Chapter 1: Snowfall Over the Twelve Peaks
It was the Reed Moon in the Xuán Xū Continent.
Cold winds howled, sweeping down from distant mountain valleys, cutting into the skin like blades.
At the very heart of the continent, the Tàixū Sect had just endured a heavy snowfall.
All twelve peaks were blanketed in white, with snow deep enough to reach the waist of a grown man.
It was as if spring had arrived overnight, but what followed was nothing but flying ice and hail.
Everything was covered in silver.
Only the crimson plum blossoms on the branches bloomed passionately against the biting wind, as though the world had been drained of every other color.
Normally bustling with people, the Tàixū Sect was unusually quiet today.
Much to the satisfaction of a certain group of special individuals within the sect.
A sword cultivator among them commented,
“Ah, what a rare moment of peace.”
Indeed, nearly half of the so-called “Number One Sect Under Heaven” was made up of sword cultivators.
Everyone knew the type—those cultivators who could “cut through ten thousand techniques with a single blade.”
Sure, it sounded cool.
But truthfully, sword cultivators were the kind who talked about wandering the world with a sword, freeing their parents from worrying about their future.
In reality, they were broke.
They had to maintain a cold and aloof image just to preserve a shred of dignity.
Still, the Tàixū Sect had high standards for talent.
Every four years, during recruitment, they would crush the hopes of countless young boys and girls.
All roads led to the Central State.
With the right bribe, one could even donate to a mountain peak and earn a spot as an outer disciple in name.
Wander the jianghu claiming Tàixū Sect as your background, and you’d have backing in case of trouble.
Sorry, but money could do whatever it pleased.
Though it was noon, thick clouds painted the sky a lifeless gray.
Snowflakes began to fall again.
They melted quickly upon contact with robes, seeping through the body with a bone-chilling cold.
Despite the weather, the disciples guarding the sect gate remained steadfast at their posts.
Thankfully, due to the worsening conditions, the spirit stone reward for gatekeeping had doubled.
Even though it was tough work, the position remained highly sought after.
Everyone fought tooth and nail to contribute to the development of a harmonious, beautiful, and serene Tàixū Sect.
Ordinarily, the sect’s name alone was enough to send enemies running.
But today, something was about to change.
A flash of blade light split the horizon.
It was cold and dazzling, appearing suddenly where the snow met the sky.
It shone like moonlight, yet carried an icy killing intent, silently slicing through a layer of snow.
“Five-year promise—I’ve come as agreed.”
Before the person arrived, the voice reached them first.
A figure cloaked in a gray robe and wide-brimmed bamboo hat approached from afar.
Though his steps were slow, each stride covered a tremendous distance.
Within mere seconds, he stood at the gate.
The blade remained sheathed.
The snow beneath left no trace.
Only the horizontal beam at the entrance snapped in response, scattering into a cloud of woodchips that mingled with the wind and snow under the stunned gazes of the gate disciples.
“Mu Ye has arrived. May I ask—where is Zong Ji?”
The brim of the hat lifted slightly, revealing a sharp, cold face.
He stood with his hands behind his back, exuding a suffocating pressure just by standing there.
His voice was powerful and unwavering.
Mu Ye!
That name was renowned throughout the Xuán Xū Continent.
Ten years ago, when the Xuanji Rankings were updated, his name had shot from beyond the thousandth place to the top five hundred in record time.
Such a rise was nearly unheard of.
Mu Ye was barely over fifty.
Yet his mastery of the blade was unparalleled.
He became the center of attention overnight, gaining the title of genius blade master, known across the land.
It had been ages since the continent had seen a genius of this caliber.
Any sect would have treasured him like a precious jewel, offering every resource they had.
If not for the existence of another genius, Mu Ye would have soared freely under the heavens.
But fate was cruel.
Another genius of the same era, born just a few years later than Mu Ye, stole away all his glory.
Zong Ji.
Mu Ye had ground his teeth over that name countless times, filled with endless resentment and unwillingness.
If Mu Ye was a once-in-a-millennium genius, then Zong Ji surpassed him in every way—not just in talent, but also in luck and temperament.
In the end, how far one could go didn’t just depend on talent.
Luck mattered just as much.
And Zong Ji’s luck?
Unreasonably good.
“The Honored One… is still in seclusion.”
One of the disciples bravely stepped forward to answer, with the others quickly chiming in support.
Though clearly intimidated by Mu Ye’s overwhelming presence, their eyes remained firm as they trembled through their words.
Among the younger generation of the Tàixū Sect, nearly seventy percent had joined because of Zong Ji.
Of those, ninety-nine percent were his die-hard fans.
Pull aside any one of them and they could recite Zong Ji’s achievements fluently without taking a breath.
For instance, how the Honored One had defeated the genius blade master Mu Ye during the sect tournament, marking his first rise to fame.
Or how he emerged victorious in the Illusory Sea Desolation, surpassing the Wuji Sect.
Or how he captured Mu Ye seven times, turning the tide of a beast tide disaster…
Mu Ye: …
No, I don’t want to be mentioned again.
But in truth, their rivalry only began during that first sect tournament.
After that, whatever Zong Ji did, Mu Ye would show up just to oppose him.
He would throw himself forward to get slapped in the face, again and again, with great enthusiasm.
It ended up giving Zong Ji, who was not yet famous at the time, an unexpected surge in popularity.
But Mu Ye never gave up.
He was remarkably persistent.
“Hmph. Just a coward hiding in his shell.”
Mu Ye sneered coldly and made a move, stepping into the air as if there were solid ground beneath his feet.
He was walking on air!
The gatekeeping disciples couldn’t hold back any longer.
Channeling spiritual energy, they hurled a talisman drawn in cinnabar ink into the sky.
A moment later, a fierce azure dragon roared into view, its cry ringing through the air.
The Azure Dragon Seal!
It was the Tàixū Sect’s emergency alert system, used to summon disciples in times of attack.
It also doubled as a territorial marker, proclaiming ownership of land.
Facing Mu Ye, who had demonstrated the ability to walk on air, the disciples dared not relax.
Only Saints could achieve aerial movement unaided.
And across the Xuán Xū Continent, the number of Saints could be counted on one hand.
Even if half-Saints were included, there were barely twenty or so.
Within the Tàixū Sect, only Sect Master Ming Xuzi had reached the Saint level.
Among the seven peak masters, five were half-Saints and two were at peak Ninth Level.
This was the legendary configuration of the Number One Sect Under Heaven.
It was the source of their arrogance and dominance across the land.
During recruitment season, the Tàixū Sect would launch luxury Central State travel packages.
Each tourism season brought in a hefty profit.
“What? Is this how the Number One Sect treats its guests?”
Mu Ye let out a cold laugh.
The blade in his hand, wrapped tightly in thick gray cloth, suddenly unsheathed.
A crescent-shaped longsaber roared into view, coiling like a dragon within the blade master’s grasp.
“Back then, you agreed to the five-year promise so readily.
And now you don’t even dare step out from your mountain?”
In the blink of an eye, beams of light rained down before the gate.
The Tàixū Sect hadn’t triggered the Azure Dragon Seal in nearly twenty years.
Its activation meant every elder and disciple who saw it was required to arrive immediately.
In an instant, the previously empty sect gate was packed with a crowd.
They wore matching blue-and-white sect robes, stomping the deep snow into hard ice with their boots.
Mu Ye’s voice echoed at the gate.
Infused with precise spiritual force, it sent snow cascading down the mountaintop and triggered a distant avalanche.
Originally, the disciples had rushed over eager to put Mu Ye in his place.
But upon hearing his words, they silently sheathed their oversized swords.
Technically speaking, Mu Ye wasn’t the one picking a fight.
Five years ago, the two most renowned geniuses in the world both stood at the peak of the Ninth Level.
Atop the Star-Reaching Pavilion of the First Tower Under Heaven, they made a pact.
Five years later, they would duel once more for the title of the number one genius.
The moment the news broke, it dominated the jade slip headlines for a week, sparking widespread attention.
Bookmakers everywhere launched betting markets, each one eager to profit from the outcome.
Zong Ji had never lost to Mu Ye before.
So most favored him to win again.
From birth, Zong Ji had been a mystery.
His origin star was hidden, only appearing during major breakthroughs, causing heavenly phenomena each time.
People initially thought he might be a cultivation cripple.
But once he started cultivating, they quickly realized—
He wasn’t trash.
He was heaven’s favorite child. sniffle
“Sect Uncle is not the kind to break promises.
He is simply in seclusion and unable to come out.
Please, Fellow Daoist Mu, show some understanding.”
Sword Storage Peak Master Yan Si’s eyelid twitched.
He subtly gave a glance to Medicine Refining Peak Master Yang Qian.
The latter immediately caught on and spoke loudly.
“Hmph. Show understanding?”
As a blunt blade cultivator, Mu Ye hated roundabout nonsense the most.
He saw through the Tàixū Sect’s veiled attempt to suppress him and slammed his blade into the snow with a thud.
Pulling down his hat slightly, his stance screamed defiance.
“Today is the final deadline.
Mu Ye will wait here for half a day.
I won’t take a single step into your sect.
Surely your esteemed sect won’t make things difficult for a guest?”
Clearly, he came prepared.
Though the challenge was legitimate, his arrogant attitude riled up the disciples.
No, they had to find an excuse to teach this brat a lesson!
He’d only just entered the Saint threshold and already didn’t know his place.
Letting him wreak havoc at their gate would disgrace the Tàixū Sect.
Yan Si’s eyes scanned the scattered woodchips on the ground.
A glint flashed in his dark gaze.
That wooden plaque engraved with “Tàixū Sect” wasn’t worth much.
Living deep in the snowy mountains, the sign had to be replaced every few months due to the harsh weather.
Still, Mu Ye was an outsider.
That alone gave them enough reason to make a fuss.
Combined with the silver tongue of the Medicine Peak Master?
Mu Ye wouldn’t know what hit him.
But first, they had to teach him a lesson.
Daring to come challenge and insult their Senior Brother?
He was asking for it.
Yan Si had just made up his mind and was about to start spinning lies when a thunderous laugh boomed from behind.
“Fellow Daoist Mu need not wait longer.
Since a guest has arrived, naturally Zong Ji is here to greet you.”
The voice rang clear, tinged with lazy amusement and playful indifference.
Though equally charged with spiritual force, it calmed the turbulent blood stirred by Mu Ye’s earlier shout.
“Zong Ji!!!”
Mu Ye couldn’t hold back.
Fire lit in his eyes.
Strangely enough, the usually silent and composed blade master turned into a firecracker the moment he heard Zong Ji’s voice.
“I’m here, I’m here. Keep it down.”
A slim figure cloaked in black appeared in the distance.
The black robe stood out starkly against the snowy backdrop, adorned with brilliant golden embroidery that fluttered like a phoenix.
His footsteps were silent.
He walked on wind and moonlight.
He left no trace in the snow.
In the blink of an eye, he crossed the distance and stood before the gate.
The crowd immediately let out a collective sigh of relief.
Their confidence returned.
“What’s this?
After five years, Mu-gongzi still remembers me so fondly?”
The man had loose black hair draped casually over his shoulders.
His brows were like swords.
His golden eyes were as deep as a frozen lake.
His nose was straight.
His features elegant.
He exuded grace and nobility in every movement, calm and unrestrained.
Though his expression was cold, when he looked up slightly and spoke with lazy exasperation, it came off as arrogance.
“You—!!!”
Mu Ye nearly charged forward.
But this time, the blade master held himself back.
He gritted his teeth, removed his bamboo hat, and deliberately revealed the source star on his forehead with a mocking grin.
A silver-purple pentagram rose from his brow.
It expanded, spinning above his head, gleaming brightly.
Silver-purple!
Only half-Saints possessed source stars of that color!
“Hmph.”
Mu Ye clearly wanted to show off.
He channeled spiritual energy, making the star glow even more, practically pushing it into Zong Ji’s face.
Everyone knew Zong Ji was born without a visible source star.
Mu Ye was baiting him.
Trying to gauge Zong Ji’s level.
After all, he’d been humiliated so many times, he had zero confidence left.
On the Xuán Xū Continent, Saints were few.
Breaking through meant instant recognition and a spot in the top twenty of the Xuanji Rankings.
Most bigshots floated a few inches off the ground when walking—to appear powerful but still modest.
Since Zong Ji hadn’t walked on air, he probably hadn’t reached the Saint stage.
Then again, recently, talisman artisans invented a new sticker for the soles of shoes that mimicked aerial walking.
It sold out instantly as the ultimate flex tool.
“Oh?”
Zong Ji raised an eyebrow.
“Mu-gongzi only has one star?
And such a patchy color too?”
The sarcasm was max level.
The more indifferent Zong Ji acted, the more unsure Mu Ye became.
The blade master tried to read the young man’s expression, but Zong Ji’s face was calm and composed.
Not a crack to be seen.
Mu Ye couldn’t help recalling all the times he’d been utterly defeated by Zong Ji.
Every time he thought he had the upper hand, he’d provoke him—and promptly get slapped down.
He had developed a sixth sense for danger because of it.
Dead accurate.
But as a blade cultivator, Mu Ye could not retreat.
He must not retreat.
He could not betray his blade.
This was his only chance to defeat Zong Ji.
If he won, he would overcome the mountain before him.
If he lost, this defeat would haunt him forever.
“Enough talk.
Draw your sword.”
The blade master steadied his breath and raised his blade slightly, eyes filled with unshakable determination and arrogance.
But Zong Ji made no move.
Instead, his expression turned a little strange.
“What’s wrong?
Even in this final duel, Zong-gongzi still refuses to spar?”
Zong Ji: …
How should I tell this dumb*ss that I only ever carried a sword for show?
I actually don’t know how to use one 🙂
Meanwhile, unnoticed by all—
On the jade slip, a name suddenly flickered, then soared like a shooting star straight to the top of the Xuanji Rankings, which hadn’t changed in a century.
Number One in the World:
Zong Ji.