Volume 1, Chapter 19 – Innate Heart-Aspect

In a ward at the Third Hospital, Fang Wenya had already been taken away by Tao Shuohua.

On one hand, she needed to follow up on the Demon-Immortal Dao’s aftermath; on the other, Fang Wenya had just escaped danger, and Tao wasn’t about to leave her outside.

The traffic of people had ebbed; the lights were out in the ward, leaving only Bai Xiang and Chen Jing to rest here.

Chen Jing lay on the bed beside her, already asleep.

Bai Xiang, however, was still holding on.

Though her body was exhausted, she forced herself to stay alert and read Bai Shengju’s reply.

The message was short. Since what she’d reported wasn’t complete, Bai Shengju had surely phoned Zhang Longze, confirmed the ins and outs, and only then replied.

“Telling me to rest well, and that Second Uncle will come pick me up tomorrow?”

Staring at the text, a taciturn middle-aged man’s image rose in Bai Xiang’s mind.

Second Uncle, Bai Lianzhou.

Setting aside Bai Shengju himself—and setting aside Bai Xiang, who’d just emerged—Bai Lianzhou could be called the most outstanding sword-dao disciple of the Bai clan in the last three generations.

When Bai Shengju couldn’t get around, it was Bai Lianzhou who presided over the Shenming dojo. He’s regarded as a candidate for the next Dao Lord and is well respected among the disciples.

Bai Xiang didn’t know him well; she only remembered that Bai Lianzhou disliked talking, was wooden in manner, even more introverted than her original self.

But he wasn’t entirely withdrawn.

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At every annual gathering, when the Bai family assembled, whenever Bai Lianzhou saw her he’d keep a stiff face, pull a handful of candies from his coat, and stuff them into her hand.

Sometimes it was candy, sometimes coins—whatever the interval, whenever he saw her, Bai Lianzhou would forcibly press some little gift on her.

And through it all, he never said a word—awkward to the extreme, radiating, “I want to be good to you, but I don’t know how to show it.”

A peculiar man.

Her lips lifted; Bai Xiang felt no ill will toward this second uncle.

Nor was she surprised that Bai Shengju would send someone to take her home. From her talk with Zhang Longze tonight, she already knew No. 1 High would likely be closed for a while.

After all, this demon-chaos was too severe. Even without the upper-level implications—keeping the inside story hidden—the public could still see the death toll “45.”

They had all died at school, and the corpses were so miserable to behold.

If nothing unexpected happened, Zhang Longze was in for a rough stretch.

He’d have to quell the spreading fury and give the public an accounting—and that would take at least 1–2 weeks. No. 1 High’s closure couldn’t be shorter than that.

And for that very reason, he was especially grateful to Bai Xiang.

As Tao Shuohua had vented at him, for something this big, he as principal couldn’t dodge responsibility. Even if the Fang family’s noble daughter proved safe and sound, he might still face heavy discipline from the circuit, even be stripped of office.

But he had lent Bai Xiang the Dingbo Sword.

Relying on that sword, Bai Xiang had broken the Demon Pool in the lab building and slain the aberration. When it ended, she even returned the sword before almost all of Chilong Circuit’s top brass and thanked him by name for the loan.

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That really… gave him tremendous face!

From Zhang Longze’s manner and tone in person, Bai Xiang figured he’d still take the fall administratively. But he’d clearly banked a lot of goodwill with Xu Zhe, Zhang Daoming, and the rest; any hit he took now would likely be made up to him later.

He might even… take a step up at Fang Xiaochun’s behest.

How could he not be grateful to Bai Xiang.

“Pulling in so much goodwill at once—when Shenming Sword Dao faces the Qingya line, or even the Benling Sword Dao, we shouldn’t end up isolated.”

Bai Xiang hadn’t turned Tao Shuohua down for nothing.

She refused because she wanted more down the line.

“And some things—you only feel satisfied if you do them yourself.”

Setting down her phone, she took up the cloud-pattern wooden sword and stroked it, her right hand tightening around the hilt.

With the clamor gone and the night deep and still, gripping the wooden sword, she felt keenly that she was indeed living in this world in a brand-new way.

The day’s events drifted like dream-smoke—clashes, demon-chaos, grappling with a demon-beast, the brush with death… all of it rolled through Bai Xiang’s mind.

‘Yang Xing’ really did die unjustly.

Swap in any sword student who’d entered the Dao—faced with Yang Xing and the broken Demon Pool he’d strewn—they’d likely have had their spirit torn from the body and been insta-killed.

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But Bai Xiang.

Her spirit was not like others’.

Thinking back, in a flash she confirmed that in the later years of her past life, her body had already been ruined.

The only reason it could still move at all, handle the bare minimum of going to the bathroom, preserve her last shred of dignity—was entirely because she insisted on meditation, which led her “thought” to mutate.

What is meditation?

Meditation here means meditation training.

Running, swimming, high jump, fitness.

Sketch every step of the movement in your mind—including the tiniest details—again and again, immersing yourself without pause, to achieve the effect of supplemental training.

In her past life, after Bai Xiang was diagnosed with a terminal illness, despairing at body and mind no longer obeying, and finding that daily workouts fell far short of her hopes, she went online to study concepts of meditation training and stuck with them for years.

At first, visualizing was hard work; she often overtaxed her brain and fell asleep from fatigue.

Later—she didn’t know when it began—meditation training grew easier. Unsatisfied with “basic sports” like running and swimming, she watched videos and read articles, then self-taught herself to construct in meditation limit-pushing extreme sports like mountaineering, bungee jumping, and surfing.

My spirit, will, thought, soul… may all have mutated in that process.

Bai Xiang mused.

They mutated—turning me into an “ability-user” even I didn’t recognize—letting me, like Doctor Strange in the movies, use the power of “mind” to control a ruined body.

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Then, when my past-life body died, that mutated spirit was pulled into this body—and it still kept its mutated traits.

That’s why I’ve felt so at home in Great Yu’s sword-dao system—why, the moment I crossed over, I entered the Dao, and upon entering, advanced by leaps and bounds… not merely by having a strong will.

It’s a gift granted by fate and suffering—my unique ability.

She exhaled softly.

In the dark, Bai Xiang closed her eyes and smiled—a release layered with many emotions: relief, consolation, and more.

Thought influencing reality; the spirit leaves the body yet does not perish.

A favor granted to me alone.

How to use this ability?

How to use this unique gift to grow strong quickly?

Even amid the excitement, some ideas were already stirring.

But Bai Xiang was truly too tired.

She rolled onto her side, hugged the wooden sword tight, and was asleep almost the instant her head touched the pillow.