Volume One: Newly Fallen Rain Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Sword of Ninety Thousand Miles

"Jian Nantian, with a single sword, comes to question the Lord of Heaven!"

Jian Nantian sat high atop the Silver Dragon, his sword held horizontally before him. From the blade, sword energy emerged, bright and cold as silvery frost.

The Silver Dragon, carrying him, circled the Lord of the Empyrean with a flash of silver light, traversing ninety thousand miles in the blink of an eye. Wherever the silver light flowed, the sword energy followed, stretching like spun silk, lengthening instantly for ninety thousand miles.

Layer upon layer of sword energy gathered, encircling the Lord of the Empyrean like a great wall. He gazed solemnly at the sword energy before him; the light upon his body, suppressed by the laws, struggled and then erupted once again.

Jian Nantian’s eyebrows, straight and cold, rose sharply. The sword in front of him vibrated, letting out a sound like a dragon’s long, mournful cry. He stared at his blade and spoke aloud:

"This sword, ninety thousand miles long."

He slowly raised the sword. The coiling, layered sword energy suddenly straightened, transforming into a silver ribbon that spanned the world, slashing toward the Supreme of the Six Realms.

A sweeping arc of sword energy cut through the chaotic heavens, carving a slender rift of light ninety thousand miles long, splitting the world in two.

No word—whether "crash" or "crack"—could capture the sound of that moment. Perhaps no one heard anything at all, but in everyone's heart, there resounded an echo of the sound of something breaking—a sound they had once heard before.

This small world was severed.

It became two halves.

The first, containing Ye Mingke, crashed into the mortal world, collapsing with increasing speed.

The other, holding the Lord of the Empyrean and not yet fallen into the mortal realm, remained outside, crashing into the chaotic void of the Six Realms.

Ye Mingke, held in the palm of the long-legged, half-tree giant, turned abruptly, only to see one man and one dragon crossing that line of light, facing the Lord of the Empyrean with utter resolve.

Though the Lord of the Empyrean managed to withdraw in time, the radiance upon him was still split by that sword, his imperial robes torn by sword energy.

He lifted his head, gazing at the boundary between the two worlds, his eyes cold and commanding.

Suddenly, from that boundary, a massive azure hand surged forth to strike him. At the same time, figures radiant with divine brilliance—each like a small sun—burst through the rift, flooding in from the severed world.

Thunderous cries of fury shook the broken world:

"Emperor of Heaven, today is the day you meet your end!"

With dazzling divine light, spells capable of burning mountains and boiling seas roared toward him.

Jian Nantian, riding the Silver Dragon and charging at him, was pale as paper. He once again raised his sword, sending sword energy shooting forth, instantly stretching for ten thousand miles.

"Azure Emperor, traitors of the heavens, you have all come. So you hope to trap me here, taking advantage of the imperial decree that suppresses me but has not yet passed."

As the thunderous blows descended, the Lord of the Empyrean remained calm, dusting off the cracks and dust from his imperial robes.

"But while you calculate against me, how do you know I am not calculating against you?"

He suddenly looked up, facing the vast forces arrayed against him.

"Do you even know what it means to be the Heavenly Emperor? What is a flawless technique?"

The small world quaked violently, fracturing, slipping ever further into the abyss of chaos below.

Within the crumbling world, pillars of divine light thousands of feet tall fell and were extinguished, the land itself shattered.

The swordsman’s broken blade finally snapped...

The Silver Dragon could no longer carry her beloved...

Everything was falling, falling, plunging into utter, eternal chaos and darkness.

...

"Yinling, all these years, why have you always followed me?"

"All these years, this is the first time you’ve called my name. Have you finally forgiven me?"

"I don’t know. Some things are just habit. I’m not used to calling your name, because back then, we didn’t need to call each other by name. Whenever I spoke, it was only to you, and only you were listening."

"I don’t even know if what I feel for you is hatred. I know her death wasn’t your fault, but hatred is often irrational, beyond my control."

"The only thing I know is that I’ve grown used to your presence, cannot live without you—just as I cannot live without my sword."

A swordsman tells a woman he cannot live without her, just as he cannot live without his sword.

It is a statement that invites a beating, but for a swordsman, such words are the most passionate confession.

And perhaps, for this silent, awkward man, it was the only love confession of his life.

"That is enough," Long Yinling whispered in the final darkness.

That is enough.

After so many years, just those words from him were enough.

Long, long ago, in the dragon race, there was a young female called Yinling.

She was the most noble frost dragon among her kind, yet she disliked the cold glaciers of her kin, the strict rules, preferring instead to wear the brightest scarlet dresses, visit the liveliest places, and create the greatest mischief.

But mischief and crowds were dangerous. Once, her body was seized by enemies, leaving only a wisp of dragon soul to secretly cling to a mortal youth who was a swordsman and assassin.

This assassin was cold and bored.

He had no friends, no family, until one day, suddenly, he had her. He developed the habit of talking to himself.

A killer walking the edge of death, and a young dragon as good as dead—together, they survived hardship, step by step.

They traveled countless roads together; she led him onto the path of cultivation, he helped her slay the enemy who had stolen her body.

She gradually realized she loved this silent, steadfast youth who wielded a sword.

But she was his family, teacher, friend—everything but the woman he loved as his wife.

His wife was gentle as water, with world-stirring beauty, but only a mortal—one who could not cultivate, a woman with but a century’s lifespan, which for a dragon was but a brief slumber.

Of course she envied that woman, resented her, even more than once thought about killing that fragile mortal who could be snuffed out with a gesture.

So, when that woman, dressed in finery and painted exquisitely, asked her to end her life, Long Yinling admitted her heart was moved.

That night, the woman was at her most beautiful, like a blossom in full bloom.

She was beautiful, but she would soon grow old, and her beauty would fade.

She knew the swordsman would never age, so she did not wish to wither, did not want his memory of her to be old and ugly. Thus, she chose to die at her most beautiful moment.

She begged Long Yinling to kill her, knowing Yinling wanted to do so.

Long Yinling hesitated, and even as the woman took her own life before her eyes, she was still hesitating.

Long Yinling could never deny that the woman’s death had something to do with her. She did not save her, partly out of sympathy as a woman, partly out of hope that the swordsman might return to her sooner.

But there was also jealousy, a desire to kill that woman.

That woman, gentle as water, was fierce and selfish in love.

With her magnificent death, she ensured Jian Nantian would never forget her, that both Long Yinling and Jian Nantian would always bear a thorn in their hearts.

Thus, she possessed that man forever.

Long Yinling would always feel guilt toward Jian Nantian, because she had truly wanted to kill the woman he loved most. Jian Nantian could never completely let go, because she had been present yet did nothing to save her.

He blamed no one, only left by himself.

Long Yinling refused to let him go alone, brazenly following him, fearing that once he left, they would be like a kite with a broken string, never to be mended.

She followed him everywhere, through heaven and earth, even into the greatest turmoil of the Six Realms for his brother’s sake, even following him into death.

Together, as remnants of souls, they raised a child named Ye Mingke.

Finally, together, for the sake of their child, they stepped into even deeper darkness and death.

To follow him—this was enough.

She did not wish to be forgotten, but to remain by his side forever, in whatever form.

That was enough.

...

The long-legged, half-tree giant raced through rifts and fragments of collapsing space, dodging the pursuit of celestial soldiers and divine beings, desperately fleeing with Ye Mingke in his grasp.

He was fast—though he had only two long legs, no immortal ship, deity, or flying sword could catch him.

Yet, as time passed, hiding became ever harder.

The world was collapsing, the places to hide growing fewer. The edict of the Human Sovereign grew in power, slowing the gods and demons, narrowing the gap between the giant and his pursuers, making it harder to evade the growing number of rifts.

One arm had already been severed and devoured by a spatial rift, his other shoulder bitten deeply by another, and several flying swords now jutted from his back.

Still, the crack on his featureless face, like a smile, never changed. His long legs ran tirelessly, sheltering the boy with the sword case and wooden sword—who could do nothing but worry and watch.

He ran with all his might, but still slowed. The remaining demon army, weaker than the celestials, was nearly annihilated.

Countless gods and immortals closed in on them.

PS.

I do not know if it is fitting to insert such a tangled love story into the midst of fierce battle, nor whether this simple narration is appropriate. But I love this story, and will not give it up—a story I conceived from the first volume, yet never found the chance to tell.

I have tried my utmost to think and to express, but like this story, there are many tales in this volume left unfinished, full of regret.

I lament my weak pen, awkward structure, and clumsy expression.

My apologies—to my story, to the beloved characters within, and to my dear readers.

I am sorry.

I will work harder and grow more swiftly.

(P.S. The sword stretches ninety thousand miles—this idea was inspired by the summary of "The Most Arrogant in the World.")