novelraw Chapter 74 : The Shame of the Sword Immortal — A Bottom Line Exists Only to Be Broken
Chapter 74 : The Shame of the Sword Immortal — A Bottom Line Exists Only to Be Broken
Chapter 74: The Sword Immortal’s Shame, Boundaries Are Meant to Be Broken
“About that little spectacle just now—Sword Immortal, what did you think of it? Was it entertaining?”
At that thought, Shen Yanzhou opened his palm. As his will stirred, a streak of flowing light shot forth. It was as if a fine drizzle of radiance fell within the room, carrying a faint air of sacred transcendence.
He had decided it was time to make this Sword Immortal suffer a little. Otherwise, hadn’t her past half year been far too comfortable?
“Didn’t you handle it with your own methods as well?”
Tantai Yuxian spoke faintly. Her hazy figure stood in the room, illuminating it with her presence.
She was dressed in snow-white robes, a long sword resting lightly in her arms. Her dark hair fluttered, her ethereal grace utterly unworldly. Her bearing was that of a celestial being—pure and detached—yet her gaze was cold, aloof, untouched by the mortal realm.
“Hehe, if I had to resolve everything myself, then what use do I have for a Sword Slave like you?”
Shen Yanzhou deliberately emphasized the words “Sword Slave.”
Tantai Yuxian’s eyes grew colder for a moment, but she quickly composed herself, realizing that Shen Yanzhou was purposely provoking her—trying to disturb her mental state.
“If I were to act, Shen Jingxiao would hardly withdraw so easily,” she said indifferently.
“But I didn’t see you making any move,” Shen Yanzhou replied.
“Because you already took action. If I were to step in as well, it would serve no purpose,” Tantai Yuxian said. Her gaze remained calm, but beneath that coldness flickered a trace of something else.
She had noticed that when Shen Yanzhou fought Shen Jingxiao, his strength was no longer what it had been at Hidden Moon Mountain.
Had he unleashed that same power he displayed at Hidden Moon Mountain, suppressing Shen Jingxiao would’ve been no more than the lift of a hand.
That meant the power that did not belong to Shen Yanzhou was diminishing each time he used it. Perhaps before long, it would vanish completely.
“Since you, my Sword Slave, seem to have no use protecting me, then you’d best be useful in some other way.”
“Otherwise, if the thread of karma between us could be so easily severed by you, wouldn’t that be too much of a loss for me?”
Shen Yanzhou shook his head.
As he spoke, he lifted his wrist. A multitude of fine threads—visible only to him and Tantai Yuxian—appeared, densely packed like ox hair, intertwining them together.
Tantai Yuxian fixed her gaze on those Threads of Karma. Her eyes, once cold and distant, grew even deeper.
“What do you want me to do?” she asked quietly.
“Your behavior today has rather displeased me.”
“I’ve decided to impose a small punishment,” Shen Yanzhou said.
Tantai Yuxian’s gaze snapped toward him. Within her eyes, it was as though ten thousand sword intents surged—an expanse of frozen heaven and snow.
“My mother is outside right now. She was the predetermined Sword Master of the previous generation of Tianshui’s Qilin City Sword Forge. I’m actually quite curious—how would she react upon discovering that the lofty mountain of swordsmanship revered by all sword cultivators beneath the heavens has now become my Sword Slave?”
“Thinking about it… is quite exciting, don’t you agree?” Shen Yanzhou smiled.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
Tantai Yuxian’s composure cracked; her gaze turned razor-sharp, brimming with killing intent.
Yet, the instant that murderous intent flared, the Threads of Karma binding them grew clearer. She let out a muffled groan as a faint bloodstain slid down the corner of her lips.
“Does the Sword Immortal not know that telling a man he wouldn’t dare… is the same as challenging him?”
“Unfortunately for you, this is but a soul projection.”
Shen Yanzhou reached out, as if to lift Tantai Yuxian’s smooth, snow-white chin—but his hand passed straight through her form, touching nothing.
Tantai Yuxian glared coldly at him, eyes filled with undisguised disgust. When his hand reached out, even though she knew he could not touch her, her instinct was still to recoil.
“If you have something to say, say it directly. What exactly do you want me to do?” she demanded icily.
“In the Ten-Thousand-Mile Sword Court of the North Sea, there exists a secret art called Fetal Breath Cicada Concealment. It can condense illusion into substance, giving form to the formless. Of course, it doesn’t truly turn illusion into reality—it merely condenses the soul into a physical shell, like a cicada’s husk, to deceive others in battle,” Shen Yanzhou said.
Tantai Yuxian’s eyes froze for an instant. That secret of the Ten-Thousand-Mile Sword Court—Shen Yanzhou actually knew of it.
The technique was Second Rank, a high-level secret art, one not even elders were permitted to practice.
“You want to learn it?” she asked coldly.
“No.”
Shen Yanzhou shook his head. His gaze grew amused as it lingered on her jade-like face. “I want to see you perform it once—for realism’s sake.”
The chill in Tantai Yuxian’s eyes deepened. As one standing atop the mortal world, how could she fail to perceive the vile undertone hidden within his words?
“You’d best hope that in six months, you’ll have the strength to survive beneath my sword.”
The sword she held in her arms suddenly left its sheath. Its song faded, transforming into a gleaming arc that rested against Shen Yanzhou’s neck.
The backlash from the Threads of Karma intensified with that act. The blood at her lips deepened, her hand nearly trembling as she struggled to maintain her grip.
Shen Yanzhou’s expression remained unchanged. He ignored the sword at his neck and said calmly, “The cultivation of both Heavenly Dao and Human Dao does indeed pave a path never before seen in ancient times. But tell me—six months from now, will it be you who first steps into First Rank, or me?”
As he spoke, Shen Yanzhou’s mind stirred.
The accumulated negative emotions from recent days—roughly over five hundred points—were all exchanged for basic attribute points, which he then poured wholly into The True Explanation of Primordial Unity.
In the next instant, an overwhelming surge of insight bloomed within his mind, fluttering like snowflakes in a boundless field. Each flake represented comprehension, mastery, and depth of understanding.
Within every Primordial Qi vortex he possessed, the Breath of Primordial Chaos began to boil, while the Primordial Mother Qi operated of its own accord, forming a natural cycle that unified every wisp of chaotic breath.
Like a general commanding his troops, he directed every strand of that chaotic breath through his meridians and organs.
His spleen, blood, tendons, and bones underwent tremendous transformation once more. His outer muscles, bones, and flesh, along with his five viscera and six bowels, condensed into one—bronze skin, iron bones, and steel organs. His blood and physique surged with boundless might.
Even a single exhalation from him could turn into a blade of qi, easily cutting down an enemy.
Within the Niwan Palace, his soul roared. Threads of molten-golden light floated and coiled, converging and pouring inward.
Vaguely, the embryonic form of a palm-sized soul became clearer—nearly identical to Shen Yanzhou himself, differing only in expression and scale.
At the same time, his body’s blood essence and spiritual consciousness collided, contracted, and collapsed beneath the shroud of the Breath of Primordial Chaos within the Primordial Qi vortex—as if heavenly thunder had struck earthly fire.
When Shen Yanzhou looked inward, he could clearly see that each Primordial Qi vortex now contained a stable embryonic form.
This was the foundation the Primordial Mother Qi had built for his body—the initial formation of the Primordial Foundation.
It was the most crucial step in transforming his body into one of Primordial Unity.
He had entered the fourth stage of the First Realm of The True Explanation of Primordial Unity—the Formation of the Primordial Embryo.
Once the Primordial Foundation was formed, his Daoist roots completed their transition from Foundation Establishment to Core Formation, and he naturally stepped into the Seventh Rank, Core Formation Realm.
Around that Primordial Foundation swirled the Breath of Primordial Chaos, resembling a vast cosmic nebula. This was the “Core” he had formed.
At the same time, his Martial Path realm also stepped into the Sixth Rank, gaining the ability known as Sea-cleaving.
All of this sounded slow when spoken, but in truth, it took no more than a breath or two.
When Shen Yanzhou spoke those words, the aura surrounding him underwent an earth-shaking transformation.
In Tantai Yuxian’s perception, she could clearly feel Shen Yanzhou’s Martial Path cultivation leaping from the mid stage of the Seventh Rank, Blood-burning Realm, directly past an entire great realm to reach the late stage of the Sixth Rank, Sea-cleaving Realm.
Not only that—she also sensed the change in his Daoist foundation within his meridians. His spiritual energy flowed endlessly, circulating with perfect balance, even purer than that of the orthodox Three Pure Immortal Sects of Daoism, carrying a sense of returning to simplicity, of unity within Primordial Oneness.
“Cultivating both Martial and Dao together…” Tantai Yuxian fell silent.
As one who stood at the very peak of the present age, she had witnessed countless prodigies.
And she herself was a once-in-an-era genius of the Sword Dao—otherwise, she would never have reached her current height.
Yet Shen Yanzhou’s sudden breakthrough was utterly beyond reason, as though something out of a myth.
This was not a matter of suppressing his cultivation and then releasing it—it was a natural breakthrough, and along both paths at once.
When she had first met Shen Yanzhou at Hidden Moon Mountain, his revealed realm had only been at the Eighth Rank, had it not?
And how many days had passed since then? In that short span, he had traversed a path that would take other prodigies seven or eight years to complete.
Moreover, his breakthrough showed no sign of bottlenecks or obstacles whatsoever.
The Martial Path’s Vein-breaking Pill, Meridian-shaping Pill, Marrow-condensing Pellet, Blood-changing Powder—none of these were used.
Within the Daoist system, the many rare auxiliary elixirs and heavenly treasures required to go from the Seventh-Rank Foundation Establishment Realm to the Sixth-Rank Core Formation Realm—none of those appeared either. Nor was there any elder acting as guardian by his side.
The bottlenecks every cultivator must face—seemed not to exist for Shen Yanzhou at all.
Six months from now, to reach First Rank?
Before today, Tantai Yuxian might have dismissed such words as the dreams of a fool—like a frog in a well yearning for the moon above.
But now, she was silent.
At this moment, even her heart—normally as calm as still water—was filled with a faint sense of defeat and powerless unwillingness.
Why was it that after she had sat in meditation within the Pure Pavilion for so many years, racking her mind, poring over every ancient scripture and Daoist text, borrowing countless techniques from the ages, she still remained trapped at the peak of Second Rank—making no progress for years on end?
In the end, she had been forced to take a desperate gamble: splitting her soul into two—one cultivating the Heavenly Dao, the other the Human Dao—in an attempt to comprehend the threshold of the First Rank.
But even now, progress was slow, and hope, faint.
And yet before her stood someone who ignored all bottlenecks of cultivation. If he were at Second Rank, would stepping into First Rank be as effortless as eating or drinking water?
“How did you learn that I cultivate both the Heavenly and Human Daos together?”
Tantai Yuxian’s gaze turned sharp and cold. This was her greatest secret—one unknown even to the sword attendant who had accompanied her since childhood.
To divide one soul into two inevitably weakened her overall strength. Should this be known by enemies—or even by her sect—it would bring nothing but disaster.
So how did Shen Yanzhou know?
“The answer to that question,” Shen Yanzhou said with a faint smile, “will be the next condition.”
Tantai Yuxian’s gaze grew even colder.
So from the very beginning, Shen Yanzhou had known that this soul of hers was, in fact, her Human Dao soul.
Those so-called conditions about sparing Shen Tian and the others—he had merely been laying a trap for her all along.
Just what sort of being was this man, to know so many secrets?
“The opportunity for the First Rank is as elusive as mist. The Sword Master of the Ten-Thousand-Mile Sword Court entered the Dao through snow. He sat for ten years upon the Wind-Snow Plateau, watching the drifting snow. In the end, his hair turned white, his body withered, and still, he never glimpsed a single thread of opportunity.
“The caretaker of the Nameless Sword Tomb—once the world-renowned Mocking-Heaven Sword Immortal, hailed as the most dazzling Sword Dao genius in a thousand years—he too stopped before that First Rank threshold. At last, he broke his sword, withdrew from the world, and spent his final days before the Sword Tomb, with only a broken blade and a jar of wine.
“How many Sword Dao seniors you know—including your own master—met the same end?”
“Tantai Yuxian, no matter how extraordinary you are, will you not walk the same path as they did?”
“This threshold of First Rank—you will never cross it in this lifetime.”
Shen Yanzhou smiled as he spoke, but every word struck like a dagger to the heart.
“Shut up.”
For the first time, Tantai Yuxian’s composure broke. Her voice trembled with anger she could no longer restrain.
Shen Yanzhou knew very well—her weakness was not Shen Tian. She only guided and trained Shen Tian as part of a bargain made with Shen Jingxiao.
Tantai Yuxian’s true weakness lay in her inner demons and obsessions.
To reach First Rank, she had grown nearly fanatical—willing to risk madness and destruction.
She was the Sword Dao’s only hope of achieving First Rank in this era.
Other paths—though First Rank cultivators were now nearly unseen—still had living examples hidden from the world.
But the Sword Dao, though it seemed flourishing, was in truth in decline. Without a First Rank cultivator to stabilize its fate, it had long since fallen into decay. The cause traced back to a sword strike made three thousand years ago by a certain figure—one that exhausted the Sword Dao’s fortune for five thousand years to come.
In other words, for the next two thousand years, the Sword Dao system would find it almost impossible to produce another First Rank cultivator within the current heavens and earth.
For Tantai Yuxian, if her Human Dao soul and Heavenly Dao soul failed to merge, then all her cultivation would crumble to dust—her path destroyed, her life extinguished.
But she did not care.
In the original narrative, when the Beiyu army invaded, she had, in the Northern Desert Prefecture, broken through to the First Rank in a single stroke.
Beyond the merging of her two souls, the most crucial reason was that, on the eve of that great battle, she finally comprehended her heart’s demon and severed it, thereby laying the foundation of First Rank.
To Shen Yanzhou, however, that so-called severing of her heart’s demon felt forced.
In the original plot, whenever the protagonists faced an insoluble crisis, a “deus ex machina” would descend—and so, forcibly, Tantai Yuxian was pushed into achieving First Rank.
All explanations circled back to the dual cultivation of Heavenly and Human Dao that she had created herself, breaking the fetters of heaven’s fate.
Of course, seeking rationality in such a world—where power itself defined truth—was, by nature, irrational.
“I know that in order to break through to First Rank, you’ve already resorted to every possible means. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have handed over such a precious Human Dao soul to me just to protect Shen Tian.”
“But things like ‘boundaries’…” Shen Yanzhou smiled faintly. “They exist only to be broken. And you—look how far you’ve already fallen.”
“Could you have imagined or accepted such a thing in the past?” he asked, still smiling.