Chapter 284 – The Weaponsmithing Contest, Masters Showing Their Flair - Part 3

Li Yuan still couldn’t read the true situation on the front line—only that it was seesawing—and at last he made up his mind.

Training for his son turned brutal.

That same day he accepted the two beast taming secret art manuals personally delivered by the Jing Patriarch, and was on his way to the Vine Pavilion when a familiar yet foreign face appeared outside his door.

Black robes, graceful and mysterious, a pale‑pink blossom sewn at the collar. She had a petite frame and bright eyes, yet those eyes no longer cowered. They blazed with a queen’s ferocity, as though she looked down from a throne.

She was the same height as before, yet somehow always seemed to be staring down at him—an aura even more commanding than the Yin Consort’s nobility.

“Shuixiang, you’ve returned,” Li Yuan said, but asked nothing more. Jing Shuixiang belonged to the Holy Tree Temple; she would never leave with him.

“Husband.” She softened her voice, imitating the tone she once used. “I’m sorry for vanishing so long... Some things happened.” She paused. “I’ve broken through to fifth rank.”

Li Yuan glanced at the numbers hovering beside her—1,260~1,350—well above the previous 950~1,000.

Cui Wuji himself hovered around 1,480~3,010; for a fresh breakthrough, her spread was impressive. The low ceiling, he guessed, came from lacking a personal spirit artifact.

When Li Yuan stayed silent, Jing Shuixiang stepped closer. “You haven’t taken care of yourself while I was gone. So much hair’s turned white,” she said, the way a ruler might show concern for a favored subject.

“What happened?” Li Yuan asked deliberately.

Jing Shuixiang slipped her arm through Li Yuan’s and quietly recounted everything that had happened.

In short, she had sparred with two sixth rank disciples—one a master of the Evergreen Art, the other of Returning‑Willow Technique—both already at the peak of their realm. She beat them, gained sudden insight, and broke through to fifth rank.

“Thanks to you, Husband, the temple master made me an elder on the spot,” she finished with a small smile.

“You’ll be sent to the front, then?” Li Yuan asked.

“New elders get five years to consolidate their cultivation and enjoy the temple’s perks. I won’t be drafted until after that.”

“But you’ll still be drafted in the end.”

“So what?” The light in her eyes was violent, destructive. “I’m no soft persimmon to be squeezed at will.”

“Aren’t you supposed to move from

withering

to

growth

?” Li Yuan probed.

“There’s no

withering

or

growth

, only the real me,” she said evenly. “Breaking into fifth rank allowed me to see that truth.”

Li Yuan sighed. “Five Sources, Nine Ancestors, True Self... If you’ve already found your real self in the very first source, what’s left for the third rank, True Self Realm? Maybe you’re stepping into a trap. No need to decide so fast that this is the one, final you.”

She laughed. “I’ve never met anyone above third rank; the so‑called True Self is just a rumor. I feel wonderful right now, stop worrying. The world ahead isn’t what you imagine.”

After a brief pause, she realized her last sentence sounded presumptuous. “I’m sorry,” she added, voice soft but not the least bit humble.

Li Yuan took her hand and smiled. “Seeing you like this actually puts me at ease.”

“You’re not angry?”

“About what?”

“About...the healing matter.” She struggled for words.

“No, I’m not, and no need to explain,” he cut in gently.

Li Yuan called Ping'an over and had the boy officially pay his respects to Jing Shuixiang as a step-mother.

“Good.” She beamed. “In public, call me Elder Jing. In private, you can call me mother.”

Li Yuan finally exhaled. The next step was to forge a spirit artifact for Jing Shuixiang.

˙·٠✧🐗➶➴🏹✧٠·˙

A few days later, another surprise dropped.

Gu Xuejian herself would ride to the front. She came to the Jing estate to bid farewell to Li Yuan and Ping'an.

As they spoke, Li Yuan reached a decision.

Gu Xuejian was the Holy Tree Temple’s second‑strongest fighter and one of the few who truly knew him. If he wanted the war between Silkfloss Province and Hidden River to stay balanced—if he wanted victory to tilt toward the Holy Tree Temple and keep the land from falling into the hands of a mad emperor, funeral apparel ghost, and fanatical Lotus Cult—then Gu Xuejian was the perfect blade for him to

borrow

.

Besides, Gu Xuejian doted on Ping’an like a mother; that connection might give his son the backing he needed.

“Mountains may change, rivers may flow, but Master Li,” Gu Xuejian said with a swordswoman’s bow, “though the promised month is past, Ping’an will still remain in your care.”

Li Yuan bowed back, but when she reached the gate he called, “A moment, please.”

With white robes, an azure scabbard, and red gourd, Gu Xuejiang stood in the warm evening breeze. “What is it?”

“Could you delay your departure a few days?”

“Why?”

He stepped closer, face solemn. “Master Gong left a message for me before he died. He entrusted those last words to Jing Ruyi, who sent a messenger to me.”

Curiosity flickered in Gu Xuejian’s eyes. For a weaponsmith who had just created a legendary weapon, to leave a message behind for Li Yuan, what could it be?

“He asked me how many points of panache his blade earned,” Li Yuan explained.”I thought it was a good weapon.

Not bad

, I’d say.”

Gu Xuejian blinked, as if discovering a new side to this courteous, self‑effacing man.

Not bad?

Wasn’t that the same as saying

still beneath me?

No wonder he was her direct disciple’s father.

“In every other craft,” Li Yuan went on, “if Old Gong claimed first place I’d applaud him. But on this path, the road is too narrow. Two people can’t ride abreast.”

“Deputy Gu, teaching my son won’t be easy. As his father, let me forge you a spirit artifact in return.” Li Yuan’s tone was as casual as suggesting a drink or inviting someone to stay for dinner.

Gu Xuejian regarded him in silence.

A short distance away Jing Shuixiang said nothing, while Ping'an burst forward.

“No, Dad! Something’s wrong with you! You can’t smith right now!” He spun around and faced Gu Xuejian. “Master, please don’t agree!”

Gu Xuejian gave the boy a gentle glance. “You don’t understand.” Then she turned back to Li Yuan, bowed, and said, “I shall trouble you, then.”

Li Yuan accepted the bow without a word.

˙·٠✧🐗➶➴🏹✧٠·˙

At the peak of a mountain summit, above a sea of clouds, the summer sun blazed and blades of grass bent like knives in the wind.

Lightning flashed in Li Yuan’s eyes as he swung his hammer, a bronze giant outlined by furnace‑fire and daylight.

KLANG! KLANG! KLANG!

Each strike rang like a temple bell, rolling down the mountainside and reverberating in every heart.

This time was different. Many of the Holy Tree Temple’s higher-ups had come, not to pry into the secrets of smithing but simply to witness a living legend.

Li Yuan’s declaration had already spread through the Holy Tree Temple.

No one had seen Master Gong’s masterpiece themselves, yet the frontline reports made its power plain. By comparison, the life‑burning demonic blade Li Yuan had once forged was nothing.

“I can’t wait to see this,” Cui Wuji murmured.

“You are now, are you?” Jing Banfeng snorted.

“If everyone hid like you,” Cui Wuji retorted, “nothing would get done. Master Li seeks the Dao; I’m hoping he

finds

it. What would you know?”

Gu Xuejian scanned the crowd. The temple master was still in seclusion—much like Peng Mi, who had abruptly withdrawn from the front after reaching fourth rank.

Nearby stood Jing Shuixiang, Cui Huayin, Yao Jue, and Ping'an. The Gu Clan and Jing Clan had for once formed a single knot.

On the peak the hammer rang on, like a storm thundering during a clear sky.

Ping'an clenched his fists, eyes reddening. Behind him a pretty girl in green tugged his sleeve.

“Ping’an, your dad will be all right,” she whispered.

A thunderclap like the sundering of heaven cut her words short. Then, the blazing noon dimmed.

“A storm’s kicking up,” Cui Wuji muttered, feeling the sudden gale.

Overhead, black clouds fused into a vast iron‑gray shell. The shell cracked, and violet lightning seethed inside.

A wave of gasps rippled through the crowd.

“It’s a sign!” Gu Xuejian breathed, awe in her face. Then she looked down; the ground was laced with writhing black threads crawling toward the summit.

“Earth fog!” an elder shouted, recognizing the phenomenon.

Earth fog wouldn’t form into a ghost domain, but the lethal Yin vapors could kill ordinary folk in days.

“Heavenly thunder above, earth fog below...” Gu Xuejian murmured. “Still Yin and Yang. Lightning is Yang, fog is Yin. This peak isn’t a hotspot of Yin and Yang, yet Master Li has forced the two to converge...”

Suddenly, lightning speared the mountain, snakes of fire blanketing the slope while fountains of sha erupted like geysers.

“Father!” Ping'an cried, tears streaming.

The girl beside him blinked at the haughty boy who suddenly transformed into a crybaby, then tightened her grip on his sleeve, eyes soft.

Time dragged—from seconds to minutes, then hours—until the lightning ebbed, the fog dispersed, and fat raindrops blurred the world.

“It’s done,” Gu Xuejian said.

All the elders rose into the air.

At the summit sat a man with snow‑white hair, legs folded. Before him was a sword of interlocked black and white, two serpents strangling one another, tongues flicking from the tip.

Hearing footsteps, the white‑haired man seemed to wake for a moment. He lifted his head, sought out Gu Xuejian, and though gaunt, laughed aloud. “Go and ask Master Gong, was I wrong?”