"This isn't necessarily true." Li Qingge offered a different view. "Our King detests rigid conventions and outdated customs above all else. In the end, the one who claims the seat of National Preceptor might do so not through seniority or political backing, but through youth and capability. That is why I say Fan Ke and Yan Lixin have the edge. Especially Yan Lixin—in his early twenties he founded the Daoist order of the Xiyun Sect, and by thirty-one he had become the leader of the Southeastern Daoist Alliance. His prestige and talent are at their absolute zenith."
He Chunhua praised the man twice before remarking, "Even so, becoming National Preceptor won't be that simple, will it?"
"Of course not! Is the seat of National Preceptor so easily claimed? Fan Ke is actively suppressing him, and the court's elder officials have strong objections, believing him too young to regulate and balance the dynastic fortune of an entire country. After all, the other two National Preceptors are both well past fifty." Li Qingge set down her teacup. "Well then, today is an auspicious day for Young Master He to draw his blade. Let us not gossip too much about idle matters. Let's go watch."
He Lingchuan had barely managed two gulps of hot tea before standing up. "After you."
Li Fubo was already waiting outside.
This was the very first time He Lingchuan's residence had welcomed so many guests.
The color of the saber mound had already faded into a brilliant, pure gold, making it obvious at a glance that the wujin content within had dropped to virtually zero. Li Qingge reached out to clasp the hilt, but in the very next instant she jerked her hand back as though stung by a bee.
Everyone was startled. Li Qingge looked at her palm. "The ferocious nature of this saber is extraordinary. Merely holding the hilt, I can feel its resistance." It was like a wild lion or tiger shut inside a cage, baring fangs and claws the moment anyone drew near. "Still, this also proves that this saber planting has been an immense success."
He Chunhua felt somewhat concerned. "With the blade so vicious, can Chuan'er truly master it?" If not, he feared it might turn upon its master.
He Lingchuan stepped forward and rested a hand on the hilt.
Over the past dozen days, he had performed this action countless times without the slightest issue.
The saber felt like an old friend—familiar, friendly, sometimes even exchanging quiet greetings.
He asked Li Fubo, "Can I draw it now?"
Li Fubo seemed even more nervous than he was, unblinking. "You may!"
He Lingchuan gripped the hilt and slowly applied force. In a flash, realization dawned on him:
*Isn't this damn well the Sword in the Stone?*
*Once I pull it out, do I become the Child of Prophecy, blessed with a protagonist halo from here on out?*
Li Fubo suddenly shouted, "Wait!"
He Lingchuan's breath caught in his throat before he heard the man continue, "Why not bestow a name upon it first? A precious saber must have a name."
"A name?" Fair enough. The thing couldn't keep being called the broken saber forever. He Lingchuan didn't know why its previous master, Zhong Shengguang, had never named it, but just as Li Fubo said, a precious saber deserved a name.
In that instant, He Lingchuan remembered the fleeting splendor of that ancient city, the vast yellow sands of the Panlong Desert, the joys and sorrows of the common folk within its walls, the peerless loyalty and valor of the Gale Army's heroic spirits, and the desolate chill before Zhong Shengguang's grave.
Nearly everything this precious saber had experienced had vanished with the wind, dissolving into the dust of history.
Yet they surely could not rest easy with that.
Enlightenment washing over him, he gently caressed the hilt and said softly, "From this day forth, your name shall be 'Fusheng'—Fleeting Life."
To record it, to remember it, to remain vigilant—and then to embrace new life.
A faint tremor immediately ran through the blade, as though the precious saber rejoiced at finally receiving its true name.
He Lingchuan grasped the hilt and drew it out inch by inch.
After all these days of curing, the golden mud had hardened beyond concrete, yet before the precious saber, it yielded like tofu.
Then, near the saber guard, he noticed two intaglio-carved characters that had not been there before.
Having studied diligently of late, He Lingchuan recognized them at a glance as the ancient immortal language.
Li Qingge read them aloud directly:
"Fu... sheng...?"
Madam Ying let out a drawn-out gasp. "The saber carved those words itself?" It truly was unlike mundane weapons; she was deeply amazed.
Li Fubo, however, looked gratified. "The precious saber possesses a spirit. It has accepted this name."
While they spoke, He Lingchuan had drawn the saber completely free.
Everyone saw that Fusheng was fully restored, flawless from guard to tip.
Compared to before, the blade's length remained almost unchanged, but the curve was deeper, making it far more suitable for cleaving and hacking, and a gleaming fuller ran along each side.
Aside from this, it appeared to possess nothing remarkable; even the edge lacked the bone-chilling cold of the past.
He Lingchuan plunged it point-first into the ground, and the saber stood upright.
Madam Ying asked reflexively, "Didn't you say it cuts through iron like mud?" How could it simply stand upright?
He Lingchuan gave the hilt a gentle push, and the blade sank soundlessly until it was buried to the guard.
When he wished it to be dull, it was dull; when he wished it to be sharp, it was sharp, obeying his every whim.
"Try cleaving this." Li Qingge tossed over a pitch-black object.
He Lingchuan twirled the blade, and the object was sliced clean in two, dropping to the floor.
It turned out to be a piece of blackened wood.
"That is lightning-struck wood, harder than thousand-year cold iron." Li Qingge clapped softly. "Splendid. Young Master He, you and Master Li have joined hands to produce a rare, peerless blade."
Madam Ying was puzzled. "Can merely being sharp qualify as peerless?"
Li Qingge chuckled. "As for the saber's special traits, only its master knows. It is not our place to pry."
The additional traits gained by a precious weapon might well prove decisive in future battles; masters generally guarded them as top secrets and never revealed them to outsiders.
Madam Ying looked suspiciously at her eldest son, only to see him smiling in silence, clearly having gained something.
In truth, with the saber in hand, He Lingchuan naturally sensed several special traits newly imbued into the weapon:
"Void Breaker": Having accompanied its past and present masters through the azure heights, this saber can also combat formless and bodiless entities.
Formless entities, by He Lingchuan's reckoning, meant things like ghosts and vengeful spirits. This was quite exceptional; dealing with spirits typically required specially crafted magic artifacts, whereas ordinary weapons could rarely harm them.
As for what counted as "bodiless"—well, he didn't quite grasp that either. Time would tell.
"Army Breaker": The will of hundreds of thousands of souls, past and present, has coalesced into this blade. When its master confronts an enemy, there is a small chance this collective will can erupt, penetrating defenses to deal true damage even against opponents shielded by origin power.
"Sure-Throw": Its master favored hurling it at enemies. With the saber planting complete, Fusheng had retained this characteristic, though it could only be used once every quarter-hour.
"Transit Pass": A saber bearer who has accepted the legacy may enter the Dafang Pot's dream realm, the "Panlong Realm," through the divine bone. Naturally, this property is not limited to this alone and remains to be expanded.
At first glance, none of these seemed overwhelmingly earth-shattering.
But Li Fubo had told him beforehand that a saber was an instrument of violence. It had no need for flashy, ostentatious effects; as long as it was fast enough, sharp enough, and capable of cutting through anything, it was a fine blade. If one could delve even deeper in that regard, it would be invaluable.
Examining it more closely, the "Army Breaker" trait was actually extraordinarily potent. Opponents bearing a State Token enjoyed the protection of origin power, which bolstered various divine arts and formations, forcing others to suffer reduced damage against them. "Army Breaker," however, served as a bug to cancel out bugs, fighting magic with magic to deal true, unmitigated damage directly.
Whatever the strike ought to deal was dealt in full.
Of course, he also took note of the words "a small chance." The Fusheng Saber warmly hinted to him that this probability could be increased.
How to increase it? That was currently unknown.
As for the final trait, "Transit Pass," He Lingchuan hardly considered it a proper combat trait at all; at most, it served as an entry-exit pass for dreams. Even so, it contained valuable information. For instance, what did "accepted the legacy" mean?
This saber had been gifted to him by Zhong Shengguang—did that count as accepting the legacy? In other words, even if someone else obtained this blade, without a handover from He Lingchuan, they would never be able to enter the Panlong dreamscape?
Moreover, he finally confirmed the true destination of his nighttime dreams: it genuinely was the Dafang Pot! The lingering question that had plagued him for so long had at last received a definitive answer.
The Dafang Pot, coveted by gods and mortals alike, had not vanished, nor had it gone into hiding. Rather, through the divine bone necklace and the Fusheng Saber, it had become bound to him.
There was another crucial point:
It was not the Fusheng Saber, but the divine bone necklace that enabled him to enter the "dream realm" of the Dafang Pot, and it had specifically specified the "Panlong Realm."
Why had the divine bone necklace not sent him into dreams when he first obtained it? Perhaps the dreamscape had only been unlocked after he acquired the broken saber.
In other words, the divine bone necklace was the key to the Dafang Pot, while the Fusheng Saber was the specific path leading directly to the Panlong dreamscape.
No wonder he hadn't had any other dreams after acquiring Fusheng.
Could he interpret this to mean that other dream realms were waiting for him within the Dafang Pot? The note that it "remains to be expanded" left room for similar imagination.
These possibilities set his blood racing.
Li Fubo was also examining Fusheng. He even borrowed it to caress it continuously, admiring and evaluating it back and forth with Li Qingge, before reluctantly returning it to He Lingchuan. "The blade's shape has changed, so the original scabbard will no longer fit. I will forge a new one for you."
Both of them looked deeply moved. Repairing a spirit artifact without damaging its spiritual core was in itself an immense feat, something Songyang Mansion could boast about to the high heavens.
He Lingchuan was genuinely grateful. He bowed deeply to both him and Li Qingge. "My sincerest thanks to you both!"
Without Songyang Mansion's miraculous saber planting technique, a broken saber would have remained just that, with virtually no hope of repair.
"Think nothing of it," Li Qingge replied with a soft smile. "The experience of planting and nurturing such a precious saber is exceedingly rare, and of immense benefit to us as well."
He Lingchuan was never one to be stingy, and at a moment like this, he certainly wouldn't hold back. "Today is a joyous occasion. Let us proceed to Hesu Restaurant. Tonight is my treat!"
He Chunhua instructed Butler Lao Mo to fetch He Yue from the provincial administration office, and the party headed together to the restaurant.
Hesu Restaurant had recently introduced several new signature dishes, one of which was called "Mantanghong."
When brought to the table, it was served in a massive bowl, with a layer of red oil half a finger thick floating on top. One look at its fiery red hue was enough to inspire caution.
He Lingchuan naturally knew that the head chef of Hesu Restaurant had rolled out new dishes based on the chili oil recipe he had provided. In his original world, this was called "water-boiled," but here, Hesu Restaurant had given it a resounding and auspicious name.
After all, being a high-end restaurant, they couldn't very well boil offal from pigs, cattle, or sheep, lest it cheapen the occasion for dignitaries hosting banquets.
Chapter 244