Chapter 267: A Dreamlike Sword, Sword Intent of Four Realms

After autumn arrived, it grew colder.

The mountains and forests seemed less vibrant.

Chen Changsheng walked out of the valley. With one step, he leapt to the mountain peak.

The autumn wind brushed past, biting cold, yet unmistakably real.

“Autumn…”

An involuntary smile touched Chen Changsheng’s lips.

Looking back over the past eighty-plus years, this was the first time he truly felt the shiver of the autumn wind.

This sensation of something lost and regained was precious to him. He also began to look forward to the time between late autumn and early winter.

Bai Ziqiu wore an extra layer of clothes. Each day, he spent a little longer boiling tea.

Chen Changsheng asked him, “After winter comes, will it snow in the Demon Realm?”

Bai Ziqiu thought for a moment. “The seasons are distinct here. It snows every year.”

Hearing this, Chen Changsheng was deeply pleased, eagerly anticipating the winter snow.

Bai Ziqiu paused. “You’re not planning to stick around here until spring, are you?”

Chen Changsheng chuckled. “How about I, Chen, owe you a favor then?”

Bai Ziqiu was momentarily stunned. “Just what is so important that you’d promise a favor just to stay here?”

“A thing so small it couldn’t be smaller.”

For many people, watching a snowfall was indeed a very small thing.

But for Chen Changsheng, it was the biggest thing imaginable.

The word ‘obsession’ holds different weight for different people.

Bai Ziqiu stopped urging Chen Changsheng to leave. He simply waved off the matter of the favor. He understood the promise was unimportant; he knew Chen Changsheng would help if ever asked.

That was the Chen Changsheng he knew.

Chen Changsheng stayed quietly in the valley. Most of the time, he sat in stillness. Otherwise, he would go to the mountain peak to practice his sword strokes.

Though the autumn wind was chilly, the Sword Intent emanating from his blade seemed lonely, yet paradoxically vibrant against autumn’s usual melancholy, creating a unique feeling.

“Since ancient times, autumn stirs grief and woe, But I say autumn rivals spring in glow…”

Chen Changsheng murmured the verse and smiled. “Master Mengde was truly brilliant.”

The Taiqing Sword stood upright on the mountain peak.

Chen Changsheng sat cross-legged beside it, his figure silhouetted against the setting autumn sun. A sip of harsh wine felt endlessly sweet.

Time is ruthless. In the blink of an eye, frost painted the forest white, transforming it into a sea of scattered crystal points, while streams flowed onward like rivers towards the vast waters.

Bai Ziqiu stood at the valley’s edge, hands tucked into his sleeves for warmth. He exhaled a puff of white vapor, watching intently as the Green-Robed Gentleman wielded his sword.

He often watched Chen Changsheng’s swordplay with rapt attention. Sometimes, he even offered a comment or two.

“It’s a shame,” Bai Ziqiu sighed. “If only you were a dedicated Sword Cultivator…”

Chen Changsheng lowered his sword. “Why do you say that?”

Bai Ziqiu replied, “Your cultivation isn’t ideal. Your sword technique is… surprisingly weak. Yet, despite this, you’ve still grasped Sword Intent of the Third Realm. Throughout history, those like you could be counted on one hand.”

Chen Changsheng said, “The Great Dao has ten thousand paths. Most in this world pursue the Dao through cultivation methods. I walk the paths of the Mortal World. While I yearn for the Great Dao, I mostly follow what brings me joy.”

Bai Ziqiu nodded and smiled. “Exactly. You are unlike me. I care only for the sword.”

Chen Changsheng said, “And that is why you achieve the ‘Utmost,’ while an old-timer like me, even with great power, can only achieve ‘Proficiency.'”

This was not modesty from Chen Changsheng.

Though he wielded a sword, his true skill on that path was modest. Its effectiveness relied heavily on the nature of his Immortal Sword and the Magical Power he channeled through it.

Bai Ziqiu paused. “I possess a few swordsmanship techniques gained over a lifetime. They cannot be taken with me after death. I shall help you enter the Fourth Realm of Sword Intent. Consider it you honoring the three thousand years of torment I endured. Agreeable?”

Chen Changsheng was startled, then he cupped his hands and grinned. “I couldn’t wish for more.”

Sword Qi erupted between the mountains that day.

A mountain peak split cleanly in two under a slash. Frost upon the trees vanished instantly under the sword’s pressure.

In a few strokes, it felt as though the very Heaven and Earth had shifted.

Bai Ziqiu taught Chen Changsheng three sword techniques.

The first was named Bodhisattva’s Sigh. Its Sword Intent was complex, designed to sever an opponent’s Divine Sense. It was the sword he took most pride in during his youth.

The second was named Joy Amid Freedom. He conceived it during his youthful travels across the world. This sword had once crowned him atop the Sword Cultivators of his generation.

The last sword had no name. Painful isolation over three thousand years, witnessing countless ebbs and flows of fortune and disaster, shaped its Sword Intent. It flickered like a dream, dissolved like smoke, yet cut as relentlessly as time itself.

After demonstrating all three swords, Bai Ziqiu sheathed his blade. He let out a sigh that seemed to deepen the lines etched on his face.

“The Sword that Time Wields. Dreamlike… ephemeral.”

Chen Changsheng watched him. “What is the third sword called?”

“It has no name,” Bai Ziqiu said. “Bestow one yourself.”

Born from three millennia of suffering and hardship, he had never managed to give the final sword a worthy name.

Chen Changsheng pondered for a moment. “Time makes us old, yet in an instant, it feels like a fleeting dream.”

He gripped his sword and stepped forward.

After long contemplation, he lifted his blade, tracing an intricate pattern in the air.

Sword Intent rippled outwards. The remnants of frost melted into dew.

He thrust forward. The movement was as soft as the passage of time, as gentle as a breeze. Yet, beneath its quiet power, the last traces of vivid green on the withered trees in its path yellowed and withered in the blink of an eye.

Instantly, his Sword Intent ascended to the Fourth Realm.

Dead leaves swirled in the sharp winds. The sword controlled the flow of ages.

Dreamlike! Ethereal!

Bai Ziqiu stared, dumbfounded.

He had shown it only once. Yet Chen Changsheng, merely from a few words of explanation, had perfectly embodied every ounce of the sword technique forged over three thousand lifetimes. More than that, he had perfected it!

Gazing at the desolate scene before him, Chen Changsheng spoke softly. “Autumn longs for the gold, winter for the snow, but all, in the end, is just an empty dream… Huang Liang’s dream.”

“This sword shall be called Order of the Dream.”

Bai Ziqiu exhaled deeply. “Such natural talent… wasted by not dedicating yourself to the sword. What a pity.”

A gentle smile touched Chen Changsheng’s lips. “Remember what I told you? To each his own appreciation.”

Bai Ziqiu froze for a second. He shook his head with a rueful laugh and said nothing more.

Each man walks his own path. Yet in that moment, he felt a swell of admiration for Chen Changsheng. If a person could truly live only for what they loved… that was truly a formidable thing.

Bai Ziqiu taught three swords.

But that very day, Chen Changsheng mastered only the final one. He took several more days just to grasp the basics of the others.

Bai Ziqiu found it baffling. Why did Chen Changsheng instantly understand the most difficult sword, yet struggle with the simpler ones?

He truly couldn’t fathom the nature of Chen Changsheng’s talent.

He eventually asked him about it.

Chen Changsheng’s answer was: “Unseeing blue skies high or yellow earth deep, I only felt the cold moon and warm sun cutting short this human age. Time and hardships encompass us both.”

For a fleeting moment, Bai Ziqiu felt lost. Then a bitter smile revealed itself.

He sighed and shook his head, murmuring a single phrase.

“Who would have thought… that someone else shares such profound suffering…”