Zhou Fuxue opened his eyes groggily, dazed for a moment before realizing he was suspended in mid-air. Beneath his feet was a pitch-black, bottomless abyss. A hand gripped his wrist with bruising force, as if trying desperately to haul him up.
Looking up, Zhou Fuxue met Ming Zhu’s peerlessly handsome face.
With one hand anchored to a sword hilt embedded in the cliffside and the other clutching Zhou Fuxue, Ming Zhu was straining to pull him upward. Seeing him wake, a faint smile flickered across Ming Zhu’s pale face. He said softly, "It’s alright. Shixiong will have you up in a moment."
The two of them had been falling for an unknown amount of time. A bone-chilling wind rose continuously from the depths of the abyss, making Zhou Fuxue shudder uncontrollably.
Ming Zhu kept trying to pull him up, but perhaps his strength had failed him; after several attempts, he remained unsuccessful. He offered a strained word of comfort: "Don't be afraid, I'm here. Shixiong definitely won't let go."
Strangely, in this perilous situation where death seemed imminent, Zhou Fuxue found himself unexpectedly calm. It was as if no matter the danger, as long as someone reached out a hand to him—as long as he had someone to lean on—he could be fearless.
He nodded obediently. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly noticed that the hand Ming Zhu used to grip the sword hilt was covered in blood. His white sleeve was stained a shocking crimson, and droplets of blood were pitter-pattering down into the void.
Zhou Fuxue gasped, "Shixiong, your hand!"
Ming Zhu looked puzzled. Following Zhou Fuxue’s gaze to his own suspended hand, he seemed momentarily stunned by the sight of the gore. However, he quickly let out an "Ow!" and cried out with a face full of agony, "It hurts so much! My slender jade fingers are going to be ruined. Shixiong has lost yet another advantage for attracting the ladies..."
This instantaneous shift in demeanor was so bizarre that even though Zhou Fuxue was consumed by worry, he still managed to spot something amiss.
An injury that severe should have been felt immediately. Why did it seem as though Ming Zhu only noticed it once Zhou Fuxue pointed it out?
As they hung there, Ming Zhu’s hand soon began to tremble, unable to support them any longer. He furrowed his brows and said with a mournful face, "Shidi, I'm sorry. Shixiong might have to let go."
Zhou Fuxue: "..."
Zhou Fuxue initially thought he was joking, but as soon as the words left his mouth, he felt Ming Zhu’s grip loosen. Then, the man who had just sworn never to let go looked down at him with a bitter smile.
"Shidi, take care of yourself."
With that, his hand released. Zhou Fuxue plummeted straight into the darkness.
A look of utter bewilderment remained on Zhou Fuxue’s face as he fell. He watched in disbelief as Ming Zhu grew further and further away, unable to comprehend how someone could vow protection one moment and discard him so casually the next.
The life-saving straw in his desperate hour had been ruthlessly cut. Zhou Fuxue felt a chill pervade his entire body, as if even his blood had frozen solid. The pain made it impossible to breathe.
Tears seemed to well in his eyes, only to be whipped away by the force of the descent. In the whistling wind, only a faint sob could be heard.
Just as he was filled with despair, he felt a sudden surge of heat erupt from between his brows. Then, a massive red lotus manifested out of thin air, enveloping Zhou Fuxue completely. It cushioned the momentum of his fall, allowing him to drift slowly toward the ground.
In a daze, Zhou Fuxue thought he heard a faint sigh. Then, the red lotus slowly withered and dissolved, scattering into points of red light that bloomed into illusory lotuses upon hitting the ground.
Zhou Fuxue clutched his burning forehead, his expression one of realization. This was the surge of spiritual energy Ming Zhu had tapped into his brow back on Mount Rizhao. At the time, Ming Zhu had casually called it a "meeting gift," and Zhou Fuxue hadn't taken it to heart. He never expected it would save his life at the critical moment.
Could it be that Ming Zhu had dropped him precisely because he remembered this protective charm?
At this thought, Zhou Fuxue’s previously withered heart suddenly felt like a parched tree meeting spring, surging back to life.
He sat up from the ground. The red lotuses beneath his feet had all vanished, leaving the surroundings dim and hazy. Even though there was nothing visible in the darkness, the feeling of being out of control still inspired a sense of dread.
Just as Zhou Fuxue was wondering how to climb back up to find Ming Zhu, a series of footsteps echoed nearby. Ming Zhu approached him slowly, holding a glowing Palm Lotus in his hand.
Zhou Fuxue froze, then immediately rushed forward. "Da-shixiong!"
Ming Zhu’s face was terrifyingly pale. He forced a laugh and reached out to pat Zhou Fuxue’s head, saying weakly, "That wasn't too hard a fall, was it?"
Zhou Fuxue shook his head. "I'm fine. How is your hand?"
He sensed that the scent of blood on Ming Zhu had grown heavier. He hurriedly grabbed the man's hand, only to see a mangled palm where the flesh was torn so deeply that bone was nearly visible. "How is it this bad? Does it hurt?"
As soon as he asked, he realized it was a foolish question. Ming Zhu was the type of person who would wail for ages over a mere scratch; an injury where the flesh was literally turned inside out was, for him, practically a death sentence.
Ming Zhu reached out to unfasten his outer robe and wrapped it haphazardly around his hand. He looked to be in significant pain, grimacing as he said, "When we get back, I really must claim some credit from Master. This injury... *hiss*... is enough to keep me in recovery for a year. Oh, right—since I'm so badly hurt, please, I beg of you, don't drag me to morning lessons every day anymore."
Zhou Fuxue didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "What time is it, and you're still thinking about such trivial things?"
Zhou Fuxue helped him find a rock to sit on. Looking at the gloomy surroundings, he asked, "Where is this? Have we already entered Mount Baijian?"
Ming Zhu set the Palm Lotus aside and reached out randomly to his side, his hand brushing against a rusted sword. His eyes darkened slightly, and his expression turned solemn. "No. This isn't Mount Baijian."
Zhou Fuxue looked at him in confusion.
Ming Zhu offered no further explanation. He picked up the Palm Lotus and led Zhou Fuxue forward for a short distance. Suddenly, the space opened up, and a violet-white light illuminated the entire cavern wall.
A massive longsword was thrust upside down into the ceiling of the cavern, its hilt suspended in mid-air. It was surrounded by black sword-qi that swirled around the blade, the whistling sound echoing throughout the space.
Ming Zhu extinguished the Palm Lotus and walked toward a nearby wall—a wall bristling with weapons, their blades facing outward and their hilts buried deep in the rock.
Ming Zhu said softly, "This is the Discarded Sword Tomb."
Mount Baijian had two sides: the front and the back. The front was accessible to ordinary people, where they could seek out weapons to claim as their own. The back, however, was located at the bottom of a ten-thousand-foot abyss. There, the Great Sword pointed upward into the mountain, and the discarded weapons—devoid of spirits—had their hilts in the wall and their tips facing out. They were all useless husks that could never recognize a master.
The Discarded Sword Tomb was the final resting place for every weapon abandoned by its owner. Most of their spirits had dissipated, yet the blades still carried the lingering, restless souls of those who had died by them.
These souls absorbed the sinister energy of the Great Sword, transforming into malevolent ghosts that inhabited the discarded husks. Should they ever be unleashed, they would slay gods and buddhas alike.
Before they had set out, Perfected One Guining had repeatedly warned them never to venture into the Discarded Sword Tomb. Yet, who would have thought that before even entering Mount Baijian, these two would stumble into this place everyone sought to avoid?
For a moment, Ming Zhu didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
Zhou Fuxue looked at the walls densely packed with sword tips and felt his scalp go numb. He tugged at Ming Zhu’s clothes to speak, but suddenly felt a stickiness on his palm. He looked down to find his hand covered in blood.
Zhou Fuxue frowned. Driven by a strange impulse, he looked at Ming Zhu’s back, only to discover with horror that it was completely drenched in blood.
Zhou Fuxue nearly lost his voice. "Shixiong!"
The wound on Ming Zhu’s back looked as though it had been there for some time. Blood was dripping down his clothes, nearly turning his white robes entirely red.
Because Ming Zhu had been standing beside him the whole time, Zhou Fuxue hadn't noticed the carnage on his back until now.
Ming Zhu’s face was ashen, his lips devoid of color. He seemed not to understand why Zhou Fuxue had suddenly called out so urgently. Thinking the boy was simply scared, he put on a brave front, flashing a fearless smile to comfort him. "Don't be afraid. The reason outsiders say the Discarded Sword Tomb is so terrifying is because too many ghosts and spirits dwell in that central sword. As long as we don't provoke them, they won't trouble us. Let's head back to where we fell; your Shijie Fuhua might come looking for us."
He was prattling on to comfort Zhou Fuxue, only to realize the child wasn't comforted at all. Instead, the boy's eyes were turning red.
The thing Ming Zhu could stand least was someone crying in front of him. He immediately surrendered and coaxed, "Didn't I say it's fine? Why are you starting to cry? Don't be scared, Shixiong is here."
Zhou Fuxue wiped his eyes forcefully and said coldly, "Don't you feel pain?"
Ming Zhu immediately clutched his wounded hand and wailed, "It hurts! How could it not hurt? I'm dying of pain! How about you blow on it for Shixiong? If you blow on it, it won't hurt anymore."
Zhou Fuxue: "..."
Zhou Fuxue hated that Ming Zhu was treating him like a child to be coddled. He gritted his teeth in fury and said coldly, "You have such a severe wound on your back, and you've lost so much blood you're nearly drained dry. Did you really not notice?"
Ming Zhu reached back and felt his own spine, and sure enough, his hand came away soaked in blood.
His obvious daze allowed Zhou Fuxue to catch a clue instantly. Without waiting for Ming Zhu to feign agony, he pressed further: "Can you not feel pain at all? Don't lie to me! I'm not a child anymore."
Ming Zhu was left speechless by the interrogation, unsure of how to respond. Internally, he sighed: *Why is each generation of children harder to raise than the last? He actually has the audacity to interrogate his Shixiong. He’s really been spoiled rotten.*
Having lost too much blood, Ming Zhu’s vision was swimming. He didn't have the energy to weave a lie, so he simply brushed it off. "That's not my blood. I killed someone just now and rolled around on the ground, so I just got some on me."
Zhou Fuxue: "..."
Zhou Fuxue was so angry his eyes were turning red; he wanted nothing more than to give the man a sound thrashing.
***
**Glossary**
Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation
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废剑冢 | Discarded Sword Tomb | Also translated as Grave of Abandoned Swords; the dangerous "reverse" side of Mount Baijian.
掌心莲 | Palm Lotus | A small, lotus-shaped magical artifact used for illumination.
归宁真人 | Perfected One Guining | The master of the disciples; "Zhenren" is a title for a high-level Daoist cultivator.
浮华 | Fuhua | The senior female disciple (Shijie) of the sect.
日照山 | Mount Rizhao | The location where Ming Zhu previously gave Zhou Fuxue the protective seal.
器灵 | Tool Spirit / Artifact Spirit | The sentient soul or consciousness residing within a high-grade magical weapon.
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