15 Legacy

Chapter 15

Shen Yihan momentarily doubted his own eyes.

“The Dengyang Swordmaster?”

Good heavens, even the Dengyang Swordmaster had not escaped the grasp of this so-called “Ancestor Matron”?

The Dengyang Sword lineage had been passed down through generations, with more than one swordmaster. Yet judging by the taste of this “Ancestor Matron”—the books on the shelves she meticulously compiled and preserved were all either the founding patriarchs of this sect or the founders of other sects.

He had no doubt that this “Dengyang Swordmaster” must be the very first swordmaster of the Dengyang Sword.

This was truly puzzling.

Practicing the Dengyang Sword required one not to entertain worldly desires and to maintain a pure primordial yang body—a rule established by the first swordmaster himself. So how could this swordmaster have a romantic history with a female demon cultivator?

Could it be that when the first Dengyang Swordmaster passed on the sword technique, he was no longer in possession of a pure primordial yang body?

Shen Yihan’s curiosity was piqued. If this were true, it would surely be one of the greatest scandals in the cultivation world.

Unable to resist, he pulled out the volume.

He had seen portraits of successive Dengyang Swordmasters before, in the Yunran Grotto on Dengyang Peak, so he had a mental image of the first Dengyang Swordmaster’s appearance.

If this “Ancestor Matron” had painted someone other than the first swordmaster, he would have recognized it immediately.

To his surprise, the first page of the volume was unlike the one in Qingming Zhenren’s collection; the frontispiece was not empty, nor did it only recount how they met. Instead, it contained a pale red rose petal, preserved by some enchantment so that after millennia it remained soft and fresh, as if just plucked. Inscribed beside it was a phrase:

“Having witnessed the vast seas, no other waters suffice; except for the Clouds of Wushan, no other clouds are true.”

Turning the page, Shen Yihan was even more astonished.

There was no portrait of the Dengyang Swordmaster. Instead, a flowing golden-red parchment was tucked inside.

Upon closer inspection, it was a marriage contract.

The handwriting was no longer that of the “Ancestor Matron,” but seemed to be a man’s: steady yet vigorous strokes. Shen Yihan recognized the script instantly—it matched the inscription of the characters “Kunwu” carved on a stone at Kunwu Mountain Gate.

The marriage contract pledged eternal love and devotion. Shen Yihan read swiftly: the author of the contract intended to wed a woman. However, the names signed at the end were obscured by black ink, smudged beyond recognition.

Shen Yihan felt a surge of astonishment. He flipped to the next page.

At last, there was a portrait of the Dengyang Swordmaster, but unlike the simple likeness recorded by Qingming Zhenren, this one depicted a tall man carrying a long sword on his back, holding the hand of a woman behind him without turning his head. The image was drawn from the woman’s perspective.

There were no annotations—no record of the swordmaster’s cultivation level, birth date, or spiritual attributes—just a clean, solitary painting.

On the next page, the portrait showed a man and woman practicing swordplay together. The man steadied the woman’s arm, gazing down at her with tender affection. Shen Yihan instantly recognized this face—it was the very image hanging in Yunran Grotto of the first Dengyang Swordmaster.

He thought to himself: “It seems this ‘Dengyang Swordmaster’ is indeed the original one. Judging by the deep affection between the ‘Ancestor Matron’ and the first swordmaster, even to the point of arranging marriage, why have I never heard that the first Dengyang Swordmaster had a Dao companion?”

He pondered further. “Ah, that marriage contract was defaced like that—perhaps the wedding fell through at the last moment. Could it be that the first swordmaster discovered that this ‘Ancestor Matron’ practiced an unorthodox, demonic cultivation technique? But that can’t be right: in ancient times, human cultivators didn’t distinguish between righteousness and evil; even demon or ghost cultivators were not universally persecuted. So why would the marriage between these two elders...?”

Unable to find an answer, he continued flipping through the pages.

These pages did not contain erotic paintings but showed various scenes of the “Ancestor Matron” and the first Dengyang Swordmaster together, frequently practicing swordplay.

The portraits moved subtly. Though Shen Yihan’s understanding of swordsmanship was far from the depth of Yunran’s, his comprehension was not poor. After a few pages, he discerned that their sword techniques were complementary—one attack, one defense; one dynamic, one static.

Their sword intent was similarly paired—one fierce and overwhelming, the other flowing and tranquil. Though at first glance quite different, every move relied on the other, each technique reinforcing the partner’s. Their deep affection made their swordplay harmonious, like matching pearls and jade.

Shen Yihan grew increasingly amazed. He thought: “Earlier, I assumed the ‘Ancestor Matron’ was merely a demon cultivator practicing the art of energy extraction and pleasure. But judging by her swordsmanship here, she is hardly inferior to any of the current Kunwu Sword Sect’s masters or sword lords.”

He flipped several more pages.

“Her sword moves and intent are so perfectly attuned to the first Dengyang Swordmaster’s—yin and yang in harmony, like a well-tuned zither and lute. It’s as if their swords were born from each other, a testament to the profound bond these two elders shared.”

Each time he encountered a new painting of them practicing swordplay, Shen Yihan lingered longer, unable to tear himself away from the exquisite and profound techniques. Just watching a bit drew his spirit into a daze, captivated.

Finally, on the last page, the images ceased. Instead, there were fragmented writings from the “Ancestor Matron.”

The script was uneven, the strokes heavy and light, as if the writer was injured. It was brief—only two lines:

“Fine, since you tell me to leave, then I shall leave.”

“Once I leave, I will never return.”

Shen Yihan flipped further, but the pages were blank.

A tale of love and hatred unfolded in his mind. Most likely, this “Ancestor Matron” had a passionate past that was discovered by her lover. The Dengyang Swordmaster’s principles could not accept her, and thus their bond was severed.

He replaced the volume carefully.

Having swallowed such a juicy secret, he paused to lament for the two predecessors. Suddenly, he remembered his urgent task: to find the mechanism to open the secret chamber’s stone door, not to dwell on the love and hate of ancient cultivators.

Resolute, he stopped perusing the books and began searching carefully.

But after a long search, no hidden mechanism was found on the bookshelf.

Inside the chamber were a bed, a desk, and a dressing table with a mirror. The bedposts had chains and shackles, clearly used for restraint.

He examined the desk and dressing table, finding only two sword tassels inside a wooden box. Otherwise, nothing else.

He returned to the corpse of Xie Xiaofeng, pondering the few items retrieved from him. The Qiankun pouch was sealed tight. A bottle of pills and one of powder seemed unrelated to the chamber. Only the beast-skin scroll remained.

Picking up the scroll, he attempted to unroll it but found it locked.

He inspected it thoroughly and realized that although it appeared ordinary and contained no spiritual power, it bore the marks of blood recognition—it was a magical artifact.

He glanced down at the prone Xie Xiaofeng and suddenly understood.

After a moment’s thought, Shen Yihan bit his fingertip and let a drop of blood fall onto the scroll.

Instantly, the scroll trembled lightly, and a precious light coursed around it.

He felt his spiritual platform clear, and a miniature model of the grotto appeared in his sea of consciousness.

It was unmistakably the very grotto he was in.

At the same time, the unknown force suppressing his spiritual power dissipated instantly.

Shen Yihan breathed a sigh of relief, feeling as if he had survived a great ordeal.

With a thought, he tested further. Sure enough, with a creak, the stone door of the secret chamber slowly opened.

This grotto was, in fact, a blood-recognition magical artifact.

Now residing within Shen Yihan’s consciousness, he realized that the grotto’s mechanisms extended beyond the secret chamber’s stone door. The twisting, winding passage he had just entered could also be altered.

This grotto had originally recognized Xie Xiaofeng as its master. Now that he was dead, it could be re-recognized by blood.

From the unchanged furnishings, it seemed the “Ancestor Matron” had once lived here. Xie Xiaofeng must have acquired it only recently.

This grotto could isolate spiritual senses and seal off others’ spiritual power—a place to bind someone, first strip them of power, then hold them captive with no hope of rescue.

Even without capturing someone, the “Ancestor Matron” could meet her lover here safely, hidden from enemies.

Shen, a man of wide knowledge, immediately thought of the only refining material capable of such effects: Yunshui Stone Marrow.

This precious substance, born of heaven and earth, though without intelligence, was like a living being, breathing in the essence of sun and moon, gathering spiritual energy like a natural spirit-concentrating array.

Any spiritual probe entering it would be absorbed, like a whale swallowing water, allowing no return for others’ spiritual power or perception.

It could change shape at will, blending into the surrounding mountains and waters.

A piece no larger than a bead could fetch an astronomical price at auction. Storage rings made from it had vast space and blocked others’ spiritual detection.

The “Ancestor Matron” had somehow obtained a massive chunk and refined it into this grotto.

If any refiners knew, they would surely wail in anguish.

With his spiritual power restored, Shen Yihan performed a cleansing technique, removing the stain he had left on his clothes earlier, then disposed of Xie Xiaofeng’s corpse without leaving a trace.

Though the demon had not yet formed a nascent soul or transformed into deity, he was a formidable tribulation-stage cultivator before possession, skilled in ghostly tricks.

Even death might not have completely destroyed his spirit.

Shen Yihan knew he could not eradicate the soul utterly.

For now, caution was paramount.

Searching Xie Xiaofeng’s storage bag, Shen found a black jar that seemed unable to draw out the parasitic insects from his body.

He tried to force them out with spiritual power, but failed.

He realized the parasites were complex and not easily expelled—otherwise, they would not have tormented Yunran in his dreams for so long.

Xie Xiaofeng had said the current inheritance was not of the sword, but of his “Ancestor Matron.” Perhaps within it lay a cure for the parasites?

He pondered for a moment, then concealed his true appearance, reverting to the form of a sword sect disciple.

Luan Yuan transformed back into a purple-gold soft sword.

Shen Yihan exited the grotto, passing through the waterfall’s curtain of water.

After surviving a life-and-death ordeal, he saw daylight again.

Outside, dawn was breaking, the morning light gentle and bright, lifting his spirits instantly.

With a thought, a beam of precious light flew out from behind the waterfall into his palm.

It was a small, plain black jade—his grotto.

He looked toward the place where the inheritance had manifested yesterday, where the sword pressure had been released—and the truth dawned on him.

The sword pressure yesterday was not left by the seventeen swordmasters of Kunwu, but by the “Ancestor Matron.”

Although ancient human cultivators did not distinguish between good and evil, the “Ancestor Matron’s” conduct was hardly orthodox.

Demonic cultivation encouraged indulgence in desires, which over time would corrupt the heart, and the heart would affect the sword intent.

Her sword pressure, therefore, was not restrained as that of the Dengyang Swordmaster’s inheritance, which was deliberately tempered to avoid harming future generations.

This inheritance’s uproar—though he had no desire to meddle—now seemed unavoidable.

Just as Yunran had found this place, probably alerted by a friend sensing danger, Shen knew he should report his safety first.

He was about to summon a jade message talisman when suddenly a stirring in his brow stopped him.

It seemed the message talisman was unnecessary.

Yunran’s spiritual presence was close, not far into the forest ahead.

As Shen moved forward, he sensed a surge of sword intent from that direction, shaking the trees and sending countless birds fluttering from the branches.

Within that sword intent was a hidden killing intent.

But before that killing intent could manifest, another sword intent appeared—

Cold, silent, and domineering.

This sword intent immediately suppressed the previous one until it vanished without a trace.

The entire forest fell silent; not a single bird remained.

Shen Yihan recognized it at once.

It was Yunran’s sword intent.