Chapter 14

Yunjian stared blankly at the White-Browed Master, unable to comprehend what the other was saying. Hongyuan was equally stunned; instinctively she glanced at her fellow disciples, only to find their faces unperturbed, as if everything unfolding was simply expected.

A deep unease welled up inside her, and she struggled to prove she was mistaken. “Master, do you mean our sect possesses a treasure, and it just happens to share the same name as Senior Brother?”

The White-Browed Master bellowed angrily, “Foolish sentimentality! All my years of training wasted on empty hearts? Yunjian has always been the reincarnation of the Demon-Slaying Sword from three thousand years ago, born to eradicate evil!”

With her suspicions confirmed from his lips, Yunjian suddenly regained clarity, comprehending many things at once. Why, over the years, aside from Hongyuan, no one else engaged him in matters of the heart; why, apart from cultivation, the White-Browed Master forbade him from indulging in worldly affairs—because once he did, he would cease to be the pure sword, no longer content to become the sword.

Unable to suppress it, Yunjian laughed. Hongyuan tried to argue, “I don’t care what Senior Brother was three thousand years ago! He’s my senior brother now! He’s so good to me—if I turn him into a sword, how am I any different from the demons?”

“Then let me do it!” The White-Browed Master was utterly unmoved.

With a flick of his fingers, he formed a hand seal, and a colossal magic array soared skyward, its center locked on Yunjian.

Yunjian did not struggle. He merely looked at the White-Browed Master, then at his indifferent fellow disciples, and at the distant crowd of other immortal sects, who were first shocked and then elated by the news. The whole scene felt surreal, absurd.

Since disaster struck, he had considered sacrificing himself to save the world, willing to die a hundred deaths if necessary—but that was his wish, not his “destiny,” and certainly not the destiny of a sword.

“So, in the end, I still don’t have a name…” Yunjian murmured softly.

At that moment, the memory seal and the array imposed by the White-Browed Master clashed and dissipated, and blurry visions resurfaced in Yunjian’s mind.

He saw the dilapidated temple where he once resided, an old beggar in tattered clothes stealthily splitting his grimy steamed bun to share with him: “Eat, child! Heaven pity you. Who could be so cruel as to abandon their own child?”

The scene shifted; the old beggar smiled at him with squinting eyes: “What? You want me to name you? I don’t know how to name things.”

“Fine, fine, you want a name, so let’s give you one—you’ll be called Stone! The strongest, the bravest stone! No one can bully you, Stone!”

Another shift; the old beggar cradled him, coaxing: “Stone, go with the immortal master! What future do you have if you stay with me? Now you’re a little beggar, later you’ll be a big beggar. Go with the immortal master—then you’ll be a little immortal master!”

“Wh-what, I treat you well, raised you as my own child… It’s all lies, all tricks to get you to look after me in old age. I didn’t treat you well at all.”

“Immortal master, please erase his memory of me. From now on, he’s your disciple, nothing to do with this wretched old beggar… nothing at all…”

Yunjian watched the old beggar, his eyes soaked in sorrow, mumbling in the vision. Tears fell from Yunjian’s own eyes.

He gazed at the distant horizon—the place he had come from—where many ordinary people were dying, and especially an old beggar, a man who was never warm nor well-fed…

His gaze shifted to Hongyuan, injured all over, desperately trying to stop the White-Browed Master.

He remembered the piece of candy—the one he never got to taste.

“Hongyuan,” he called softly, “don’t say anymore. Let me become the sword, as long as you all can live on…”

As he spoke, the final hidden seal on Yunjian broke—memories from three thousand years ago returned.

He heard his childish voice: “I wish I could be human! Like you—eat, sleep… Instead, I can only watch you do everything.”

“Haha, our Yunjian is so remarkable, so ambitious! Let me see, yes, you have a chance to become human. You and I have saved so many, accumulated so much virtue; one day you’ll turn human!”

“Really? Then I want to eat food! I want to sleep! I want to be a little landlord—count money every day!”

“Haha, of course, you surely will!”

The memories of three thousand years ago appeared and faded; a sword’s shadow glimmered behind him.

He beckoned gently to Hongyuan, who was crying uncontrollably.

Hongyuan rushed over, choking back tears: “Senior Brother, we’ll find a way, we will… you don’t have to die…”

Yunjian smiled, brushing away her tears: “Don’t be silly—a sword can’t die…”

“You’re not a sword! You’re my senior brother!” Hongyuan retorted loudly. “When I was mischievous and ran everywhere, nearly fell off the cliff—if not for you, if you weren’t there, I…”

Seeing her like this, Yunjian felt that becoming a sword might not be so bad after all. “Hongyuan… Do me one favor, after all of this is over—find the ruined temple where Master White-Brow picked me up… If you find the old beggar, settle him well, tell him his Stone is now a great immortal master, living well…”

Hongyuan nodded frantically as Yunjian’s shadow grew fainter.

Yunjian no longer looked at the White-Browed Master, only glanced one last time at the red glow on the horizon. “If I had always been Stone in that ruined temple… how wonderful that would’ve been…”

With those words, Yunjian’s figure vanished completely.

From then on, there was no longer a cultivator named Yunjian in this world—only a sword, a sword named Yunjian, without thought, without feeling, cold as ice.

.

By the time Qi Linyuan’s performance reached its end, the entire auditorium was silent, save for the hum of machines.

Because it wasn’t a true film or television production, they couldn’t use CGI. From the moment Yunjian’s identity was revealed by the White-Browed Master to his final disappearance, all special effects in the performance were done with stagecraft.

Yet this didn’t break the immersion; instead, it lent an artistic air, especially when “Yunjian” spoke his last line. All lights on stage extinguished, leaving only the sword’s shadow. The feeling was even more poignant.

“Is this the same as the original scene?” someone whispered in the audience. “Maybe this is the real script—the version on TV was just a patchwork?”

“The script’s identical! Didn’t we watch it that day? It was shown on the screen together with our segment.”

“I don’t remember,” the first replied honestly. “I only glanced at it—I was sleepy the whole time…”

Le Xi listened to the two contestants beside him with a peculiar sense of pride.

But when Qi Linyuan stepped off stage and sat beside him, Le Xi suddenly remembered something and sat up straight.

Sure enough, after a moment, Qi Linyuan asked, “Did you see President Ji’s expression? When I was performing, what was his face like?”

Le Xi looked back innocently, then cracked a flattering smile.

Qi Linyuan immediately understood he hadn’t watched at all, and sighed, “Ah…”

Le Xi was genuinely embarrassed. “Sorry, Linyuan—I meant to watch just a bit, see how you performed, but as I watched… I forgot everything else, focused to the very end.”

Qi Linyuan could only forgive him, given the reason.

After his performance, he had looked at Ji Yuchen—this time, the man’s gaze was no longer scrutinizing, but rather absent-minded. This proved his performance left an impression… right?

“Linyuan, do you think there’s a chance President Ji came just to see your performance?” Le Xi whispered, in a voice only the two could hear.

Qi Linyuan shot him a look, as if to say, “What nonsense are you talking about?”

Le Xi analyzed, “Why else would he come? To watch our performances? That’d be a waste of time. Only yours is meaningful! Besides, every time, he leaves right after you finish.”

Qi Linyuan was skeptical: “He just doesn’t stay long. Look, he’s still…” here.

But before Qi Linyuan could finish the word “here,” it caught in his throat. He turned to look—Ji Yuchen had already left, decisively and without hesitation.

Le Xi gave him a look that said, “See?” and Qi Linyuan fell into deep thought.

Come to think of it… perhaps it was possible. In his previous life, Ji Yuchen appreciated him, and in this life, he did as well. It seemed reasonable enough.

But if that were true, why hadn’t he given him his contact info? Feng Qi hadn’t opened an entertainment company yet—even if he wanted to switch jobs, there was nowhere to go!

Qi Linyuan felt troubled, and those feelings appeared to certain observers as blatant boasting.

He Ran Sheng nearly bit his lip through. “What’s he so smug about? It’s just a performance segment!”

This time, Lu Luo didn’t echo him, instead remaining silent for a long while. “With his talent… he’ll soar eventually. The little squabbles before are nothing. Why persist in opposing him?”

He Ran Sheng sneered, “I don’t care what he becomes later. Right now, he’s not going to get ahead of me.”

As he spoke, an idea struck him. “By the way, I haven’t cast the second male lead for my new drama. It’s a good time to have the casting director talk to his agent.”

Lu Luo doubted his own ears.

With his level—asking Qi Linyuan to play the second male lead? Who is this drama really for?

He Ran Sheng saw his expression and his face cooled. “What? You think I can’t handle him? If you can do it, why can’t I?”

Lu Luo wanted to say that Qi Linyuan’s elimination wasn’t because he had been suppressed, but because Lu Luo had stronger backing—the judges’ attitudes were obvious enough. He Ran Sheng himself had been furious, so how had he forgotten so quickly?

But… never mind. Let go of the urge to help, respect others’ destinies—maybe after being slapped in the face, He Ran Sheng will finally become wiser?