Chapter Forty-Eight: The Eerie Heartbeat

Day after day slipped by, and in the blink of an eye, half a year had passed. The Cangyun Sect was enveloped in tranquility, yet during this period, a momentous event plunged the entire sect into celebration. Bai Yiran, the master of the Hundred Flowers Valley, announced that Cangyun Sect now officially possessed its sixth and seventh disciples with Heavenly Spiritual Roots, raising hopes that the sect would finally display the brilliance befitting such talents in the upcoming Grand Tournament among the five great sects!

For cultivators, nothing could be clearer than the nature of Heavenly Spiritual Roots—the higher the quality of one's spiritual roots, the faster one could absorb the spiritual energy of heaven and earth. In other words, cultivation speed would far surpass that of ordinary people!

Many disciples speculated about the cultivation level of these two disciples Elder Bai had spoken of; were they already extraordinary, or perhaps just ordinary folk?

Shen Qingyun—this name was remembered by only a handful. Yet, mention the nine chimes of the bell, and outer disciples would surely dredge up this long-forgotten name from the recesses of their memory.

But within the inner sect, those who spoke of the twin rankings’ first place, the challenger who defeated fourteen Foundation Establishment newcomers—every inner disciple would instantly recall Shen Qingyun. For his legendary feats—defeating fourteen Foundation Establishment disciples while still in the Qi Refinement realm—were at first received with skepticism, but as time passed, they were proven true.

So unbelievable were these achievements that they took on the air of legend.

In the Hall of Ceremonies, the Sect Master spoke in a gentle tone, “Does anyone else have something to say?”

Every seven days, the sect convened. The chief elders would bring forth the reports of their respective subordinates, laying out all the affairs for discussion here.

Chang Kong, whose eyes had been half-closed throughout, now opened them, his gaze calm and devoid of emotion. “Speaking of which, what has become of the disciple in the Hall of Reflection?”

At these words, the five chief elders exchanged glances, yet none spoke. In truth, they were all curious. After all, Shen Qingyun was the very disciple who had caused the Inquiry Bell to toll nine times! With half a year passed, many had considered mentioning the matter to Hong Feng, but recalling his temperament, they had all refrained.

They waited for someone else to bring it up, and none expected it would be the Grand Elder himself.

Hong Feng, eyes half-closed, replied quietly, “The Repentance Bell in the Hall of Discipline has not rung.” With that, he fell silent again.

At this, Chang Kong closed his eyes once more, saying nothing.

The Sect Master chuckled softly. “So, half a year has passed, and even the Grand Elder’s patience has its limits.”

Without opening his eyes, Chang Kong replied blandly, “Sect Master, if you don’t speak, no one would ever mistake you for a mute.”

The Sect Master’s smile grew broader. “Then I’ll hold my tongue. If I speak any more, I’ll be resented. When I have time, I’ll pay a visit on my junior brother’s behalf.”

This time, Chang Kong remained silent—a tacit approval.

All present understood what was on the Grand Elder’s mind, though none dared imagine what might occur if it came to pass. Apart from a few dormant patriarchs, only the Sect Master outranked the Grand Elder, Chang Kong, in seniority. In terms of age, the two were grandfathers to everyone else in the hall!

But in the world of cultivation, seniority mattered little—only power was respected.

If the Grand Elder truly took Shen Qingyun as a disciple, his status would instantly surpass that of some elders present. Even Bai Yiran herself would have to greet him as junior brother…

……

Within the Hall of Reflection, Shen Qingyun’s breathing was steady and powerful. The spiritual energy swirling around him pulsed rhythmically with each breath. His current aura was unmistakably that of Qi Refinement, ninth stage!

In just half a year, not only had he recovered from the second stage, but he had also leapt five stages, becoming a ninth-stage Qi Refinement cultivator!

As his cultivation drew to an end, Shen Qingyun put away the spirit stones, a slight frown creasing his brow. He felt the stones had become less and less effective, their energy depleting with increasing speed—especially after that heartbeat-like sound began. The rate at which their spiritual energy drained had increased by nearly a third. Who wouldn’t find this suspicious?

More pressing still, his supply was nearly gone—the spirit stones in his storage ring were almost depleted. Once they ran out, he would have to think of a solution…

A tall, upright figure entered from outside. Shen Qingyun looked over and asked, “Did you succeed?”

Feng Chuxun nodded. “I did.”

Still wooden as ever, still the same four sword scars. For half a year, Feng Chuxun had never stopped trying to carve four identical sword marks into the wood. Today, at last, he had succeeded.

A faint smile tugged at Shen Qingyun’s lips before his face returned to its usual indifference. “It took you half a year to succeed. I’ve never seen anyone as slow as you.”

Feng Chuxun did not refute this; he too felt he was slow. Previously, he’d been proud of his talent in the sword, but now, to carve a single set of sword marks with intent had taken him six months!

Taking the piece of wood marked by Feng Chuxun, Shen Qingyun saw the differences were minuscule—the four sword marks were already nearly identical.

Yet he was not satisfied. He handed the wood back. “Again.”

Feng Chuxun obeyed, tossing the wood into the air. With a flash of cold light, two swift swishes rang out, and his sword returned to its sheath. The wood now bore four more sword scars…

In the blink of an eye, four strikes had landed, just as Shen Qingyun had once demonstrated.

On both sides, four identical sword scars—like a perfect copy.

Shen Qingyun shook his head. “Your sword is still too rushed.”

Though it lasted but an instant, Shen Qingyun sensed the change in Feng Chuxun’s aura at that moment—he became like a sword drawn from its sheath, intent on breaking through all obstacles.

“Why?” asked Feng Chuxun, puzzled. He had strove to imitate the way Shen Qingyun attacked, believing he had achieved near perfection. He moved as Shen Qingyun had—why this assessment?

“It’s not that I underestimate you,” Shen Qingyun replied. “But you must recognize two truths. First, even though I do not specialize in the sword, my mastery of swordsmanship is beyond your reach. Second, your path must be your own, not a mere imitation.”

Shen Qingyun saw through it all, his gaze unwavering. “Imitating me can help you find shortcuts to the path you seek, but your intent is not that. You aim to achieve your goal through imitation alone. That is why I say your sword is too rushed.”

“Still, if you wish to walk the same path as I do, there is nothing wrong with that.”

“What is your path?” asked Feng Chuxun.

“Guardianship,” Shen Qingyun replied with a smile. “Is our path the same?”

Feng Chuxun shook his head lightly and turned to leave the Hall of Reflection.

Their paths, it seemed, were destined to diverge.

Shen Qingyun’s smile faded, his expression calm. When he spoke those two words—guardianship—a trace of hope flickered in his eyes. But after Feng Chuxun shook his head, that hope quietly faded, though disappointment did not follow.

Each must walk their own path. If, by chance, another’s should coincide with yours, then count yourself fortunate. If not, keep a tranquil heart and move forward.