Chapter 32: Sword Technique

In the Taihang Hall of the Ask Immortal Sect in the Xuantian Realm.

On a clear jade platform sat a solemn daoist in green robes and tall crown, in meditative posture.

Above his head unfolded a boundless primal chaos vision—myriad things born and destroyed within, mysteries profound, stirring endless longing in onlookers.

This feeling was no illusion—that was truly a reachable land of fortune.

Named Qingming Primal Heaven.

In the Xuantian Realm, beyond Nascent Soul, great immortals who refined their cultivation to the utmost, polished to primal unity, would attempt to evolve their personal cave-heaven, reopen wind-water-earth-fire, recreate the world, open a primal heaven—to glimpse a thread of creation’s principle.

If they grasped the chance and gained insight, they could break their shackles and attest to immortal karma.

Once immortal karma was achieved, they stood at the sect’s pinnacle—even the sect master supreme would treat them with courtesy. They could go to that nameless place, face the Grand Supremes in person, and hear the teachings of the great dao.

At that step, in any heavenly realm, they were worthy of the title of ruler.

Within the hall, the daoist had clearly refined his cultivation to the extreme—it seemed he could unravel creation’s principle at any moment, enter that realm, and pluck immortal karma.

Yet at this time, a handsome daoist in black-white robes and yin-yang crown entered the hall.

Though shaken by the Qingming dao qi from the jade platform, he soon steadied his mind, calmed, and prostrated in grand salute:

“Disciple Zhang Wudao kowtows to Hall Master Qingming.”

The green-robed daoist on the platform opened his eyes—surroundings flickered uncertainly, myriad scenes of destruction flashed in his gaze, finally all color faded, leaving only complexity as he fixed on the youth below and spoke slowly:

“You and I are father and son—no need for such formality.”

“I dare not.” Zhang Wudao did not rise.

“Very well. Then why do you come to see me today?” Zhang Qizheng did not insist, though his voice grew flatter.

Zhang Wudao rose slowly, stood straight, and gazed directly:

“The Tianxing Convention.”

The Tianxing Convention was routinely held every thirty years.

This grand event was jointly evolved by Xuantian Realm giants—including Ask Immortal Sect, Tai Ming Sect, Void Spirit Palace, and others—to select the realm’s outstanding youths, stir the fortune flow, and keep the various sect lineages from falling.

Across countless cycles of birth and death, few ancient lineages of Xuantian had completely perished—this convention’s merit.

Thus, every great immortal sect viewed it with utmost importance—no one tolerated trouble within.

Zhang Wudao spoke these words, then fell silent.

The figure on the platform was voiceless for long—seeming lost in thought.

Zhang Qizheng watched him a moment, then spoke slowly:

“It seems your Taiji Formless Myriad Spirits True Scripture has progressed. It is time to retrieve that thing at the Tianxing Convention.”

Zhang Wudao’s handsome face showed faint surprise:

“You are willing to support me?”

“If I do not, you would find ways regardless. The hall’s saint son entangled with outer left paths—if the hall truths knew, do you think you could remain safe in the sect?” Zhang Qizheng’s gaze lowered, voice clear and distant.

Zhang Wudao fell silent, then gave a bright laugh:

“As expected, nothing hides from Hall Master.”

“What you plan will offend all Xuantian sects. I will block the one from Void Spirit Palace. The rest—with your schemes—you can handle easily.” Zhang Qizheng said faintly.

Zhang Wudao’s expression grew solemn; he merely bowed to Zhang Qizheng.

After the courtesy, their gazes met a moment—only silence.

The cause of their strained relation was one person: Zhang Qizheng’s dao companion, mother of Zhang Wudao and Zhang Yujun—Qingmiao Dao Monarch.

After Qingmiao’s fall, Zhang Qizheng slew the foe, but knew it not the true mastermind.

The black hand’s identity—even the sect’s Tongtian ritual failed to calculate, only a clue found.

Zhang Qizheng followed the clue—one realm trace lost, sparking sect truths’ speculation—thought trapped somewhere.

Sect master supreme was about to report to Grand Supremes, seek trace—when he returned, but thence ignored the black hand matter entirely, as if never happened.

This aroused Zhang Wudao’s suspicion.

Just then, he gained an ineffable fortune—used to probe his mother’s death cause.

Truth gained—relation chilled with Zhang Qizheng.

Now, he planned a great act at the Tianxing Convention—shake Xuantian realm fortune, but concerning the black hand—Zhang Wudao knew he could not abandon it, so he came to see his birth father, Qingming Hall Master.

He held no expectation—yet Zhang Qizheng willing to aid, unexpected.

Above Zhang Qizheng stretched a piece of Qingming; his gaze seemed to pierce all, saw some scene, said to Zhang Wudao:

“Only remember—at Tianxing Convention, create no excess killing karma. Otherwise—even the force sheltering you cannot save.”

Zhang Wudao’s eyes sank.

Though he cultivated in Ask Immortal, saint son—not in hall, no dao child position, sect depths incomplete known.

Zhang Qizheng’s reminder—compared Xuantian sects to his future force—heart chilled.

“Disciple remembers.” He bowed again.

Zhang Qizheng no more words, shifted:

“Before, I descended an avatar to meet Yujun—you know. Your act—return to Xuantian in this life unknown. Have you made arrangements with her?”

“Yujun…” Zhang Wudao silent, raised gaze: “Yujun though in Hundred Lands of Heavens, but your wisp divine intent resides in her—should be safe. When she returns to sect, I will meet her one last time.”

Zhang Qizheng’s eyes flashed: “You plan to hide this from her?”

Zhang Wudao’s mouth twitched slightly, helpless: “Yujun has Lunar body, but cultivation years short—knowing only adds worry. When her future cultivation deepens, knowing then is not late.”

Zhang Qizheng’s brows sank—heaven-man resonance instant, void realm like boundless killing calamity fell, yang fire yin water fused, reshaped all world.

All who sensed—heart fear born.

Zhang Wudao though cultivation no full sense—sweat like rain, body trembled, but essence spirit no fall half—Zhang Qizheng’s gaze added a trace of comfort.

“It seems that realm’s true law has some merit.” His face remained calm, faint words.

“But do you know—from now on, you are Ask Immortal traitor. To the child who always revered you—how will it be?”

Zhang Wudao stunned, then silent.

Zhang Qizheng deeply gazed him, sleeve wave—a scene leaped into the hall.

“See for yourself—no regrets left.”

Words done, Zhang Qizheng’s body turned cyan smoke, fell into that Qingming Primal Heaven, vanished.