I Might Be a Big Shot — Chapter 20
Sage Yipin, the Sect Master of Mount Shu, looked at the smooth avenue in front of him and the group of disciples at his side already lined up in formation, just waiting for his command to charge forth and set up the sword formation. He truly felt a headache coming on. He hadn’t even acted yet — what were the disciples getting so anxious for!
As the sect master, Sage Yipin had cultivated for nearly a thousand years. He was also one of the rare patient types among Mount Shu’s sword cultivators. Back when the selection for sect master was held, the then-current sect master lightly coughed and asked, “Who wants to be sect master?”
All his peers simultaneously stepped back in unison, leaving the slower Sage Yipin standing alone, and thus he was forced to take up the role.
Perhaps in other sects, the position of sect master was something everyone vied for. But to the sword cultivators of Mount Shu, being sect master meant dealing with a pile of mundane matters; it meant that when two disciples sparred too intensely, he couldn’t simply step in and strike them both, but instead had to soothe both sides; it meant no time to roam the world with sword in hand; it meant he couldn’t casually draw his sword, and every night his sword would hum discontentedly because it couldn’t leave its sheath.
For Mount Shu disciples, the sword was both their path and their justice. If even the sect master had no time to spar, then what was the point?
Since becoming sect master, Sage Yipin had hardly taken action in public, not even sparring with his fellow elders. Whenever he suggested sparring with his peers, they would say, “We wouldn’t dare — we might injure you and then we’d have to pick a new sect master.” When he offered to guide the junior disciples, they would say, “We wouldn’t dare trouble the sect master and delay your sect affairs — our masters would cut us down.”
In short, Sage Yipin was lonely as snow, and his treasured sword, named Thorn Cutting, was also quite miserable. In the three hundred years since he became sect master, he hadn’t drawn it even once. Truly aggrieved!
Now, hearing that Kunlun had suffered a disaster and the great war between righteous and demonic was about to begin again, Sage Yipin immediately volunteered to take the vanguard. In truth, leading the charge was no easy task and quite dangerous. But Mount Shu cultivated the sword as their path, and without countless battles, it was hard to improve. Almost every level of cultivation for Mount Shu disciples was gained through life-and-death comprehension. Thus sword cultivators progressed slowly and rarely ascended, but once they reached the tribulation stage, even the fiercest heavenly tribulations could not defeat them. Any sword cultivator who achieved the tribulation stage — both mind and power would far surpass ordinary cultivators. The path of the sword was hard to tread, but those who succeeded stood at the pinnacle of the cultivation world.
The reason the Purple and Azure Twin Swords didn’t behave as dutifully as other divine formations was partly because they wouldn’t act unless they encountered a true swordmaster, and partly out of consideration for Mount Shu disciples. When a true expert came, they would quickly open the path to give Mount Shu disciples a chance to temper themselves.
Unlike other protective formations that only blocked outsiders at the gates and became useless once breached, the Purple and Azure Twin Swords would re-form the formation whenever Mount Shu disciples could no longer hold the enemy back. It was at that moment the true power of Mount Shu’s formation would be revealed.
It was said that at that time, with the swords’ resonant song, all the treasured swords passed down since ancient times from Mount Shu’s sword tomb would break free and form the real Mount Shu sword formation to repel the enemy.
However, in all the many years since Mount Shu’s founding, this had never happened.
Typically, the stronger the opponent, the closer the path the Twin Swords opened would lead toward the main hall. Now, with the path opened all the way to the doors, it clearly proved the newcomer’s strength was extraordinary. How could Mount Shu disciples not feel excited?
They weren’t fools, of course — they understood such an expert was beyond their personal abilities to defeat. So they had long prepared their formation, just waiting for the moment he stepped into the hall to deploy it.
And so Changkong Zhuoyu and the others walked along that golden avenue, stepping into the main hall of Mount Shu before the eyes of all the disciples.
Before even entering the hall, a group of Mount Shu disciples descended in a whoosh, surrounding them in orderly fashion, swords subtly shifting, each step full of hidden meaning.
Changkong Zhuoyu, still not smug, fanned himself and glanced at each disciple’s feet, then smiled faintly. “The Eight Directions Departed Fire Formation — without the Vermilion Bird at the main position, do you really think such an formation can trap me?”
At those words, Li Xinglun couldn’t help but glance at him in surprise. Since meeting this unconventional master, Changkong Zhuoyu had seemed completely clueless about the cultivation world, needing instruction even in the most basic knowledge. But now he could name the sword formation and point out its flaw in a single breath — this truly puzzled the Li Xinglun who thought he understood him.
How could someone who didn’t even know how to draw in spiritual energy recognize such an exquisite sword formation?
Recalling Changkong Zhuoyu’s terrifying sword techniques, Li Xinglun couldn’t help suspecting his master had some past connection with Mount Shu.
“The Eight Directions Departed Fire Formation is only deployed when our sect faces true crisis. It has not been used for several thousand years. For you to recognize it at a glance from the disciples’ positions and movements and even identify its weakness, you must have some deep connection with Mount Shu. But I wonder — is this connection friendly or hostile?” Sage Yipin, holding his sword in one hand, slowly walked out from the main hall. His entire person stood straight like a sword, each step like a blade cutting through the air.
“Man and sword as one…” Changkong Zhuoyu appraised him. “Peak of the Great Ascension stage — just one step away from breaking through the heavens and ascending with the tribulation.”
Hearing this, the Mount Shu disciples were all stunned.
To ordinary cultivators, heavenly tribulations were tests to be endured, and surviving them meant ascending to the immortal realm. But to true experts who had comprehended the Dao, tribulations were not trials but opportunities to open the gate to higher cultivation stages and gain deeper understanding of the Dao. For them, the tribulation was not to be crossed but to be taken — breaking through the heavens, riding the tribulation upward.
Had their sect master, who hadn’t drawn his sword in three hundred years, already reached this level?
Sage Yipin didn’t feel proud hearing Changkong Zhuoyu’s words — on the contrary, his heart was full of grievance. If he hadn’t been unable to draw his sword for three hundred years, he wouldn’t have ended up talking to his Thorn Cutting Sword every day, gently wiping it, telling it to be patient — that its chance would come. And so it dragged on for three centuries. The Thorn Cutting Sword accumulated three hundred years of power, and he, too, in his long conversations with it, unexpectedly gained insight into the sword’s heart and reached the stage of man and sword as one.
Other sword cultivators comprehended the sword’s heart in battle and instantly achieved unity with their sword. But Sage Yipin…
Such a path to man-and-sword unity was not what he or his Thorn Cutting Sword wanted.
Though he felt stifled inside, as sect master he kept his composure before the disciples and said to Changkong Zhuoyu, “If you can perceive my cultivation stage, you must also have reached the final step and approached ascension, no?”
Changkong Zhuoyu smiled faintly. His strength was unfathomable — whether he had reached that step remained to be seen.
“Mount Shu’s Yipin. May I ask your esteemed name?” Sage Yipin cupped his hands.
“Changkong Zhuoyu.”
The two locked eyes and spoke in unison to their respective sides: “Stand down.”
The Mount Shu disciples and Li Xinglun’s party all retreated. Changkong Zhuoyu stood in the center, fanning himself, facing Sage Yipin.
“Where is your sword?” Sage Yipin asked.
“My sword is in my heart.” Changkong Zhuoyu opened his fan and fanned himself lightly.
“In that case, forgive me.”
The moment the words fell, a scarlet sword light shot out from within Sage Yipin. He leaped and grabbed it, flipping midair to strike at Changkong Zhuoyu.
But Changkong Zhuoyu remained unhurried, lightly waving his paper fan in a sharp arc, and actually blocked the Thorn Cuttier Sword with that ordinary fan.
At the moment of contact, the sword’s scarlet glow dimmed, revealing its sharp true form. It trembled lightly before Changkong Zhuoyu, letting out a hum of both fear and excitement.
Frightened by Changkong Zhuoyu’s power yet exhilarated to face such a master — able to duel such an expert, even if it broke, it would not regret this life.
Sensing the sword’s intent, Changkong Zhuoyu nodded slightly. “Good sword.”
Sage Yipin sighed. “You too surely have a fine sword. Every sword cultivator does. It may not be a divine weapon, but it is what matters most to you, the sword that carries you on your path.”
The direction the sword pointed was always straight.
A trace of puzzlement flashed through Changkong Zhuoyu’s eyes. If he were a sword cultivator, shouldn’t he have a sword? Then where was his?
Though puzzled, his strikes never faltered. In a blink, he and Sage Yipin had exchanged hundreds of blows, each move exquisitely precise, every strike aimed at the other’s vital points, each so perilous that even the sword auras alone seemed lethal. Such masters, even practicing alone, could have destroyed the hall with their power. Yet these two perfectly balanced each strike, their sword forces clashing so that while everyone felt the oppressive sword pressure, it was as though they were protected from harm.
Like watching a storm from a warm room — every lightning flash made the heart race, every thunderclap struck fear, yet deep down you knew you were safe, shielded.
So this was the sect master’s swordsmanship — just watching him was more beneficial than decades of one’s own cultivation. Why hadn’t they sparred with the sect master sooner!
This thought crossed every Mount Shu disciple’s mind.
Watching Changkong Zhuoyu’s swordsmanship, Li Xinglun at first couldn’t follow it clearly. But gradually, it became sharper to him. Though Changkong Zhuoyu’s movements were blindingly fast and he, still at the Foundation Building stage, shouldn’t have been able to see, he could clearly sense every action.
Even without opening his eyes, even with eyes closed, Li Xinglun could feel each of Changkong Zhuoyu’s sword moves.
And so he really closed his eyes, sitting cross-legged. The spiritual energy of heaven and earth was naturally drawn to him, flowing into his body, circulating in a way he’d never seen before, finally gathering in his dantian.
{Dantian — the center of the internal alchemy located in the abdomen; a "womb" that houses the inner core when it is formed.}
Sword, Dao.
Was the sword the Dao, or was the Dao the sword?
What was the path he sought?
The question that had troubled Li Xinglun for so long suddenly became clear with Changkong Zhuoyu’s every move.
The slaughter of his family, his fall into the abyss intent on death, the deadlock at the Soul-Breaking Gorge…
His path — press forward, overcome all obstacles, walk where there’s a way, carve a way where there isn’t.
No need to follow others’ paths, no need to cultivate others’ methods. His path — he would walk it himself.
In the midst of his duel with Sage Yipin, Changkong Zhuoyu suddenly sensed something odd. He stepped back, standing before Li Xinglun, guarding his suddenly-meditating disciple.
To enter enlightenment mid-battle — this disciple really was troublesome. Changkong Zhuoyu sighed inwardly in exasperation.
Still, he had a decent aptitude — able to comprehend the Dao from his swordsmanship. Not bad.
Sometimes, when sword cultivators crossed blades, they could tell at once whether the other was friend or foe. Seeing Changkong Zhuoyu retreat, Sage Yipin also sheathed the still-excited Thorn Cutting Sword and cupped his hands. “Please, take a seat.”
Changkong Zhuoyu said, “Once my disciple finishes his seclusion, we’ll discuss together how to confront the worldly calamity.”
With a flick of his sleeve, Sage Yipin commanded the Mount Shu sword formation to shield Li Xinglun and Changkong Zhuoyu, preventing anyone from disturbing them.
Once out of sight, Changkong Zhuoyu immediately plopped to the ground, ungracefully wiping his sweat. At last, his fan could no longer bear the immense spiritual energy. As he withdrew his power, the paper fan turned to ash and vanished into the air.
Fortunately, Li Xinglun had entered meditation. One more move and the fan would’ve broken! Changkong Zhuoyu patted his chest in lingering fear.
Truly his good disciple.
~ Chapter End ~
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