Chapter 405
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Chapter 405: The Imperial Border City
The Great Qin Empire lay millions of miles to the west of the Jin Kingdom.
The empire’s territory stretched vast distances, spanning hundreds of thousands of miles. Since its establishment over five millennia ago, the royal family had assimilated nearly all sects into its ranks. Within the Great Qin Empire, no force could rival the imperial family.
However, a millennium ago, a faction called the Immortal Sword Sect abruptly rose to power, challenging major sects and remaining undefeated for nearly a century.
As the Immortal Sword Sect grew stronger, it refused the royal family’s recruitment, provoking their ire. The major sects united and deployed saints beyond the Nascent Soul stage to crush the Immortal Sword Sect, obliterating it entirely. Only opportunistic remnants survived, pledging allegiance to the royal family and renaming themselves the Heavenly Sword Sect.
Half a month prior, Ye Yun had arrived in the Great Qin Empire via a teleportation array. A few inquiries confirmed Duan Guangchen’s claims were true.
"Legends say the Immortal Sword Sect was once overwhelmingly powerful. Ordinary inner disciples required at least Golden Core stage cultivation, while elite disciples needed Nascent Soul stage prowess. As for their higher-ups—elders and the Sect Leader—their cultivation surpassed the Nascent Soul stage entirely."
"Old Cheng, spinning tales again? How many saints exist in our empire? You claim some minor sect had multiple saints? Ridiculous!"
"Exactly! Don’t fool us just because we’re uneducated. Even stories need logic. Refund our coins!"
"Since when are saints as common as cabbages? Stop lying, Old Cheng!"
"Old Cheng’s drunk off his gourd again—always spouting nonsense when tipsy!"
In a small city’s tavern, a wooden platform stood at the center. A sharp-faced, goateed man in his fifties lounged atop it, clutching a folding fan and wine gourd, cheeks flushed as he rambled.
The crowd below jeered and chuckled, their reactions mixed.
"Don’t doubt me! Though I embellish sometimes, this tale’s true. Consider: what cultivation levels do our empire’s sect leaders and elders possess?" Old Cheng drawled, legs crossed, fan fluttering without grace.
"Everyone knows! The Misty Sect’s inner elders are Nascent Soul stage Ancestors. Their Sect Leader has reached the pinnacle of that stage—closest to becoming a saint!"
"The Alchemy Cauldron Sect’s leader is also at the Nascent Soul pinnacle, barely inferior to the Misty Sect’s."
"The Falling Star Sect’s strongest cultivator is Seventh Level Nascent Soul, half-step from the peak!"
"Exactly! Most major sects have experts in the late Nascent Soul stage."
Old Cheng sipped his wine, squinting. "Then why did dozens of sects unite against the Immortal Sword Sect only to be crushed? Without saint-level experts, how could they lose so badly?"
The crowd fell silent, struck by the logic.
"Thus, the Immortal Sword Sect had saints—multiple ones!" Old Cheng smirked, swigging again. "Know who the royal family sent to end them?"
"Two saints—lovers, I heard!"
"Three saints, they say!"
Debate erupted until Old Cheng waved his fan. "Correct—it was a couple. Barely thirty years old, yet their Exceptional Cultivation Level reached the saint realm."
"Impossible! Thirty-year-old saints? Unheard of even in antiquity! You’re lying for coins, Old Cheng!"
"Name one saint under a century old! Thirty? You’re inventing nonsense!"
Old Cheng sneered. "Frogs in a well! Those saints weren’t from our empire—they came from above."
He pointed skyward, face solemn. The crowd froze, expressions terrified. They lowered their heads, eating hastily or fleeing.
Old Cheng stroked his goatee, lifting his gourd. A fleeting glimmer lit his murky eyes.
Ye Yun leaned by the window, enthralled. Over fifteen days, he’d learned Old Cheng was City of Rubble’s storyteller, obsessively recounting the Immortal Sword Sect’s tale for five years.
Five days of listening revealed the sect’s staggering past strength—how united sects failed to destroy them, instead suffering devastating losses. Yet whenever Old Cheng mentioned the "saints from above," the story halted. No one dared ask further, puzzling Ye Yun.
His curiosity peaked. He beckoned a waiter.
"Little Cui, invite Old Cheng for a drink." Ye Yun tossed a top-grade spirit stone.
Grinning, Little Cui pocketed the stone and waved. "Old Cheng! A guest offers fine wine!"
Onstage, Old Cheng perked up. "Fine wine? I’m a refined man—I don’t drink swill!"
Ye Yun chuckled. "Bring your best vintage. I fear his tolerance, not his refusal."
Before Little Cui responded, Old Cheng leaped down, plopping into a chair. "Young master, your aura speaks of nobility. Meeting me today is your fortune!"
Ye Yun smiled. "The feeling’s mutual."
"Good! I drink only with those I fancy. You’ve passed muster—we’ll drink till we drop!" Old Cheng guffawed.
"Modesty would disappoint me," Ye Yun replied.
Old Cheng roared with laughter.
Ye Yun’s smile deepened as he whispered, "Ancestor… are you awake?"
