Chapter 103: Name-Sword, Eternal Night

“You’re Xiao Hao?”

Besides Li Qianfeng, standing outside the hall were the children of He Jianlan—Li Mingguang and Li Sibei. Both were now around thirty-five years old, significantly older than Li Hao and his peers, nearly twice their age.

They had long since entered the military, both holding high-ranking positions, their cultivation levels exceptionally advanced. Li Mingguang had just stepped into the first stage of the Three Immortalities, while his younger sister, Li Sibei, had already been in the Human-Heaven Stage for years.

In terms of cultivation, they were the strongest among the Third Generation of the Li Clan—unmatched, leading the pack by a wide margin. And their merits were equally outstanding. Age had given them a clear advantage.

Yet, He Jianlan had once publicly declared that her children would never contest for the True Dragon Seat. That statement, made openly, carried immense weight and served as a binding restraint.

Still, even if they had wanted to compete, Li Mingguang had only entered the Fifteen Li Stage at eighteen, and reached the Human-Heaven Stage by twenty-five. Now, ten years later, having ascended to the Three Immortalities—his progress was already extraordinary.

But compared to Li Qianfeng and Li Hao, even at the same age, he still fell short.

Now, Li Mingguang wore a faint smile as he studied Li Hao. He’d already heard of this name before returning to Qingzhou. The thought of meeting his distant cousin—someone he’d never seen—filled him with quiet anticipation.

Such brilliance, such talent—it surpassed even the legendary Ninth Uncle.

Li Mingguang and Li Sibei had been born earlier. As children, they’d grown up alongside the Ninth Uncle. In fact, Li Mingguang was even older than that uncle.

Yet, despite the age difference, when faced with a man two years his junior, he still bowed respectfully, calling him Uncle with genuine deference.

It wasn’t just the strict etiquette of the Li Clan. He did it willingly. The Ninth Uncle, once a childhood playmate, had soared through cultivation like a meteor—each year dazzling the entire family with his brilliance.

Tragedy struck fourteen years ago. The Ninth Uncle’s passing. Even far away at the frontier border, Li Mingguang had quietly poured out a cup of wine in mourning.

Drinking in the military was a grave offense. But he did it anyway. Then, he reported to receive punishment—hundred lashes, skin torn open, bloodied and raw.

Not a single flinch. He had even smiled.

But later, in the solitude of his tent, he wept—uncontrollably, silently.

“Cousin,” Li Hao said, nodding politely.

“Even I can’t sense your cultivation level. You’ve mastered a combat scripture that hides your aura, haven’t you?” Li Mingguang chuckled.

Li Hao smiled faintly.

Li Mingguang turned his gaze to Li Qianfeng. Compared to Li Hao’s calm, effortless presence, Li Qianfeng was like a sword half-drawn—subtle, restrained, yet radiating chilling锋芒. His aura was deep and powerful, far surpassing that of an ordinary Fifteen Li Stage cultivator.

Seeing both his cousins so accomplished, a look of deep satisfaction flickered in Li Mingguang’s eyes.

“This time, I’ll be watching you compete for the True Dragon. I and your eldest sister won’t take part. In potential, we’re no match for you. The future lies in your hands.”

Li Qianfeng gave a quiet nod.

Li Hao studied him for a moment. This cousin reminded him of Madam Da—similar in bearing.

Setting aside natural talent, the innate sense of elder brotherhood Li Mingguang carried… in Li Hao’s eyes, it was a quality suitable for leading the family.

“But remember,” Li Sibei added, her voice gentle yet firm, “no matter how fierce the competition, don’t let it breed resentment. Don’t hold grudges.”

She and her brother had shed their military uniforms, dressed now in fine silks. Yet years of battlefield life had shaped their stances—straight and strong. Their features carried a rare masculine elegance, sharper than most women’s.

“We understand, Cousin Sister,” Li Hao replied with a warm smile.

Li Qianfeng nodded, expression serene.

Seeing their solemn agreement, Li Sibei smiled softly, then glanced past them, offering a courteous nod to Li Wushuang and the others. There was no time for lengthy reunion—outside the hall, the atmosphere was too formal.

Soon, after the elders finished paying respects to Grandmother Chen Hefang, they summoned Li Hao and the rest of the Third Generation into the ancestral hall.

Led by Li Mingguang, they followed in step. Inside, Grandmother Chen Hefang sat at the head of the hall, her face serene. The other elders and ladies of the various courtyards were seated on either side. The concubines stood quietly behind their respective ladies.

Li Mingguang, broad-shouldered and imposing, knelt immediately. The others followed suit, all bowing in unison.

“Rise,” Chen Hefang said with a gentle smile.

They stood. Li Hao looked up at his grandmother—her hair was snow-white, neatly combed, like strands of silver. Though aged, her skin was smooth, free of age spots, glowing with a healthy flush. She was an elegant old lady, and even in her twilight years, one could see the traces of a once-great beauty. Her bone structure was refined, regal.

As Li Hao studied her, she returned his gaze, her eyes sweeping over her grandchildren.

Li Mingguang was the most familiar to her. She’d held him as a child, often seen him playing in the Blue Lotus Courtyard alongside Junye.

But after her eldest and third sons died in battle, then Xiao Jiu and Little Six followed—one after another—her hair turned white in a single night. From then on, she entrusted all matters of the household to He Jianlan, her eldest daughter-in-law.

Herself, she retreated to Wangyou Mountain, fasting and praying, hoping for the return of Xiao Jiu’s heroic soul.

Thinking of Little Six, her eyes softened with sorrow.

Night after night, she dreamed of them—running toward her, laughing, full of youthful vigor, calling out Mother, Mother…

They’d suffered so much. One had lost his only son. The other had never married.

Born to endure hardship, they’d trained relentlessly in cultivation, never once glimpsing the pleasures of the world—only to fall on the frontier, buried beneath the dust.

“Mingguang, come here,” she said softly. “Let Grandma have a look at you.”

Li Mingguang, seeing her silver hair, felt his heart ache. He stepped forward, bending his spine—once so rigid from years of battle—into a respectful bow.

“At the frontier, don’t be reckless. Our Li Clan no longer lacks merit or glory. I only wish you all… survive. That’s all I ask.”

Her words stirred the hearts of many. Tears shimmered in the eyes of several ladies.

Jiang Xian’er, seated at the back, turned her head slightly, her eyes glistening.

These boys were still here. But where were the ones who had once been the same—those vibrant youths who had been fathers, husbands… now gone?

Li Mingguang trembled, then nodded firmly. “I’ll remember, Grandmother.”

Her gaze softened. She called Li Sibei forward, studying the once-small girl now grown into a fierce and graceful warrior.

They said daughters take after their fathers. Her features bore a striking resemblance to her older brother, Li Xingbei.

Chen Hefang smiled, unable to suppress a soft sigh of approval.

Then her eyes swept across the other grandchildren—each face still young, yet already showing signs of strength, of promise.

Though it was their first meeting, she saw familiar echoes in their eyes—flickers of the past.

“Which one is Hao’er?” she asked softly.

Li Hao blinked, taking a tiny step forward. “I am, Grandmother. I’ve come to greet you.”

Chen Hefang studied him carefully, then smiled and beckoned. “Come here. Let Grandma see you.”

Under the weight of countless gazes, Li Hao stepped forward, approaching her.

Chen Hefang examined him closely, then exhaled softly. “You’re just like your mother.”

Li Hao’s eyes flickered. He said nothing.

“Since it’s our first meeting, I have nothing to give you—except this.” She paused, then added, “I heard you favor swords. So I’ll give you one.”

She signaled a servant beside her, who brought forth a sword case.

Li Tiangang, seeing the case, couldn’t help but stand. “Mother… that’s… the side sword your Ninth Brother once used…”

Jiang Xian’er’s gaze sharpened.

“Yes,” Chen Hefang said, her palm gently brushing the case. “This is Eternal Night—a blade from the Ten Greatest Swords Under Heaven.” Her eyes shone with affection as she looked at Li Hao. “It’s said you use a sword. I’m giving it to you. Don’t let a name-sword like this fade into obscurity.”

Li Hao’s heart thundered.

Ten Greatest Swords Under Heaven—a blade capable of slaying Four-Step Great Demons, razor-sharp, legendary in power.

And this sword had a unique ability—though only when wielded at the proper realm could its true strength be unlocked.

Right now, Li Hao could only use it to cut spirits, exorcise evil, and its edge was unmatched.

But it was more than enough.

“Thank you, Grandmother,” Li Hao said, accepting the case, voice quiet but solemn.

Chen Hefang heard the sincerity in his tone. She smiled.

The others remained silent. The sword had lain sealed for years—now entrusted to a grandson she’d just met.

Clearly, she favored this child.

But most likely, it was because in Li Hao, she saw the same brilliance—same radiant light—that had once burned in Li Junye.

Among the crowd, Li Qianfeng’s expression darkened slightly. He said nothing.

Liu Yuerong smiled, but it felt forced. Yet, with everyone’s eyes fixed on Li Hao and the black sword case, no one noticed her.

After handing over the case, Chen Hefang called Li Qianfeng forward.

“Rumor has it you’ve been cultivating at Mount Wu Liang,” she said gently. “I have three rare Buddhist scriptures—here, I give them to you.”

Li Qianfeng’s face twitched, uneasy.

A sword for Li Hao… and scriptures for him?

But he dared not show it. He bowed. “Thank you, Grandmother.”

Chen Hefang smiled. “One of these scriptures contains a supreme Buddhist combat technique—Great Compassion Palm. Master it, and you’ll not only gain great power, but the technique will also aid your sword dao cultivation in the future.”

Li Qianfeng’s eyes widened. A rare, genuine expression of joy flashed across his face. “Thank you, Grandmother!”

She waved them both aside, then called the rest of the grandchildren forward, giving each a small token. Though the gifts varied slightly in value, the difference was negligible.

Once the audience ended, everyone left the Blue Lotus Courtyard.

But Chen Hefang held back He Jianlan and a few other ladies, wanting to inquire about the household’s affairs. She also sent Liu Yuerong to summon the Four Foundations Realm Bodhisattva who had recently descended from Mount Wu Liang to reside in the estate.

…

…

Time passed swiftly.

With the Old Lady’s return, Qingzhou City grew even more lively.

Soon, the day of the True Dragon Selection arrived.

Before the Divine General’s Residence, the streets were packed. Carriages rolled in from all directions—nobles, officials, high-ranking military generals, all come to celebrate.

This was a grand event, as bustling as it had been a decade and a half before.

The threshold of the residence was nearly worn down by the crowds.

The Liu family clan arrived in waves.

In their home province, the Liu family was a major lineage. With Liu Yuerong’s marriage into the Li Clan, they had risen even higher—blossoming under the Li Clan’s protection, their ranks climbing in the Imperial Court.

Most of their members were scholars, with several ancestral lineages producing top-ranking scholars.

Alongside the Liu clan’s many officials and generals, other barons and marquises came, supporting Li Qianfeng and showcasing their connections.

Additionally, envoys from the other four Divine Generals’ mansions arrived—but they came merely to observe, not to take sides. They wanted only to witness the strength of the Li Clan’s True Dragon candidate.

Outside, the noise never ceased.

Inside the courtyard, Li Hao had pulled up the master’s chair and was lounging in the sun, utterly relaxed.

Soon, Bian Ruxue dashed back into the yard, followed by a string of footsteps.

Li Hao raised an eyebrow, flipping open the poetry book draped over his face. He glanced over—his eyes widened slightly.

At the front, walking behind Bian Ruxue, was a figure unmistakable:

Silver-haired, steel-boned, as sharp as a sword—none other than the Sword Saint, Jian Wudao.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end