Chapter 11: A Shocking Revelation
The second day dawned brightly. Before sunrise, as white light gently tapped the curtains, Zong Ji stirred from a rare slumber in Eternal Night.
His feet felt chilly.
Zong Ji: …
He’d slept all night on the jade tiles, half his body stiff, feet dangling over the void.
Fortunately, the seventh-floor guards were discreet, leaving him undisturbed. Removing his mask, he channeled spiritual energy, letting it flow through his limbs, confirming he was fine. With a flick, he shed the heavy crane cloak, stepping back onto the wooden floor outside the top floor.
“Hall Master, this is the sobering soup sent by Young Master Bei Qing.”
A diligent guard approached, presenting a white porcelain bowl with golden patterns, filled with deep brown soup, flecked with tender lingzhi and viscous honey.
“Bei Qing is thoughtful.”
Imagining the zither master’s cooking skills, Zong Ji took the bowl hesitantly, bracing himself for a sip.
…It’s actually decent.
Despite the honey, it wasn’t cloying, balancing the lingzhi’s bitter richness with a refreshing clarity.
Sipping, he gazed at the dawning sky, his thoughts drifting to last night’s vivid dream.
He recalled dreaming of One Sword to Immortality’s protagonist, Jing Zhe, true to his countless written descriptions—aloof, ethereal, untouched by the world’s clamor, a divine being lost among mortals.
“You’re not up to it.”
“Why not?”
Zong Ji’s gaze on Jing Zhe was tender, almost urging him to give a brotherly shoulder pat.
“Because you’re sick, don’t be foolish.”
In the dream, Jing Zhe’s icy facade cracked, showing faint exasperation. As he turned to leave, Zong Ji’s next words froze him mid-step.
“Take care of yourself. Stay away from Baopu Grass.”
The silver ghost mask hid most of Zong Ji’s face, concealing his expression from Jing Zhe.
It was a closely guarded secret, but not impenetrable. If the omniscient Dark Hall knew, Jing Zhe wasn’t surprised. Frowning slightly, he gave Zong Ji a deep look, then stepped into the moonlight and vanished.
Still groggy, Zong Ji thought: Oh, my son left.
The dream felt so real, he was convinced he was still drunk. Tilting the bowl, he drank faster, hoping to quiet his throbbing temples.
“Hall Master, should we reset the Hundred Cranes Chessboard?”
The guard, seeing his mood, cautiously asked, nearly making Zong Ji choke. He quickly used spiritual energy to clear his throat.
“Hundred Cranes Chessboard?”
The guard looked puzzled. “Didn’t you meet the solver last night?”
“Who?”
“The Sword Sovereign of Tai Shu Sect.”
Zong Ji: …
This sobering soup should go to the guard.
“Am I still dreaming?”
Muttering, he pinched himself, feeling pain as his golden eyes contracted sharply.
Wait, something’s wrong.
He recalled the jade slips from last night, mentioning emerging powerful factions.
Tossing the bowl, he warped space, reappearing behind the desk. He grabbed the unread Heaven and Earth-grade slips, unleashing his vast divine sense to imprint their contents instantly.
Ten Thousand Devils Sect, Tai Shu Sect, Mysterious Gate, Pure Moon Cult…
Names, once vague, now stood clear. Yet Zong Ji was certain these weren’t in the slips last night.
The Dark Hall’s slips not only listed them but detailed their recent moves: a new Ten Thousand Devils Sect leader, Tai Shu Sect’s Sword Sovereign emerging, Pure Moon Cult’s grand ritual, major demon race shifts…
All were One Sword to Immortality factions, from Xuanshu’s landscape ten thousand years ago.
“What’s the Sword Sovereign’s name?”
The revelation was staggering. Zong Ji’s usual nonchalance faltered, his hand trembling with the slip.
“Hall Master, his name is Jing Zhe.”
The guard was baffled. When Bei Qing insisted on delivering the soup, he’d scoffed—how could a few jars of Autumn Dew White affect the invincible, sober Hall Master? Now, he wondered if another bowl was needed.
Zong Ji ignored the guard’s thoughts, too preoccupied.
Jing Zhe, Jing Zhe, Jing Zhe!
Could last night have been…
His mind was chaos, but he maintained a calm facade, dismissing the guard. Pacing the study, he forced himself to think clearly.
“How is this possible? Have the worlds fused again?”
The shock was overwhelming; he hadn’t felt so out of control since transmigrating.
In Carefree, despite plot changes, he held the world’s trajectory, predicting outcomes with his vast knowledge. But now—
He pulled a jade slip from his Qiankun bag, imprinting his divine sense to access the Mysterious Rankings.
From the Dark Hall’s slips and Jing Zhe’s hints, he gauged One Sword’s timeline. Jing Zhe was at Saint-tier, Seventh Star, nearing Immortal-tier.
In Carefree’s endgame, ten thousand years later, Zong Ji was only Saint-tier, Second Star.
The slip connected to the world’s spiritual energy, unfolding a transparent ranking.
It was barren. Normally listing a thousand names, it now showed only one in bold, gilded text at the center.
Zong Ji’s heart sank.
Though Carefree and One Sword shared settings, he’d tweaked the Mysterious Rankings. In One Sword, to highlight the protagonist and early villains, it displayed only one name—the ultimate faith of Xuanshu’s cultivators.
Number one.
Zong Ji now confirmed Carefree and One Sword’s worlds had mysteriously merged.
The fusion happened last night.
But why, on the Mysterious Rankings, was the sole name still—
Number One Under Heaven: Zong Ji.