Chapter 217
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Chapter 217: Title
The blue-robed swordsman remained silent.
Within Yueyang City stood the centuries-rooted Ye family, an aristocratic household of great renown.
When Ye Qingyao, eldest daughter of the current family head, became an imperial consort, this already prestigious lineage officially joined the royal kinship—a matter known to every soul in Yueyang City.
Ye Zi Chu, second son of the Ye family, wielded extraordinary martial arts talent, having ascended to the third-tier Martial Master realm before turning thirty.
Rumors of his close friendship with Sword Sect’s Zhao Hanxuan now proved undeniably true.
The Heavenly Inquiry World mirrored ancient Huaxia of Blue Star’s eastern lands, governed by imperial courts. The current Sheng Dynasty coexisted with an unseen realm beyond—the jianghu, where martial arts practitioners roamed.
Though seemingly separate, the jianghu and imperial court remained inextricably linked.
Certain sects and figures within this hidden world commanded absolute respect, none more so than Sword Sect’s chosen blade—Zhao Hanxuan.
An enigmatic sect, Sword Sect disciples seldom wandered the mortal realm. Their recruitment methods remained mysterious, yet each generation produced a single Sword Bearer to traverse the world.
These chosen warriors inevitably became stormbringers among their peers, their mere presence stirring destiny’s currents.
At thirty-two winters old,
Zhao Hanxuan stood as Heavenly Inquiry World’s youngest third-tier Martial King—a celestial favorite by any measure.
Given Martial Kings’ three-century lifespans, his achievements shone doubly brilliant.
The realm’s cultivation hierarchy spanned five tiers: Martial Soldier, Martial Warrior, Martial Master, Martial King, and the myth-lost Martial Sage. Each tier divided into three realms, with Martial Sages existing only in fragmented legends.
With fewer than hundred Martial Kings worldwide, even Martial Masters could rule territories, while Martial Warriors held respectable standing—Martial Soldiers being mere initiates.
Ye Zi Chu twirled a lotus stem, exasperation coloring his features as Zhao Hanxuan’s silence persisted.
He recalled their first meeting—a book-learned Zhao fresh from seclusion, twenty-six winters spent honing blade and spirit within sect walls.
Such monastic austerity made Ye Zi Chu doubt his friend would wed in three lifetimes… though privately, he acknowledged Zhao’s noble bearing and prowess could draw admirers like moths to flame.
"Must we mimic stone guardians eternally?" Ye Zi Chu sprawled lazily, fan resting on his abdomen. The lotus slipped from his fingers, kissing lake waters with silken ripples. "Three years ago you sought Tian Mountain’s secrets. Now at third-tier’s peak, yet no breakthrough?"
His tone carried deliberate nonchalance. Every world harbors death zones—Tian Mountain’s reputation for consuming wanderers paled only against its peak’s lethality.
Through three anxious years, Ye Zi Chu knew Zhao’s word as iron. The moment news came, he’d raced here. Seeing Zhao whole, tension bled from his shoulders.
"No." Zhao’s single syllable hung heavy.
Ye Zi Chu’s brow furrowed. "What now? Having scaled heaven’s pillar, would you chase phantom islands across fatal seas?"
Tian Mountain’s cliffs offered peril with purpose—overseas mists devoured lives without reason. Should Zhao choose this path, Ye Zi Chu resolved to chain him here personally.
"Not…"
Zhao turned, autumn-lake eyes meeting his companion’s. "I’ll not sail east. Because—"
"Oh?"
"There’s an odd sensation from beyond the unseen barrier—’it’ whispers that my moment for breakthrough has come."
Ye Zi Chu frowned, perplexed by these cryptic words.
"Zi Chu, dedicate yourself to cultivation. Upon reaching Martial King, you’ll glimpse an entirely new realm," Zhao Hanxuan remarked, uncharacteristically verbose. Certain truths couldn’t be spoken plainly, leaving him to wonder if his veiled counsel would be understood.
"I recognize the wisdom in your words, yet this matter…" Ye Zi Chu sighed. Ascending realms wasn’t so simple, especially without Zhao Hanxuan’s prodigious gifts.
A misty drizzle began spiraling downward, the wind carrying the delicate droplets toward them.
"Would the young masters shelter in the cabin?" called the elderly boatman.
"No need," Ye Zi Chu replied, raising his voice above the patter. "Continue toward the lakeside pavilion—it lies just ahead."
Beneath leaden clouds that scraped the horizon, Ye Zi Chu observed the brooding sky from the pavilion’s shelter. "Hanxuan, have you heard Yueyang City’s latest tale?"
"Go on."
"Yesterday’s storm brought claims of a silver dragon soaring through Yunmeng Marsh’s thunderheads. They say the clouds parted with its vanishing."
"Now isn’t that intriguing?"
Watching this scene unfold, Ye Linlang’s lips curled knowingly. While denizens of the Heavenly Inquiry World remained oblivious, she understood Zhao Hanxuan’s subtext perfectly—it bore the fingerprints of the Consciousness of Heaven itself.
Her grand design positioned Blue Star as a fallen titan reclaiming glory, while the Heavenly Inquiry World remained stunted in its lower tier. Even with Blue Star’s slumbering world consciousness, she as steward could guide travelers crossing between realms. Why shouldn’t this lesser world’s awareness nudge its own?
Let the interwoven truths and fabrications confound skeptics. When presented with elegant "proof," dissenters would inevitably drown in the tide of consensus. As for Yunmeng’s dragon… Her smile deepened.
The viewing screen’s focus shifted from the conversing pair to Yunmeng Marsh’s shadowed depths. Twenty meters beneath the lake’s surface—a depth no mortal diver dared challenge—an impossibility flourished. A lotus blossom the size of a carriage bloomed aquamarine, its petals cradling a slumbering silver dragon whose juvenile horns gleamed against pearlescent scales.
Though dragons featured in local mythology, none here would recognize this was Ao Lan, Dragon Lord’s youngest sibling from Blue Star. The exiled princeling nibbled a spirit-infused lotus petal, the sweetness offsetting his irritation at Mo Ci’s house arrest punishment.
His ill-fated excursion to the Heavenly Law Battleground had spiraled into disaster—first confined, then accidentally teleported mid-game with Song Zihang and Little Ye. Now stranded in this backwater realm, yesterday’s emotional outburst had summoned tempestuous rains, forcing his panicked transformation.
The submerged lotus grove proved an ironic sanctuary. His inadvertent spiritual downpour had supercharged the aquatic flora, creating both hiding place and snack larder. Yet eavesdropping on surface chatter about "silver dragons" tightened his coils anxiously.
Assessing the realm’s paltry tier-two spiritual energy, Ao Lan scoffed. Surely no hidden powerhouse lurked here like in the source world? With decisive snaps of razor teeth, he devoured his flowery perch and surged upward, decades-dormant disguise magic rippling across his form.
A silver carp now flickered through lotus stems—the same ruse he’d employed during his troublemaking youth among human cultivators. The pavilion’s occupants radiated nonthreatening auras: one peer-level, one inferior. Time to investigate these gossiping mortals properly.
