Tome of Troubled Times

Chapter 641: The Night Emperor's Sword

In truth, Lady Three felt a twinge of jealousy in her heart.

Zhao Changhe’s attitude was clear. While he was undoubtedly excited about forging the Night Emperor’s sword, it was nothing more than a martial artist’s pure enthusiasm for crafting a divine weapon. He had no desire to inherit the Night Emperor’s destiny, nor did he care for winning the Four Idols Cult’s devotion. In fact, he seemed wary and reluctant about it.

Given Lady Three’s current understanding of cultivation, she could comprehend his hesitation. To take on the legacy of the Night Emperor meant carrying a karmic burden that would need to be repaid in the future. This was an incredibly dangerous and burdensome risk.

The rational choice, if one wished to avoid such burdens, would be to simply forge a sword for personal use—an object, nothing more. The karmic weight of that would be far lighter.

Yet, he still chose to pursue this path. He was willing to make things more difficult for himself, to find a convoluted way to mitigate the risk, and he was doing this for Vermillion Bird.

His choices boiled down to two: either he joined the Four Idols Cult and embraced their doctrine, or he became so integral to the Cult’s interests that potential conflicts were eliminated. The former was impossible for him; he had no interest in pledging himself to their faith. So he chose the hardest path: the latter.

He really, truly cared for Vermillion Bird.

Of course, fierce women were the ones who truly stirred the heart, were they not?

Lady Three scrunched her nose, her tone tinged with sourness as she said, “You managed to reforge Dragon Bird all by yourself. What do you need me for?”

Zhao Changhe smiled. “I need you to control the fire. I have to focus entirely on the sword’s intent and the stars. I won’t have the spare attention to manage the heat.”

Fine...

Lady Three glanced at the sword blank he had brought out, feeling a surge of excitement herself.

Despite the pang of jealousy, she was Black Tortoise of the Four Idols Cult. The prospect of forging the Night Emperor’s sword was electrifying—it was a significant event for their faith.

Besides, this was part of her own karmic destiny. In ancient times, the Black Tortoise had assisted the Night Emperor in forging his sword. No one really understood why a water-element entity would help with the task of smithing, but now, as history repeated itself, here she was once again assisting in this sacred task. There was a strange sense of continuity in it all.

With a determined expression, Lady Three produced two crystalline cores and tossed them to the ground. Two lumbering water constructs materialized, immediately kneeling before her. “Our goddess...”

Zhao Changhe gawked. “When did you learn to summon minions like this?”

“I’m the Sea God now, remember? Want to fight me?”

“...Maybe some other day.”

“You said it yourself—give Vermillion Bird nine-tenths of what I can, not everything. Why take such risks for her? Am I not worth it?”

“...”

Lady Three snorted, but despite her sharp words, she directed the two water constructs to fan the flames.

The forge’s regular fire was sufficient to heat up Dragon Bird, but for the Night Emperor’s sword blank, greater intensity was needed. With Lady Three controlling the fire, Zhao Changhe could finally devote his full attention to the sword itself.

He took a deep breath and placed the sword blank into the furnace.

This was an almost-complete sword blank, needing only the final touch to become a finished weapon. Although it lacked an edge and still looked rather rough, it was still somewhat usable, as proven when Zhao Changhe shot it to kill the giant octopus possessed by the Sea Emperor’s yin qi.

The reason it had not been finished yet was the absence of the crucial material: Night Flowing Sand.

In his final days, the Night Emperor, along with Black Tortoise, likely shared the same realization that Xia Longyuan had now: that the heavens should be represented by a flowing night sky, ever-changing, never static. To embody the properties of a night sky, fluidity, and existing neither here nor there, while still being of high enough quality and energy, only Night Flowing Sand would suffice.

Thus, the greatest powers of two eras independently chose this material to craft their heavens. This symbolized the Night Emperor’s final step toward enlightenment—one he ultimately could not complete due to the collapse of the era.

As Zhao Changhe watched the sword blank gradually glow red-hot, he wondered if the collapse of the era had anything to do with the Night Emperor’s breakthrough. Was it like an NPC in a game evolving into a game master, causing the world to crash? Or perhaps it was a backlash from the heavens themselves, deciding the world had gone rogue?

It was possible, though the exact sequence of events was uncertain.

Now was not the time for such thoughts. Zhao Changhe focused on the sword blank’s color, then grabbed a handful of Night Flowing Sand and evenly spread it across the blade. He watched as the sand fused with the sword, his consciousness diving into the searing core of the white-hot steel.

Unlike Dragon Bird, which already had a spirit and did not need guidance, the Night Emperor’s sword blank required him to forge its spirit from within. Given the sword’s pre-existing structure, it could only accept the predetermined intent of the stars. Anything else would be rejected, potentially ruining the blade. This was why aligning with the sword’s original intent was the most crucial step—more so than merely having the right materials.

As his mind entered the blade, he perceived a sky of blazing clouds filled with intense heat. Even his spirit struggled to endure the fiery onslaught; all his strength was spent resisting the heat, leaving him unable to shape the sword’s intent.

Lady Three glanced at Zhao Changhe, noticing sweat streaming down his face. Without hesitation, she extended a finger and touched his brow.

A cool sensation spread through his spiritual platform, calming the inferno within the sword. A gentle, moist breeze swept across the fiery sky, soothing the blazing clouds into a softer glow.

Is this why Black Tortoise’s assistance is essential?

As the Night Flowing Sand gradually permeated the sword, the fiery sky began to dim, shifting from crimson to an ever-deepening black. It transformed into an expansive, flowing night sky.

The night was starless—a seamless black expanse, like silk gently unfurling.

Yet, in truth, the stars were there. They were hidden within the foundation of the sword, waiting to be discovered and illuminated one by one. If he could not accomplish this, he had no business attempting to forge this sword.

Zhao Changhe stood silently beneath the night sky, suspended in the void. After a moment, he raised his fingers in a sword-like gesture and pointed toward the heavens.

This was a sword. The intent of the stars needed to align with the sword intent—a perfect harmony of purpose embedded within the process.

What did not need to align, however, was the interpretation of the stars themselves. For the Night Emperor, this gesture would have pointed toward the four idols. For Xia Longyuan, it would have been the sun and moon. To a modern mind, what were the Four Symbols but archaic constructs?

Zhao Changhe’s sword stroke, however, was unpredictable and free. It did not point to the sun, the moon, or the four idols. Instead, it targeted an obscure star—one utterly meaningless to this world’s inhabitants. It twinkled in the darkness, a tiny, shimmering light.

The ancient Black Tortoise’s records stated: “Beyond the four idols, are those minor stars not also part of the heavens?”

Thus, Zhao Changhe had told Lady Three about breaking free from the confines of the four idols to behold the greater cosmos.

This was the path the Night Emperor had ultimately sought. In this simple gesture, Zhao Changhe ventured beyond where the Night Emperor had once stood.

But it was not enough to point randomly and hope to encompass the vast heavens. There needed to be an internal logic—a cohesive system. Why start with this star, and where would the journey lead? This was the understanding Zhao Changhe had lacked, believing himself still far from mastery. It was not a matter of borrowing an existing framework like the zodiacs; it had to be his own sword intent.

After long contemplation, he finally had a plan.

The moment the first star ignited, his sword qi surged, splintering into countless strands, each thread a blade of light that streaked toward the sky.

A Milky Way emerged from the darkness—a radiant band of innumerable stars, each just a grain within the vast celestial river.

In the absence of other stars, the galaxy seemed to cascade, a torrent suspended in the heavens as if pouring down from the nine heavens. Behind him, a blazing figure roared to life, mirroring the celestial river above. The reflection of the Milky Way on his form shone brilliantly, intensifying the spectacle.

Faint, swirling spirit qi began to gather above like mist hovering over a flowing river.

It was the formation of a spirit.

The blind woman involuntarily clenched her delicate hands. Though she was a spirit and thus lacked body fluids, she could almost feel the sweat trickling down her palms.

She had always thought Zhao Changhe did not fully grasp the concept of the stars. She had expected him to fail, ready to watch with detached amusement, anticipating the moment he would sulk and mutter, “Blindie, what do I do now? Give me some tips...”

But Zhao Changhe, quiet and unassuming in spite of his usual personality, had been refining his understanding in secret. Without a word, he had developed a sword intent that was truly his own—a profound expression of his personal interpretation of the stars.

Was it Xia Chichi’s choice of the national title that had inspired him? But back then, he had not shown any particular sign of comprehension... Could it be that Zhao Changhe was now deliberately concealing his intentions, even from her?

With the Milky Way unfurled, Zhao Changhe continued onward.

A robust beam of sword qi shot skyward, piercing the heavens. The cold, hazy glow of the moon shimmered into view, faint yet resolute.

With the moon’s presence established, the constellations of the four idols began to ignite. They emerged almost simultaneously—four radiant constellations glowing in harmony. He was not avoiding the four idols; rather, he sought to encompass them.

At the exact moment the four idols flared to life, Lady Three, who was diligently controlling the flames, sensed something and turned toward him, eyes wide with shock.

Far away in the Empress Dowager’s quarters, Huangfu Qing abruptly stood, her gaze drawn northward.

In the imperial study, where Xia Chichi and Tang Wanzhuang were in a private discussion, Xia Chichi suddenly sprang to her feet, nearly knocking over the inkstone on her desk.

Tang Wanzhuang blinked in confusion. “Your Majesty, what’s wrong?”

Xia Chichi’s face had gone pale. In a trembling voice, she murmured, “Has the Night Emperor descended? No... This intent is similar, but it’s not... Is this... Changhe?”

In an instant, Huangfu Qing, Xia Chichi, and numerous of the Four Idols Cult’s followers transformed into streaks of light, all racing toward the Imperial Ancestral Temple.

They left Tang Wanzhuang alone in the imperial study, staring at the now-empty room, stunned.

A vast assembly of members of the Four Idols Cult gathered at the entrance to the Imperial Ancestral Temple, their breaths collectively held in anticipation.

Huangfu Qing, wearing her Vermillion Bird mask, took her place at the forefront. She raised a hand, silencing the restless murmurs. In a low voice, she commanded, “Stay calm. Do not disturb him.”

Xia Chichi sidled up, whispering urgently, “Is he going to... fail, venerable? The intent seems to be wavering...”

“He’s just shy of success...” Huangfu Qing looked skyward, where dawn’s light threatened the night, though the sun had yet to rise.

“Just shy of success... Like the Night Emperor back then, missing the final crucial step. The Night Emperor lacked the perfected intent, but he...”

Xia Chichi muttered softly, “His cultivation?”

Below, Zhao Changhe’s robes were soaked with sweat. Xia Chichi was right.

His sword intent was aligned, his vision true—but his cultivation was lacking. The second layer of the Profound Mysteries was simply insufficient.

Beside him, Lady Three was also drenched in sweat. Even the fire, fierce as it was, could not sustain the forge for such an ambitious undertaking.

In the traditions of the ancients, when forging a divine sword faced either a deficiency of intent or a lacking fire, there was one common, desperate solution: to offer oneself to the flames, to heat the sword with the blaze of one’s own body and soul.