Deep within the lush valley, the flowers, grass, and trees thrived in a vibrant display of life. Bright red blossoms bloomed everywhere, resembling clusters of burning flames, beautiful and magnificent. Drawn by some mysterious summons, butterflies danced together among the flowers like tiny, ethereal fairies, graceful and light.
Swarms of bees arrived on the breeze, joyfully darting through the blooms and busily gathering nectar. A gentle wind swept past, causing the tree branches to sway and rustle softly.
Beneath a towering banyan tree, a lonely youth leaned quietly. As the setting sun gradually dipped below the horizon, its fiery rays stretched his shadow to a great length, making the distant sight appear profoundly desolate. The youth’s brow was furrowed, his eyes filled with sorrow as he gently stroked a lifelike red flower embroidered on a handkerchief—the exquisite craftsmanship made it look like a real blossom. Upon closer inspection, this embroidered flower was identical to the small red flowers carpeting the valley.
He carefully put the handkerchief away and glanced around the familiar valley, brimming with memories. After a moment, he closed his eyes and stood quietly beneath the banyan tree, his thoughts drifting back to the joyful days he had spent living here with the spirited young girl. A sweet smile occasionally touched his face, only to be replaced by an expression of pain.
A gentle breeze swept by, rustling the leaves of the banyan tree as if whispering stories of the past.
At length, the youth’s dark eyes snapped open, now carrying a resolute determination. He clenched his jaw, abandoning any lingering hesitation, and strode resolutely out of the valley. He knew that without the young girl's presence and ringing laughter, remaining here would only disturb his state of mind.
For the sake of their five-year pact, he clenched his fists and swore inwardly: "I must grow stronger. I will protect her from the wind and rain, and let everyone know she belongs to me. I will not remain helpless in the face of adversity, unable to change a thing."
By evening, Chen Yingjian returned to the clan. As soon as he stepped through the gates of the Chen Family, the guards informed him that the patriarch was waiting in the main hall and urged him to go at once. Noticing the strange looks the guards were giving him, he felt a wave of suspicion and could not help asking, "What on earth has happened?" But the guards kept their mouths shut. With no other choice, Chen Yingjian strode quickly toward the main hall of the Chen Family.
Along the way, Chen Yingjian noticed that the clan guards had more than doubled compared to usual. A sense of unease rose in his heart: "Could something major have happened within the clan?" At this thought, his heart sank slightly, and he quickened his pace.
Inside the grand hall, a hundred figures stood in attendance. At the very top sat eight figures, with a hunched old man occupying the central seat. Though advanced in years, this elder was spirited and showed no signs of frailty; he looked nothing like a man of over eighty. At this moment, however, his silvery brows were knitted together, and his aged face was heavy with preoccupation. This elder was none other than Chen Hanlin, the helmsman and patriarch of the Chen Family.
"Is there any word on the sword manual? Has Xiaojian returned?" Chen Hanlin asked anxiously, his brow furrowed as his gaze swept eagerly through the crowd.
"Reporting to the patriarch, none at all," a man stepped out from the crowd, bowing with his head lowered, not even daring to look up.
As soon as the words fell, whispering broke out across the hall.
"Could he have stolen the manual and run off for fear of being caught?" Chen Qian sneered, sitting to Chen Hanlin’s right. His face was full of disdain, and a sinister glint flashed in his cloudy eyes.
"Nonsense! How could Xiaojian ever do such an unfilial thing!" rebuked a middle-aged man seated to the patriarch’s left, his expression furious and his eyes wide.
The man wore grey, luxurious robes; his tall, upright figure and handsome face radiated a hint of authority. He was Chen Yingjian’s eldest uncle, Chen Haoran, whose spiritual energy had reached the Spirit Ancestor Realm. He held an important post in Feng City and rarely returned to Fenglin City.
At this moment, he glared angrily at Chen Qian and said in a loud voice, "I just returned today, never expecting to run into such a matter. Don't cast false accusations! I refuse to believe my young nephew would ever steal the family's supreme treasure."
"Whether he did or not, everyone present sees it clearly. What, would I, an elder, frame a useless good-for-nothing? It's a joke!" Chen Qian retorted coldly, casting a disdainful glance at the furious Chen Haoran with his bulging eyes, the corners of his mouth curling up in mockery.
"You—" Hearing this, Chen Haoran's anger flared, and he prepared to retort, but his unuttered words were cut off.
"Enough, stop bickering!" Chen Hanlin slammed his hand onto his chair and shouted angrily, his face turning red. The aged, angry voice echoed through the entire hall, startling everyone into silence as they looked at one another and obediently shut their mouths. The main hall instantly became so quiet that even the drop of a needle could be clearly heard.
This showed that the old man’s dignity within the clan was inviolable—something even Chen Qian envied.
Years ago, when the two of them competed for the position of patriarch, Chen Qian had lost by a mere half-move due to a moment of carelessness, missing out on the seat. He had harbored a grudge over this matter ever since. Over the years, he had operated in the shadows, all with the aim of seizing the patriarch's position.
The theft of the sword technique passed down by their ancestors had robbed the usually serene Chen Hanlin of his composure. The bickering of these two men, buzzing like flies, was particularly grating.
"No matter the cost, the sword technique must be recovered. While it may not be the lifeblood of our Chen Family, it is an heirloom of our ancestors!" Chen Hanlin swept his gaze across the spacious hall, his expression solemn and heavy as determination filled his eyes.
"Yes!"
Hearing this, everyone present was stirred, shouting in unison. The resounding voices echoed through the hall, causing even the building to tremble slightly.
The sword technique, known as the Universe Sword Technique, was a legacy of the Chen Family. While it was not currently the most powerful technique possessed by the family, the ancestors had left a strict instruction: only the geniuses of the clan were qualified to peruse and practice it. Many clan members scoffed at it and showed little interest, as its power was limited and the manual was incomplete, leaving no one willing to waste time practicing it. Ordinarily, it was kept in the ancestral hall alongside the Ancestor Sword. The ancestral hall was guarded by clan members, yet for reasons unknown, the manual had been stolen with clean and practiced skill. Chen Hanlin suspected it was the work of someone within the clan, and that person was Chen Yingjian, for the reason that...
"Creak!"
The hall doors were slowly pushed open, letting in a shaft of bright light as a slender figure emerged and walked slowly inward.
All eyes immediately focused on the sudden intruder. As the figure stepped further forward, the hall erupted in an instant.
"He actually dared to return!"
"Is his brain fried?"
"Ungrateful wretch! Hand over the sword technique and drive him out of the clan at once!"
...
Whispers rose and fell across the hall, every malicious spearhead directed at Chen Yingjian, each word like a sharp arrow piercing his heart. Though he did not know what had happened, he could sense it was bound to him; otherwise, the clan members would not look so ferocious, as if they wished to tear him apart alive.
"Wretch, why haven't you knelt? Hmph..." An aged, angry scold rang out, ringing in his ears and leaving Chen Yingjian stunned, filled with shock and incomprehension.
"Why won't you kneel..." Seeing the youth, Chen Hanlin’s anger flared directly, a furious roar bursting from his lips as even the silvery beard on his chin trembled violently. One could imagine how blazing the old man’s fury was at that moment.
Seeing the furious Chen Hanlin, Chen Haoran was also startled. He looked up at his father, who resembled a raging tiger, opened his mouth, and sighed, ultimately failing to utter a sound.
Chen Qian, on the other hand, wore a cold expression as he looked on from the sidelines, watching everything quietly with an imperceptible sneer at the corner of his mouth.
Silence fell over the crowd, all gazes fixed upon the youth's frail frame.
Chen Yingjian’s body trembled slightly. Though entirely unwilling, he slowly sank to his knees, biting his lip with a stubborn expression.
At this moment, his mind was a blank; he had no idea why everyone was treating him this way.
"Where did you hide the sword manual?" Chen Hanlin glared at him, interrogating him with a gaze that seemed capable of piercing through his very soul.
"Sword manual? What sword manual?" Chen Yingjian startled, replying by reflex as his brow furrowed in utter confusion.
"You still dare to deny it!" Seeing this reaction from him, Chen Hanlin frowned and shouted sternly, veins bulging on his forehead.
"What are you telling me to admit? I really don't know anything about a sword manual!" Chen Yingjian argued loudly with an innocent expression, his eyes wide.
"Spouting nonsense! Look at what this is!" Chen Hanlin raged, pointing toward the primitive, pitch-black longsword hanging in the high hall, his hand trembling slightly.
Chen Yingjian raised his eyes, his gaze freezing a moment later as he muttered, "Why is the Ancestor Sword here?"
Hanging in the high hall was none other than the Ancestor Sword passed down through generations of the Chen Family. Forged from an unknown material, it was pitch-black and three feet long. The sword could not be called incomparably sharp or capable of cutting through iron like mud; its overall design was ordinary, lacking a single striking feature, and it looked thoroughly unremarkable. However, two ancient characters were inscribed in the middle of the hilt: "Fanwu".
This sword had always been kept in the Chen Family ancestral hall for the clan to pay homage to, but for it to be here now meant there must be hidden reasons behind it.