I am the Heroine’s Master?

Having challenged a Nascent Soul cultivator to a duel, Mo Jian was not about to show up only to be humiliated.

Confidence in himself and his goals, and his resolve to stand against Wei Shentong, were all well and good, but they were not enough. He needed a way to win, or at least to level the playing field. The Netherworld Scorpion, in its current form, was useless here. It possessed only a single, ruthless purpose: to kill. In a duel like this, that alone would not suffice.

Or rather, it would not suffice in its primary role. Mo Jian had already conceived of another way it might prove useful.

That was why he now sat in the deepest recesses of the Kanchi Mine, within a chamber he had personally carved hundreds of li beneath the surface and then sealed shut above him. Here, his experiments would neither disturb the mine nor, just as importantly, attract attention from anyone who might be watching. The earth above his head was a better shield than any formation he could have drawn.

Before him floated the Heaven Enshrouding Ding, glowing with a gentle blue light. Its smooth surface caught the dim cavern walls and the faint orb of qi drifting near the ceiling. The lid was open, its interior polished to a mirror sheen.

Yet what it reflected was not the cave.

Instead, an entirely different scene played across its inner surface.

An unsmiling man wearing a jade crown stood near the base of a massive stone arena, speaking to a deferential cultivator. Towering flagpoles, each as thick and tall as castle towers, lined the arena's perimeter. Great triangular banners snapped at their tops, billowing in the wind, each large enough to cover an entire street. The arena itself was vast beyond reason, stretching nearly five thousand li by Mo Jian's estimate. It spanned multiple neighborhoods, spread across three different districts, swallowing entire sections of the city within its bounds.

Mo Jian watched in silence as Wei Shentong finished speaking with the arena manager. The man bowed deeply and withdrew, his lips moving soundlessly, no doubt offering assurances that the necessary preparations would be completed on time. Whatever he said, Wei Shentong's expression did not change.

Just because Mo Jian did not expect Wei Shentong to resort to tricks did not mean he could afford complacency. Since their meeting, he had kept a close watch on the man. I will make the arrangements, Wei Shentong had said, and Mo Jian had not objected, because he had his own means of verifying whether those arrangements concealed any malicious intent. So far, everything appeared clean. Whatever Wei Shentong was, he seemed to be a man of his word.

The duel would take place in exactly three days, leaving him, paradoxically, with both ample time and none at all. There was much Mo Jian wished to accomplish before stepping into the arena, and all of it required time. Thankfully, if he could not manage it within these three days, he likely would not manage it in the next three months either. In that sense, it worked out, depending on one's definition of "thankfully."

Wei Shentong and his preparations were not the only things under observation. While one portion of the cauldron's inner surface reflected that man, another showed the mountain far above his head, where tiny, ant-like workers scurried across the Kanchi mine. Mo Jian monitored it just as carefully, despite the reassurances of He Jianyu and Zhao Wenhai that everything was under control. He did not doubt them, but vigilance cost him little, and it ensured that no trouble would catch them unawares.

The final section of the ding revealed only a blurred silhouette. It had remained that way ever since Mo Jian first attempted to peer into it, never once coming into focus. He was close to abandoning the effort altogether, yet something compelled him to persist a little longer.

That stretch of the mirrored interior was meant to display the Imperial Palace, but Mo Jian's abilities could not penetrate its veil. Whatever lay within would only be revealed when he stood there himself, and not before.

If nothing else, it was a powerful source of motivation.

Mo Jian turned his attention to his true purpose in coming down here.

Ever since leaving the Thousand Shattered Islands, he had been experimenting, carefully and in measured intervals, with the Netherworld Scorpion. As an artifact spirit, it was already simple enough to wield. But Mo Jian suspected it was capable of far more. He simply needed to access it properly. Or more precisely, he needed to access xian.

Unfortunately, as shameful as it was to admit, his grasp of it was currently poorer than even Bai Ning's. It was not a matter of knowledge. He understood more about the mechanics of xian – its relationship to qi, the conditions under which one could bleed into the other – than anyone short of the immortals themselves. No, the issue lay elsewhere: in his own uncertainty. For qi to transform into xian, or for a cultivator to manifest even the faintest trace of comprehension, one needed to comprehend something, truly and absolutely. Not merely know it, but carry it as a conviction so complete that the world had no choice but to acknowledge it.

For Bai Ning, that understanding was the sword. The act of cutting, and her unwavering belief that she could cut anything in existence; no, more than that – that she could cut the world itself.

But what was his truth? That he could burn anything? That he could refine anything? That he simply knew more than anyone else?

None of those resonated with him.

It was hardly surprising, he supposed. Most Nascent Soul cultivators brushed against xian eventually, if only through sheer accumulation of time and practice. Yet there was a reason it was said that fewer than ten immortals existed in the world, even four thousand years after the Shattering. If this step were easy, there would be far more of them. The sky would be lousy with immortals.

So no, it was not shameful to struggle with this.

And yet…

The thought came unbidden, surfacing from another lifetime:

"Darkling I listen; and, for many a time

I have been half in love with easeful Death,

Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,

To take into the air my quiet breath."

It was strange, how a poem he had studied years ago for school – and then promptly forgotten, or thought he had – had embedded itself so deeply within him that it could surface here and now, hundreds of li underground in a world that had never heard of Keats. Strange, and perhaps inevitable.

Half in love with death.

Mo Jian turned the phrase over. "Half in love with death, huh?" he murmured.

Somehow, it fit. He was a man who had died once and been reborn into another world. A man who had walked the boundary between life and death more times than he cared to count, not always by choice, but never entirely against his will either. A man who found quiet comfort in dusk rather than dawn, who felt a curious fondness for ghosts, who had always been drawn to the spaces between endings and beginnings.

It was not that he desired death. That was an important distinction. It was simply that death did not frighten him. If anything, it felt like another journey, perhaps because for him, it truly had been.

And what did that mean, in terms of xian?

"An Immortal of Death," he said aloud.

The words felt both pretentious and faintly ridiculous. He had only just stepped into the Nascent Soul realm. He was sitting in a cave. He had not yet figured out how to use his artifact spirit in new ways without giving himself a headache. Was it not somewhat premature to be entertaining titles?

"An Immortal of Ghosts? A Ghost Immortal?" He shook his head. No, that implied something else entirely.

"Maybe… an Immortal of Reincarnation?"

He paused. That one resonated more, though it brought its own complications. Reincarnation was not merely death; it was the passage between, the continuity beneath the change. It was the reason he was here at all.

The reason he lingered on names instead of practicing was not mere vanity. It helped, in ways that were difficult to explain. Having a defined goal, even one that sounded grand, even one he was nowhere near achieving, gave direction to his thoughts. After all, he had long since decided he would not remain a side character in this world. Was it not inevitable, then, that he would take this step someday? If he could not even bring himself to voice it, then his resolve was weaker than he cared to admit.

Though, at the same time…

Do I really need to define it, if it already works? he wondered. He had been comprehending something. He was not certain what, precisely, but the effect was undeniable. And he had three days. Perhaps it's better to focus on the practical for now.

He exhaled slowly. Yes, that was right. Defining his path was important, but not today. Today, he had a duel to prepare for.

Mo Jian raised a hand and gestured toward the Heaven Enshrouding Ding. The lid slammed shut with a resonant clang, sealing away the reflected scenes within. Atop it, the scorpion-shaped handle gleamed blue-black beneath the hovering qi light. Then, a ghostly copy of the scorpion began to peel itself away from the metal, rising slowly, like a soul slipping free from its shell.

No. Stay in there, Mo Jian commanded mentally. The Netherworld Scorpion halted. It remained half-within the metal, suspended in an unnatural state, its form stretched between substance and spirit, a distorted outline of pearlescent white light overlaying the physical shape beneath. Earlier, he had not been able to sustain this for long. The scorpion resisted being trapped in such an in-between state, inevitably breaking free and leaving him with a splitting headache and a faint sense that the artifact spirit was, in some wordless way, annoyed with him.

But now, it held. Perhaps it was his recent brush with the xian of the South Pointing Chariot, one insight reinforcing another, but his control was undeniably stronger. And slowly, like ink diffusing through water, the ding itself began to change. The solid metal grew hazy and translucent. The scorpion's altered state bled into its vessel, and the entire cauldron became a pale, pearlescent version of itself, as though it had become a ghost of the object it once was. The process was not particularly taxing on his qi, but the mental strain was immense, like forcing his eyes to remain open and perfectly focused without blinking: not painful, but exhausting in a way that accumulated.

One more step. Blue flames ignited across the surface of the Heaven Enshrouding Ding, bright at first, then quickly paling as the ghostly effect spread. The strain intensified immediately. Mo Jian gritted his teeth, refusing to let the technique falter. The flames lost their vibrancy, their color drained until only the faintest hint of blue remained, more white than anything else. Ghostly flames.

He raised his other hand. Splitting his focus in this state was excruciating, but being a Nascent Soul cultivator had its advantages. He was no longer bound by the limits of flesh alone; what had once been impossible was now merely difficult. A simple spell took hold. A rock lifted from the ground under his telekinetic grasp, then shot forward into the waiting flames.

The instant it made contact, it vanished. It was simply gone, instead of burning, or turning to slag. Like paper cast into a roaring fire, or a moth drawn too close to a candle, there was nothing left behind. With a strained exhale, Mo Jian released the technique and slumped back. The Heaven Enshrouding Ding solidified at once, returning from ghostly translucence to cold metal before dropping to the ground with a ringing clang that echoed off the sealed stone walls.

Sweat beaded along his brow. His heart pounded in his chest. For a cultivator of his level to feel such physical strain spoke volumes about the difficulty of what he had just done.

But it had worked. By extending the Netherworld Scorpion's state of existence to the ding itself, he had transformed it into an artifact powered by xian: untouchable, unseen, and unsensed. Even the flames had not existed, to any observer who might have been watching. Just as he had once told Bai Ning: effect without cause. To any witness, the rock would have simply vanished, consumed by nothing at all, because to them, neither the ding nor the flames had ever been present to begin with.

However…

Too slow, he couldn't help but think. And not just slow, it also demanded far too much effort. If he tried to use it in a real fight, against an actual opponent who was actively trying to kill him, he would cripple himself before he ever posed a threat.

But that's what practice is for.

Mo Jian exhaled, steadying himself, then gestured toward the Heaven Enshrouding Ding once more. It rose obediently into the air, awaiting his will. Today, that will was simple. To practice, again and again, until the strain lessened, the delay vanished, and what was now difficult became instinct.

Deep beneath the earth, in the silent heart of the mine, Mo Jian continued trying to master his new technique.

………………………………..............

On the summit of the Kanchi Mine, Bai Ning sat with a furrowed brow.

A jade slip rested in her hand, one she had examined what felt like a hundred times over. It contained the memories, and the sword intent, of a nameless swordmaster from another world, one who had shown her the techniques of murim.

Her frown stemmed from a simple, unwelcome realization: the jade slip was no longer enough.

At her current level of cultivation, she needed something more. The insights within the memories were still profound, still refined beyond anything she had first encountered, but they were no longer suited to her growth. She now possessed more qi than the practitioners of murim might ever have imagined. Whatever truths they had pursued, she had already begun to outgrow them.

If she wished to advance further as a cultivator, especially as a sword cultivator, then she would gain more either by finding a new master who walked the path of the sword, or by focusing entirely on elevating her cultivation realm. Whatever teachings remained within the jade slip were unlikely to justify the effort required to extract them.

And she was in the capital now. If she couldn't find a more suitable memory jade left behind by a true swordmaster, she would eat her boots, and her sword as well, for that matter. It wasn't as though better opportunities were beyond her reach.

Yet…

This jade slip had been with her for years. She had first discovered it on Blackrock Island, sifting through the clutter of open market stalls. She had chosen it not because she understood it, but because she didn't. It had been strange and thus intriguing in its very confusion. Learning that it came from another world, that other worlds even existed, had once shaken her. Now, it felt like a part of her.

I am Bai Ning, she thought, a sword cultivator who learned from a teacher she has never met, from a world she has never seen.

And "teacher" was the right word. If anyone besides Mo Jian deserved that title, it was the nameless man whose memories she had studied for so long, and with such fervor.

Reluctantly, she set the memory jade aside and summoned her natal artifact. A mote of green light rose from her palm, swelling as it lengthened into a narrow shape. The Green Destiny Sword took form, growing until it matched the size of a normal blade, its hilt settling comfortably into her grip. Bai Ning regarded it with a faint smile, as pleased as ever with her creation. In appearance, the Green Destiny Sword was deceptively simple. Its blade was a clear, luminous green, unadorned and unassuming. It resembled a straight, double-edged longsword, with only the crossguard and pommel bearing subtle markings. In all other respects, it was plain. A passing cultivator might look at it and see nothing exceptional.

She knew better.

What should she focus on next? The obvious path was cultivation: pushing her qi further, striving to reach the mid-stage of the Core Formation realm as quickly as possible. But even at her current pace, advancing within three days was impossible. She wasn't even close enough to attempt a breakthrough.

If not cultivation, then techniques. After binding the Green Destiny Sword as her natal artifact, its manifested ability had become the very cutting technique she had once struggled to master during Foundation Establishment, now refined and perfected. With the sword in hand, she could execute it effortlessly. Cut the sunrise and cut the world. Even her sword light had become nearly invisible, leaving no trace of qi as it struck. It wasn't true xian mastery; she could not yet cut with a mere thought, but it was the closest she could come within her current realm.

And then there was the Transcendence Lightning. She rarely used that ability. It came from a Seven-Struck Lightning Immortal Wood Branch that Master Mo Jian had stumbled upon through "luck." She had refined it into her sword mere minutes after reaching Core Formation. Yet, for all its power, she found little fondness for it. In a way, it reminded her of Miantiao: an ability meant for combat, yet seldom used for that purpose. If she summoned her dear dragon in the upcoming duel, Duan Cheng would be in for a nasty surprise, even if he likely already knew she possessed such a spirit.

After all, an artifact spirit's strength was normally constrained by the cultivation realm of its master. Yet Miantiao retained a portion of his former power, something Mo Jian had described, with poorly concealed envy, as "typical, absolutely typical for you." She knew what that really meant. He was just jealous. Her artifact spirit was far from its former peak, but she had no doubt it could contend with a mid-stage Core Formation cultivator, and win. So, in a sense, she already possessed a path to victory.

Yet…

I am a sword cultivator. Is this truly how I want to win?

Her thoughts drifted, as they so often did, to a single image that refused to fade from her mind. Matriarch Lian of the Harmonious Rain Sect, lethal and beautiful as a naked blade. The way she had walked – no, the way she had breathed, as though the world itself understood: it would either move aside, or be cut in two. Since that encounter, Bai Ning had met many cultivators more powerful. She had witnessed greater masters of the sword. Even Master Mo Jian had long since surpassed whatever Matriarch Lian might be capable of.

Yet…

That image refused to leave her mind.

"The world is something meant to be cut," she whispered quietly, and like slipping into a familiar robe, the world sharpened around her. These days, the effect was muted, since her senses already carried a constant edge of that same feeling, but it remained a useful exercise. She knew, truly and without doubt, that if Duan Cheng stood before her now, she could cut him down.

But is there something I cannot cut, and thus should learn to cut?

Nothing. The answer came instantly. There was nothing she could not cut. She knew, rationally, that this was not literally true. But this technique permitted no doubt and no hesitation. It was a declaration made to the world: you can be cut, and I am the hand that will do it. Doubt was something she took off, like armor, when she entered this state.

Then… is there something I do not want to cut? Something I wish to preserve?

The memory surfaced at once. It was one fragment among many near the end of the jade slip; a tangle of broken scenes, half-formed and out of sequence. Battles without context and moments torn apart and scattered. In it, the nameless swordsman faced an opponent clad in ceremonial armor, armor he had not wished to damage. So he had chosen not to cut it. His blade passed through the armor as though it were mist, slicing only the man within before emerging just as cleanly. A single stroke, killing the man, leaving the armor untouched. He had simply chosen what to cut, and what not to, and the world had obeyed.

Excitement stirred in her chest.

Bai Ning released her grip, letting the Green Destiny Sword drift from her hand to hover in the air. Then she reached into her storage pouch. If this worked…

She pushed aside vials of pills, old dresses, the stack of jade slips Li Kang had gifted her before she left the islands, the enormous banner of the Greater Dharma Sect her father had insisted she "raise in the capital" -which she had no intention of doing, a locked jewelry box she had yet to open, the case containing the Sanguine Blood Banner (again, she wondered if she should simply throw it away), and the jade box of materials from the Netherworld Domain, its surface plastered with talismans, before, finally, she found it.

"Aha," she exclaimed triumphantly, pulling out the book she had been searching for. It was an actual book, and not a jade slip, one of the supplementary texts to the Four Canonical Works she and Mo Jian had purchased on their journey to the capital. Written centuries ago by a Core Formation cultivator who had governed a small town near the western edge of the Boundless Forest, it was a work that had initially been mocked and was now required reading. Fearing the frequent beast tides in that region, the man had spent years constructing a wall of Mistsea Wood around his town. At the time, he had been ridiculed for the expense and excess. After all, formations and ordinary stone walls were more than sufficient to repel such tides, so why waste resources on wood, even if it was known to deter certain beasts?

Time, however, had proven him right. Despite the mockery, he had completed the wall. Years after his death, a massive beast tide surged out of the forest, devastating the western borders. By the time the regional lords and the capital mustered a response, several cities and countless towns had been erased. Only one settlement endured: Mistsea Wood Town. It had not only survived, it had flourished. Now the largest and wealthiest city on the western frontier, its former magister's writings had been incorporated into the Keju examinations, his story retold as both warning and lesson.

None of which mattered to her. Bai Ning placed the book on the ground and stepped back. The Green Destiny Sword drifted into her hand as she took a slow breath.

"Page thirty-two," she decided. It was the page containing the line: Tradition is not the worship of ashes, but the preservation of fire, followed by nearly a hundred pages of dry elaboration. She agreed with the sentiment, but did it truly require that much explanation?

She brought the sword down. A gust of wind stirred, but nothing more. No visible arc of sword light followed the strike, and her qi barely shifted. Bai Ning exhaled. With a flick of her will, the book lifted from the ground and floated back into her grasp. She opened it. Several half-pages slipped free, neatly severed down the middle. She turned to the relevant section and paused.

"…Three pages," she said, faintly disappointed.

She had cut pages thirty-one, thirty-two, and thirty-three, rather than just thirty-two.

Bai Ning let the book hover in the air and raised her sword once more. This time, the swing was painfully slow. She watched every motion, every shift of intent. The edge of her blade brushed the cover, and then slipped into it, phasing through as though it were intangible. Halfway through, it failed. The sword solidified again, and the remaining half of the book split cleanly down the middle. Bai Ning swore as the ruined book fell apart, its pages scattering across the ground.

Still nowhere near mastery, she thought. Yet this time, the disappointment carried a spark of excitement. If she had truly mastered the technique, the book would have passed through her blade as though it did not exist, everything untouched, save for that single page.

I was wrong, she thought, a hint of giddiness rising within her. You still have things to teach me.

One day, perhaps, if she managed to find the path to murim as she hoped she might, she would seek out the grave of that nameless swordsman and pay her respects properly. It seemed like the right thing to do, for a teacher she had never met.

Until then, she had a technique to master.

She gathered the scattered pages, set the book aside with more care than its current condition warranted, and raised the Green Destiny Sword once more.

..............................................................................................

AN:The duel(s) begin in the next chapter, though they will take some time to fully resolve. If you want to see how everything plays out right away, then check me out on Patreon, where the next 15 chapters are available.

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