Shang Jiuming had experienced the fragmentation of the sword techniques “Zhenxie” and “Jingshen,” and witnessed the decline of his sect from prosperity to decay. He had an almost pathological yearning to revive his lineage. Over the years, he schemed and maneuvered, groveling and scrambling for a place under the wings of powerful martial clans and major sects, enduring countless hardships and cold rejections. As a result, he had only five or six disciples, and his sole heir was Shang Lingxi. His power was meager, barely sufficient to constitute a true sect.
Now, suddenly obtaining the “Wooden Puppet of Divine Sword,” one of the four legendary treasures closely tied to his sect’s heritage, Shang Jiuming felt as though he were in a dream. Overwhelmed with joy and excitement, a flood of emotions surged through him. For the first time in years, the gloom that had clouded his heart lifted, and he felt like the passionate youth he once was, full of vigor and lofty aspirations.
This was his previous feeling—reality felt like a dream. Yet at this moment, he experienced an odd epiphany: he was dreaming. He saw a white-robed figure standing proudly with a sword, yet this vision was so vivid it seemed real.
As thoughts stirred within him, the white-robed figure turned, revealing a handsome and heroic face. The sword in his hand let out a dragon-like roar and leapt from its sheath.
A streak of white light blazed forth, like lightning splitting the sky, moving at an inconceivable speed. Shang Jiuming felt his dantian sea of qi surge, splitting into a stream of true energy that passed through three gates, pierced seven orifices, and condensed into pure, refined energy—balanced between yin and yang, mutually reinforcing.
Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh! Several sword beams shot from his fingertips, like thunderclaps of sword qi.
Before he could even begin to understand what was happening, the white-robed swordsman twisted his blade. The sword light shimmered, desolate and drifting, elusive and intangible. Yet Shang Jiuming’s sea of qi surged again, activating the corresponding acupoints.
Blade after blade, the “Jingshen Sword Technique,” which Shang Jiuming had grown somewhat familiar with, unfolded in full. It encompassed all under heaven, embodying the essence of every sword technique ever mastered by past generations. Each movement resonated with his acupoints, sending true energy coursing through him.
How long had passed? A soft metallic ring sounded as the heroic swordsman sheathed his blade, causing Shang Jiuming’s sea of qi to churn violently. He felt the sword qi returning from all the previously activated acupoints, surging and filling him, as though he had spent an entire night cultivating his inner energy.
The white-robed swordsman cast a cold, stern glance at Shang Jiuming before his form gradually dissolved, merging into the mist of the dream.
Shang Jiuming naturally opened his eyes, sat upright, and stared intently at the “Wooden Puppet of Divine Sword” resting beside his pillow, his gaze a mixture of confusion and shock.
The puppet’s expression was comically serene, its body marked by deep sword scars displaying a miraculous sword technique. It lay there quietly, showing no signs of abnormality.
Yet upon reflection, the dream was vividly clear. He had truly seen the white-robed swordsman and received the secret methods of true energy cultivation connected to the “Jingshen Sword Technique”!
This seemed even more profound and suitable for him than the legacy of the Sword Emperor!
What exactly had happened?
Shang Jiuming rose and paced, his heart filled with joy and excitement, yet also with doubt and fear.
Inside the puppet, Meng Qi had expended a great deal of spiritual energy to accomplish this feat. Though exhausted, his mood was quite good:
You wanted to cultivate the Sword Emperor’s sword techniques, right? But all you had was the method of circulating true energy?
Well, I’ve created a powerful internal martial art especially suited for the “Jingshen Sword Technique” and given it to you directly!
This is not just a wooden puppet containing two sword techniques—it also holds the “formidable sword intent” of the Jingshen Sword!
After some time, Meng Qi recovered from his fatigue and regained his senses, only to find himself placed atop a table. Then Shang Jiuming approached, carrying a bowl of rice with three incense sticks inserted upright before him.
The curling smoke wafted toward Meng Qi as Shang Jiuming solemnly bowed three times, murmuring softly:
“Dust to dust, earth to earth, every debt finds its due, every grievance its retribution. Go seek those you must.”
He was treating Meng Qi like a vengeful ghost clinging to this world!
Meng Qi was momentarily stunned, then could only sigh at Shang Jiuming’s outdated thinking and lack of imagination.
That’s why reading novels is a good thing! At least you’ll have a broader perspective. Besides vengeful ghosts, you could also consider the residual sword intent of the Jingshen Sword, a guardian spirit sealed within, or even a centuries-old puppet awakened through blood sacrifices.
If only the one who had obtained the “Wooden Puppet of Divine Sword” had been Xu Cheng instead! Young people have more imagination, simpler minds, and are easier to trick—no, easier to communicate with!
After the incense offering, Shang Jiuming took out an ornate jewelry box inlaid with gold and jade, solemnly placing the puppet inside. He then pasted a haphazard talisman on the lid—ineffective, but a precaution nonetheless.
The “Wooden Puppet of Divine Sword” was among the most valuable treasures in the world. If not kept close, Shang Jiuming would never feel at ease. Yet due to its malevolent aura and lingering resentment, it had to be isolated. Thus, this was the only compromise.
The surroundings grew dim, and Meng Qi’s spiritual awareness could barely penetrate the thick metal casing. He was left in silence.
What a difficult life it was, to be a wooden puppet!
…
Shang Jiuming led his daughter and disciples back toward the mountains. Along the way, he did not rush, pretending to be ordinary travelers to avoid suspicion.
The struggle over the “Divine Sword Wooden Puppet” had resulted in countless deaths. It was enough to make almost every martial artist covet it. One could never be too cautious.
At noon that day, Shang Jiuming and his group reached the riverside, looking for a ferry. Suddenly, a small boat emerged from the shadows. At its bow stood a middle-aged man in the attire of a wealthy merchant. His cheeks sagged, his body was stout, but his eyes were sharp, like the three-foot sword in his hand.
Sunlight reflected off his blade, casting dazzling golden rays that nearly blinded Shang Lingxi and Xu Cheng.
“It’s you…” Shang Jiuming’s voice dropped low, filled with wariness and solemnity.
He had ended his wandering and decided to return precisely because he had sensed this man’s presence—the leader of the “Zhen Shen Sect,” Qiu Ye!
The “Yuejin Sect” founded by Shang’s ancestors had declined due to a lack of heirs. Twenty years ago, with external forces encroaching, the sect shattered. Several disciples each seized a fragment of the sword manual and vanished into the martial world—some seeking refuge under powerful masters, others betraying their origins to establish new sects. Qiu Ye was one of them.
Qiu Ye chuckled, “You’re so old yet still so disrespectful? Can’t you even call me ‘Junior Master’?”
“I have no disciple like you who betrays his master and ancestors!” Shang Jiuming was deeply provoked, his tone turning icy. He raised his left hand, signaling Xu Cheng and Shang Lingxi to retreat.
If he couldn’t prevail, he hoped at least they could escape with their lives.
Qiu Ye had opened seven acupoints over twenty years ago, his inner world initially formed. Even if age had weakened his body, his true energy had matured to perfection, retaining the strength of his prime.
Qiu Ye’s gaze remained cold, his smile insincere: “The Shangs hoarded the leadership and kept the sword techniques secret. We were only seeking justice.”
“Juniormaster Jiuming, I remember your father took the largest fragment. Hand it over, and I might spare your lives.”
“Draw your sword. Take it from my corpse,” Shang Jiuming replied succinctly.
“Master!” Xu Cheng called out, trying to stop him. In his mind, since they had already obtained the “Wooden Puppet of Divine Sword,” the fragment was no longer important. It could be handed over.
Shang Jiuming glanced at him: “Qiu Ye’s real name is Qiu Shenglou. He is treacherous and cunning. Trusting his promises is like hoping our ancestors will rise from the dead.”
“You bring death upon yourself, don’t blame me!” Qiu Ye suddenly moved. His sword vanished from sight.
As he closed in, the blade flared into brilliance, ethereal and hazy, like a fragrance in the wind—colorless, formless, yet by the time you smelled it, it had already entered your lungs.
This sight left Shang Lingxi and the others stunned. So this was the true power of the “Fragrance in the Wind” technique they had struggled so hard to master!
Perhaps because they lacked the corresponding fragment, they had never managed to grasp it?
Yet Shang Jiuming felt oddly different. Previously, facing such a strike, he would have struggled desperately, forced into a defensive position. Now, however, the strike held no secrets. He could even foresee how Qiu Ye would evolve his attack and how to counter. It was as though he had mastered every variation of the Jingshen Sword Technique, touching the essence of the sword art itself.
Unconsciously, have I become so proficient in the Jingshen Sword Technique? As the thought crossed his mind, his sword suddenly thrust forward, deceptively simple, aiming at empty space to the left. Simultaneously, his body shifted with the blade, slightly curled.
Puchi!
Two swords halted. One blade’s tip hovered just above his shoulder, missing by a hair. The other pierced through Qiu Ye’s throat, blood gushing forth.
Qiu Ye’s eyes were wide with shock and terror. He let out a dying gurgle, as if asking Shang Jiuming, “How did you do it? How could you?”
Did you gather the other fragments?
“This is the true Jingshen Sword Technique.” Shang Jiuming first felt disbelief, then overwhelming joy. This was the true face of an ultimate sword art!
If he could fully master it, he would surely become one of the greatest figures in the martial world!
The white figure he had seen in his dream was no illusion. It must have been the lingering will of the ancient Jingshen Sword master.
He had once fought alongside a living Buddha through countless lifetimes, defeating him. Clearly, he excelled in this aspect. A residual will was not impossible!
Qiu Ye collapsed, his eyes frozen in confusion. Shang Jiuming retrieved the fragment and tossed the corpse into the river.
…
That night, Shang Jiuming took out the “Wooden Puppet of Divine Sword” and placed it on the table, bowing deeply once more.
But this time, it was the full nine prostrations, as if before the ancestral masters!
“Venerable Jingshen Sword, disciple Shang Jiuming shall carry forth your legacy.”
At that moment, Meng Qi’s spiritual awareness trembled, sensing a subtle shift in the world around him.
Just like cultivating a “manifestation body,” whatever he did in this world and the impact he made would generate a corresponding “response.” Cultivating a manifestation body meant leveraging this feedback to grasp reality, aligning one’s actions more closely with certain laws, thereby enhancing one’s supernatural abilities. Meng Qi could now perceive these subtle changes, using them to understand how his master’s projection would manifest in this world, gradually adjusting and refining it until it became truly real.
Projection varied across universes, much like reflections in mirrors. The same person viewed from different angles would yield completely different images. Thus, finding the correct projection characteristics was a crucial step toward leaving a lasting imprint.
Meng Qi transformed his spiritual awareness into a single crystal lamp, illuminating the threads of cause and effect. One end connected to his original self, the other to the feedback from this world. Comparing the two, he made slight adjustments.
After an unknown duration, he concluded this transformation, withdrawing his focus. He now had a preliminary idea of how to leave an imprint:
“This world holds legends of me, so many people carry an image of the Jingshen Sword in their minds—a virtual “other me” unique to this world. Now, I must adjust this perception to match the projection characteristics. When resonance occurs, perhaps I can leave a true imprint!”
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