Chapter 18
Chapter 18: The First
Zhu Wen Yin lunged to save her, but she was too late.
Zhao Ke Xin hit the ground face-first.
Pain tore through her, and she clawed at her face—only to pull her hand back wet with blood. Her scream turned sharp with terror. “My face—my face!”
Zhu Wen Yin stared at the blood, then snapped her head toward Jiang Li Sheng, eyes blazing.
Jiang Li Sheng’s expression didn’t change. She only said, flat and practical, “Senior Sister Zhao needs to go to the Medical Hall right now. If you’re late, her face will be ruined.”
Zhu Wen Yin gritted her teeth, hauled Zhao Ke Xin upright, and hissed, “Wait for us to come back. We’ll settle this with you.”
Jiang Li Sheng nodded once. “Fine. I’ll wait.”
She didn’t bother explaining. The one who struck first hadn’t been her—and An Ru Xu was standing right there as witness.
Zhu Wen Yin turned to An Ru Xu, anger barely contained. “Senior Brother An, please help us request leave from the instructor.”
An Ru Xu let out a complicated breath and nodded.
Zhu Wen Yin supported Zhao Ke Xin and hurried away on her sword toward the Medical Hall.
Jiang Li Sheng pulled out another sword from her storage pouch and mounted it. Then she glanced at An Ru Xu, who still stood frozen. “Senior Brother An, if we don’t go now, we’ll be late.”
An Ru Xu startled awake. “Right—go, go, go.”
They arrived at the Discipline Hall with time to spare—almost exactly on the dot.
When He Zhen Tang arrived, he swept his gaze across the group and frowned. “Why is half the class missing?”
Zhou Zhen Yan had come personally today, wary after yesterday’s chaos. He sighed. “Senior Brother He, yesterday you took out the shadow-recording mirror and injured too many disciples. Half of them are still recovering. They can’t attend.”
“This batch of new disciples is useless,” He Zhen Tang said coldly.
Zhou Zhen Yan looked pained. “Senior Brother He, you can’t say that. It was the shadow-recording mirror you brought out. Previous years never had anything like this. How can you blame the disciples? These new disciples are all good seedlings.”
And indeed—only good seedlings made it into Kun Lun Sect.
He lowered his voice, trying to keep his temper. “That was Wei Qing Lan’s swordsmanship with glamour shadow added. How could you show it so casually, and to new disciples at that? Yesterday Hall Master Ying from the Medical Hall came personally. Even with his skill, he spent half a day treating them. Before he left, he made me promise to warn you—there can’t be a next time. You have to watch your limits.”
He Zhen Tang gave a thin sneer. “I can watch my limits. Do demon beasts watch theirs?”
Zhou Zhen Yan held his gaze.
He Zhen Tang’s voice sharpened. “Can this year’s disciples be treated like previous years? The Qi Shan Secret Realm didn’t open in past years. It’s opening now. Are you going to keep these disciples in the Discipline Hall and not let them go?”
He continued without waiting for an answer. “A once-in-a-century chance. Anyone at Foundation Establishment Stage and below can enter and try their luck.”
Zhou Zhen Yan fell silent.
“Even so,” he tried at last, “you should take it step by step—”
“Step by step?” He Zhen Tang cut in. “There’s only one month. Are you sure that’s enough time for ‘step by step’?”
He swept a hard look over the new disciples. “Ask them. Do they want one month of forced training so they’ll have the courage to enter the Qi Shan Secret Realm? Or do they want a leisurely month—and then arrive with no nerve to go in? Or worse, have the nerve, but not the skill to come out alive?”
Zhou Zhen Yan’s mouth shut completely.
He Zhen Tang snorted. “Cultivation is going against heaven. If you can’t bear this little suffering and injury, crawl back home.”
Zhou Zhen Yan surrendered with a headache. “Senior Brother He is right.”
He also thought bleakly: if the Medical Hall got alarmed again today and Hall Master Ying stormed over, he’d better stand far away—so he wouldn’t get scolded from both sides.
He Zhen Tang pointed at Jiang Li Sheng. “You. Outside to the martial training ground. You’re first.”
Jiang Li Sheng rubbed the bridge of her nose. Of course—first again. She followed obediently.
Zhou Zhen Yan started to leave, but hesitated, then followed them out. He wanted to see it for himself: would Jiang Li Sheng still avoid injury today?
An Ru Xu watched with a sinking feeling. Poor Junior Sister Jiang—she was always the first one called. And she hadn’t practiced yesterday. Could she really hold up?
Everyone gathered at the martial training ground.
He Zhen Tang glanced at the ordinary sword in Jiang Li Sheng’s hand and laughed in disbelief. “You’re still using trash?”
Jiang Li Sheng’s voice was small. “I don’t have a better sword.”
He Zhen Tang snorted, pulled out a sword, and tossed it at her. “Use this. Take one move from me and you pass.”
Jiang Li Sheng caught it carefully. “Instructor, your sword…”
“If it breaks, you don’t pay,” He Zhen Tang said, as if he’d read her mind.
Relief hit her so fast it was almost physical. She put away her own sword. “All right.”
He Zhen Tang didn’t warn her again. The moment she steadied her grip, he struck.
A sword-light flashed—plain at first glance, a simple move. Then, mid-flight, it split and shifted into countless sword shadows and glimmering arcs, folding over each other until Jiang Li Sheng was swallowed in a net of blades.
She had forced herself to finish the sword manual last night. She’d even rehearsed it three times in her mind.
And the moment the sword-light came… she forgot everything.
Instinct took over. She swung to block—clumsy, messy, without form.
Crack.
The sword shattered. The shock of the blow threw her backward like a doll. She slammed into the far wall with a bone-deep thud.
The sound was so violent it made the onlookers flinch.
An Ru Xu sprinted without thinking. “Junior Sister Jiang!”
It was terrifying. That sword had been decent—how had it broken too?
Jiang Li Sheng’s head rang. The pain was real, sharp enough to steal breath, yet she didn’t cough blood. Before An Ru Xu could reach her, she braced against the wall and forced herself upright.
Her first thought was miserable: she’d broken the instructor’s sword. What if he went back on his word?
As soon as the thought surfaced, another sword-light sliced down from the air—aimed straight at the vital point above her head.
Jiang Li Sheng jolted and dodged, but the sword-light chased her, sweeping and cutting as if it had eyes. She barely avoided it twice. The third time, she couldn’t.
She rolled hard across the ground, slipping out of the blade’s ring. She rolled fast—yet the sword was faster.
Another slash came. She had no choice but to pull a sword from her storage pouch to block.
Crack.
Another sword shattered.
She survived that exchange, but didn’t even have time to breathe before the sword-light lunged again.
An Ru Xu stood stunned for a heartbeat. Then he snapped awake, drew his own sword, and rushed in to help.
Compared to Jiang Li Sheng’s wild defense, An Ru Xu’s movements had structure—he used the sword moves he’d learned from the shadow-recording mirror. Moves meant to answer moves.
It wasn’t wasted learning. He endured three exchanges.
On the fourth, his sword was knocked away and he was thrown into the wall. Unlike Jiang Li Sheng, he spat a mouthful of blood the moment he hit.
But the sword-light didn’t stop. It kept chasing Jiang Li Sheng, killing intent boiling in every turn.
She pulled sword after sword from her storage pouch, and each one shattered in her hands. The sound became a steady, brutal rhythm—crack, crack, crack—each break twisting her heart tighter.
When only one sword remained, she gritted her teeth and didn’t draw it.
Instead, she snatched up a branch from the ground, poured spiritual power into it, and raised it like a blade.
It lasted a heartbeat.
The branch was carved apart piece by piece, reduced in her hands as though she were fighting with dry tinder. Despair rose in her throat.
Finally, she made a choice and went all in.
She hurled the remaining length of branch straight at He Zhen Tang.
Charged with spiritual power, the branch looked small and unimpressive—yet it punched through the sword qi and reached He Zhen Tang’s face, forcing him to withdraw his sword to guard.
Crack.
He ground the branch into dust with a single cut.
Across the ground, Jiang Li Sheng dropped to a sit, chest heaving. She looked wretched, scuffed, and winded—like someone who’d stumbled out of a disaster by sheer stubborn luck.
He Zhen Tang laughed in anger. “What kind of nonsense was that?”
Zhou Zhen Yan stared—then burst out laughing. “Sect Master Yu’s personal disciple, indeed. Even if the rumors are ugly, you still took more than twenty moves from Senior Brother He—and you even forced him to withdraw his sword to defend. That’s impressive enough.”