Chapter Fifty-Two: The Human Immortal

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Though he possessed such confidence and had already mastered the four great principles of resonance, by all rights he should have long since broken through. Yet now he remained at the threshold of becoming a Human Immortal, held back for want of the requisite catalyst. Thus his advancement was stymied, unable to be forced. Haste would only be counterproductive; all he could do was bide his time, watching patiently for the right opportunity to arise.

Therefore, in light of this impasse, the prudent path was to hone his strength as much as possible. At this moment, practicing the sword technique was most fitting.

Earlier, when the matter of a soul’s fall in this realm was mentioned, it was brushed aside lightly, as if no danger lurked here. Yet both Mengshang and Liu Ping understood all too well how grave the consequences would be if the soul truly perished. Still, Liu Ping’s mind was firmly set, and he chose not to dwell on it.

Behind Mengshang’s palace lay a courtyard, within which was a small, crystal-clear lake as beautiful as a gemstone. Carp frolicked in the water, darting among the weeds and pebbles. At the water’s edge, a flowerbed brimmed with blossoms whose branches dipped low; a carp would leap up, nip at a flower, then with a splash fall back into the lake, sending shimmering droplets into the air.

Beside the flowerbed stretched a grove of bamboo, and within it, a solitary figure practiced an array of sword techniques.

Only the truly gifted are worthy of bearing a sword, and so Liu Ping had studied swordplay in his daily life. Yet all of it had been mundane, and could not compare with these superior sword arts. Fortunately, his steady foundation allowed those techniques to evolve swiftly in his mind, every move and stance clear as day, before being expressed outwardly.

Now, sword energy burst forth, cold light flashing, commanding awe. Yet something about the swordplay left Liu Ping faintly unsettled, for it was not the sword technique he sought.

Piercing, slashing, hanging, sweeping, clouding, guarding, pointing, crashing, embracing, thrusting, cleaving—the basic sword forms flowed in rapid succession, sometimes blending into complex combinations, a silver blur dazzling to the eye.

The execution was fluid, pleasing to behold, yet the underlying killing intent sent chills through the heart.

Watching from the side, Mengshang’s expression changed subtly. The young master’s talent was truly remarkable; though a mere beginner, he already made the sword forms seem so natural. Yet, something was still missing.

He lacked the true essence—the Spirit of the Sword.

The Spirit of the Sword is the soul of swordsmanship; with it, the sword lives, without it, it is dead. Its importance is self-evident.

Every sword cultivator’s manual could, in theory, lead to the awakening of sword spirit, but this required true comprehension. Without immersing oneself completely, no matter how gifted or powerful, one could not grasp the Spirit of the Sword.

At this moment, for Liu Ping to set foot on the path of the Sword Immortal, comprehending sword spirit was the most critical step. Without it, even the most advanced sword cultivator would be nothing more than a paper tiger.

Yet Mengshang sensed, however faintly, that none of the sword manuals she had provided truly suited Liu Ping. It left her regretful; had she placed this matter at the forefront, she could have procured a variety of sword manuals with some effort. The thought filled her with guilt—he had done so much for her, yet she had given so little in return.

As these thoughts swirled, Liu Ping’s sword grew swifter within the bamboo grove.

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He moved like the wind, sword dancing everywhere.

Slash, thrust, point, sweep, crash, intercept, wipe, pierce, flick, lift, twist, sweep—each form flowing like water, the sword as swift as a gale, his movements uncommonly agile and graceful, exuding effortless elegance.

It was an impressive display, yet still he could not touch upon the sword’s true spirit. With each technique unleashed, the sense of discomfort in his heart only grew, like a ticking bomb, its agitation mounting.

This was not his sword.

“But… what is my sword?” Liu Ping narrowed his eyes, cold light flashing. The sword techniques from the manuals flashed rapidly through his mind, each one executed in turn.

This sword must be swifter—swifter still!

This sword must be heavier—heavier still!

This sword must be fiercer—fiercer still!

Following the sword manuals, Liu Ping continued to unleash technique after technique.

Sword upright, wrist lifted, tip darting downward with pinpoint force, arm snapping straight—

Whish!

A sharp whistle—the Pointing Sword Form!

Crack, crack, crack—countless bamboo stalks were shredded to pulp by the move.

Not far away, Mengshang’s eyes lit up brilliantly, unable to contain her excitement. “Is this… the embryonic form of sword spirit? Has the young master already touched upon its threshold so quickly?!”

“Is this the Spirit of the Sword?” Liu Ping sensed it, halting suddenly to feel the edge of that fierce sword spirit.

“But… this is not my sword…”

With some regret, Liu Ping closed his eyes. Though reluctant, well aware of the rarity of sword spirit, he nonetheless resolved to abandon it.

“In the short term, this would greatly boost my strength. But in the long run, it’s far too incompatible with me—trouble would surely follow. Though it’s a shame, without breaking, one cannot rebuild. How could I set out to find my own sword path without at least this much resolve?”

As he murmured these words, the sharp sword spirit that had gathered around him suddenly dispersed in all directions, like a wild gale that set the bamboo swaying violently.

From a distance, Mengshang stared in disbelief, crying out, “Young master, what are you doing? You’ve just abandoned the sword spirit you only just awakened?!”

How precious was sword spirit? Even in its nascent form, it had taken root, and with diligence would surely blossom into full mastery.

Yet the young man before her tossed it aside without hesitation, leaving her pained and utterly bewildered.

“My sword,” Liu Ping intoned softly, having settled his mind, without a trace of regret. He raised his bronze sword, murmuring inwardly.

Suddenly, Liu Ping opened his eyes wide. All the sword techniques in his mind faded into mist, which was then rent apart by the very next move he unleashed.

This was Liu Ping’s sword.

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“A true man must embody uprightness, and cultivate the Sword of Righteousness!”

Moved by inspiration, Liu Ping began to weave his sword through the air, reciting aloud:

“Heaven and earth possess righteous energy, weaving myriad forms throughout creation.

Below, it becomes rivers and mountains; above, it forms the sun and stars.

Within man, it is called the noble spirit, vast enough to fill the azure heavens.

The imperial road lies clear and level, harmony and clarity filling the court!”

As his voice rang out, Mengshang watched and listened, stunned. In that moment, the young master’s figure seemed more magnificent and imposing than ever before. She stared in a daze, utterly captivated.

Liu Ping’s mind entertained no other thoughts. Having cast aside the embryonic sword spirit, breaking only to rebuild, he had risked everything on this endeavor, focusing his entire being on forging ahead.

“Preserve what is essential, and vitality is born of itself; externally, one is tranquil and flourishing, inwardly, one’s fountain is inexhaustible. With vast peace, one’s spirit becomes an endless wellspring.

When the spring never dries, the body remains strong; when the source never fails, the senses open wide. Only then can one traverse heaven and earth, break through the four seas. With no doubts within and no evils without, the heart is whole inside, the form whole outside, untouched by calamity or misfortune, health prevailing, lifespan extended—such a one is called an Immortal among men.”

The Sage Mencius once said: “I am skilled at nurturing my noble energy!”

This energy is grand and unyielding, filling the space between heaven and earth.

Never bending nor breaking, surging forth unstoppably—this is the path of the Supreme Sage!

With a sweep of his sword, righteous energy burst forth, reducing countless bamboo stalks to dust.

The Spirit of the Righteous Sword was born!

Sensing a change, Liu Ping drained all three bottles of Azure Blossom Dew he carried, then stood quietly among the bamboo.

Witnessing the sword technique just now, Mengshang was left utterly astounded. This grand sword path—though she could not name it—was certainly a great Way. The few sword manuals she had provided were mere minor arts, utterly incomparable.

Just moments before, she had mourned his abandonment of the embryonic sword spirit, but now, before the might of this newfound power, it was utterly insignificant!

Pride swelled in her small heart—indeed, he was worthy of being her young master!

Yet, seeing Liu Ping standing quietly, she was puzzled; what was he doing? Suddenly, a thought struck her, and she gasped softly, “Could the young master be about to…”

Liu Ping closed his eyes, focusing on the power of the fourfold resonance, striving with all his might to break through the final barrier, to truly achieve the state of a Human Immortal.

“A Human Immortal is the lowest of the Five Immortals, a cultivator who has yet to comprehend the Great Way, but has mastered a single art within its path.

Attaining a single technique, steadfastly upholding it with unwavering faith and resolve, never wavering for a lifetime—thus the four great principles are inadvertently intertwined, stabilizing one’s form and essence.

The eight deviant plagues cannot harm him, illnesses are few and well-being abundant; the body is strong, sickness rare, and longevity assured—thus is one called a Human Immortal.

Though below the Earth Immortal and still somewhat frail, one is no longer a mere ‘ghost’.”

Slowly, Liu Ping opened his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips.

Human Immortal—achieved!