Chapter 32

It was only after this cry of alarm that Yun Shen took a step forward. Taller than Chen Shu, his long stride brought him closer to the tassel than she was.

The glow of sunset didn’t mask the evening breeze—whether it was the particularly fierce river wind of late autumn and winter, or stirred up by Yun Shen’s movement as his robe fluttered, a faint gust seemed to ruffle the tassel lying quietly on the ground. It trembled slightly, shimmering as if imbued with spirit, and for an indistinct moment, it seemed to blaze forth with a brilliant aura.

This sword tassel had been hand-woven by Chen Shu.

So perhaps calling it ‘imbued with spirit’ wasn’t wrong after all. She had gathered each Soul-Settling Herb herself, interlacing them thread by thread into the fine silk strands, gently nurturing them all the while with her spiritual power. When tying the tassel onto her sword, she had been intensely nervous, carefully using her fingertips to seal the end, melting each knot into crystalline, translucent beads.

While doing these things, she was unusually still.

The path of cultivation was inherently about defying fate. Some sought immortality, others wealth, while some pursued status, prestige, or mastery over heaven and earth. Most of these cultivators looked down on Sword Cultivators, for cultivators had concepts of good and evil, black and white, and the full spectrum of emotions and desires—things Sword Cultivators often seemed to lack, being famously single-minded.

Her master had told her many tales of Sword Cultivators; the mountain library also housed ancient texts like storybooks, filled with Sword Cultivators of all kinds, most proving similarly obstinate and pure.

Ultimately, the practice of wielding the sword, or honing one’s swordsmanship, was profoundly tedious.

So, when those cultivators cursed that the Sword Cultivators of Tianyu Mountain were all fools, they were entirely right.

When Chen Shu was still young, her world was small. She knew only sword practice, meditation when idle, the rising and setting sun, and three meals a day, each exactly the same. Back then, she hadn’t yet found it arduous. Standing upon a mountain cliff, gazing into the distance, the whole world felt minuscule—a single grain of rice, a single flower or tree, veiled in the sharp morning mist. Vivid, yet infinitely remote. Reaching out a hand or not made little difference; stretching her fingers to their limits, the distant lights of the mortal world remained forever beyond her grasp.

It was only after she understood the playful calls of woodland creatures and step by step left the boundaries of Tianyu Mountain, eagerly exploring each inch of rain-dampened soil along grassy paths after the spring rains, that the fabled Sword Cultivators in those ancient stories came truly alive in her mind.

It felt like a scorching fire that could burn her to ashes.

Through all her years of sword practice, Chen Shu had used her master’s Ganjun—heavy enough to stir the wind with a single sweep. She had used fragile twigs from mountain streams that broke with a snap. She had even wielded an old wooden stick rescued from a junk pile, matted with dark patches of lichen much like tree bark and awkward to wield, yet carrying a comforting, earthy scent.

Much like those Sword Cultivators reduced to ashes, her heart wasn’t entirely unyielding, large enough to hold the whole world. It was simply a matter of choosing one thing to devote herself to, unwaveringly pressing forward.

It held true for the sword tassel and even more so for the sword itself—whether the name she had pondered so meticulously for the blade or the tassel she so painstakingly crafted—it was all because she had decided upon this sword.

As times changed and the immortal sects declined, few in the world could ever comprehend what extraordinary resolve drove her impulse to descend the mountain overnight.

But Yun Shen, who had been gazing at the tassel, seemed to suddenly freeze for another moment before turning to Chen Shu. After a brief hesitation, he bent down without hesitance, holding the end of the tassel that still retained a soft luster, scooped it up gently, and stood straight again.

His movement wasn’t particularly careful, yet the tassel simply curled into a compliant coil in his grasp. He turned it over, clasped it securely in his palm, then stretched out his hand, dangling it toward Chen Shu’s waiting palm.

“Thanks!” Chen Shu said happily.

She left her hand open carefreely, completely unguarded, waiting for Yun Shen to drop the tassel back into it. But time passed—a blink, then another—and the tassel still dangled in Yun Shen’s hand, held firmly so that it stubbornly refused to fall.

Perhaps due to the proximity between them, the wind had weakened. The unmoving tassel hung like a knot binding them, unmoving for so long that even Chen Shu, habitually restless, felt confused. An indistinct emotion, having taken root long ago and silently grown, suddenly seemed to surge within her, filling her very chest. Illuminated by the sunlight, the strands of red silk gleamed like the streamers of vermilion cloth adorning the ancient trees of Crimson Cliff Temple, fluttering wildly in the wind.

Something had long flowed within their veins.

And this sword tassel seemed nothing more than a fuse, a spark—kindled yet unignited, flickering uncertainly—yet potent enough to ignite a blaze sweeping across the mountains.

Yun Shen’s expression became inscrutable. His chest rose and fell; his fingers gripping the tassel strained so hard they turned white. Had he not been shielded by the light on his profile, the rapid rhythm of his breath upon his face would surely have been visible. Yet Chen Shu, oblivious, merely rubbed her eyes with her free hand and effortlessly shrugged off that vague, enveloping sentiment. Tossing Yun Shen a bright, questioning grin, she said,

“I’ve thanked you! Why won’t you return it? What are you thinking of now? Aren’t you getting angry again, are you?”

“…No,” Yun Shen denied immediately, lowering his eyelids. “It’s just… this tassel seems off. One of the knots at the end seems to be broken short. Did you notice?”

Chen Shu, upon hearing this, lifted the bundles of tassels with her fingers to examine them closely. Sure enough, one corner revealed a tassel that had been cleanly sliced in half, the break smooth and even—a clear mark left by Zou Dai’s treacherous attack during the match earlier.

“Oh, now that you mention it, it really is broken!” Chen Shu widened her eyes, pinching the tassel meticulously between her fingertips, her expression tinged with regret. “How could this happen? I spent a whole two months weaving these tassels, and that’s not even counting the time gathering the thread… That Zou Dai—I shouldn’t have spared him. I should have lopped off his entire hand!”

The tassels were tangled. Chen Shu flipped through them with two fingers, still inspecting the others. Occasionally, her hand brushed against Yun Shen’s fingers—one pair warm with subtle calluses, the other cool and smooth. Both fell silent at the touch, their eyes meeting. Neither spoke as they simultaneously straightened up and took half a step back.

“Well, weapons truly have no care for life; no one could have guessed he’d resort to such a sinister weapon,” Yun Shen said, lifting his hand and extending it toward Chen Shu, this time seeming intent on dropping the tassels into her palm. “Don’t be too upset, Miss. It’s just a tassel. You can mend it with some thread later.”

Chen Shu laughed lightly and withdrew her hand, declining. “You scholars… You mortals don’t understand. For Sword Cultivators, these tassels are not mere frilly decorations like in the mundane world. They are precious—they balance the sword in combat, steady the mind, and ward off evil. So, if—”

“—if one corner breaks, you discard it?” Yun Shen asked, gazing fixedly at her.

“It’d be useless if broken!” Chen Shu sighed, shaking her head as she babbled a string of reasoning. “Even if kept, it would just languish at the bottom of a chest or get stuffed into some pouch, never seeing the light of day. Better to toss it into the woods! Those cats or dogs could snatch it away—wouldn’t that make it a fine toy? Isn’t that better?”

She spoke airily, but Yun Shen’s expression remained unchanged. It was as if the surging emotion that flickered on his face moments ago had resurfaced. He pursed his lips, stared at the cleanly severed tassel, then raised his head with restraint. Smiling lightly, he continued, “Even though only moments ago you told me it took ‘a whole two months to weave,’ one broken tassel and you toss it all away?”

“Oh my, you seem so mature and steady—how do you not know this?” Chen Shu laughed, stepping back into the glow of the sunset. Only half of Yun Shen was now shadowed by the fading light, so to his eye, her radiant smile seemed even brighter, almost dazzling. “The reason a precious object is precious is because it remains untouched. If broken, it must be discarded. Lingering attachment invites the trap of desire. To quote my master, one who clings too tightly will stumble—not just on the path of cultivation, but in life!”

After speaking, she tapped her own head playfully, as if worried the metaphor of “stumble” wasn’t vivid enough, and tilted it toward Yun Shen. But he looked away, pulling his hand back without meeting her gaze, his voice steady as if he remained the very picture of unshaken calm.

“Then I’ll help you discard this trifle, Miss.”

“Deal!” Chen Shu answered brightly, then teased, “Want me to thank you again for it?”

——

The final two matches that night turned out far less harrowing than those of the day, unfolding predictably: those expected to win did so with ease; those expected to lose conceded neatly. At the Southern Platform, the challenger held their ground; at the Northern Platform, the defenders secured three quick and decisive victories.

The moon was already glinting above the treetops when He Yu returned to the courtyard, yawning and complaining that the watching had tired him out. Perhaps that was why he still didn’t notice the unusual tension settling between Chen Shu and Yun Shen, simply washing up and collapsing onto his bed as soon as he returned.

But, if truth be told, even Chen Shu herself didn’t perceive any strangeness. She believed she had handled the day with decisive, pragmatic confidence and kept her words guarded by night, dutifully heeding Shen Jie’s warning. Twice encountering He Yu, she thought she hadn’t once revealed a crack in her silence.

Regardless of how Yun Shen tossed and turned through his sleepless night, both Chen Shu and He Yu were soundly asleep. Chen Shu even found the time to rise and meditate for a while before setting off, vibrant and refreshed alongside He Yu for the next day’s gathering at the Sword Discussion Platform.

Today, the third round, promised a spectacle more immense and prestigious than the already grand second round. Having witnessed so much the day prior, Chen Shu initially dismissed the expectations with skepticism. But once she stepped beneath the colossal structures of the Sword Discussion Platform, she couldn’t help but gasp.

These twelve vast platforms, soaring into the clouds like towers, truly served as platforms and more. Overnight, a network of iron bridges had miraculously been built between them, layered over with newly planed wooden flooring, transforming the previously empty air surrounding the central Sword Debate Arena into tiered seating filled to the brim. Dominating the very heart of this newly constructed spectacle were two solitary platforms.

“Which Sword Discussion Platform will we fight on today?” Chen Shu tilted her head, surveying the densely packed stands above, instinctively lowering her voice to a whisper.

“Both Platforms are used today.”

“I know they both serve a purpose, but didn’t they always function as the Southern and Northern Platforms?” Chen Shu pressed. “Like yesterday.”

“Not today.” He Yu paused, seeming to carefully form his thoughts.

“Both Platforms will be used simultaneously.

“—Meaning opponents will stand on separate platforms: one on the Southern Platform, the other on the Northern.”