent, with mermaid candles burning eternally inside. As Nan Zhi stepped in, oil lamps atop lotus pedestals lit up along both sides, illuminating a path of light.
The furnishings in the hall were complete yet dull and faded. A thick layer of dust covered the floor, leaving a clear footprint with every step.
Seated along both sides of the hall were thirteen lifelike corpses—men and women alike—all staring with open eyes at the newcomer in an exceptionally chilling manner.
All thirteen bore celestial bearings. Some held pure vases, some wielded fly whisks, some glared with furious eyes, some formed hand seals and chanted incantations, while others had fluttering sleeves and gentle, smiling expressions.
They looked as if they were alive.
Yet they remained deathly silent, without a speck of vitality.
【Surong Immortal Corpse】
【Ningxue Immortal Corpse】
...
【Wuwang Immortal Corpse】
These were actually all corpses of immortals.
Nan Zhi understood immediately. With the Four Provinces collapsed and ascension hopeless, even immortals could not stave off the Five Decays of Heaven and Man.
After all, this was their territory, and she could not be impolite. Straightening her posture, she formally performed a disciple’s salute:
“Second-class Demon Suppression Inspector Nan Zhi of the Great Song pays her respects to the senior masters.”
The thirteen immortal corpses showed no reaction.
—These were likely the ancestors of the Hehuan Sect, the Qingjing Sect, and the Wuwei Sect.
Nan Zhi’s feelings grew increasingly complicated.
Deep within the hall stood a wall used for storing oil lamps.
Beneath each lotus lamp hovered a name, accompanied by a small inscription.
【Hua Xiangrong, died in the Sky Demon Chaos, year 131 of the Immortal Calendar.】
【Shen Juan, died in the Sky Demon Chaos, year 432 of the Immortal Calendar.】
【Xi Wei, died in the demon beast tide, year 1081 of the Immortal Calendar.】
...
【Zhong Zhengyang, died of old age, year 9861 of the Immortal Calendar.】
【Qiu Nianqing, died from fellow disciples falling into madness, year 10,000 of the Immortal Calendar.】
The wall stretched high above, densely packed with countless lotus lamps. At the very bottom of the wall, however, was a lamp bearing Qiu Wutong’s name:
【Qiu Wutong.】
These were presumably soul lamps of sect disciples. When a soul lamp went out, an alert would be triggered within the sect.
Yet across this entire wall, reaching up beyond sight, every single lamp was dark and extinguished.
Upon a small protruding stand lay a calligraphy brush, its ink still wet.
For reasons unknown, as if guided by ghosts and spirits, Nan Zhi picked up the brush and added a few strokes at the very bottom:
【Qiu Wutong, died guarding the formation, year 11,300 of the Immortal Calendar.】
As the brush lifted, a sudden change erupted!
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