Volume Four: Spirit of the Sword Chapter Three: The Mysterious Antique Shop

Yaoguang and her three companions arrived at the pedestrian street Jiang Yun had mentioned. This street was adjacent to the financial district of Yecheng. During working hours, it wasn’t particularly busy; but come mealtime, it became thronged with people. Yaoguang glanced at her watch—half past nine, still early. She walked onto the pedestrian street, sweeping a gaze over the shops as Jiang Yun had described.

“I don’t see the shop Jiang Yun mentioned,” Xuan Chen remarked, looking at the rows of storefronts.

“It really isn’t here,” Chu Tianyou added, his quick steps already having taken him up and down the street. But he hadn’t found any antique shop with a wooden door.

“It’s not that it isn’t here; you just can’t see it. Kun,” Yaoguang patted Huo Mingkun on the shoulder.

“Alright.” Huo Mingkun closed his eyes, opened his spiritual sight, and scanned the row of shops. Under this mystical vision, at the very end of the pedestrian street, where a wall stood, there was a faint, indistinct door.

“Good.” Yaoguang patted Huo Mingkun’s shoulder. He opened his eyes, closing his spiritual sight. Yaoguang walked over. At first glance, the wall seemed simply to be the end of the row of shops. A few meters away were public tables and chairs for resting, shaded by towering trees—a natural place to cool off. Beside the trees stood a sculpture and a streetlight. From any angle, this wall was well hidden; even if a shop suddenly appeared here, it would hardly draw notice.

Yaoguang stepped closer, smiled, and murmured, “Still as mischievous as ever after all these years.” She approached the wall and knocked three times. Before the eyes of the four, the wall slowly transformed into a shopfront—just as Jiang Yun had said: a wooden signboard, wooden door, wooden decorations—simple, unobtrusive, blending with the wall’s color. If one wasn’t attentive, it was easy to miss.

Yaoguang pulled open the door and stepped inside, the others following in astonished silence. The interior was cool and dimly lit. No one stood behind the wooden counter.

Yaoguang sat down in a wicker chair by the wall, surveying the rows of shelves but paid them no mind. Instead, she quietly made herself some tea, and soon the fresh fragrance of tea wafted through the shop.

Xuan Chen watched Yaoguang’s composed manner. Did she come here often?

The others sat down as well.

“Phoenix Sister, what exactly are we doing here?” Huo Mingkun asked, puzzled.

“Don’t rush. Just wait,” Yaoguang answered serenely, sipping her tea.

“Divine Sovereign, you’re still as leisurely as ever,” a voice called from among the shelves. The three looked toward the source, but Yaoguang didn’t raise her head. Out from the dim light stepped a man, just as Jiang Yun had described: dressed in a worn black shirt and trousers, short hair, pale complexion, a warm, neighborly smile.

“All these years, and you haven’t changed either,” Yaoguang set down her teacup, her tone serene.

The man chuckled softly and came closer. “Your favorite Tieguanyin, from that tree. This year’s harvest was meager, but I kept it for you.”

“So you knew I’d come. That tree is no easy find,” Yaoguang replied coolly.

“Hard to find, but not hard to pilfer a little—just enough not to be noticed,” the man replied with a sly grin.

“True enough, that’s in character for you.” Yaoguang finally turned to look at him. The two exchanged a long glance; Huo Mingkun felt a tension in the air, as if the scent of battle lingered.

Suddenly, Yaoguang burst into laughter, stood, and embraced the man, her smile radiant.

“Haha, Yao, it’s been so long—I really did miss you. I heard you ascended to Divine Sovereign and went to Ling Mountain to see you, but you weren’t receiving guests. Made me travel all that way for nothing,” he laughed heartily.

“Biluo, you’re still the same. I was dealing with some matters then—you must have heard. I was despondent and failed to leave clear instructions. I didn’t mean to block you. If you wish, I’ll personally invite you to Ling Mountain and treat you well as an honored guest,” Yaoguang released Biluo and sat again. Biluo joined her.

“I always liked your straightforwardness. So, you’ve returned to the Celestial Sword,” Biluo poured a cup of tea.

“Yes. With spiritual energy reviving and the mortal world once again coveted, I have no choice but to continue guarding it,” Yaoguang replied with a smile.

“Phoenix Sister, what kind of person is he?” Huo Mingkun asked, noting their easy conversation, as if they were old friends reunited.

“Biluo—an old friend,” Yaoguang replied.

“Heh, you’re here for the Qingyou Sword, aren’t you?” Biluo cut to the heart of the matter with a chuckle.

“I am. What is the situation with the sword spirit?” Yaoguang took a sip of tea.

“The sword spirit is a remnant soul from that girl’s previous life. That sword is a divine weapon, and for years its master and it fought side by side as one. Her previous life ended in tragedy, so that fragment of soul clung to the sword, unwilling to enter the cycle of rebirth—a persistent obsession. For a thousand years, that remnant soul awaited its reincarnation. That girl is the sword spirit’s reincarnation, which is why the sword spirit became so agitated upon sensing her blood,” Biluo explained.

“Do you have the Dreamweaving?” Yaoguang asked.

“I do. I separated it from the sword spirit and can show you.” Biluo fetched a box from within, opening it to reveal a radiant jewel, about the size of a quail’s egg, glowing emerald green. He infused it with spiritual power, and the light intensified, projecting a vision into the air like a hologram. Everyone watched:

That year, a gentle breeze stirred as peonies bloomed in full splendor. A man and a woman laughed and played in the garden, their attire marking them as royalty.

“Qingyou, I’m about to head to war. Will you come with me?” the man asked.

“Of course, I must go with you,” Qingyou replied, her smile bright as sunlight.

“This time, I fear things will come to a head. If I lose, it will give my brother the perfect chance to eliminate me. If I triumph, he will certainly strike on the road home. Sending me to war is part of his plot to destroy me,” the man said grimly.

“Zixuan, I know all you say. Who doesn’t know of Xia Ziren’s ambition? The Emperor is near the end, and he has always meant for you to inherit the throne. This is Xia Ziren’s last chance. But I’m not afraid. I promised, I would wield the Qingyou Sword and see you ascend the throne,” Qingyou replied resolutely.

Three days later, the army set out. Xia Zixuan led his troops north, with Qingyou at his side. Xia Ziren stood atop the city wall to see them off; but his eyes were full of murderous intent.

The war was fierce, flames and smoke engulfed the land, the beautiful northern kingdom soaked in blood. Qingyou and Xia Zixuan fought side by side, sword light flashing, battle steeds neighing.

Four months later, victory was theirs at last. The army headed home, but as expected, near Xia Ming Pass—the closest point to the capital—Xia Ziren launched a coup. His assassins were already lying in wait. The attack came suddenly, but Xia Zixuan’s cavalry was prepared. Yet, in this battle, the swords turned on their own. It was a bloodbath; though Xia Zixuan’s troops were formidable, they were outnumbered and nearing defeat.

At that critical moment, loyal generals arrived, bearing news: the Emperor had been seized by Xia Ziren, and only Xia Zixuan’s return could stabilize the court. The Emperor’s final secret edict was to summon Xia Zixuan home to inherit the throne. He had to leave at once. Xia Zixuan grabbed Qingyou, preparing to ride back, but the enemy pressed relentlessly. Without someone to hold them off, they’d never make it back.

“Zixuan, go! I’ll hold them here. Once you’ve secured the capital, come back for me. Go!” Qingyou pushed Zixuan onto his horse and slapped its flank. The horse bolted.

“Qingyou, no!” Zixuan knew this was likely a final farewell; in such an ambush, Qingyou had little chance of survival.

“Go, and remember to be a good emperor,” Qingyou called, charging into the fray, carving a bloody path as Zixuan escaped.

“Qingyou!” Zixuan’s agonized cry echoed to the heavens.

“Zixuan, be a good emperor,” Qingyou’s face, sorrowful yet tender and resolutely determined.

“Kill!” Qingyou’s sword flashed cold and bright. As a descendant of the Sword Immortal, her skill was peerless. Alone, she slew all her enemies. Blood was everywhere, flowing into the Ming River until its waters ran red. The field outside Xia Ming Pass became a mountain of corpses. Qingyou gazed at the carnage in desolation.

“Zixuan, how I wish I could stay by your side, see you rule the world, grow old together—but I cannot. Forgive me…” Qingyou cried to the sky, vomiting blood as she collapsed, her white armor now stained crimson. She looked up at the evening sun and sunset, smiling through her tears as memories flashed before her eyes like a lantern show.

At the very end, she used a forbidden technique, separating a fragment of her soul to seal within the Qingyou Sword. “Zixuan, let this sword protect you for me.” With regret and longing, Qingyou closed her eyes.

When Xia Zixuan returned with reinforcements, he found only a field of corpses. Grief tore at him as he searched until, by the Ming River, he found Qingyou’s cold body and the bloodstained Qingyou Sword.

Beside her body, two crooked lines of blood spelled out: “Zixuan, be a good emperor. Live well.”

“Qingyou…” Zixuan wept as he cradled her.

Carrying Qingyou’s lifeless body and her sword, Xia Zixuan walked step by step back to the capital, into the palace.

In the 132nd year of the Xia Dynasty, the third prince Xia Zixuan ascended the throne, imprisoning Xia Ziren for life. He posthumously titled Qingyou as Empress Duanren Zhenlie Jingyi, held a national mourning, and buried her with honor in the imperial tombs, personally keeping vigil for her three days. When he returned to court, Xia Zixuan devoted his life to being a good emperor. Under his rule, the Xia Dynasty flourished, but he never smiled again—his heart had died with the setting sun of that fateful year.

“What a heartbreaking story. No wonder the sword spirit is so obsessed—so close to becoming empress, so close to a lifelong union. You say Jiang Yun is Qingyou’s reincarnation. What makes you think so?” Yaoguang asked.

“Qingyou bore a mark on her back shaped like a sword—the sign of a Sword Immortal’s heir. If you check that girl’s back, you’ll find the same birthmark,” Biluo replied.

“I understand. Thank you, Biluo,” Yaoguang said, rising.

“No need for thanks. Oh, here, take this.” Biluo retrieved a box from under the counter.

Yaoguang accepted it, puzzled, and opened it. Inside was a beautifully crafted peace lock made of flawless white jade.

“Where did you find this?” Yaoguang asked, deeply moved.

“By the Blackwater River. I found it by chance on my travels. This spiritual jade carries the aura of the ancient Golden Fire Phoenix. In all three realms, only you possess such an aura. That’s why I visited Phoenix Mountain. Now, the treasure is returned to its rightful owner. Also, I went to the South Sea—she is well there, already enlightened, waiting for her chance to re-enter the cycle and find a good family, to live a happy life. Your merit is accomplished. You may rest easy,” Biluo said, patting Yaoguang’s shoulder in comfort.

“Thank you, Biluo,” Yaoguang replied, her voice choked with emotion as she gazed at the peace lock.

“No need for thanks,” Biluo replied.

“I’ll go now, but in a few days, I’ll come drink with you,” Yaoguang said, storing the peace lock carefully and clasping her hands in farewell before leading her group away.

“Phoenix Sister, who exactly is Biluo? He seems so mysterious,” Huo Mingkun finally asked once they’d left the antique shop.

“Biluo is a True God of the Asura Realm. The Asura Realm possesses the nobility and cultivation of celestial beings but lacks their virtue, living by their own desires. Biluo, even before becoming a True God, loved antiques and artifacts. He couldn’t let go of this obsession even after his ascension, so he entered the Asura Realm. Yet, he did not wish to remain there, so he came to the human world and became an antique shop owner. Don’t underestimate his shop—every item is imbued with spiritual energy, and only those with fate can acquire them. Sometimes, money cannot buy what he offers,” Yaoguang explained with a smile.

“If money can’t buy them, what does he accept?” Huo Mingkun asked, astonished.

“Lifespan, fortune, feelings, organs—anything. The antiques in Biluo’s shop can fulfill any human desire, but there’s always a price. For example, someone might trade twenty years of life for great wealth, or love for career success. But Biluo only does business when fate allows. If fate decrees it, he might even give things away for free. Take the Qingyou Sword; since it was Jiang Yun’s sword in her previous life, and only she can wield it, Biluo sold it to her for just one hundred yuan,” Yaoguang explained as they left the pedestrian street.

“How incredible,” Huo Mingkun murmured.

“Don’t even think of trading there. As a cultivator, you’d be burdened with karmic debts for lifetimes. I won’t stop you if that’s what you want, but consider yourself warned,” Yaoguang said sternly.

“I won’t go. Such things are beyond me—I’m not clever enough anyway,” Huo Mingkun replied, following Yaoguang out.