Pale blue light spread outward like water opening from within.
Within that glow, an image slowly appeared.
A man in white stood atop a towering mountain peak.
Strong winds whipped his long hair behind him. His face was veiled by a layer of hazy light, making his features impossible to see clearly, but his bearing was unmistakable.
Unfettered.
Free.
Standing between heaven and earth, yet somehow seeming not to belong to either.
His white robes billowed in the wind.
In his right hand was a silver-white sword.
Hao Nhien recognized it immediately.
The Xiaoyao Sword.
The man in white was not overwhelmingly majestic.
He carried no killing intent that pierced the heavens.
Nor did he possess an aura that seemed to crush all things beneath it.
He simply stood there, gazing toward the distant horizon.
A faint smile rested at the corner of his lips.
As though he were smiling at heaven and earth themselves.
And also at a life that, in the end, had still left something unfulfilled.
The faint Spirit Sword within Hao Nhien's meridians shot into the light.
It flew toward the man in white.
Very small.
Very weak.
Like a newborn glimmer standing before the moon.
Yet the man in white seemed to see it.
The Xiaoyao Sword in his hand lifted slightly.
Hao Nhien's faint Spirit Sword immediately merged into the silver-white blade.
The instant they became one, Hao Nhien felt as though something struck his heart.
Not pain.
Clarity.
As if the sword had knocked open a tiny door somewhere deep within his mind.
Then—
the man in white thrust his sword.
One Sword.
No flourish.
No turn of the body.
No sword light soaring into the heavens.
He simply extended the sword forward.
The tip pointed straight ahead.
Yet in that instant, Hao Nhien felt as though the space before the book had been torn apart.
No.
Space was not the first thing to be cut.
His mind had been touched by the sword intent first.
The real sword had not yet arrived—
but within his consciousness, a sword line had already appeared.
A sword that gave him no time to think.
No chance to hesitate.
Too fast to evade.
Too dangerous to block.
So overwhelming that it gave birth to a cold kind of despair.
Hao Nhien jolted backward.
In that instant, every instinct inside him screamed:
Dodge!
He drove all the strength he could into his right waist, trying to pull his body aside and lessen the damage.
Then he understood.
Too late.
Not because his body was too slow.
But because the thought of dodging had come too late.
The sword intent had already arrived before he decided to move.
Cold ran down his spine.
Sweat burst across his body.
His heart hammered so violently it felt ready to break through his chest.
A strangled cry escaped his throat.
Stolen novel; please report.
He collapsed onto the wooden floor, one hand clutching his chest as he gasped for breath.
One sword.
Only one sword.
Hao Nhien lay there with his eyes wide open, his mind still drowning in the aftershock.
Tieu Lan rushed toward him in panic.
"Young Master!"
"Young Master!"
She remembered his warning and did not dare shake him carelessly.
Instead, she knelt beside him, her trembling hand gripping the bottle of Clearheart Liquid.
Hao Nhien struggled for breath.
Only after a long while did he manage to say hoarsely,
"I'm fine…"
But this time, even he knew those words were not convincing.
There was no wound on his body.
His meridians had not ruptured.
But his mind felt as though a sword had just cut through it.
Not to kill him.
To show him.
What One Sword Xiaoyao had given him was not merely a thrusting motion.
Nor was it simply a fragment of sword intent left by a senior.
It was a seed.
A Spirit Sword that could exist within his meridians, within his intent, and perhaps one day within the deepest part of his soul.
The physical sword might not move first.
But the Spirit Sword could.
If one day Hao Nhien truly learned how to use it—
if one day it was no longer formed merely from spiritual qi, but from his own soul—
then before his fist moved,
before the Xiaoyao Sword moved,
before even his body moved,
his intent might already be able to touch the opponent's mind.
Hao Nhien immediately stopped himself from thinking any further.
Right now, that Spirit Sword was still only a newborn glimmer.
Something momentarily drawn forth by the Xiaoyao Sword and the book.
He could not say that he truly controlled it.
But he had already seen the first principle.
Intent gathers into sword.
Sword moves before body.
The mind is touched—
then the body becomes slow.
One instant.
Only one instant.
But in a battle of life and death, that could be enough to change everything.
Tieu Lan moved closer, lifting the bottle of Clearheart Liquid.
"I'll apply some medicine."
"No need."
"But your face is completely pale."
"My mind was only shaken."
"Then you need it even more."
She did not wait for him to argue.
A little cool medicinal liquid was applied to the point between his brows and his wrists.
Her movements were gentle.
But her fingertips still trembled slightly.
Clearly, what had just happened had frightened her badly.
Hao Nhien glanced at her.
"I'm really fine."
Tieu Lan lowered her head as she applied the medicine.
"Young Master always says you're fine."
Hao Nhien fell silent.
For some reason, he could not argue with that.
Once she finished, Tieu Lan moved back a little and stared suspiciously at the book on the table.
"That book hits people."
Hao Nhien froze.
Then laughed softly.
She was not wrong.
The book had, in fact, hit him.
Seeing that he could still laugh, Tieu Lan's worry eased slightly.
But immediately afterward, she said,
"Young Master shouldn't look at it anymore today."
"Mm."
This time, Hao Nhien did not push himself.
He knew his limits.
He closed Unfettered Sword Intent.
The page returned to blankness, as though nothing had ever happened.
But within him, the sensation of that Spirit Sword had not completely vanished.
Very faint.
Very weak.
Like the lingering trace of light left behind after closing one's eyes against the sun.
The seed already existed.
As long as there was a seed, it could be nurtured later.
Hao Nhien remained seated for a while longer, allowing his breathing to settle.
Only when the dizziness in his head had eased did he stand.
"I'm going out onto the deck for a moment."
Tieu Lan immediately looked up.
"To train again?"
"Nothing heavy," Hao Nhien said. "I only want to test the feeling from just now."
"I'm coming too."
"No need."
"I'll sit by the door and watch."
Hao Nhien looked at her.
Her expression said everything.
What had just happened had frightened her.
If he intended to touch that sword intent again, she was going to stay nearby.
He stopped arguing.
"All right."
Tieu Lan nodded quickly.
"I'll only watch."
Outside, the night wind over the deck was colder than inside the cabin.
A young moon hung low above the Thanh Van River.
Its thin light stretched across the surface, breaking into narrow silver lines with the waves.
Far away, many of the lights in the town had already gone out.
The voices of people had faded.
Only insects, water, and wind remained.
Hao Nhien stood in the middle of the deck.
Tieu Lan sat at the cabin entrance, holding the bottle of Clearheart Liquid in both hands.
Her eyes never left him.
Hao Nhien drew the Xiaoyao Sword.
The silver-white blade emerged beneath the moonlight.
He closed his eyes.
He recalled the white-robed man's single sword strike.
No display.
No variation.
Only a straight line.
The faint trace of sword intent trembled.
Almost at the same moment, the point between Hao Nhien's brows turned slightly cold.
His eyes opened.
He thrust.
A thin chill swept ahead of the sword tip.
Very fast.
Very faint.
The Xiaoyao Sword followed.
Half a beat too late.
Hao Nhien immediately withdrew the sword.
He did not try a second time.
He stood still.
At the cabin entrance, Tieu Lan suddenly shivered.
"Young Master."
Hao Nhien turned.
"What is it?"
"Just now…"
She frowned slightly.
"I felt cold."
Hao Nhien's gaze changed.
"When?"
"Before your sword moved."
Behind them, the cabin was silent.
The river wind passed over the water.
Hao Nhien looked at the tip of the blade.
That was enough.
He was not the only one who could sense it.
The sword intent could move first.
But his physical sword—
still could not keep up.
Hao Nhien returned the Xiaoyao Sword to its sheath.
"We stop here tonight."
Tieu Lan immediately let out a quiet breath of relief.
"Young Master should rest. I'll heat up some porridge."
"No need. I'm not hungry."
"You should still eat a little."
"Practicing swordsmanship drains the mind more than fist training."
Hao Nhien looked at her.
"You know that?"
Tieu Lan froze.
"I… I guessed."
"Just looking at Young Master's face makes it obvious."
Hao Nhien did not ask further.
Tieu Lan immediately seemed happier and turned to hurry back inside.
Hao Nhien remained standing on the deck.
One hand rested on the sheath of the Xiaoyao Sword.
That faint trace of light still lingered within him.
He lowered his head.
"Senior."
"I still don't understand Unfettered Sword Intent."
Hao Nhien paused.
"But this Spirit Sword…"
"I'll try to nurture it."
The river wind passed.
At that exact moment—
something in the atmosphere changed.
Very slightly.
But Hao Nhien sensed it immediately.
Then came the sound of applause.
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
The sound was not loud.
But in the stillness of the night, it cut through everything with an unnatural coldness.
Hao Nhien turned at once.
Tieu Lan had just stepped out of the cabin carrying a bowl of porridge.
She froze in the doorway.
Under the pale moonlight—
five figures stood on the riverbank.
Black robes.
Dark belts.
Most of their faces hidden in shadow.
The one in the center was very young.
Eighteen or nineteen at most.
Half a head taller than Hao Nhien.
His features were rather handsome.
But the coldness in his eyes and the upward curl of his lips turned that handsomeness into something unpleasantly contemptuous.
There was no telling how long they had been standing there.
Perhaps they had only just arrived.
Or perhaps—
they had already been watching Hao Nhien practice his sword for some time.
Hao Nhien's hand slowly tightened around the hilt of the Xiaoyao Sword.
His face showed no panic.
But his heart sank immediately.
Five people.
Late at night.
They knew where his boat was.
This was not good.
The young man in black looked Hao Nhien up and down.
Then gave a faint laugh.
"Quan Hao Nhien?"
The moment that name sounded across the river—
the atmosphere on the deck turned cold.
Behind him, Tieu Lan's face went pale.
Hao Nhien stared directly at the young man.
"Who are you?"
The young man in black did not answer.
His gaze slid over the Xiaoyao Sword at Hao Nhien's waist.
Then returned to his face.
"So the Quan family's trash couldn't even learn fist arts properly…"
"And now you've switched to swordsmanship."
He laughed coldly.
"But trash holding a sword…"
"Is still trash."