The morning after his defeat, Lin Feng awoke to a dull ache that coursed through his entire body. His muscles screamed in protest as he forced himself to rise from the mat in his small, humble hut. Every breath was a reminder of Zhang Wei's overwhelming power, of the gaping chasm between the sect disciples and someone like him.
Lin Feng glanced at the broken remnants of his father's sword, now laid out on the table before him. The once-proud blade was nothing more than jagged shards, its edge dulled, its spirit seemingly extinguished. It was as though a part of him had died along with it.
He clenched his fists, the memories of Zhang Wei's sneering face fueling a quiet rage. Weak. That word echoed in his mind, carving deeper wounds than any physical injury could. But Lin Feng wasn't ready to give up. If his current strength wasn't enough, then he would simply have to find a new path.
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Later that day, Lin Feng ventured into the dense forest that bordered Greenleaf Village. The woods were his sanctuary, a place where he could escape the whispers of the villagers and the suffocating weight of his failures. He carried the fragments of his sword with him, unwilling to leave behind the last connection he had to his father.
As he wandered deeper into the forest, the air grew cooler, the sunlight filtering through the canopy in shimmering rays. Lin Feng's mind churned with thoughts of what to do next. Without his sword, his training was at a standstill. Without a proper cultivation manual, he couldn't progress beyond the Mortal Realm. And without resources, he was just a powerless struggler in a world where strength was everything.
It was as he passed by a familiar clearing that something unusual caught his attention. The jade pendant around his neck, a simple trinket left to him by his mother, began to grow warm against his chest. Lin Feng stopped, frowning as he pulled it out from beneath his tunic. The pendant shimmered faintly, its surface glowing with an ethereal light.
Before Lin Feng could process what was happening, a voice echoed in his mind, ancient and resonant.
"Child, do you wish to break your chains?"
Lin Feng staggered back, his eyes darting around the clearing. There was no one in sight, but the voice was unmistakable. It carried a weight and authority that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
"Who's there?" Lin Feng demanded, clutching the pendant tightly. "What do you mean?"
The voice spoke again, calm yet commanding. "I am a remnant of the Celestial Sword Ancestor, bound to this pendant you carry. For years, I have slumbered, waiting for one with the will to rise above the heavens themselves. Tell me, Lin Feng, do you desire strength?"
Lin Feng's breath caught in his throat. The Celestial Sword Ancestor? He had heard the name in passing—an ancient legend of a peerless swordsman who had ascended to the Xiantian Realm and beyond, his power unmatched in all the realms. But those were just stories, weren't they?
"Strength?" Lin Feng muttered, his grip on the pendant tightening. The memory of Zhang Wei's blade shattering his own flashed in his mind. The jeers of the villagers, the whispers of his worthlessness—they all came rushing back. "Of course, I desire strength. But… I have no talent. I've tried for years, and I can't even step into the Xiantian Realm. How can I—"
"Silence," the voice interrupted, its tone sharp. "Do not speak of talent. It is a fleeting gift. What matters is will, and yours burns brighter than any I have seen. That is why I have chosen you, Lin Feng."
The pendant pulsed again, and Lin Feng felt an unfamiliar warmth spread through his chest. It was as though the voice was reaching into the deepest parts of his soul, pulling forth something he hadn't known was there.
"You have suffered, and you have struggled," the voice continued. "But strength does not come without sacrifice. If you truly wish to walk the path of the sword, you must be prepared to abandon your doubts, your fears… and perhaps even your humanity."
Lin Feng swallowed hard, his heart pounding. Abandon his humanity? The weight of the words hung heavy in the air, but he couldn't bring himself to look away. "What do I need to do?" he asked, his voice trembling but resolute.
"First, you must awaken the spirit of your blade," the voice said. "Though it is shattered, its essence remains. Close your eyes and focus. Feel the energy within you, the fire of your determination. Let it flow into the shards of your sword."
Lin Feng hesitated, then did as the voice instructed. He closed his eyes, clutching the largest fragment of the broken sword in his hand. He focused on his breathing, on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Slowly, he began to feel it—a faint hum, like the whisper of a breeze. The warmth from the pendant grew stronger, merging with the fragment in his hand.
The air around him seemed to shift, growing heavier. Lin Feng opened his eyes to find himself standing in a vast, ethereal space. Stars stretched out in every direction, their light bathing him in a soft glow. At the center of the void stood a figure—a towering man clad in resplendent armor, his eyes blazing with celestial fire.
"I am the Celestial Sword Ancestor," the figure said, his voice resonating like a thunderclap. "And you, Lin Feng, are my successor. But know this: the path ahead will not be easy. You will face trials that will break lesser men. If you accept my guidance, you must be prepared to endure pain, loss, and hardship beyond anything you have known."
Lin Feng stared up at the Ancestor, his mind racing. This was it—the chance he had been waiting for, the opportunity to rise above his station. But the Ancestor's words were not empty. Lin Feng knew that strength came at a cost. The question was, was he willing to pay it?
"I've already lost so much," Lin Feng said, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. "If pain and loss are the price for strength, then I'll pay it. I won't stay weak. I can't."
The Celestial Sword Ancestor nodded, a faint smile flickering across his face. "Very well, Lin Feng. Then let us begin. First, I will restore your blade—not as it was, but as it was meant to be. Focus your energy. Channel your will. Let your desire for strength shape it anew."
Lin Feng closed his eyes again, his grip tightening on the shard in his hand. The hum grew louder, resonating through his entire body. Energy surged through him, wild and untamed, as the shard began to glow. The fragments of the sword scattered around him lifted into the air, drawn together by an invisible force.
When Lin Feng opened his eyes, the broken sword was gone. In its place was a new blade—sleek, sharp, and shimmering with a faint, otherworldly light. It pulsed in his hand, alive with power.
"This is your first step," the Ancestor said. "But remember, Lin Feng: a sword is only as strong as the one who wields it. Your true journey begins now. Steel your heart, for the trials ahead will test not only your strength, but your very soul."
Lin Feng nodded, his resolve hardening. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his new sword, feeling its weight, its balance. For the first time in his life, he felt a glimmer of hope—not just for survival, but for victory. His path was set, and he would follow it to the very end.
No matter the cost.