Destined to meet

Just then, footsteps suddenly echoed from the mouth of the cave!

Someone was coming?

He furrowed his brow.

At the entrance, two or three Qi Refining cultivators still trembled with fear, terrified that the butcher who had slain the Scarlet Flood Dragon and massacred hundreds of beasts might silence them to seal off the secret of the treasure.

The footsteps drew closer, and soon a figure appeared at the door of the stone chamber.

“Alas, what a tragedy,” a sigh came from the newcomer.

Li Miao looked closely—the man was a middle-aged Daoist in black robes, leaning on a staff adorned with a cloth banner. On the banner was the painted silhouette of a woman’s back, accompanied by several lines of writing.

How could it be him?!

The newcomer was none other than the “seeker” Daoist he had met at the gates of Wu’an Town only a few days earlier!

“Has all been well, young friend?” the middle-aged Daoist greeted.

He stepped toward the stone chamber, and as he passed the trembling cultivators, each inexplicably collapsed into a faint.

Such an uncanny method was certainly beyond the abilities of an ordinary man!

Though the Daoist exuded not the slightest aura of cultivation, Li Miao’s heart blazed with alarm. Gripping his saber, he demanded warily, “Why are you here?”

His instincts screamed that this Daoist was no common man—his cultivation likely far surpassed that of Elder Zhemei, Chu Yu, even the Scarlet Flood Dragon itself. Li Miao knew he stood no chance.

The Daoist’s expression was serene. “I came to see the relics of the one I seek… and to see you,” he replied mildly, his gaze settling on the golden Sword Essence.

Li Miao’s heart pounded.

The relics of the one he sought?

He remembered clearly the “missing person” notice on the Daoist’s banner.

The words the Daoist had spoken days ago surfaced in his mind: “She was a peerless Sword Immortal. If she still lives, she would be nearly eight thousand years old.”

Eight thousand years.

A Sword Immortal.

Sword Essence.

Li Miao exclaimed, “The person you seek is the owner of this Sword Essence!”

He had thought the Daoist’s search a joke. But now, with the Sword Essence before him and the Daoist’s sudden appearance, it was far too much to be coincidence.

“You must find this all very strange, don’t you?” the Daoist said.

Clearly, he had come to Mount Qianyuan with purpose—and that purpose involved Li Miao.

Li Miao nodded, making no attempt to deny it.

It was indeed strange. If the Daoist’s missing person was a Sword Immortal vanished eight thousand years ago, his cultivation must be unimaginably high.

But why would such a man plant a banner outside a city gate, asking commoners to help him search? A Sword Immortal would hardly be someone ordinary folk could encounter!

Surely such an obvious truth had not escaped this Daoist. If he understood, yet acted so, was it not bizarre?

The Daoist stroked his beard. “All things in heaven and earth are governed by destiny. Some people, no matter how vast your cultivation, no matter how wide your gaze, if they do not wish to be found, you will never find them. Others, though you do not seek them, you will cross paths with by chance. Just as you now stand before her Sword Essence.”

“What… does that mean?” Li Miao asked, bewildered.

From the Daoist’s words, it seemed he was fated to encounter the Sword Essence’s owner.

Yet he was not of this world at all, and had no idea when the expeditionary army might discover him and force him back. Fate was not something he believed in.

The Daoist said, “Fate is decreed by the heavens. You are bound to her—you cannot escape it. Take this Sword Essence.”

With a flick of his finger, the dazzling Sword Essence dimmed, revealing its true form.

The Sword Essence that had so easily slain the Return-to-Origin cultivator and pierced the mountain’s heart was in reality no more than a bead the size of a soybean.

Its aura withdrew, all sword intent and sharpness vanished from sight.

Li Miao reached out, and it settled quietly into his palm.

A peerless treasure, yet he felt no joy, only questions.

“Who is the owner of this Sword Essence? What do you mean by saying I am fated with her? And… who are you? Why do you seek her—and me?”

So many questions needed answers.

The middle-aged Daoist replied, “I knew you would ask, but some things are beyond even my knowledge. I can only tell you this: the owner of this Sword Essence was the most brilliant being ever to grace these heavens. Even in realms beyond our starry sky, she was a living legend.”

“But three thousand years ago, she vanished without explanation. I searched the star worlds, yet found no trace.”

“She disappeared completely—not only was there no news, but every mark of her existence was erased by some mysterious force. It is as if she never existed. No one remembers her—not even her closest friends.”

“Only fragments of my memory, and these four Sword Essences, testify that she ever was.”

Such was the Daoist’s explanation.

Yet Li Miao only grew more confused. It all sounded like some far-fetched story a street storyteller might tell.

A person can go missing, but for all traces and even the memories of her friends—people of no small cultivation themselves, perhaps near to immortals—to vanish? That defied all reason.

How could those of such power simply lose their memories?

“I cannot understand,” he said, shaking his head in doubt.

The Daoist sighed. “Nor can I. That is why I keep searching for her.”

“But you said everyone forgot her. Why do you still remember?” Li Miao pressed.

“Perhaps because my cultivation is higher than the rest,” said the Daoist, “or perhaps… because I cared for her more deeply than others. Even that mysterious power could not erase my memories completely, and left me with a small fragment.”

Li Miao no longer knew what to say.

At first, the Daoist’s appearance had made him nervous—he’d feared the man had come to seize the Sword Essence, putting him in grave danger.

Instead, the Daoist rambled on about these strange matters, insisting he was connected to the Sword Essence’s owner. Was this a joke?

He shrugged. “Well then, after all that, who exactly is she? And who are you?”

By now, his nerves had faded, replaced by a sense that the Daoist was simply a bit long-winded.

“She has been erased from heaven and earth, even her immortal title forgotten,” replied the Daoist. “All I recall is her name—Shen Xunyan. She favored white garments, was free-spirited and elegant, loved wine, and often carried a white jade folding fan.”

That matched the description on the banner—all but the name, which was new.

“My Daoist name is Yichi. I am her senior brother.”

Here he paused, as if he had nothing more to reveal.

Li Miao frowned. After all that, he realized he had learned little more than two names.

He glanced at the Sword Essence in his palm. “So, is there anything I need to do? Or rather, what do you want me to do?”

Yichi replied, “I have a feeling that when you gather all four Sword Essences, the mystery of Xunyan’s disappearance will resolve itself. You need not force anything—their destined paths will bring them to you in time.”

Li Miao was stunned.

So, he didn’t need to do anything at all? Just act as if he knew nothing?

“Let things take their course?” he asked.

“Yes, let things take their course,” Yichi nodded.

“Fine.”

Li Miao shrugged, then lifted the Sword Essence. “Is this thing useful to me?”

This was an important question. If it was useless, keeping it could only bring trouble!

Though nothing in his microcosmic cosmos ring could usually be detected, accidents could still happen.

A Sword Immortal’s Sword Essence—if trouble came, it would be immense.

Yichi explained, “It contains the ‘Blade’ Formula, one of her four great sword arts—a technique of extraordinary lethality. When you’re in danger, you can swallow it, and it will lend you its strength.”

Li Miao: “…”

Swallow it?

He rolled his eyes.

Barely half an hour ago, he’d watched the Cloudstripe Tiger die in agony after ingesting it. Swallowing this thing—he’d have to be tired of living!

The air in the stone chamber was thick with blood; it was hardly a pleasant place to linger.

Yichi had rambled on for ages, saying almost nothing of substance—just wasting time.

Li Miao pursed his lips. “Senior Yichi, if you have nothing else, I’ll take my leave.”

Though he knew Yichi was a formidable cultivator, he had no wish to ingratiate himself. It wasn’t arrogance—simply that the Daoist felt strange to him, not only eccentric but giving off an indefinable air of unease, quashing any desire to please.

Seeing he was about to leave, Yichi said, “The Sword Essence’s outburst has drawn many cultivators here. If you leave now, you’re sure to run into trouble. I can help you on your way.”

Li Miao had to agree. “Then I thank you, sen—wait, one more thing!”

Suddenly, he remembered something important.

He flipped his hand and produced the Jade Butterfly, asking, “Senior, do you know what use this has?”

The Jade Butterfly was his greatest concern at present. The Sword Essence might be a hidden danger, but as long as no one knew, it was fine. The Jade Butterfly was different—after a casual test one night, it had summoned Master Yangyan the next day. That was real danger!

Yichi’s eyes flashed with surprise at the sight. “I never thought you would possess such a thing.”

Li Miao’s heart skipped a beat.

To astonish the senior brother of a Sword Immortal, the Spirit Butterfly was clearly no ordinary item.

Yichi explained, “This is the Spirit Butterfly Key to the Celestial Void Divine Tomb. However, this key is not unique. As far as I know, there are thirty-six Spirit Butterflies in the world. Only when all are gathered can the Divine Tomb be opened.”

“The Celestial Void Divine Tomb? What is that?” Li Miao asked curiously.

Yichi replied, “It is the ancient palace of a Godking from the Divine Clan, buried deep underground after Celestial Capital Star was claimed by cultivators. Only by awakening it with the Spirit Butterflies can the gate be opened. The butterflies are scattered across the world; to my knowledge, it has only ever been opened once—more than twenty thousand years ago.”

It was an ancient tale, even older than the forgotten Sword Immortal.

But Yichi had no interest in stories. He only warned, “Once a Spirit Butterfly is activated, the rest will be drawn to it. Until you are strong enough, hide it or get rid of it, or your life may be forfeit. Ah—they are here. I will handle things for you.”

With a wave of his sleeve, Yichi sent Li Miao away from the stone chamber.

He then stepped to the doorway and formed a seal with one hand, casting a spell over Lin Jue and the three surviving Qi Refining cultivators.

Those who had been unconscious now relaxed, their expressions unwinding, as if all worry and pain had been forgotten.

When he was finished, Yichi took two steps forward and vanished without a trace.

Not long after, several powerful auras approached—the renowned experts of Dragon Spring Prefecture arrived one after another.

But these matters no longer concerned Li Miao.

In the woods outside the small town of Wu’an, Li Miao emerged from the void and landed on solid ground.

He had no idea what method Yichi had used; he’d merely felt a brief dizziness, and then he was no longer in the stone chamber.

“This method of translocation is somewhat like the void-travel of immortals…”

He pondered this, looking around to get his bearings.

But then he spotted a violet sword, half-buried in the earth, crackling faintly with lightning.

“Huh, what’s this?”

He started in surprise.

Wasn’t this Chu Yu’s treasured sword? Why was it here?

Had Yichi, thinking Li Miao would be practicing swordsmanship after obtaining the Sword Essence, simply gifted him the finest blade from the chamber?

Li Miao didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Still, obtaining a fine sword was no bad thing.

He drew the violet sword from the soil. The moment his fingers touched the hilt, a strong electric jolt surged through him, but his exceptional physique kept him from harm.

He examined the sword closely—it was slender and elegant, about three feet long, seemingly forged from amethyst crystal. The hilt was a deep violet, fading to near transparency at the tip.

It was a fine-looking blade, and judging by Chu Yu’s display, a weapon of considerable power—likely a mid-grade spiritual treasure.

The only question was… could he wield it?

With that thought, Li Miao gathered his primal energy into his right hand and channeled it into the sword.

Chu Yu was dead; without her blood-forged imprint, the sword would not reject his power.