The memory seemed to stop here, unchanging. White snow, red fire, the craftsman, and white iron. In the flying sparks, bowl after bowl of blood was poured down, and the ding-ding-dang-dang sounds went on endlessly.

Zanxing couldn’t leave this place.

She tried to interrupt the memory, but no matter where she walked, she returned to this cold, lonely courtyard. So she could only sit down, like Wuyou had done years ago, watching the craftsman continue to nourish with blood this divine sword of unknown fortune or misfortune.

Unlike those warm-colored memories, these repetitive days passed quickly. It seemed that in the blink of an eye, the last bowl of blood had already been poured and cast.

The flames grew wildly in the snow, as if something was about to break through the earth. That short man had almost become a withered skeleton. He stood before the fire pile, gazing at the flames with fervent, mad eyes.

“Almost successful…” he murmured. “Haven’t thought of a good name for you yet.”

“Graceful maiden without shame, years without worry or blame.” He looked tenderly toward the fire pile. “Your name shall be Wuyou.”

After saying this, he began slowly removing his outer clothes, revealing his emaciated body.

Zanxing understood – he was about to sacrifice his soul and become that “sword spirit.”

Chai Sang jumped into the fire pile without hesitation.

In an instant, flames shot up to the sky. Suppressed screams came from the blazing fire, accompanied by the smell of burning flesh.

Zanxing couldn’t bear to watch anymore.

Making a deal with demons was never easy. Sacrificing one’s soul was a process more painful than death – it required peeling the soul bit by bit from the body and repeatedly tempering it. This pain wasn’t just momentary; as long as his soul couldn’t break free from this sword, he would have to repeat this tormenting suffering daily.

Those wails, screams, sobs, and cries gradually grew quieter, refined by the blazing fire, along with laughter and cherished memories, tears and recollections.

The last wisp of flame extinguished. Countless flowing radiances swirled in the burned-out ashes – it was a silver-white treasured sword with an extremely beautiful blade. The sword edge was gentle and warm like bright pearls, and on the sword hilt was carved a small frost flower.

He was reborn within this sword.

Before Chai Sang died, he had told neighbors to come and take this sword. When the time came, the neighbors knocked open this long-cold courtyard and found it empty, with only a beautiful long sword lying in the burned-out fire pile. He bent down to pick up this sword, then, as if bewitched, put the sword in a box and sent it to the general’s mansion.

What happened next was easy to guess.

The general at the general’s mansion loved collecting various weapons. Hearing that someone was presenting a divine sword, he gladly accepted it. But once the divine sword was in hand, his mind was bewitched.

The general took this sword and killed everyone in the mansion.

This was an evil sword. From the moment Chai Sang decided to sacrifice his soul, he understood that a sword spirit nurtured this way would inevitably be very dangerous. Even though he began with the desire to avenge his daughter, even though he became the “sword spirit,” some things, once started, couldn’t be stopped.

This sword later passed through many hands – sometimes a penniless poor scholar, sometimes a wealthy young master living in luxury, sometimes farmers, sometimes nobles.

While they gained this sword, they also gained incomparable power, but likewise, they lost their sanity and became demons who killed for pleasure. The Yuezhi Kingdom became turbulent and unstable because of this sword. Even the most famous sorcerers couldn’t subdue this sword. Finally, the people fled their homeland, cities declined, and the king personally took the sword into his tomb before death, sealing the Wuyou Sword away from the world to prevent further disasters.

Until a group of cultivators who had obtained news of the divine sword came here with a gambling mentality, hoping to subdue the sword spirit, this Wuyou Sword that had been silent for years finally reemerged in the world.

The gray mist had somehow already dispersed.

That silver-white sword stood before Zanxing, its blade trembling slightly as if weeping.

She could feel the sadness emanating from the Wuyou Sword. That heavy sorrow seemed able to quickly invade every corner of one’s heart, making people feel grief along with it.

Zanxing fell silent.

She had originally thought that this sword, which looked gentle and beautiful and was called Wuyou, might be the transformation of Chai Sang’s daughter. But she hadn’t expected the truth to be even more regrettable than imagined – the sword spirit in this blade was Chai Sang himself.

He had sacrificed his soul, but couldn’t control this sword. Evil swords not only devoured the sword bearer’s sanity but would slowly absorb him completely, along with all his memories. When that time came, he would truly become one with the Wuyou Sword and become a real killing monster.

Neither Gu Baiying nor Meng Ying could subdue this sword because, aside from the sword spirit’s suppression, this sword itself was an evil sword forged by Chai Sang with blood irrigation and evil arts. The cultivation world had no such forbidden techniques. Zanxing guessed that the scroll recording those diagrams might belong to the demon realm. The evil power contained in this sword was endless – once cultivation practitioners absorbed it, their sanity would be gradually devoured. But the Xiaoyuan Pearl was originally a demon realm treasure. It wasn’t affected and could actively absorb the disturbing power within.

That’s why the Wuyou Sword briefly regained consciousness, and why it actively let Zanxing see its memories.

“I’ve seen those memories,” Zanxing looked at it and said softly. “What do you hope I’ll do?”

The Xiaoyuan Pearl had suppressed the evil qi surging in this sword, so she could stop and converse with the sword spirit.

The Wuyou Sword – no, it should be said Chai Sang – quietly gazed at Zanxing. Suddenly, a ringing sound came from the sword’s body, mournful and desolate, like earnest pleading.

Zanxing’s eyes moved slightly. “You want liberation.”

How could mortals bear the price of making deals with demons? He had avenged his daughter, but the curse wasn’t over yet. The swordsmith had always been with the sword. All these years, as a sword spirit, he had bewitched countless people into killing sprees and was already covered in blood. He had completely become a tool.

Didn’t he want liberation?

Suffering daily the tormenting pain of blazing fire, his soul unable to pass on, the more people who died by the Wuyou Sword, the greater this sword’s evil nature became. If not for Zanxing’s Xiaoyuan Pearl suppressing the evil qi within and allowing the sword spirit to remember his past, perhaps before long, he would even forget Wuyou.

The sword’s body trembled, and large, clear droplets flowed from the sword tip. It was weeping.

Zanxing sighed in her heart.

This sword originated from Father Chai Sang’s protection and love for his daughter. He suffered from his incompetence, hated his enemy’s arrogance, and finally took desperate risks, sacrificing his soul to obtain an evil sword. He got his revenge and also killed many innocent people – whether he ever regretted it, others couldn’t know.

Zanxing couldn’t blame him, because if it were herself, she might not have made a different choice than Chai Sang. Sometimes it wasn’t people walking toward dead ends, but because there was no path ahead anymore.

“I can erase the sword spirit’s existence,” Zanxing said, looking at him. “Have you decided?”

Gu Baiying and the others’ yuanli would be absorbed by the Wuyou Sword and become part of the evil, but yuanli from the Xiaoyuan Pearl wouldn’t. Zanxing guessed this might be due to demonic qi. She could kill the sword spirit – this way, the Wuyou Sword would become an ordinary supreme-grade spirit artifact. Without a weapon spirit, it naturally couldn’t bewitch people’s hearts.

But Chai Sang would also disappear from this world.

The Wuyou Sword stood before Zanxing and gently nodded.

Zanxing said, “Alright.”

She said nothing more, using both hands to activate the Xiaoyuan Pearl at her heart, circulating yuanli to envelop the silver-white sword body. In an instant, the Wuyou Sword seemed to sense something and began struggling frantically. As if besides Chai Sang, there was another force – it realized the danger and wanted to struggle free, but under the Xiaoyuan Pearl’s suppression, it couldn’t move.

Zanxing felt a force resisting her, as if something was drilling into her mind. It seemed to contain many different people’s emotions, and unfamiliar faces flashed through her mind. She knew these were people who had died under the Wuyou Sword. The Wuyou Sword was trying to counterattack, wanting to disturb her sanity. Several times, Zanxing felt she could barely hold on – her body couldn’t support such prolonged consumption.

But she had promised Chai Sang something, and she had to see it through.

The Xiaoyuan Pearl kept rotating violently, forcefully, and domineeringly, wearing down some power in the divine sword. After an unknown amount of time, the struggling sword gradually began to calm.

The sound of “ding-ding-dang-dang” rang out.

In the courtyard covered with white snow, the short craftsman was adding iron blocks to the furnace. Perhaps because the New Year was approaching, bright red lanterns hung under the eaves. A little girl in a flowered cotton jacket flew into the courtyard like a butterfly, her voice crisp as she complained: “Papa, Little Tiger next door says big bears will come down the mountain to eat people at night recently!”

“There are big bears,” the craftsman wiped sweat from his forehead and smiled as he wiped a small bit of coal ash from his daughter’s face. “Don’t be afraid. Papa is a swordsmith – Papa will protect you.”

The little girl helplessly rolled her eyes. “Papa, there you go again. You’re a swordsmith, but you don’t know martial arts – how can you protect me?”

“How can I not protect you? When Papa forges a divine sword with a sword spirit for you, it can protect our little master.”

“Liar! There are no sword spirits in the world!”

“There may be no sword spirits in the world, but there’s Papa! You wait – someday, Papa will give you an unparalleled divine sword!”

The laughter in the courtyard gradually faded away. Only the rustling falling snow was silent. Those clean snows covered the ground layer by layer, extinguishing the furnace and burying the courtyard until no trace remained.

From the Wuyou Sword’s blade, countless brilliant lights emanated. They scattered in the air, floating and swaying as they flew into the distance, condensing into the shape of a small frost flower. They fell to the ground, shattered into pieces, becoming countless crystal fragments, returning to silence.

“Clang.”

The silver-white sword fell to the ground. It was gentle yet cold and hard, no longer having its previous sinister evil.

The sword spirit had disappeared.

It had become an ordinary divine sword.