Yu Sang‑sang froze at the unexpected title, then turned to glance behind her—only to find the young man’s gaze fixed squarely upon her. Her lips twitched involuntarily. “I’m not,” she murmured, her small figure looking all the more fragile and pitiable as she shook her head softly.
The Azure Sword Sovereign was a supreme powerhouse of the Immortal rank, hailed as the foremost in this realm. For her, this was but a chance encounter; being brought into his sect at all already meant she might compete for a place among the inner or outer disciples. To covet more would be improper.
“Then I was presumptuous,” the youth replied, tall and elegant, his face bright with a genial smile as he cupped his hands. “I beg your pardon, Dao‑friend.”
His aura was deep and steady, a faint radiance clinging to him—clearly a formidable figure. Yet his eyes remained clear, without a trace of disdain for Yu Sang‑sang’s meager cultivation. As he spoke, he extended a hand toward her where she still sat on the ground, unselfconscious in his courtesy.
Yu Sang‑sang was not one to cling to false modesty. Seeing his upright bearing and sincere manner, she shed her earlier fragile demeanor, grasped his hand, and rose briskly. Spotting the tidy training ground, she quickly folded the cloak she had been wearing and offered it back with a smile: “This belongs to the Sword Sovereign. I return it to you, Dao‑friend.”
The youth accepted it and invited her to rest within the training hall. His manner was so genuine that Yu Sang‑sang, recalling how he had addressed the Sword Sovereign as “Master,” hesitated before asking, “May I know how Dao‑friend is called?”
She remembered well that the disciples under the Sword Sovereign all met rather grim ends.
“My name is Yin Mingjing. You may simply call me Mingjing.” The name carried a hint of softness, yet the youth’s jade‑like features and resolute aura dispelled any such impression at once.
Yu Sang‑sang’s heart gave a jolt—she knew exactly who he was. She returned his courtesy with a bow: “So it is the Sword Sovereign’s foremost disciple, the illustrious Master Mingjing. Your reputation thunders like rolling drums. I am Yu…” She had meant to say her name was Yu Xian’er, a continuation of the identity she once bore.
But somehow, from deep within, a muffled dragon’s roar reverberated through her heart, startling her into blurting out instead: “I am Sang‑sang—Yu Sang‑sang. Master, call me Sang‑sang.”
The name slipped out in a daze. Seeing her face pale, Yin Mingjing recalled how his master had just returned by sword flight, and at once understood. His master had not been mindful, and the little girl had been chilled. Though she was not of their sect, being personally brought back by the Azure Sword Sovereign surely meant she was of some significance.
Besides, Yin Mingjing was broad‑minded by nature, never one to divide people by rank or status. He nodded with a smile: “Then I shall call you Sang‑sang.”
Since Yu Sang‑sang herself offered no explanation, he did not pry into her origins nor question why the Sword Sovereign had brought her back. Instead, he led her into a splendid hall within the training grounds and said warmly: “Master has only just returned and will likely rest for some time. Sang‑sang, you may stay here. Within this dojo are many puppet attendants—simply call out, and they will come.”
Of course, as host, he would not leave a guest unattended while the Sword Sovereign remained absent.
He clapped his hands, and Yu Sang‑sang, startled back to herself, saw several attendants enter the hall—figures upright and neatly dressed. Their clothing was plain, their builds no different from ordinary folk, but their faces were utterly blank, without features.
Watching these faceless servants bustle about, deftly presenting spirit fruits and fine nectar, Yu Sang‑sang’s lips twitched faintly.
They were puppets, not living beings. To craft them so lifelike required exquisite methods and rare materials. Yet… if such effort was spent, would it not be easy enough to make them pleasing to the eye? At the very least, give them faces.
But the Azure Sword Sovereign, handsome beyond compare himself, clearly did not consider beauty a necessity. He had simply deemed it needless ornamentation—and so had left them blank.
She sighed at the Azure Sword Sovereign’s peculiar habits, then looked again at Yin Mingjing, who nodded to her without the slightest awareness—making her want to sigh all over again.
As a princess well‑versed in sweet romance tales, Yu Sang‑sang naturally knew of Yin Mingjing. He was a true favored son of heaven. Gifted beyond measure and steadfast in temperament, he had once endured the Sword Sovereign’s countless trials. Though the world called the Sovereign cold and unfeeling, Yin Mingjing’s unwavering resolve moved him at last, earning him the right to enter the sect as the Sovereign’s very first disciple. As the foremost disciple of an Immortal‑rank master, he did not disappoint. In merely two centuries, he stood at the threshold of the Great Ascension stage. Upright and righteous, his conduct was as clear as moonlight after rain, winning the respect and trust of cultivators across the realm.
Such a brilliant young hero, with a future blazing before him—perhaps destined to be the sect’s next Immortal powerhouse—yet he would one day fall into ruin. In saving another, he would plunge into peril, escape with his life but lose all cultivation, reduced to a cripple. Even his betrothed’s family would come to demand the breaking of their engagement.
Yu Sang‑sang’s lips parted, then closed again. She thought this Yin Mingjing was truly a good man. But the calamities awaiting him were still far off. With no proof, how could she explain the carefully laid trap that would ensnare him in the future? To warn him now not to trust certain people…
“Master, I am an honest person. I must tell you—I am skilled in divining the heavenly patterns.”
Though she stood within the Sword Sovereign’s dojo, she knew her own status was worlds apart. When the Sovereign explained the matter of the black mist—something he himself did not much care about—then it would be time for her to take her leave. That he had brought her back to Lingxiao Sect at all was already a kindness. The road ahead, she would have to walk alone. Even if she entered the sect, even if her modest talent—truly not bad—earned her a place among the inner disciples, she could not presume to draw near to the Sword Sovereign’s lineage.
So, to guard against being forgotten once she left, Yu Sang‑sang thickened her skin and praised herself.
Of course, the mysteries of heaven are vast, and those who can glimpse them are always top‑tier talents and mighty figures. For a mere Qi‑refining novice to claim skill in divining fate was, admittedly, a little absurd.
Yin Mingjing, however, showed patient attentiveness, never mocking her.
Yu Sang‑sang could not help but think again in her heart—what a truly good man. “Just now,” she said softly, “I glimpsed your fate. Your brow darkens; your spirit‑platform is clouded… there is a shadow of blood‑calamity upon you.”
That he did not throw her out after hearing such words spoke volumes of his composure. He paused, then poured tea for the little girl who was bowing her head over a piece of tender roast meat, and asked, “Sang‑sang, what else did you divine?”
Whether he believed her or not, his courtesy was remarkable.
Yu Sang‑sang thought to herself that if it were she, hearing someone spout such superstition, she would have leaped up in protest. She coughed twice, glanced around, and remembering that the Sword Sovereign disliked living attendants—so that apart from master and disciple, only puppets filled this dojo—she felt safe enough to continue in a low voice: “I calculated that in years to come, one who is close to you will harbor ill intent. Under the guise of seeking aid, he will lure you into peril. Though you will escape by fortune, your cultivation will be utterly destroyed.”
Even with his great self‑restraint, Yin Mingjing had not expected that humoring a young girl’s words would lead to such pronouncements. He hesitated.
“Today we meet for the first time. You may well not believe me.” In the timeless flow of cultivation, Yu Sang‑sang could not say in which year this event would occur.
But she knew the course of the tale. Watching him, she spoke slowly: “If ever a day comes when one of your companions sends word through a demon cultivator, urging you to go to Duanyun Valley in the southern prefecture—that is a plot against you.”
Perhaps now her words seemed unbelievable. Yet when that day arrived, if Yin Mingjing remembered her warning, everything would fall into place. Realizing that what she had once said truly came to pass, he would naturally guard himself. That was far more convincing than naming outright the friend who would betray him. After all, who would believe a little girl’s bare words over the trust of a companion of many years?
Thus she spoke, and Yin Mingjing pondered. After a moment, he rose and offered Yu Sang‑sang his thanks.
“Master, what is this?”
“I see Sang‑sang is not one to speak idly,” Yin Mingjing’s voice was gentle. Noticing the girl’s slight embarrassment, he continued, “Though it sounds almost unbelievable, Sang‑sang was willing to tell me, to remind me. That shows sincerity.”
Though it seemed far‑fetched for a minor cultivator to speak of heavenly secrets, Yin Mingjing was well‑traveled and knew that in this world there were indeed those born with heaven’s favor, gifted with innate knowledge.
Moreover, since Yu Sang‑sang had been personally brought back by his master and settled within the dojo, she must possess some ability that even the Sword Sovereign found noteworthy.
Yin Mingjing never underestimated the heroes of the world, and now he would not dismiss these so‑called heavenly calculations.
Even if her “divination” proved false—would that not be better? A false omen meant his fate would not be so tragic. That would please him all the more.
Besides, she had spoken of a precise location, and even described that the messenger would be a demon cultivator. Clearly she knew who harbored ill intent toward him. That she did not name the betrayer outright was likely because she feared he would not believe her. Such cautious concern—like a child still striving to warn him.
Yin Mingjing smiled, and seeing Yu Sang‑sang’s fondness for meat, pushed several fine dishes toward her. He was about to speak further when a tall figure entered at the doorway.
“Go and see if there is anything unusual.” The Azure Sword Sovereign stepped in coldly, expressionless toward the two sharing a meal. With a flick of his fingers, he handed Yin Mingjing a jade slip.
Yin Mingjing rose at once to receive it. Finding an address inscribed within, he gave Yu Sang‑sang—who had also stood—a brief apologetic nod, then hurried off to fulfill his master’s command.
Only after he vanished in a streak of light did the Sword Sovereign slowly approach the little girl, her cheeks flushed from eating, and look down at her.
“A sincere one,” he said.
The girl blinked, tilting her head in confusion, wondering if praising herself had truly been wrong.
“You claim to have long admired Yin Mingjing, his name resounding like thunder.”
All along, she had painted herself as pitiful, ignorant, and raised by a useless father—yet in a blink, she revealed knowledge of the heroes of the realm. Such a “sincere” person indeed!
Yu Sang‑sang: …
The mighty Sword Sovereign—why was he eavesdropping on whispered words?