Chapter 10

“Is this… the Shadow Reflection Sword?”

“Indeed, it is the Shadow Reflection Sword, ranked first among the infamous swords. I could never mistake it.”

“So, this is the sword that slaughtered Soul Suppression Island in a single strike back then?”

“Heavens, could that legend actually be true…?”

“But why is the Shadow Reflection Sword here?”

All the disciples’ gazes locked onto Ming Yan.

Ming Yan looked utterly innocent: “My husband gave it to me.”

Her words only made their expressions grow even more complicated.

The fact that Chu Xuanqing had claimed the Shadow Reflection Sword as his Lifebound Spirit Sword was common knowledge throughout the sect. Of course, it was also no secret that he later used this very sword to cleave Soul Suppression Island—which had come to cause trouble for the Profound Sky Sect—in half with a single strike.

Generally speaking, a spirit sword of this caliber could easily be considered a sect’s treasure.

Yet Chu Xuanqing had casually gifted it to his Dao Companion, and one who had just reached Foundation Establishment at that.

—What a sheer waste of a divine artifact.

“Wait, how can a Lifebound Spirit Sword be given away so casually?” a disciple questioned.

Ming Yan thought to herself, *How should I know?*

But the question wasn’t unfounded.

In the cultivation world, a sword cultivator could possess countless swords, but only one could ever be called their Lifebound Spirit Sword. To a sword cultivator, their Lifebound Spirit Sword was as vital as their own heart.

A sword cultivator’s training, breakthroughs, and battles were all inextricably tied to their Lifebound Spirit Sword.

From what Ming Yan knew, a Lifebound Spirit Sword truly couldn’t be transferred to another.

Yet Chu Xuanqing had somehow made Xiaobai acknowledge her as its master.

Another disciple spoke up: “I do know of one method that allows Dao Companions to share a Lifebound Spirit Sword. However, it requires the sword’s original master to sacrifice at least a century’s worth of cultivation. That’s why it’s rarely used in the cultivation world…”

As he spoke, the disciple stared pointedly at Ming Yan.

Ming Yan mused that if looks could talk, this disciple’s gaze would undoubtedly spell out three words:

*Envy. Jealousy. Resentment.*

Not that she could blame him.

After all, a century’s worth of cultivation was no small matter.

Even a lazy cultivator could ascend to immortality after a hundred years of dedicated practice.

Though Chu Xuanqing was a prodigy—his single year of cultivation equivalent to an ordinary person’s century—the more powerful a cultivator became, the more they treasured their hard-earned progress. No one knew whether they might fall just a century short of ascension before their lifespan ran out.

For Chu Xuanqing to sacrifice a century’s cultivation just so the Shadow Reflection Sword would acknowledge Ming Yan as its master… A single thought surfaced in every disciple’s mind:

*Senior Uncle Chu must truly love his wife beyond doubt.*

Well, this dog food, I’ll gladly eat first.

Ming Yan, however, thought differently.

Others might not understand, but she knew her husband’s nature all too well.

Who was Chu Xuanqing?

He was the ultimate villain in *Catching Demons and Seeking the Dao*, a cultivation maniac who turned outright deranged after failing to ascend.

To him, even a single year’s cultivation was akin to carving flesh from his bones, let alone a century.

For him to willingly sacrifice a century’s cultivation now, unless he’d lost his mind, there could only be one explanation:

Chu Xuanqing felt guilty toward her and wanted to make amends.

Sure, he’d gifted her plenty of spiritual treasures like hairpins and immortal gowns, but Ming Yan knew better. To Chu Xuanqing, such items were practically worthless, piled carelessly in his spatial storage.

This time, the sword’s acknowledgment was different.

The Spirit Sword acknowledging its master meant two things for Ming Yan. First, her self-preservation abilities were significantly enhanced. If Mu Qingqing ever thought of using the Demon-Slaying Whip again, she’d first have to ask whether Xiaobai agreed.  

Second, Chu Xuanqing had expended a century’s worth of cultivation to complete the acknowledgment. Delving deeper, for a straightforward man like Chu Xuanqing to actually feel guilt, it must mean he was planning something utterly unforgivable toward her. Forgive Ming Yan’s dullness, but what else could it be besides killing her?  

So, in other words—  

Chu Xuanqing had indeed obtained that Wife-slaying Dao Attainment cultivation method.  

He had it—he was just biding his time.  

After all, they had been Dao Companions for ten years. Even if there was no love, there was kinship. It was only natural that Chu Xuanqing would feel remorse before taking action and compensate Ming Yan within his means.  

—She’d heard that even farm pigs were given a priest’s blessing before slaughter.  

Surely Ming Yan deserved better treatment than a pig.  

At this thought, Ming Yan couldn’t suppress the wild grin spreading across her face.  

Wonderful—she could finally die.  

Once she reached the Tribulation Transcendence Stage, who would she fear then? Mu Qingqing? Wen Nie? Not even Fu Shui Daojun, the leader of the righteous path and the Profound Sky Sect’s sect master, would be a concern.  

When that time came, she’d give herself a grand title—Fairy Ming Yan? No, no, Goddess Ming Yan.  

“Fairy” sounded a bit old-fashioned. “Goddess” had a nicer ring to it.  

Ming Yan chuckled to herself.  

……  

“Little Martial Aunt, it’s your turn.”  

Someone snapped Ming Yan out of her reverie.  

In high spirits, even her voice carried a hint of laughter. “Coming.”  

Only then did she realize—  

Her daydream about how to spend her imaginary fortune had gone on for quite a while.  

The lesson was already halfway through.  

The first half had focused on honing the disciples’ sword-flight abilities. As talented Inner Sect Disciples, everyone—except Ming Yan—had performed well. The latter half was dedicated to learning swordplay, specifically the *Returning Ruins Swordplay*.  

*Returning Ruins* was an exclusive Profound Sky Sect technique, renowned for its principle of overcoming hardness with softness. Every notable figure in the sect had mastered it.  

Earlier, the instructor had demonstrated the first stance of *Returning Ruins* once, then asked the disciples to replicate it.  

But perhaps due to the earlier excitement over the Shadow Reflection Sword, everyone found the instructor’s demonstration underwhelming.  

When it was Ming Yan’s turn, the young disciples’ faces brimmed with anticipation and curiosity.  

Ming Yan noticed their eager gazes.  

*This one’s easy—time to show off.*  

Focusing, she silently recited the sword incantation, channeling spiritual energy through her body.  

Then—  

Xiaobai: “Pfft—hahaha! You look ridiculous when you’re serious.”  

Ming Yan: “…”  

Xiaobai: “Oh no, oh no, don’t tell me someone actually thinks I’d bother with a child’s play like *Returning Ruins*?”  

Ming Yan, ever magnanimous, refused to be outdone by a sword. She scoffed, “Or maybe some sword just doesn’t know how.”  

Xiaobai bristled. “You’re lying, you wicked woman!”  

Ming Yan replied leisurely, “Prove it then. All talk and no action—what kind of sword does that?”  

Xiaobai, being naive, took the bait instantly.  

“Fine, watch closely, all of you!”  

Before the words even finished, the sword shot into the air, its silver-white glow dazzling under the sunlight.  

The disciples looked up—  

*Swish! Swish! Swish!*  

Several streaks of white light flashed—  

And the instructor’s snow-white beard fell to the ground in scattered clumps.

Xiaobai said proudly, “See? This is the essence of the Returning Ruins Swordplay—the greatest truths are the simplest.”

Ming Yan: “…”

The swordplay instructor’s surname was Fang. Though his cultivation wasn’t high, he was quite old, and his greatest pride was his long beard that reached the ground.

He had a habit of asking everyone he met, “Do you think my beard has grown longer?” or “Do you think my beard has turned whiter?”

His colleagues found it unbearable.

Well, now they wouldn’t have to endure it anymore.

Because Xiaobai’s Returning Ruins Swordplay had shaved his beard clean off.

Completely clean.

Ming Yan peeked and noticed that not even stubble remained.

Now, Teacher Fang looked like a young man—well, except for his slightly darker complexion.

Teacher Fang’s face darkened like the bottom of a pot.

His meticulously grown beard, nearly a century in the making, was gone just like that. Anyone would be furious and humiliated.

But due to Ming Yan’s status as the young mistress, he didn’t dare lash out on the spot.

After all, there was Mu Qingqing’s example as a cautionary tale.

However, holding back didn’t mean Teacher Fang wasn’t angry, nor did it mean he wouldn’t make things difficult for Ming Yan.

So, after class, when the other disciples had left, Teacher Fang kept Ming Yan behind.

“Young Mistress, this disciple humbly requests your guidance on my Returning Ruins Swordplay. Would that be possible?”

Ming Yan felt guilty. “Teacher, with your level of skill, I wouldn’t dare presume to guide you.”

Teacher Fang: “Nonsense, Young Mistress. Your swordplay is exquisite and would surely be of great benefit to this disciple.”

Ming Yan: “…”

She was in trouble.

Ming Yan thought to herself.

＊

Unfortunately, Ming Yan couldn’t always count on her husband to bail her out at the right moment.

At least this time, as night fell, her husband still hadn’t noticed.

Under the pretense of seeking Ming Yan’s guidance, Teacher Fang performed move after move in front of her—first the Returning Ruins, then the Seven Absolutes. Ming Yan, tired and hungry, simply pulled out a small folding stool from her spatial storage and sat under a tree to offer critiques.

Yes, Teacher Fang wouldn’t even let her just watch—he demanded commentary after every move.

Only Teacher Fang could come up with such a childish method of revenge.

Ming Yan mused.

But she did owe him, after all—his beard had been completely shaved off by the Spirit Sword.

So Ming Yan diligently showered him with praise:

“Teacher, that move was so impressive! Are you the legendary Sword Immortal of our time?”

“No, no—I take that back. Teacher Fang, you’re the absolute best! Sword Immortals are nothing compared to you!”

“Teacher Fang, forever unmatched! I’m utterly awed by your swordplay. With a move like that, even the sun and moon wouldn’t dare compete for brilliance…”

Just as Ming Yan was running out of breath and exhausting her lifetime supply of flattery—

Finally, salvation arrived.

Someone was approaching.

“Husband?”

Ming Yan’s cat-like eyes lit up, only to dim the next instant.

No, it wasn’t Chu Xuanqing.

Chu Xuanqing carried a faint, clean scent of pine, while this person reeked of blood. Ming Yan, who couldn’t stand the smell of blood, pinched her nose and nearly gagged. Suddenly, something like a sack was thrown over her head.

Darkness engulfed her vision, and she passed out.

When she woke again, she had been moved to another location.

It seemed to be a dilapidated temple somewhere in the back mountains.

Ming Yan tried to move but found herself bound tightly.

“Save your breath,” a sinister voice echoed in the darkness, like a venomous serpent or a specter crawling from hell. “This is the Immortal Binding Rope, designed specifically to restrain cultivators. Even your Dao Companion at the Tribulation Transcendence Stage wouldn’t be able to escape today.”

“Wen Nie?” Ming Yan guessed.

“Tch, not entirely foolish,” Wen Nie sneered.

With a flick of his sleeve, he lit a candle, its glow revealing his pale, bloodless face.

His features were undeniably handsome—the author’s description of him as a “mad beauty” wasn’t exaggerated in the slightest.

Yet here, under the cover of night with the wind howling, the mad beauty loomed over her, a longsword gripped in his hand.

Ming Yan’s heart skipped a beat.

She thought, *Definitely a lunatic.*

That day, it had been the female lead Mu Qingqing and Wen Nie who struck first. Chu Xuanqing had merely retaliated to teach them a lesson. But Wen Nie refused to let it go and now sought revenge. If she weren’t so kind-hearted, someone more decisive would have already turned against him.

Still, Ming Yan was curious: how had he managed to capture her when Xiaobai was around?

And where *was* Xiaobai?

Her eyes darted around, searching.

“Looking for your Shadow Reflection Sword?” Wen Nie scoffed. “Too bad—it’s been bound too.”

“Oh,” Ming Yan replied flatly.

If he claimed the Immortal Binding Rope could restrain even Chu Xuanqing, then trapping Xiaobai, his Spirit Sword, probably wasn’t much of a feat.

Wen Nie frowned at her lack of reaction. “Aren’t you afraid?”

Ming Yan flexed slightly, snapping the Immortal Binding Rope with ease. She smiled sweetly. “Why would I be?”

Wen Nie’s face twisted in shock. “Impossible!”

The Immortal Binding Rope was a sacred artifact of the demonic race—even a Tribulation Transcendence Stage expert couldn’t break free.

How could it fail against a mere Foundation Establishment cultivator?

Ming Yan: *Your rope binds immortals. What does that have to do with me, a monster?*