18. Inheritance

Chapter 18

Shen Yihan’s first instinct was to send a mental message, telling his troublesome junior disciple to return immediately from wherever he had come.

He didn’t even know how Senior Uncle Lu had arrived, or how Chang Gexiao had slipped away right under his watchful eyes.

But soon he dismissed the idea—

The moment he and Yun Ran arrived at this place, they sensed at least three or four cultivators beyond Nascent Soul stage present, all sword masters or sword lords from the Kunwu Sword Sect. There might even be some whose cultivation surpassed his own.

Neither he nor Chang Gexiao had imprinted their spiritual marks like Yun Ran had, so transmitting sound now risked being intercepted by someone of higher cultivation.

If that happened, it would expose that neither of them were disciples of the sword sect, inviting trouble.

Reluctantly, Shen Yihan decided to hold back, planning to find another way to contact his junior later.

Meanwhile, Yun Ran’s arrival in the dense forest above drew many eyes.

Among Nascent Soul cultivators present, Shen Yihan noticed three had not descended to the ground: one sat in a four-sided cloud sedan chair veiled with curtains nearby, the gentle breeze stirring the silk drapes to reveal a figure clad in water-blue robes; another was aboard a flying spirit boat; and a third, accompanied by several disciples, was skillfully riding a sword—this last one was a familiar face to both Shen Yihan and Yun Ran, the Changchun Sword Lord.

The Changchun Sword Lord approached with a smile, cupping his hands in greeting. “I have already heard from Han’er about the earlier matter. Thanks to Immortal Yun for protecting the disciples under my seat.”

Yun Ran nodded slightly. “It was nothing; no need for thanks.”

Shen Yihan felt the Changchun Sword Lord’s gaze linger on him briefly. Although Shen Yihan knew it unlikely he could be seen as suspicious, meeting the sword lord’s eyes still made him uneasy.

Perhaps it was because their cultivation levels were similar—

For the first time, the sect master Shen felt a twinge of regret for not having cultivated better. His current strength might barely suffice outside, but within the Kunwu Sword Sect, any sword lord was at least Nascent Soul, let alone the sword masters.

Fortunately, as the head of the Miaoyin Sect, though small, it had a heritage spanning millennia and some hidden treasures to suppress spiritual aura—both the He family of Yingzhou and Shen’s own family from Qin’ou Island possessed such artifacts.

The Changchun Sword Lord smiled and said, “The true immortal is devoted to the Way, untouched by worldly dust. I did not expect you to join in the excitement of the inheritance.”

Before Yun Ran could reply, a sneering voice came from the spirit boat. “False humility for fame and reputation. It’s one thing in normal times, but seeing the sword inheritance appear, who wouldn’t be envious?”

That voice was unmistakable—the Tiantong Sword Lord.

Yun Ran seemed used to this provocation, ignoring the comment as if it were not spoken. Shen Yihan, following him and preparing to land, suddenly heard a woman’s voice from the quiet sedan chair.

“Junior Brother Yun has no disciples under him. One person cannot inherit two Sword Dao seeds. Senior Brother Lu, you know this but why mock so openly before so many juniors? I’ve heard that since the inheritance surfaced barely a day ago, your beloved son has sealed off mountains and forests, forbidding others from entering any suspected real tombs. If any disciples disobey, he resorts to violence, acting arrogantly and tyrannically. Isn’t it premature to claim the inheritance as yours when even whose sword master left it is unknown?”

She chuckled lightly and continued, “Whether Junior Brother Yun feigns purity, I don’t know. But as a monk, he certainly is more pure than your peak’s dozen or so concubines, Senior Brother.”

“Junior Sister Mu, you…” The Tiantong Sword Lord’s angry voice came from the spirit boat but, for some reason, he stopped mid-sentence, only snorting coldly without further words.

He had endured the sedan chair woman’s ridicule without retaliation.

The woman fell silent.

Shen Yihan had a sudden thought and guessed the woman defending his friend was likely the Bixia Sword Lord.

The Bixia Sword lineage was delicate, elegant, and free-spirited, passed down mostly through women. Shen Yihan had heard that the current Bixia Sword Lord was exceptionally gifted, ranking among the top cultivators in the Kunwu Sword Sect, second only to a few Supreme Sword Lords and Yun Ran himself—a truly extraordinary talent.

No wonder the Tiantong Sword Lord could only be silenced by her.

The sect master Shen developed a favorable impression of this righteous Bixia Sword Lord and couldn’t help but glance again toward the curtained sedan chair.

Yun Ran suddenly transmitted a message.

“No need to look; Bixia already has a partner.”

“…”

It took Shen Yihan a moment to grasp the meaning behind his friend’s words, then he couldn’t help but chuckle helplessly as he replied, “What are you thinking? I only glanced because this fairy is so righteous. Besides, I am no fool; a little Nascent Soul cultivator with limited lifespan like me could never be worthy of her.”

As they communicated, a gust of wind swept through the forest below, and a disciple excitedly exclaimed, “It’s moving! It’s moving!”

What had moved was the formation hidden in the woods.

Shen Yihan and Yun Ran had not yet descended; hovering just above the treetops, they watched clearly as the earth suddenly caved in, soil and stones collapsing, trees toppling, revealing a vast, dark, bottomless pit.

Someone said, “This time it’s a real tomb!”

Several sword lights shot forth from the Tiantong Sword Lord’s spirit boat. Shen Yihan recognized the figure leading them—“Lu Rong,” the one Yun Ran had scolded earlier—leading a group of disciples flying into the abyss.

The Tiantong Sword Lord himself did not descend.

As a peak sword lord, it was acceptable for him to protect the juniors competing for the inheritance, but to join in would break the rules and earn the wrath of all Kunwu disciples.

Some disciples from the Tiantong peak set an example by entering first, inspiring others to follow despite the risks.

Shen Yihan was about to bid Yun Ran farewell and told him to wait here.

Yun Ran transmitted a warning, “Be careful, do not be careless. If in danger, use spiritual sound transmission to call my name.”

Shen Yihan nodded and was about to move when Yun Ran handed him something.

He looked down, surprised to see a triangular talisman.

“What is this?”

Yun Ran’s voice echoed in his mind, concise and clear.

“A talisman of safety; it will help you turn danger into blessing and misfortune into good fortune.”

Shen Yihan was speechless.

He thought about it—his friend’s goodwill was rare. He had never seen Yun Ran rely on such things before; now he seemed desperate and grasping at straws.

Perhaps he truly hoped Shen Yihan could find a breakthrough in this inheritance and was worried.

He pocketed the talisman, nodded to Yun Ran, and finally rode his phoenix-swallowing bird down.

But inwardly, he sighed.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to compete.

It was that he simply couldn’t win!

If he tried to compete, even just to find a cure for the poisonous curse, Shen Yihan had no doubt he would soon be struck down—whether by madness during battle, falling into a pit filled with ferocious beasts, or struck dead by a sudden lightning bolt.

Recalling the godlike fortune of Helan Ting in his dream…

Shen Yihan wanted to live at least a few more years.

At the very least, he intended to make full use of his remaining lifespan.

Entering the dark pit, he saw that the ground below was pitch black and bottomless. On either side of the cavern walls were layers upon layers of stone doors arranged like tree rings, each layer containing hundreds of them.

Many disciples who had flown down hovered mid-air before these doors, hesitating or discussing which path to take next.

Shen Yihan had no companions.

His junior disciple was with Helan Ting, but whether they had entered the inheritance together was unknown.

Shen hoped they had not, but he knew better: Helan Ting was likely to obtain the inheritance, and his junior was reckless, curious, and playful—unlikely to stay on the surface.

Fortunately, although Chang Gexiao was unpredictable, he was shrewd enough to protect himself. Judging by recent events, he remained on amicable terms with Helan Ting; as long as he didn’t foolishly compete for treasures, things should be fine.

Shen Yihan decided to explore downward first.

Riding the phoenix-swallowing bird, he flew down, passing layers of stone doors on either side. Occasionally, he saw disciples hesitating at the doors, but the deeper he went, the fewer disciples appeared.

After what felt like an eternity, still unable to see the bottom, he grew uneasy—

How could it be so deep?

Had the “Ancestor Matron” gone to such lengths only to confuse future generations into blindly entering whichever door they pleased?

…No, this was an illusion.

Looking upward, the daylight at the pit’s mouth was faint, barely visible. All around, he was surrounded by countless stone doors.

An idea struck him. Flying to one door, he saw inscriptions—not of esoteric divination symbols but names of acupuncture points like “Divine Path,” “Heaven Sect,” “Supreme Yang,” “Cloud Gate.”

He examined all the doors on this level, connecting the acupuncture point names in sequence, revealing a meridian commonly used by cultivators to breathe and absorb spiritual energy.

But one point was incorrect.

Shen Yihan’s insight deepened. Checking layers below, he found each level’s acupuncture points formed their own unique pattern—yet each had one or two errors that would cause true energy to flow backward, resulting in internal injury.

After examining over thirty layers, he finally found one with no errors.

At the last acupuncture point door of this perfect layer, a faint light glowed, a hint of another world beyond.

Shen Yihan’s spirit surged with excitement. Such complexity—yet he had no idea whether this door contained the seed of inheritance or some other treasure.

Though he knew who owned this inheritance, not even he could fathom the Ancestor Matron’s intentions.

Taking a few steps forward, the cavern widened, light filtering in, with the sounds of insects and birds and a faint floral fragrance.

After a few more steps, he emerged into a valley where streams cascaded from towering cliffs into a lake below, clusters of blooming roses lining the shore, a scene breathtakingly beautiful.

Shen Yihan thought, the Ancestor Matron seemed particularly fond of roses—perhaps because they were the token flower shared with the first Dengyang Sword Lord, the one who “removed the mist of Wushan.”

Just then, a voice from his spiritual sea startled him—it was Yun Ran.

“Beware behind you!”

Shen Yihan spun around, but what he saw chilled his scalp to a crawl—