While Zhu Qinglan was climbing the stone steps, Mu Zhaoran tried to sit down and cultivate.
Within the Earth Scroll, the five elemental energies were abundant, especially in such a blessed cavern-heaven. However, the two walls of this gorge were lined with blades and weapons, with flashes of sword-light constantly flickering. The gorge was saturated with metal-aspected spiritual energy, which offered her no benefit at all.
Mu Zhaoran despised metal-aspected spiritual energy, and the metal energy despised her in return. If someone with strong metal affinity were present, they would clearly see golden streams of metal qi flowing through the air—only for them to split like diverging rivers as they neared the person meditating at the bottom of the gorge, deliberately avoiding her existence.
She sat in meditation for quite a while but failed to sense even a trace of earth-aspected qi. With no choice, she gave up and opened her eyes again.
Above her, the golden sun crow was sinking westward, and the sunlight had turned a warm orange. Mu Zhaoran narrowed her eyes and looked toward the narrow, winding stone staircase. About halfway up, she spotted Zhu Qinglan’s fiery red figure.
He was dressed in red, making it hard to tell whether he was injured, but his upward progress had slowed considerably.
Mu Zhaoran grabbed the pale-green silk ribbon and tugged on it. A string of crisp bell chimes rang out in the gorge. Even with the clanging sword-hum from both walls, the bell sound remained clear.
“Hurry up. If you don’t move faster, it’ll be dark soon. I don’t want to spend the night out in the open in this cold, dead valley,” she urged.
On the stone steps, Zhu Qinglan panted heavily. Hearing her voice from the bell, he angrily grabbed at the endlessly chiming bell on his neck and snapped back, “You really have it easy, sitting there and talking.”
Mu Zhaoran immediately launched into a stream of complaints. “Who says I’m comfortable? This stupid rock is hard as hell—I’ve been sore for ages. And the weapons on both sides keep buzzing; my ears hurt. Once the sun sets, it’ll be dark and freezing here. So hurry up and climb—get up there before night falls!”
Zhu Qinglan had already taken many injuries while climbing; blood was visible on his body. He hadn’t complained once, yet Mu Zhaoran, who was merely sitting below, had endless grievances.
A cold smile tugged at Zhu Qinglan’s lips. He tore off a strip of his robe to wrap around the wound on his arm, then, under the relentless urging of the bell, gritted his teeth and climbed several more steps.
A sharp whine sounded by his ear. A blade-light shot down from the wall. He raised his hand to block, but the light grazed his already-damaged folding fan and slashed across his back.
Zhu Qinglan let out a muffled groan and collapsed onto the steps again.
From the bell at his neck came Mu Zhaoran’s muttering voice: “You’re not really this useless, are you?”
Zhu Qinglan was so furious he spat a mouthful of blood onto the thick moss covering the stone steps. Fox-fire flared in his eyes, turning his pupils gold. Red light burst from his body as it transformed into roaring flames, his form dissolving into the blaze.
Mu Zhaoran sprang to her feet, gripping the silk-bell tightly, staring warily at the mass of red flames above.
When the flames dispersed, a fox with blazing red fur leapt out and continued running toward the Forging Platform.
With four limbs and a more agile body, the fox found it far easier than a human form to dodge the blade-lights firing from both walls along the narrow cliff path.
After watching him climb a short distance, Mu Zhaoran snorted in disdain. “You should’ve turned into a fox earlier. You wasted so much time.”
Zhu Qinglan had no energy left to keep up appearances. He let out a low growl, swiped at the bell tangled in the fur at his neck, and snarled viciously, “Mind your own business!”
Mu Zhaoran sat back down. Fine, she wouldn’t interfere. Zhu Qinglan was, after all, the third male lead. If he couldn’t even retrieve a sword for the female lead, then he was a truly incompetent lapdog—and if he failed to win the beauty in the end, it would serve him right.
No sooner had she sat down than the system’s voice drifted into her ears. “You are exploiting a loophole.”
Mu Zhaoran was unconcerned. “You only told me to cherish every chance at redemption and to bring the sword out for Ye Lizhi. As for how I get the sword out, that’s none of your business.”
The system fell silent. Mu Zhaoran kept her eyes fixed on the red fox on the steps, occasionally ringing the bell to urge him on.
When only a final sliver of daylight remained above the Forging Platform, Zhu Qinglan finally leapt onto the last step and climbed onto the pitch-black stone dais.
The trembling hum of the weapons on both walls abruptly stopped. The flashing blades vanished, and the gorge fell silent all at once, leaving only the night wind passing through, rising and falling in a mournful whine.
Zhu Qinglan reverted to human form and collapsed onto the ground, sweat streaming down his face as he gulped for air. His clothes were in tatters, his body covered in wounds. Blood soaked his red robe, darkening it to a deeper crimson.
Before he could catch his breath, Mu Zhaoran’s heartless voice came through the bell again. “Take out the mirror I gave you earlier. Let me see.”
Zhu Qinglan pulled a palm-sized, engraved bronze mirror from his robes. Its polished surface, however, reflected not the platform, but Mu Zhaoran’s radiant face bathed in sunset light.
She was very close to the mirror—close enough to see the tiny red mole on the tip of her nose. Her eyes were wide and lively, lashes dark and curled. Her lips were soft and red, and a slender crimson-gold ribbon hung down from her hair bun, weaving through loose strands by her temples as it fluttered lightly in the evening breeze.
If the Saintess’s behavior weren’t so infuriating, this face would have been genuinely likable.
When Zhu Qinglan saw her enlarged reflection in the mirror, much of the resentment in his chest subsided at once. But in the next moment, the person in the mirror frowned and stepped back, snapping irritably, “I told you to show me the cliff walls of the Forging Platform, not your face. Hurry up—it’s getting dark.”
The resentment that had just receded surged back even more violently.
This woman truly had no conscience.
With a dark expression, he turned the mirror to face his surroundings.
At the same time, Mu Zhaoran was holding an identical mirror of her own. Once the blood-smeared face vanished from the reflection, the scene atop the Forging Platform appeared.
She had him slowly pan the mirror in a full circle. Before the last traces of daylight disappeared, she finally found the familiar sword.
“Go to the right cliff wall. A little further—tilt the mirror upward. Yes, that one. The white sword with cloud patterns carved on the hilt. It’s very pretty. I like it,” she instructed.
Zhu Qinglan scoffed. “Your Highness certainly has… distinctive taste in swords.”
Distinctly shallow.
Perfectly suited to her—gilded on the outside, rotten within.
Mu Zhaoran ignored him and continued, “Climb up and loosen it.”
Zhu Qinglan sucked in a sharp breath, disbelief written all over his face. “You want me to pry the sword out of the cliff wall?”
“I said loosen it, not pry it out,” Mu Zhaoran emphasized. “Of course, if you want to pry it out directly, that’s fine too—just don’t expect to still get the artifact you want afterward.”
When he didn’t move, she activated the silk bell again, glaring menacingly. “Hurry.”
The ribbon tightened around his neck, choking off his breath. The gorge was now completely dark, lit only by the faint, eerie glow emitted by the weapons embedded in the cliffs.
Zhu Qinglan collapsed to his knees in the darkness, forcing out a hoarse plea. “All right, I’ll do it, I’ll loosen it! Your Highness, spare my life!”
The pressure around his neck instantly eased.
He climbed onto the cliff wall, spread his fingers, and transformed them into sharp fox claws, repeatedly digging into the crevice around the white sword. Stones clattered down in a steady stream.
After a long while—when his claws were nearly worn smooth—the sword finally shifted, sliding slightly loose from the rock.
Mu Zhaoran had been staring at the sword through the mirror the entire time. The moment it loosened, she activated the silk bell, releasing it from Zhu Qinglan’s neck. The bell, trailing pale-green silk, shot upward and wrapped itself around the sword’s hilt.
Zhu Qinglan fell from the cliff wall. Ignoring the pain in his hands, he looked up.
A burst of green light erupted from the bell, extending from the sword’s hilt like a flowing stream tinted with threads of gold. The light poured down along the narrow stone path, all the way to the bottom of the gorge.
Mu Zhaoran stood at the end of the steps below, yanking hard on the silk bell. The bell rang frantically in the gorge, echoes crashing over one another until they shook the mind.
How could that possibly pull it free? The Saintess was being far too naive.
That was what Zhu Qinglan thought—until a sharp crack rang out from the cliff wall. The white sword was actually torn free.
Once released, cloud-shaped light coiled around the blade, forming a sheath on its own. Wrapped in green light, the snow-white sword flew swiftly off the Forging Platform. Zhu Qinglan staggered to his feet and chased after the glow, stopping at the edge of the steps to peer down.
At the bottom of the gorge, the silk bell returned to Mu Zhaoran’s hand. She raised her arm and caught the descending sword, declaring triumphantly, “I got it!”
The green light folded back into a thin veil of silk and settled once more around her arm. The bell separated from the ribbon and automatically hung back at her waist. Her fluttering robes and hair calmed, falling neatly back into place.
Gripping the sword, Mu Zhaoran turned and strode away without looking back.
She didn’t spare him a single extra word—let alone a thank-you.
Zhu Qinglan stood on the Forging Platform, his face completely shrouded in darkness. Only his eyes burned with a fiery gold as he stared unblinking at the figure walking farther and farther away, until she vanished into the night.
In the darkness came the grinding sound of a beast gnashing its teeth.
Mu Zhaoran—just you wait.
On the Martial Practice Grounds, sunlight still shone brightly.
On the Rising Gold Platform, the instructors looked at one another in silence. A sword-cultivator from the Metal Palace frowned deeply, displeasure written on his face. “Coercing a fellow disciple and forcibly seizing a spirit sword—the Yaoguang Saintess’s actions are rather unscrupulous.”
Elder Cen also couldn’t understand why Mu Zhaoran, who had already expressed her intention to join the Earth Palace, would insist on taking a sword. Still, out of protectiveness for the rare promising seed his palace had finally gained, he snorted.
“The path of cultivation is fraught with hardship. One must have some cleverness and know how to adapt if one hopes to go far. Besides, that Zhu Qinglan was going to climb the Forging Platform anyway. Using his hands to retrieve a sword is simply killing two birds with one stone. You’re a dignified instructor of the Metal Palace, yet you casually brand a new disciple as ‘unscrupulous.’ Do you know how grave an accusation that is for someone newly entered into the palace?”
The Metal Palace instructor was left embarrassed and quickly explained, “Elder Cen, please calm your anger. We sword cultivators are used to speaking bluntly—it was just a careless remark, not meant to be taken seriously.”
The sword instructors on the platform truly couldn’t tolerate someone like Mu Zhaoran cutting corners and bending the rules of the Forging Platform. If future disciples all imitated her, it would become a real problem.
Someone spoke up in response: “Climbing the Forging Platform is both a test and a form of cultivation. Zhu Qinglan’s ascent has clearly elevated his spiritual power, and he’s showing signs of Foundation Establishment. If the Saintess of Nanrong keeps improvising like this every time, she might be wasting her chance to enter the Earth Scroll properly.”
Elder Cen said, “The Saintess only has an Earth affinity. Climbing the Forging Platform is not only useless for her, but it would also cause her more suffering than someone like Zhu Qinglan, who possesses both Metal and Fire affinities. Knowing how to maximize benefits and avoid harm—choosing what you want—is a skill in itself.”
Elder Lin added, “This is only the beginning. Everyone should avoid drawing conclusions too early.”
So the instructors on the Rising Gold Platform fell silent, turning their gaze toward the daylight side of the Earth Scroll.
Most disciples who had entered the Scroll had already found their first destination. For example, the young masters of the Penglai and Yingzhou isles both discovered a cave abundant in water-aspected spiritual energy.
At first, they even fought over it, but with no clear victor, they had to temporarily settle, each choosing a separate place to meditate and aim for a breakthrough in Foundation Establishment.
The cultivators from the four major sects in the Northern Region, who were generally stronger, scattered to find their own opportunities. Qiudao Yuan from the Xuanjige went to a bustling city to apprentice under a skilled craftsman.
The Zen cultivator from the Western Region entered a Buddhist temple to continue his practice.
Yet one person’s gaze remained fixed on the gorge plunged into darkness, completely uninterested in the experiences of the others.
—It was the final look of that fox that had unsettled him.
You Guxue lowered his eyes, running his finger along the hilt of the long sword resting across his lap. He had obtained this sword from the Forging Platform, which naturally meant he had climbed the stone staircase before, but back then he had been favored by the blades lining the walls and hadn’t faced much trouble.
While others had suffered injuries reaching the heights, his robe remained intact. Standing tall on the platform, the weapons and sword energies fell around him, leaving him free to choose.
Among the hundred blades, You Guxue only took this one sword.
“Useless thing,” he thought coldly. Pressing his thumb to the hilt, he slowly drew the Xing Tian Sword from its sheath, then slid his fingertips down to grip the sharp blade.
Blood soaked into the blade, and the sword trembled silently in his hand, a faint, eerie red gleaming along the snow-bright steel.
Inside the Earth Scroll, Zhu Qinglan sat cross-legged atop the Forging Platform, concentrating on finding his destined artifact.
Blades lined both walls of the gorge. He set his sights on a fire-aspected long-tassel spear embedded in the cliff and immediately released his spiritual power to merge with it.
The spear flared red, its tassels burning like fire. A faint smile tugged at Zhu Qinglan’s lips as he snapped open his damaged folding fan with a swish.
The spear suddenly pulled free from the cliff, splitting into multiple streams of red flame that surged toward the fan.
The folding fan rose into the air, the spear’s body forming its ribs while the fiery tassels wove the fan’s surface.
Just as the red fan was about to take shape, an unusual sword-like resonance rang out in the gorge. The source was unknown, and the sound was exceptionally clear, yet it forced the blades on both walls into forced harmony.
The wall-mounted weapons trembled in unison like rolling thunder, swallowing the faint sword resonance without a trace.
Startled, Zhu Qinglan looked up. Countless sword and blade energies erupted from the walls, violently coalescing into a single, bizarre greatsword that descended toward him.
By the time the instructors outside the Scroll noticed something was wrong, the sword had already fallen.
Its power far exceeded the platform’s test for disciples. One instructor jumped to his feet and shouted into the Scroll, “Zhu Qinglan, get out of the Earth Scroll immediately!”
Zhu Qinglan heard the voice but couldn’t leave. He hadn’t yet located the Zhuochen Grass needed for Ye Lizhi’s spirit link; he could not abandon the Earth Scroll.
But alone, he couldn’t catch the sword.
The raining blades pressed down from above. The newly formed red fan tore again. Zhu Qinglan gritted his teeth, disregarding whether his true form might be exposed. He recalled the fan, his red robe fluttered, and nine semi-transparent fiery tails extended beneath his robe, colliding head-on with the greatsword.
Boom.
The greatsword shattered into chaotic energy. One of Zhu Qinglan’s tails was severed. His body staggered, and before the turbulence above settled, he hastily retracted the remaining eight tails beneath his robe, collapsing onto the Forging Platform.
By the time the roar of the Forging Platform reached Mu Zhaoran, it had diminished considerably. She assumed it was thunder at night and, fearing rain, hurried toward the nearby city.
Perhaps because she was focused on avoiding spending the night outdoors, Mu Zhaoran exited the Earth Scroll’s barrier and landed just outside a small town, its streets dotted with faint lights.
She paid off a gate guard to open a narrow entrance into the town, then asked for the best inn. Receiving directions, she went straight there.
She had a light late meal, requested a room upstairs, and after washing up, lay down on the bed.
Having grown up surrounded by attendants, Mu Zhaoran had long been used to having everything done for her. In her previous life, entering the Earth Scroll without servants had been extremely uncomfortable; she constantly complained about the food, the bed, and the lack of help with washing and dressing.
After the hardships of her past life, however, she had long outgrown this spoiled behavior.
Now, with someone serving her, she enjoyed it. When alone, she no longer felt helpless.
A little extra money ensured even a midnight visit from the inn staff, bringing hot water to her room. She only had to fill a basin herself.
Mu Zhaoran didn’t bother with her hair, so she left her bun intact and removed only the hair ornaments.
She would make do for one night. Tomorrow, she still had to find the old man from her previous life—the one who had tried to force her to inherit his Earth cultivation techniques and had been struck dead by her hoe.
Perhaps because she had made different choices after reincarnation, her experiences this life differed from the previous one—her first meeting with Yun Xiaoyang, Ye Lizhi entering the Heavenly Dao Palace directly as a servant, and the absence of the Wutuan that had secretly followed her.
And now there was You Guxue, who had never appeared before.
Even her experiences in the Earth Scroll were different this time.
In her previous life, when she first entered the Earth Scroll, she hadn’t landed in the Forging Valley but in a simple forested mountain. There was a thatched cottage with a square patch of farmland outside.
An old man in coarse cloth was tilling the soil. Seeing her, he cried out in alarm, complaining that the rainy season was approaching and he had to finish the field before then. His back was weak, and he feared missing the farming season, so he demanded Mu Zhaoran’s help.
Her eyes widened as she stared at him like a madwoman. She was a princess of a great nation and had never touched soil to plant a flower, let alone seen the “hoe” he mentioned. And yet he shamelessly expected her to till the field.
Mu Zhaoran said nothing and turned to leave. But the simple dirt hill seemed impossible to leave. After a while, she found herself back at the field.
The old man pleaded again: “Young lady, help me till this field, and I’ll reward you with something good.”
Mu Zhaoran snorted in contempt and turned away.
By the third time she reached the field, the old man added: “Young lady, fate has brought you to me. You are destined to till this field for me…”
Mu Zhaoran didn’t wait for him to finish, changing direction and leaving again.
After pacing around the poor forest five or six times in frustration, refusing the hoe, the old man finally grew anxious.
Dropping the pretense, he chased her, nagging: “I have a supreme Earth cultivation technique, the result of a lifetime of study. If you till this field, I’ll pass it on to you.”
Mu Zhaoran grabbed a dry branch from the ground to shoo him away. “Get lost. Don’t bother me. Who wants your Earth technique!”
The old man cried out in disbelief, anger blazing in his eyes. How could she, with such talent for Earth affinity, be so ungrateful? “Ignorant child! This technique connects to the power of the Earth itself—something countless people have sought but could not obtain!”
Hearing Elder Cen speak of the “Earth-source power,” Mu Zhaoran had felt a faint familiarity. When the Earth Scroll opened, she remembered where she had heard it before—in the old man’s mouth while he was tilling the field.
In her previous life, Mu Zhaoran had scorned Earth cultivation entirely. No matter how much the old man boasted, she remained unmoved.
Desperate to get her to inherit his teachings, the old man kept compromising: till the whole field, then half, then just pick up the hoe once. Mu Zhaoran, eager to escape, feigned agreement and, upon grabbing the hoe, struck him dead immediately.
A heavy, mournful wail echoed through the forest as she finally left. She endured hardship, even humbling herself to persuade other disciples in the Scroll to lead her into the Forging Valley.
Usually intolerant of suffering, she had braved a thousand cuts on the stone steps, unwilling to retreat, just to obtain a sword from the same source as the Feng Tian Sword. Even if the sword came to her willingly, she would still pry one out herself.
Lying on the bed, she reflected that in her past life, she had gone to such lengths purely for Yun Xiaoyang—a testament to her strong, single-minded devotion.
Her strong, love-driven heart closed her eyes and quickly fell asleep.
On the Rising Gold Platform, You Guxue lowered his gaze, his long lashes shading his eyes. Bells chimed softly in his ears, tinkling pleasantly.
A faint red thread pulsed on his soul, drawing a strand of his consciousness into a vivid dream.
Layers of draped curtains created a dim, confined space.
Opening his eyes, he saw the familiar figure lying on the bed, pale-green silk trailing over her body, making her skin appear as fair and smooth as fresh snow. Golden-embroidered silk bound her wrists.
A perfectly round, hollow golden bell was fastened to her right wrist, jingling ding ding ding with every movement.
Mu Zhaoran’s eyes shimmered with tears, a soft, painful sob stuck in her throat. You Guxue leaned down, pressing close despite the thin silver mask covering his face, and whispered gently into her ear, “It’s all your fault.”
All your fault.
Just one little bell had made him so jealous.