Chapter 100: Ultimate Sword Dao, The Divine One Sword!

For the next few days, Li Hao stepped out of the Divine General’s Residence, accompanying Bian Ruxue as they wandered through the bustling streets of Qingzhou City. He took her to taste local delicacies, watch grand operas, and listen to gripping storytelling sessions. They even ventured beyond the city walls to a nearby lake, where he caught dragonflies and butterflies for her. Using a worn Sword Manual as a cover, he carefully pressed each butterfly into the book as a specimen—his gift to her.

Though neither of them were ordinary people, doing these simple, mundane things brought them both endless joy, their faces alight with genuine smiles.

On a spring outing in the wilds, Li Hao brought along his Paper and Brush Scroll, painting countless scroll paintings of Bian Ruxue from various angles and backgrounds—over a hundred in total. Though the act drained his experience, he didn’t care. Painting her wasn’t about gaining strength; it was about capturing her.

They weren’t at the Blackwater Demon Lake—where Second Uncle Li Moxiu had once taken Li Hao—but at a smaller, tranquil Spirit Lake nestled in the countryside.

Li Hao cast his fishing rod, while Bian Ruxue sat beside him. White Fox Xiao Rou lay curled in her lap, playfully nuzzling her cheek. When tired, the girl rested her chin on her tiny hands, gazing silently at Li Hao as he focused on the bobber.

Watching the boy so intently, his face serious and absorbed—just like when they were children—brought a soft smile to her lips.

Before her eyes, the memory of her childhood courtyard shimmered into view.

In that courtyard, when she practiced swordplay, she’d often hear the familiar, youthful voice from the pavilion nearby:

“Ah! Lin Shu, you’ve placed it wrong again!”

“The piece doesn’t go in the box—it goes in the intersection!”

“Lin Shu, you’ve lost again!”

Every time her training grew tiring, she’d glance toward the pavilion. And as soon as she spotted that boy’s silhouette, her heart would settle.

The sound of laughter—joyful, carefree—still echoed in her ears, as vivid as if it had happened just yesterday.

The boy stared at the lake’s surface. The girl stared at his profile. Both were lost in thought.

Suddenly—the bobber twitched.

Li Hao yanked the rod sharply, as if drawing a bowstring to full tension. With a powerful pull, a Fish Spirit from the Strength Integration Realm broke the surface.

For creatures below the Continuation of Soul Realm, this sturdy metal rod and specially crafted line were more than enough.

“Hao Ge-ge, you’re amazing!”

Bian Ruxue snapped back to reality, clapping her hands in delight.

Li Hao smiled, then sent a pulse of energy to instantly dispatch the fish. He tossed it behind him. The sky had darkened. He packed up his rod, hauled the fishing bag from the water—containing only a few common fish—and released them back into the lake.

He folded the folding stool and chair, then called to Xiao Rou. “Let’s go. Time to head home.”

“Okay,” Bian Ruxue replied with a bright smile. She let Li Hao carry all the bags while she skipped beside him, hands clasped behind her back, hopping and bouncing with childish glee.

Smoke curled from mountain hearths. The two figures returned from the lakeside, their steps unhurried.

As they passed through a village’s fields, they came upon a watermelon patch guarded by a lone local dog. Li Hao smirked, nudging Xiao Rou to distract the dog, while he quietly snatched a ripe melon from the edge.

He cradled it in his arms and dashed off. Once far enough, he casually tossed two taels of silver into the melon pit.

On a distant hillside, he cracked open the melon. Crimson flesh glistened under the sun. He handed half to Bian Ruxue. She took it with a graceful motion—her sword’s hilt pressed lightly against her fingertip. With a flick, the blade flashed silver, slicing the melon into crescent-shaped pieces.

She offered one to Li Hao, who accepted it and bit in—juice spilling down his chin. He ate with no pretense, relishing every drop.

Bian Ruxue, on the other hand, was elegant. She took her piece with care, savoring each bite.

“This kind of life… it’s so peaceful,” Li Hao said, lying back on the hillside, hands behind his head, watching the sun dip below the horizon, its golden glow painting the world.

Bian Ruxue paused mid-bite. She looked at him, then smiled softly. “Yes.”

Li Hao finished his half, and she divided the rest between Xiao Rou, who devoured it with delight. Then, hand in hand, they walked back home.

When Li Tiangang saw them return late, their boots and trouser legs splattered with mud, he frowned.

“You took Xue’er to a decent place, didn’t you? Not some filthy, backwater spot. And when you go fishing—what about her? She might get bored. You should think of her more.”

Li Hao listened in silence, expression unreadable. He gave a faint nod, muttered a quiet “Yes,” and turned to leave.

Bian Ruxue quickly stepped forward. “Uncle, it was me who asked to see Hao Ge-ge fish. He’s really good at it. And he clearly enjoys it—I can tell.”

Li Tiangang, fond of the future daughter-in-law he’d never officially adopted, smiled gently. “I know he likes it. But you’re only home for a short time. You can’t always follow his whims. If I’m not around one day, you’ll have to be stronger. If you stay too soft, it’ll be hard on you.”

“Uncle, don’t say such things!” Bian Ruxue protested.

He chuckled. “Don’t worry, Xue’er. Just remember—take care of yourself, too.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “I will.”

Days passed.

Li Hao continued showing Bian Ruxue the wonders of Qingzhou. When news spread of a Temple Fair in the western district, they made their way there together. They marveled at the glittering Silver Tree, watched acrobats perform on the ordinary stage, and enjoyed the shadow puppet shows.

As the fair wound down, they still felt restless—unsatisfied.

Li Hao carried the full basket of purchases, no attendants trailing behind. He didn’t want to be burdened by formality. He wanted this moment to feel real.

“Are you happy?”

Sitting side by side on a stone bench outside the city wall, they watched the sunset paint the sky in fiery hues. Li Hao smiled.

“Yes,” Bian Ruxue said, her eyes bright with joy.

Li Hao turned to her, studying her profile. Her features still carried echoes of the little girl he once knew—but now, she was different. More mature. More radiant. More dazzling.

But brilliance, he thought, always comes at a price.

Like a meteor—so brilliant, so fleeting—burning its entire soul in a single, radiant descent.

He said nothing. They sat in silence.

Then, softly: “Do you want this life to last forever?”

Bian Ruxue blinked, turning to him. Their gazes met—full of unspoken words.

She smiled, but it was a little forced. “Of course I do.”

“Really?” Li Hao’s voice was gentle, but his eyes flicked to the sword at her side—always close, always present.

She tried to hide it, but her smile faltered. In that moment, she knew: He knew.

A quiet sigh escaped her heart.

“Hao Ge-ge… I might have to disappoint you,” she said, turning fully to face him. The lightness in her eyes was gone. Her brows furrowed slightly, a quiet sorrow in her voice.

Li Hao remained silent. The last flicker of hope in his chest sank.

Seeing his silence, her words tumbled out like a confession.

“I know you’ve been kind to me. You’ve done so much—for me. I can never repay you.”

“But… I want to see it. I want to try. I want to stand at the pinnacle of Sword Dao. To see if I can reach the top.”

Her voice was soft, yet unyielding—fierce with quiet resolve.

Li Hao’s lips parted, but no words came.

He watched her, head bowed. In that moment, beyond her familiar face, he saw something else—something ancient, familiar. The look of prodigies who chase titles, who burn themselves alive for a dream. Like moths flying toward flame.

“Maybe,” Li Hao whispered, “once you’ve seen it, you’ll realize… this simple life is the truest happiness.”

He spoke like a sigh.

All the joy of these days—was it truly enough? Could it outweigh the fire in her heart?

Bian Ruxue looked at the dying sun. “Maybe. But if I never try… I’ll never be at peace.”

“I want to see the ultimate of Sword Dao. I want to know… what The Divine One Sword truly is.”

“The Divine One Sword…” Li Hao shook his head, a faint smile touching his lips.

Countless Sword Saints had walked this path. Since time immemorial, the legend had spread:

Among countless sword arts, schools, postures—none were the ultimate. The true pinnacle—The Divine One Sword—was beyond all forms.

No one knew how it was drawn.

No one knew how it was struck—whether slashed or pierced.

No one knew if it even existed.

But the tales said:

If one could master it, they could slay gods, sever ghosts, destroy spirit beasts, quell demons, annihilate all things, split sun and moon, fill the ocean with earth.

It was the ultimate dream of every Sword Saint.

Li Hao had read about it in the Pavilion of Listening to Rain—accounts of past Sword Saints, even those who had fought, bled, and died in pursuit of that single, elusive technique.

The legend peaked eight centuries ago—when sword cultivators were obsessed, even mad with desire. But over time, the whispers faded. No one had ever achieved it. So it became myth.

And myths grow old.

Yet here stood Bian Ruxue—willing to chase it.

Was it the old man’s influence?

Li Hao thought of the grumpy old master who had once refused him. He’d never liked the man. But now, a spark of anger flared.

“Is this what your master taught you?” he asked.

Bian Ruxue flinched at the edge in his voice. She looked at him, then shook her head. “No. He only mentioned it once—saying it was his own pursuit. But he never forced us. This… this is my choice.”

“Is that so?” Li Hao’s anger was hidden, but not gone. “If you wish to train, I’ll walk with you. I can teach you.”

She thought back to the courtyard—her childhood. She sighed inwardly. Times have changed.

“The Divine One Sword has no rules. No records. It’s only a legend. No one can teach it. Only when someone truly manifests it… will its form become real.”

She whispered, “I know you’re skilled with swords. But this is beyond technique. Even my master can’t teach it. Only a lifetime of devotion, of exploration… can give you a glimpse.”

Li Hao fell silent.

She was right. With a Sword Saint as her teacher, he had no place.

He looked at her—really looked.

“Have you truly given your heart to the sword?”

The Dao enters the heart—yet obsession is not madness. Only love can drive a soul so far.

Bian Ruxue met his gaze, unflinching. “Yes. That’s why I must go.”

“But what if you never find it?”

“Then I’ll keep trying.”

“Countless Sword Saints have failed. It’s a myth. You’re giving up everything—this happiness—just for a dream?”

Li Hao stared at her. He had mastered many arts, yet never like this. Never so consumed.

She paused, then said, “If I don’t try… I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

Li Hao smiled bitterly. He sighed.

The same stubbornness that drives lovers, warriors, dreamers… the refusal to let go.

But time is not kind.

Flowers may bloom again, but youth never returns.

He exhaled. “So… what were your plans?”

Bian Ruxue hesitated, her eyes softening. “In my master’s sect, there are two paths: the Red Dust path, or the Sword Dao. They can be combined… but if you choose both, it’s still considered Red Dust.”

“Because Sword Dao is pure. It is singular.”

“Only through singularity can perfection be reached.”

Her voice grew quiet. “I’ve already decided. I came here first—to be with you. Then I’ll return to refine my sword art.”

“And when…?”

She faltered, her cheeks flushing. She glanced at him—then quickly looked away.

“When you’re ready to build a family… I’ll come back. To marry you. To have your children.”

Li Hao’s heart ached.

He knew she hadn’t finished.

“Then what?” he asked.

“Then… I’ll keep chasing my Sword Dao.”

Her blush faded. Her expression hardened.

Li Hao understood.

“You’d delay your life by a year. That’s not true devotion.”

She nodded. She knew.

The only way to reach perfection would be to sever all ties—with him, with the past.

But the memories… the bond… the debt…

She couldn’t cut it.

She owed him everything.

The Li Clan had used the finest Foundation Establishment Elixir. They’d infused her with the purest Strange Blood. Li Hao himself had taken the blood of a Three-Thousand-Year-Old Demon Corpse—slain by Li Tiangang on the frontier—and used it to Blood-Melt her.

Only then had she been forged into a Ninth-Rank Potential.

Without him, she’d never have had the chance to even dream of Sword Dao.

That debt—she could never forget.

To forget it would shatter her heart.

And her sword.

So even if imperfect, even if delayed—she’d do it.

To bear his child—was the only way she could repay him.

“Have you truly decided?” Li Hao asked.

“Yes.” Her voice was firm.

Li Hao’s lips twitched. He knew persuasion was useless.

Her heart was already gone.

He sighed. A bitter laugh.

In that courtyard, four years of snow and wind—hadn’t matched eight years spent with the sword.

Yes… time is against me.

But he was alive.

The sword was not.

He remembered the night in the courtyard—the Milky Way above, bright and endless.

He remembered the little girl with tears in her eyes, his hand on her shoulder, comforting her grief.

He remembered the golden sun, two tiny hands clasping in a Little Finger Promise.

“You promise to be good. Just stay here. No matter where I go, I’ll come back.”

Little Finger Promise.

No changing. Whoever breaks it—becomes a dog.

“Fine, fine…”

Who could have guessed that child—so carefree, so playful—would one day give her heart so completely?

The letters from the Southern Sword Pavilion—those endless, fluttering missives—were like ellipses after a vow.

Still unfinished.

But while the courtyard waited for spring…

She, from nine thousand miles away, had already pledged her soul to the sword.

Li Hao had never expected the girl who left with his master… to truly leave.

Perhaps he’d been too happy that day.

He’d mistaken farewell… for a promise.

He thought of the day by the lake, years ago. Second Uncle Li Moxiu, seeing Li Hao’s natural talent, had taught him his secret technique—The Half-Step Invincible Fist.

Afterward, the old man asked:

“Do you know why I call it ‘Half-Step’?”

Li Hao guessed: “Did you only write half?”

“No,” the old man smiled. “The Half-Step is the complete form.”

“But why ‘Half-Step’?”

“Because only with a half-step can you be invincible.”

Li Hao didn’t understand.

The old man added:

“Because if you step fully, you lose control. If your enemy dodges, you’re left exposed. Life is like that. Don’t be too serious. Otherwise, you can’t contain your heart.”

Don’t be too serious… otherwise, you can’t contain your heart.

Now, Li Hao finally understood.

Half-Step wasn’t about half a step.

It was about balance.

A state of readiness—never fully committed, never fully lost.

The same with life.

The same with sword.

He looked at the evening sky, and sighed—deeply.

Bian Ruxue heard the sigh. Her heart trembled.

She gripped her sword tightly—then slowly released it.

This was the outcome she’d expected.

Why mourn?

She gathered herself, looked up at the young man—his face glowing like a star under the twilight. She forced a light laugh.

“When did you realize it?”

Li Hao turned, meeting her gaze. Her cheeks flushed like the sunset. Beautiful. Dazzling.

But his eyes—though smiling—did not linger.

“Maybe… from a long, long time ago.”

“A long time ago?” She paused, puzzled. “Why?”

He smiled. Said nothing.

The letters. The frequency. The way she’d come—not straight to the Li Mansion, but first to the Meh River—where villages were already destroyed, their people lost.

The timing didn’t matter.

It was all a test of will.

“Did you really enjoy today?” Li Hao asked. “Did you truly have fun?”

“Yes!” she answered, without hesitation.

“That’s good,” he nodded. Then smiled—though it lacked something.

She was happy.

But her heart had already run ahead.

Half-Step. Half-Step…

Why did I take too many steps?

He shook his head, smiling faintly.

“Why are you laughing?”

Li Hao gazed at the crimson sky.

“Because the view is beautiful. But how many people stop to look? They’re too busy, rushing through life.”

Bian Ruxue fell silent. She knew he wasn’t talking about passersby.

So she spoke for them.

“Maybe they’re chasing life. Chasing dreams. Dream—you taught me that word.”

Li Hao laughed aloud—suddenly, with sudden fire.

“Exactly!”

Then, softer:

“But if you truly want to, even a moment’s pause is possible. It just depends… whether you’re willing.”

“Then what’s the point?”

“Every point,” he said,

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end