Chapter Thirty-One: The Blade That Cannot Be Touched

The great cultivator Li Changwen, representing the official Huaxia delegation, soon emerged from the underground palace, holding a large medicinal herb in his hand. His thin, refined face displayed a hint of regret. His entry and departure were both swift—altogether, it lasted less than ten minutes. He obtained a supreme-grade herb suitable for cultivators at the Foundation Establishment stage. Such a herb commanded an exorbitant price outside, almost impossible to acquire even with money. Yet for him, acting on behalf of the authorities, it was hardly a rare treasure.

Upon exiting, he glanced at the Western camp—faces troubled—and at the alien cultivators unable to enter as well. His attitude was utterly calm as he said, “You need not feel uneasy. This underground palace is simply a trial ground for the young. The rewards inside aren’t bad, but they aren’t peerless treasures either.” After a moment’s thought, he continued, “So there’s no need to make things difficult for a young man.”

Someone forced a laugh, “Senior Li, you jest. We’re merely curious, waiting here to see what happens. Since you say so, we won’t waste time lingering.” With that, several people departed swiftly. The golden-haired leader of the Western camp and the young ones, though disgruntled and unwilling, had no intention of staying either. Even if Song Yue emerged with great fortune, the current circumstances made it unwise to act against him directly. Fortunately, opportunities remained. Like those from the cultivation academies, everyone would eventually leave.

Soon, other cultivators of Huaxia descent who entered the underground palace also emerged. Some obtained Foundation Establishment Pills but kept quiet, remaining low-profile. Others had lackluster results, faces downcast. As people departed, Miao Qiang—who had waited here all along—finally breathed a sigh of relief. Yet he still did not leave. Anxiety lingered in his heart; he felt someone might not accept this outcome.

After sixty years living in the secret realm, he had witnessed countless internal strife. The notion that secret realm dwellers were united due to their small numbers was inaccurate. They only banded together when facing external threats. Even a tiny village of several thousand could split into factions, let alone cultivators. Human greed often devours reason.

Thus, Miao Qiang remained, determined to wait for Song Yue’s return and personally escort him to the teacher. He sent several disciples to quietly bring his family, explaining his intentions to their puzzled faces with candor: “If you wish to leave the secret realm and return to the mortal world with me, follow me. If not, I won’t force you.” These disciples had grown up under his guidance; though some had minor flaws, they were generally decent. Seeing their master’s resolve, the disciples agreed without much hesitation. For young people, the vibrant world outside was far more alluring than the dull secret realm.

With arrangements made, Miao Qiang stood guard at the underground palace entrance. Not long after, Qian Qianxue, unable to rest easy about Song Yue, sneaked back with other youths and joined him. They expected Song Yue to emerge soon, but the wait stretched into many days.

…

The moment Song Yue stepped into the underground palace, he was instantly transported to a strange place. He found himself floating in the sky, standing upon a cloud of pure white. Looking down, his heart raced—the altitude was dizzying, like gazing from an airplane at the earth below. Suddenly, the scene shifted: before him, in the dome-like heavens, appeared a figure clad in white.

Around Song Yue, countless indistinct figures manifested, some seated cross-legged atop golden lotus flowers, others standing upon swords suspended in midair—all serene and graceful. Ahead, beneath the boundless sky, the white-clad figure began to lecture on the Dao.

The voice—no, not a voice, but a direct transmission of spiritual intent—resonated within his mind. The white-robed sage was surrounded by auspicious energy and mythical beasts, the profundity of the teachings illuminating Song Yue’s understanding like a sudden epiphany.

Yet every scripture expounded concerned cultivation. Song Yue felt inexplicably annoyed, a little upset—was this a slight to martial artists? But soon, he was seized by awe and even fear—what was happening? Had he traveled back to ancient times in an instant? Was this a celestial sage preaching the Dao?

He scrutinized the surrounding crowd, realizing he could see only their outlines, not their faces. They seemed oblivious to his presence, all focused intently on the white-robed figure. Just as Song Yue’s attention wandered, a mental message struck him: “Listen carefully.”

Startled, Song Yue was completely bewildered. Was this celestial sage communicating across endless time and space, addressing him in the future? Soon, he was absorbed by the sage’s teachings. Though meant for cultivators, as a martial artist he felt an extraordinary resonance. As he listened, his Taiyi Body Tempering Scripture began to operate on its own, echoing with the sage’s spiritual intent.

Gradually, Song Yue’s concentration deepened. Immersed in the teachings, he found even the cultivation scriptures benefited him as a martial artist. His blood warmed, organs resonated, and over time, a luminous aura seemed to envelop his body. The meridians silently opened; a surge of power, like floodwaters, rushed through him.

Had he advanced to the second Grandmaster level? Song Yue was amazed. But he quickly resumed listening, spirit cultivation unknowingly soaring.

Third Martial Realm! Song Yue didn’t know the name of the sage’s scripture—perhaps it had a long, grand title—but it seemed to open a new gateway, allowing him to directly cultivate spiritual power. He was now entering the third Grandmaster realm.

The rapid advancement startled Song Yue. It felt almost unreal, as though a decade of arduous training paled beside a brief session listening to the sage’s lecture. Could simply hearing the sage’s teachings elevate his cultivation so dramatically? It seemed legendary—almost unbelievable.

In this way, Song Yue felt he listened for several hours. Under the heavens, the white-robed figure gradually faded and vanished, as did the surrounding audience. “Ah?” Song Yue panicked—don’t leave me behind! How do I get out… no, how do I return?

The next instant, the scene changed again: he was in an ancient battlefield, the midst of a fierce struggle. It was like a virtual reality game—he appeared as a first-person participant, the experience intensely real, yet all supernatural powers and spells could not harm him. Still, he was frightened at first. The scale of the battle was staggering!

He watched as a seemingly young, blue-robed cultivator casually waved his hand, causing a massive mountain to collapse, a mushroom cloud rising like a nuclear explosion, and a ten-thousand-meter peak vanishing, leaving a chasm like an abyss. Then, a figure crawled from the pit, blood-soaked but alive, wielding a weapon and soaring into battle again.

Was that a martial artist? Song Yue was deeply shocked, but soon realized—it was not a martial artist, but... a demon clan member from legend! Dark energy surged around them, distorting time and space.

Song Yue witnessed countless young cultivators fall, gravely wounded or slain. Throughout, they uttered not a word, displaying heroic, fearless resolve. For reasons unknown, Song Yue felt an overwhelming sadness. It shouldn’t be like this. Were these the ones who had listened to the sage’s teachings beside him? They all seemed so young! To spill their blood and die on an unknown battlefield—why?

Was this an ancient divine war? Why had he, from the distant future, come here to witness such a conflict? Who could tell him? No one answered; only relentless fighting, constant casualties. In his urgency, Song Yue even wished to rush forward and help, but he was merely a spectator, as if viewing a holographic fantasy film—he could do nothing but watch.

Finally, he saw the white-robed figure, the sage who had lectured, appear on the battlefield, using transcendent power to suppress and slay enemies. But the sage had foes, mysterious beings wielding supreme power. The white-robed sage was wounded, blood staining his robe—a sight so shocking it burned itself into Song Yue’s memory.

Song Yue felt his blood boiling; he couldn’t help but shout aloud, warning the sage to be careful. His thunderous cry echoed, shaking his own mind. Yet on the battlefield, neither side sensed his presence—both fought on, heedless of all else.

In the end, Song Yue watched helplessly as the white-robed sage, after battling an enigmatic, powerful enemy, seemed to fall. Tears unknowingly streamed down his cheeks. Had the celestial sage perished? He could not believe it! Such a divine being—how could one fall so easily on the battlefield?

And what was this place? Were those who looked so human, yet wrapped in demonic energy, truly the mythic extraterrestrial demons? What could prompt such desperate combat between them and humanity’s mighty cultivators—these godlike figures?

When the battle ended, the vast ancient field fell silent. Everyone seemed to have perished. Only Song Yue remained, drifting above the battlefield. He found that with a thought, he could appear in any corner of this immense ground. He hoped to find a survivor, demon or otherwise, to ask what had happened. But in the end, he was disappointed—none survived. All had fallen, friend and foe alike.

Then Song Yue awoke. He found himself sitting in a quiet, small room. Beneath him was a golden mat woven from grass, wonderfully comfortable. He felt lost, as if waking from a dream; the world seemed changed. At first, he couldn’t tell whether it was reality or illusion. The sage’s teachings still echoed in his mind, and the scenes of battle—the shouts, the stirring, blood-boiling moments—lingered.

“Did all that truly happen?” Song Yue murmured. He looked at the table in the room, where lay a long saber and an ancient-looking book.

He rose and approached the table, first examining the saber. It was about one and a half meters long, the sheath narrow and covered with obscure runes that made him dizzy to look at. The hilt was nearly thirty centimeters—perfect for a two-handed grip.

“Is this meant for me?” Song Yue asked, but no one replied.

He picked up the blade—it was astonishingly light. Despite its length, saber and sheath together felt weightless, almost causing him to stumble. He gently drew the blade; it was thin and extremely sharp. On the guard above the hilt, ancient runes spelled out five characters: Dragon Pattern Immortal-Slaying Saber.

Ha! Such an audacious name! Immortal-Slaying Saber!

“This suits me!” Song Yue exclaimed with delight, reaching out to stroke the blade. A gentle force pushed his hand away. He was stunned.

What? Not allowed to touch? Unconvinced, he tried again.

Buzz! The saber quivered and slipped back into its sheath.

What the…? Was this saber sentient?

“Come on, little fellow, let’s talk!” Song Yue perked up.

The saber ignored him, unresponsive.

“Not fun!” Song Yue muttered, placing the blade back on the table. Yet his pounding heart betrayed his inner joy. This was a peerless divine weapon! He sensed the blade equaled any magical artifact, perhaps truly capable of slaying immortals.

He then picked up the book, also thin, inscribed with four characters: The Dao Scripture of the Eight Wilds.

Is that a mistake? Shouldn’t it be Eight Wilds Saber Scripture? Even ancient sages were careless?

He pondered, feeling the title lacked length and grandeur, too martial for a cultivator’s text—neither immortal nor imposing.

Opening the Dao Scripture of the Eight Wilds, he found it indeed described saber techniques. After a few glances, he understood why a saber manual would be called a Dao scripture: it taught the Way of the Saber. Not merely martial skills, but a scripture suitable for someone like him—to enter the Dao through martial arts.

Without the previous teachings from the white-robed sage, Song Yue would not have comprehended the book; it wasn’t meant to be read with the eyes. The Dao Scripture required spiritual energy to interpret, resonating with the text and conjuring images in his mind.

He read it through once, and nearly mastered it. The Dao Scripture then transformed into a stream of light and entered his body, merging with him, becoming part of his being. The sensation was wondrous and mysterious—indescribable.

Song Yue returned to the golden mat, sat cross-legged, operated the Taiyi Body Tempering Scripture, and mentally rehearsed the Dao Scripture of the Eight Wilds. Once, twice, thrice… many times. Until he could perform it smoothly in his mind, the previously untouchable Dragon Pattern Immortal-Slaying Saber quivered, slipped from its sheath, and landed in his hand.

At that moment, he felt a blood-bound resonance with the blade—as if it were an extension of himself. The Dragon Pattern Saber seemed to fuse with him. With a casual swing, a terrifying blade light several meters long swept forth. If the room weren’t so small, Song Yue would have liked to test it further.

He tried touching the blade again. Now that he’d mastered the Dao Scripture, surely it would allow him?

Swish! The Dragon Pattern Saber darted away, returning to its sheath.

Song Yue was dumbfounded.

What the… Could this blade be female? Why wouldn’t it let him touch it? Would a single touch kill it?

Well, never mind—a good man doesn’t quarrel with a female saber!

Song Yue grumbled, then began searching the room for more. Though he didn’t understand the reason for this encounter, it was clear he’d been chosen by the sage. Shouldn’t there be more gifts?

Just one Dao Scripture, a saber that won’t let him touch it—was that all?

Surely the ancients weren’t so stingy?

He searched everywhere, even tried the door without success, and in the end, rather frustrated, concluded that ancient sages really were stingy. No spiritual medicines, no top-tier magical artifacts—nothing!

Finally, he eyed the golden mat woven from unknown grass. He took out the Jade Void Heaven-Stepping Stele and stored the mat inside. He wasn’t sure of its use, but it aided meditation—a valuable item, too precious to leave behind.

Song Yue also took the table, suspecting its wood might be the legendary Jianmu, though he’d never seen the real thing—just guessed. As a thrifty person, he couldn’t waste anything.

Lastly, he stored the bashful Dragon Pattern Immortal-Slaying Saber in the Jade Void Heaven-Stepping Stele.

He was convinced: this saber must be female!