After the soldiers had dispersed, nothing remained but a ground covered in blades, armor, infants, and dozens of ownerless warhorses pawing the earth and tossing their heads...
Xu Xian did not delay and hurried to check on the infants on the ground.
After a day and night of turmoil, these infants were likely exhausted from crying long ago. Some were drowsy, some were on the verge of death, and some had already passed away, perishing right then and there...
Xu Xian was powerless to help the dead and could only sigh. For those still living, he dissolved spirit pills into water and fed them one by one to preserve their lives.
He then felled large trees and cut them into planks to construct a massive wooden raft. He placed the living babies onto it one by one; upon counting, there were one thousand six hundred and thirty-two survivors.
He had Wait dig a large pit. He placed the deceased children, still in their swaddling clothes, into the earth and called forth a sword.
A mound of earth was piled up, but feeling it was insufficient, he found a giant boulder, shaved it into a stone stele, and stood it upon the mound.
He did not carve any words.
Looking at the wordless stone stele before him, Xu Xian finally stopped, satisfied. He exhaled a breath of turbid air, already drenched in sweat. Wiping the beads of perspiration from his forehead, the youth grumbled.
"Phew... this is more exhausting than fighting."
Looking back at the thousand-plus infants on the raft, Xu Xian muttered, "I must find a safe place for you quickly, or else you won't survive."
Three thousand infants had been through a night of chaos; half were dead. These remaining ones had to be protected.
Lifting the raft over his head and stepping onto Wait, he soared into the air. He flew slowly, swaying unsteadily.
...
At noon, within the Wendao Sword Sect, the disciples in the Lingyan Pavilion on the Ancestral Peak were exceptionally busy.
Inside the pavilion, wisps of spirit smoke flew in from time to time, manifesting out of thin air to hang within the hall. Whenever this happened, a disciple from the Intelligence Hall would wave a hand to capture it, then spread a sheet of spirit paper upon a desk.
As the smoke entered the spirit paper, it naturally converted the spoken messages carried within the spirit smoke into text, imprinting it upon the paper. The disciples in the hall would then organize and categorize the reports, which specialized disciples would then distribute to the various departments of the sect.
At this moment, spirit smoke was returning frequently. Green smoke was the most common, while black smoke was rare.
Suddenly, a wisp of golden smoke manifested before them, glowing brilliantly and exceptionally dazzling. Nearly every disciple in the hall was immediately drawn to this golden spirit smoke. One by one, they stopped their tasks and stared in unison, their ears ringing with shocked cries.
"Golden?"
"Battle smoke?"
"This..."
These people were stationed in the Lingyan Pavilion year-round and had seen countless wisps of green and black smoke, but golden smoke was extremely rare, almost nonexistent. Even the most senior disciples probably couldn't remember the last time they had seen golden spirit smoke. Thus, they were momentarily paralyzed by shock and uncertainty.
From deep within the pavilion, an Elder wearing purple sword robes flashed into view almost instantly. He stared solemnly at the spirit smoke, beckoned with one hand, and shouted, "Quick, bring the spirit paper!"
A disciple snapped back to attention, hurried forward in three steps, and offered a sheet of spirit paper with both hands. "Elder, here..."
The purple-robed Elder snatched the spirit paper and funneled the wisp of golden smoke into it. Ink appeared without a brush, gathering into characters, line by line, paragraph by paragraph...
The purple-robed Elder gripped both ends of the spirit paper, reading word by word. His entire body suddenly shuddered, and his expression became increasingly grim and serious.
"Yecheng has rebelled!!!"
"Status of Little Grand-Uncle unknown!!!"
His breathing grew rapid. Without a moment's hesitation, he turned into a gust of wind and rushed out of the Lingyan Pavilion. Then, in a flash of light, he headed straight for Zhijian Peak.
He left behind a crowd of Lingyan Pavilion disciples, their faces heavy with worry. Although they hadn't seen the words on the paper, they had heard the Elder’s words clearly.
[Yecheng has rebelled...]
[Status of Little Grand-Uncle unknown...]
"Damn them."
"Yecheng has quite the nerve."
"A bunch of ungrateful wolves."
"Senior Brother... the Little Grand-Uncle will be alright, won't he?"
Golden spirit smoke was battle smoke; it was no laughing matter. It concerned the rebellion of Yecheng and involved the Little Grand-Uncle, so there was no room for the slightest negligence.
The news was quickly delivered to Zhijian Peak and then reached the ears of the Peak Master, Li Qingshan.
"Peak Master Li, this is bad, this is bad! Something terrible has happened!"
A slip of paper, every word piercing the eye.
[Yecheng has rebelled. Song Qingshu of Falling Cloud Peak has fallen in battle. Ruan Zhong of Zhujian Peak has fallen in battle. None of the five from the Yecheng Supervision Hall survived. Status of Little Grand-Uncle unknown.]
[Nangong Ning of Falling Cloud Peak requests the sect... to suppress the rebellion immediately!]
Veins bulged on Li Qingshan's palms. His shoulders were trembling, and his eyes turned red at a speed visible to the naked eye. A malevolent aura surged across his face.
"Damn them... how dare they, how dare they..."
A disciple hurried in to report.
"Peak Master Li, it has been verified. Last night, one soul lamp on the first floor of the Immortal Pavilion did indeed go out—it was Ruan Zhong's. As for his life-bound sword, it should still be on its way back."
Li Qingshan stared gloomily at the green mountains outside and spoke each word deliberately: "Strike the War Bell. All members of the Sword Suppression Hall are to set out. We march on Yecheng!"
"Understood!"
The messenger had just left, and before the War Bell had even begun to toll, Li Qingshan had already taken the first step. He shot past the mountain gate, turning into a streaking meteor as he charged toward Yecheng.
Xu Xian was someone he had forcibly brought back. If anything happened to the boy, he would never be able to forgive himself for the rest of his life. Even though the report made it very clear that Xu Xian was in grave danger, he still refused to believe it, even if he was only lying to himself.
Soon, from the summit of Zhijian Peak, the sound of an ancient bell rang out.
Dong!
Dong!!
Dong!!!
Nine consecutive tolls, each one ear-splitting and stirring. As the sound echoed across the lands, the newer disciples were all stunned. They looked toward Zhijian Peak in a daze, while those who knew the meaning—whether they were ordinary disciples, presiding Elders, or even the secluded Pavilion Elders and Ancestors—all underwent a massive change in expression the moment they heard the bell.
"Is that the bell from Zhijian Peak? What happened?"
"Nine tolls of the War Bell... the great battle begins, a fight to the death!! We are going to war..."
"Could it be that the demons have returned?"
"It hasn't been heard for hundreds of years. What is it this time..."
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!
Boom, boom, boom!!
Innumerous streaks of light soared into the sky, dense and packed together, before gathering at the foot of Zhijian Peak. Nearly ten thousand sword cultivators from the Sword Suppression Hall assembled in the blink of an eye. Wen Qingxue was among them.
Sword cries resonated, and battle intent surged to the heavens. From the other peaks, it looked like a dark cloud enveloping the entire summit.
In a short while, a sword intent surged from the Ancestral Peak. A figure appeared high in the sky, surrounded by whistling cold winds and ice forming under the scorching sun. She looked down upon the world and the mountains, and facing the ten thousand sword cultivators of the Sword Suppression Hall, she spoke eight words.
"Swords descend upon Yecheng, fight to the death!"
"Kill!"
Ye Xianyu raised an arm and waved, and the ten thousand sword cultivators roared in response.
"Kill!"
"Kill!!"
"Kill!!!"
Ye Xianyu took the lead, tearing through the void. At the same time, nearly ten thousand sword immortals poured out, whistling away like a curtain of rain or a dark cloud pressing down upon the mortal world...
In the wild forests, birds fled and beasts bowed their heads. Throughout the Wendao Sword Sect, cultivators watched them depart from afar!
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