"Don't stop! Use your thoughts as the sword, guide the qi and lead the breath."
At this moment, as An Jing swung out this sword, his breathing was somewhat labored. The Swordspirit, observing the scene with appreciation, immediately offered guidance, "The quantity of Demon Beast meat you've consumed is immense, your accumulation profound. Upon breakthrough, you actually reached the realm of 'Inner Breath as Vast as River'—but it's also for this reason that the backlash is even stronger!"
"Guide the breath, return it to the dantian!"
An Jing took a deep breath. The moment he unleashed the Blood Fiend Sword, he felt a thick and pure warm current surging within him, a robust breath of unknown origin, raging like a river, undoubtedly his 'Innate Qi'!
His heart thudded violently, the sound much louder and more resonant than before, like the drumming of the thunder god, echoing through heaven and earth.
It was in that instant that this thick warm current all became 'Inner Breath' within his control, but after unleashing that sword, An Jing also lost the mental capacity to fully command all his Inner Breath. For a moment, the Inner Breath scattered, aiming to spread throughout his body.
Fortunately, there was the Swordsprit. Following its guidance, An Jing took deep breaths. Large beads of sweat emerged continuously from his arms and chest, carrying a peculiar fragrance.
This was the medicinal power that had accumulated in An Jing's flesh and blood over a long time from consuming Demon Beast meat and Merciless Water. These powers interfered and numbed An Jing's perception, subtly transforming his body and spirit.
But not anymore.
Right now, within An Jing's body, there was a searing qi sensation roaming like swallowing a mouthful of boiling molten iron, scorching a path through his body. Wherever it burned, that place would sweat profusely, expelling the harmful medicinal powers within.
This was An Jing's Innate Qi, that is, Inner Breath.
This qi sensation was extremely hot and difficult to control, much like how one cannot control the movement of their intestines or the functioning of their organs, making even guidance a challenge.
However, a Martial Artist can direct it by practicing sword moves, controlling it toward a certain direction, strengthening a particular part of the body. It's simple, swift, and exhilarating.
Through repeated use and stimulation, along with consumption and training, one can augment their Inner Breath and enhance their control.
This is also the origin of the phrase 'poor in literature, rich in martial arts'—true entry into the realm of Martial Artist. The daily cultivation of Inner Breath consumes an enormous amount of physical strength and Blood Qi, which can only be replenished with copious amounts of food or elixirs.
However, the great sects possess special 'Visualization Dharma Gates', which allow one to guide the circulation of Inner Breath through visualization, thus expanding robust Inner Breath with minimal Blood Qi consumption.
The Tranquil Sword Manual is one such Dharma Gate. Under the guidance of the Rusty Sword from the Tranquil Sword Manual, the overly hot Blood Qi and Inner Breath became controllable and pure while grinding away at the rust… as long as one continues cultivation, not only the Inner Breath, but An Jing's soul and spirit would also be greatly elevated!
Indeed, as the Swordspirit said, it's 'the foundation of all gateways'!
"It's time to go back."
An Jing calmed the Inner Breath within him, gathering it all back to the dantian, then circulating it throughout his body following the Complete Circuit path, returning it to the dantian to form a cycle.
An Jing's eyes were bright at this moment, the light slowly fading as the Sword Qi of the Blood Fiend Sword in his hand also retracted into his body.
He did not know where the Blood Fiend Sword came from, but he could wield it with ease and agility. It simply required a considerable amount of Blood Qi and reduced his physical strength.
This matter could be pursued later with the Swordspirit, but now, if the time between the two realms was aligned, An Jing estimated it was almost dawn and he must immediately return to his dormitory.
Still, even so, An Jing did not forget the most important task.
First, he circulated the Tranquil Sword Manual to smooth out and camouflage his Inner Breath. Then with a slight move from the Swordsprit, it was concealed.
Next, after stowing away the two large-caliber handguns, a Spiritual Light pistol, and some magazines he had collected, An Jing summoned the Rusty Sword.
Under the guidance of the Swordsprit, he once again struck a void slash, tearing open a crack and returning to Embracing the Void.
Inside the ancient ruins,
A period passed after An Jing left.
Soft, faint sounds began to stir—countless shadows converged, forming a dark silhouette that quietly arrived at the spot An Jing had just left.
It lingered before the sword scar An Jing had left, scrutinizing it for a long time, warily glancing left and right, and then silently scattered, retreating back into the shadows.
In the Embracing the Void Realm,
Hanging Fate Manor.
The downpour continued, the lights flickered, but the patrolling figures had all vanished.
An Jing stepped out of the storage room and then subdued his presence, striding towards the main manor at a swift pace.
Utilizing the torrential rain, he washed away the medicinal scent exuding from his body, and as he passed those 'water tanks,' An Jing paused for a moment.
Then, with a determined heart, An Jing turned his head and continued towards the main manor.
He would not forget.
Back in his dormitory, everyone was sleeping soundly, no instructor patrolling and keeping watch, because the one in charge of overseeing the dormitory was An Jing himself.
The Master of the Medicine Manor wouldn't always keep an eye on him, as long as the 'Patrolling Instructor' didn't catch An Jing, he could continue leading the practice the next day, which would be considered full marks.
As for how An Jing managed to evade the instructor's patrol, that was his own ability, which the Master of the Medicine Manor wouldn't concern himself with.
He easily wrung out his clothes, changed back into his original clothes, and stowed away his firearms.
An Jing closed his eyes and entered his dream.
In the silent darkness.
An Jing dreamt of a sword.
This was a long sword with an ancient design, its hilt enigmatic, connecting to the blade as if it were a cold, clear spring under the moonlight.
The sword was three fingers wide, four feet long, with a nearly transparent silver-white blade that faintly reflected a continuous pattern of green clouds with the light.
The chilly aura was refined by the transparent killing intent, and an indescribable coldness gently seeped from the edge of the blade.
Gazing at the sharp edge, even during the heat of summer, one would feel as if they were in the far northern icy rivers.
It was held in a hand, pale and slender, yet powerful.
The long jade hand with distinct joints tightly gripped the hilt, a lonely figure standing above the high skies.
Overlooking a cruel and degenerate world.
Upon the earth, layers of buildings piled up, cities within thousands of miles burned; at the top of the sky, countless Cloud Cities fell, Cave Heavens hung high like stars.
Thousands of nations waged war and slaughter against each other, blood flooded over mountains like seas, and white bones filled the wilds, laying the foundation for the wasteland. The emperors of extreme luxury and desire sat within the capital city atop the Heavenly Pillar, countless slaves groveled on the ground, and in the magnificent gardens, men and women entangled like flesh worms, among wine ponds and meat forests where one could smell the scent of fresh blood, and the smoke from the torture rose straight to the top of the Sky Dome.
And atop that Heavenly Pillar, at the peak of Sky Dome Cloud City and many Cave Heavens, pairs of eyes gazed down at the turbulent world. They were not indifferent, not gleeful, not compassionate, and naturally, they bore no malice.
They just watched, waiting for what kind of seed could emerge from such a mountain of corpses and sea of blood, the ocean of desire and forest of flesh, to become one of them.
They did not wait for the True Demon seed that emerged from endless suffering and despair and attained enlightenment.
They waited for a sword.
At first, it twinkled at the edge of the sky like a star, then rapidly grew larger, dwarfing all the floating Cloud Cities, large enough to cleave the entire sky asunder. A towering Divine Sword burst through the clouds from the zenith of the Sky Dome, split the heavens, dividing the entire world.
Upon seeing the sword clearly, An Jing felt as though it had struck him—but it had not slashed.
Because it was already broken.
Broken from the base.
It was but an echo from eons past, merely a remnant shadow from the countless years gone by.
[Subdue Evil]
In the end, the young man only heard such a cold voice gently echoing in his ear, [Unsheath]
Clang—
An Jing awoke amidst the sound of the sword ringing.