The Sword of the Mortal World

his was a grand hall without windows. After the heavy iron door was shut, the only light came from a few massive oil lamps hanging on the walls.

The walls were adorned with vermilion murals depicting scenes of sacrificial rituals. Beside the eastern wall stood an ancient bronze cauldron, propped over a fire.
Two Daoist priests, one tall and thin, the other short and stout, were crouched by the cauldron, tending to the flames.
Black smoke rose from the cauldron, carrying a pungent, acrid smell.

Half an hour earlier, Zhou Chi and a group of boys from nearby villages had been captured and brought here.
Half an hour later, while the other boys—poor children from ordinary farming families—were still paralyzed by despair and fear, Zhou Chi began to survey his surroundings.
He wanted to look up at the ceiling, but his thoughts were interrupted by a voice.

"Everyone, line up."
In the eerie, sinister hall, a raised platform stood in front of the boys. Two gaunt Daoist priests stood before it, one holding a lantern.
The lantern emitted a faint yellow glow.

The lantern-bearing priest let out a sinister chuckle. "Line up, or else... you'll die."
Hearing this, the boys scrambled to form a line.
Zhou Chi stood at the very end.

"Extend your hand."
The lantern-bearing priest approached the first boy in line, a skinny youth who trembled as he asked, "Which hand?"
Slap!

The priest, annoyed by the question, struck the boy across the face, knocking out several teeth.
"What kind of fool is this?"
He burst into laughter, the lantern in his hand swaying with his mirth.

The other priest standing by the platform also laughed.
"You, come here."
After his laughter subsided, the lantern-bearing priest beckoned to the next boy in line.
...

...
"Get over there."
After repeating this process countless times, more than twenty trembling, emaciated boys now stood by the cauldron, shaking like leaves in the wind.

Finally, it was Zhou Chi's turn.
The lantern-bearing priest glanced toward the cauldron, then turned to Zhou Chi with a smile, the wrinkles on his face smoothing out. "They won't survive. Let's see how lucky you are. Come, extend your hand."
Zhou Chi didn't immediately comply.

Seeing this, the priest grew angry. "You little brat, I told you to extend your hand!"
Instead of obeying, Zhou Chi asked, "If the lantern changes color, does that mean I won't die?"
The priest was taken aback and took a closer look at Zhou Chi. Unlike the other boys, Zhou Chi wasn't emaciated. His clothes, though faded from washing, were clean, and his face was somewhat handsome, with a dimple on his right cheek.

The priest's eyes gleamed with amusement. "Not bad, not bad. This little piglet has some wit... but wit alone won't save you if you lack talent."
As soon as he said this, a wail erupted from the group by the cauldron. The boys, already terrified, couldn't hold back their tears any longer.
Soon, the hall was filled with sobbing.

The other priest laughed heartily and turned to the boys. "Crying will also get you killed."
"Extend your hand. I'd actually like you to survive. With some training, you'd probably be more useful than my junior here."
The lantern-bearing priest seemed genuinely interested now.

Zhou Chi looked at the priest and thought he was rather ugly.
Then he shook his head inwardly, dismissing the thought.
"Quick, extend your hand. Don't test my patience, or you'll die right now."

The priest glared at Zhou Chi, shaking the lantern in his hand. The yellow light flickered ominously.
"I think life is precious. You should treat it with care," Zhou Chi said calmly, his eyes showing no trace of fear.
"What did you say?"

The priest was both angered and amused, but in the next moment, he felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder. Turning his head, he saw that his left hand had somehow fallen to the ground.
Blood gushed from his shoulder.
Across from him, Zhou Chi now held a blood-stained sword.

The blood was his own, but where had the sword come from?
"Where did you get that sword?"
Instinctively, the priest asked the question.

Zhou Chi shook his head. "At a time like this, ask something useful."
"You..."
Before the priest could finish, Zhou Chi's sword slashed across his throat. His head tumbled to the ground.

"Never mind. Next time."
Zhou Chi turned his gaze to the other priest, who had been laughing earlier. "Was it funny?"
Everything had happened in the blink of an eye. The lantern-bearing priest hadn't even had time to react, so the other priest certainly wasn't laughing now.

"Laugh for me."
Zhou Chi held the sword, staring at him.
But the priest, looking at his senior's headless corpse and the blood dripping from Zhou Chi's sword, couldn't muster a laugh.

He wanted to cry instead.
"I said, laugh for me."
The priest still couldn't laugh, only stammering, "You... you're a sword cultivator!"

Zhou Chi shook his head. "Your last words are a waste of breath."
A moment later, another head rolled to the ground.
The priest's body collapsed, blood pooling silently beneath it.

Zhou Chi bent down and picked up a black talisman that had been clutched in the priest's hand.
Thud!
A sudden sound broke the silence.

Zhou Chi turned to look.
By the cauldron, the two priests who had been tending the fire were now in a state of panic. The taller one, with triangular eyes, had dropped to his knees, kowtowing furiously.
Zhou Chi ignored him and instead looked at the shorter, stout priest, who stood frozen in place.

The triangular-eyed priest quickly realized the problem and yanked at his junior's pants, scolding, "You fool, why are you standing there like an idiot? Do you think you have the right to show backbone now?"
The stout priest's pants were pulled down, revealing a pale thigh, but he remained standing. Hearing his senior's scolding, he suddenly collapsed forward, landing flat on his face.
He wailed, "I can't kneel! I'm too fat!"

"You idiot! I told you to eat less, but you had to stuff yourself like a pig! Immortal Master, my junior and I have only recently joined the sect. We've never done anything evil! You, with your noble bearing and keen insight, must be a righteous hero who punishes evil and rewards good. You wouldn't kill innocent people, would you?"
The triangular-eyed priest continued to kowtow, his words dripping with sincerity.
"Yes, yes! What my senior said is... absolutely right!"

"What do you mean, what I said is right? The Immortal Master is right!"
Zhou Chi glanced at the two priests but said nothing. Instead, he turned to the terrified boys and spoke gently, "Don't worry. Many people will die today, but not you."
The boys were too stunned to speak. After a moment, one of them finally gathered the courage to ask, "Who... are you?"

Hearing this question, the two priests also perked up their ears.
Zhou Chi didn't mind. After a moment's thought, he replied, "I am Xuan Zhao, the head disciple of Qi Mountain's inner sect."
Qi Mountain had a unique tradition: upon entering the sect, disciples were given a new sword name to replace their worldly names, symbolizing their break from the past and their commitment to the path of cultivation.

When Zhou Chi had first joined the sect, his sword name, Xuan Zhao, had been chosen casually by the elder who brought him to the mountain.
In the sect's records, and among his fellow disciples, he was known only as Xuan Zhao.
But Zhou Chi had never liked the name.

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