Volume 1, Chapter 74 – Grand Vow

After tending the furnace a while longer, Bai Xiang rose, found the dried “Blackwatersnake Max” combat suit, and took some compressed biscuits from her waist pouch.

She’d taken that suit off two days ago. Wearing it without a fight was pure misery.

It trapped sweat fast, the heat couldn’t vent, and it was easy to break out in rashes.

If she hadn’t taken it off early to wash it—diving into the pool besides to clean her body and hair—after living like a “savage” these days, she’d definitely reek by now.

She wasn’t naked now either, but wore a short shirt and shorts woven from giant leaves.

Enough to cover her, and blessedly cool and convenient.

After eating the biscuits by the pool, Bai Xiang picked up a scroll again and read carefully.

These dossiers also recorded the intimacy between the “Startling‑Spirit Cicada” and Bai Muying. If nothing unexpected happened, she would certainly destroy this part before she left.

How could she undermine Bai Muying’s image as a “perfect victim”?

So she had to hurry and read more—she might not get another chance after today.

Bai Xiang was interested in this volume mainly because Bai Muying not only wrote about her daily interactions with the Startling‑Spirit Cicada, but also recorded her personal views on the mysterious existence of the Demon Pool.

[The Demon Pool is the root of heaven‑and‑earth aberrations—not a demon beast, much less a demonized human, but the ultimate source of both; first came the Demon Pool, and only then demon beasts…]

Simply put, among the three concepts—Demon Pool, demon beast, demonized human—the Demon Pool appeared in the world first; the latter two could only take form under the influence of demonic aura.

“Demon beast” refers to a unique life formed when the spirits of mountains, rivers, and plants are tainted and altered by demonic power.

A “demonized human” is even lower: humans imitating the demon race, wishing to cast off the human body and cultivate a Demon Aspect. Those who do this are usually trying to eliminate some latent hazard of their original bodies—

—for example, certain congenital deformities—and the most common wish among them is “longevity.”

Human cultivators, even at the peak, rarely live to 200. By contrast, certain unique demon species can live five hundred, even a thousand years.

Those long‑lived demon beasts, spanning eras and witnessing the tides of history, naturally left behind all kinds of folk legends.

Many were venerated by the ancients as “immortal beasts” or “demon immortals.” Hence countless tales gained traction at every social level—of “demon beasts begging a decree,” or the misshapen romances between “a human scholar and a demon‑ghost maiden.”

“So the ancient world was a ‘demon‑ruled age,’ was it.”

From this book, Bai Xiang also gleaned a hazy slice of history before Great Yu was founded.

The history of demon beasts far predates the Yu dynasty. Long before the founding Taizu—before the Sacred Emperor “Gu” attained the Dao—those demon beasts had ruled the land for tens of thousands of years.

Humans existed then too, but only in tribes, scattered beneath the aegis of demon beasts.

Every tribe worshiped one demon beast. There wasn’t even the character “demon” back then. They treated the demon‑beast totem as “immortal gods,” believed that above the “immortal gods” there were an “immortal court” and “immortal realm,” and that the mortal world had to follow the rules of that court or face punishment.

Things like sorcery and blood sacrifice were handed down from that era. Humans were indeed weak then, no match at all for demon beasts who wielded demonic powers.

Had the Sacred Emperor “Gu” not blazed a new trail—deriving the embryo of the Sword Dao system from the Demon Pool, which is older and more mysterious than demon beasts—this “demon‑ruled world” would likely still persist, and mortals would never have had a chance to claim the realm.

Even so, humanity’s lifespan problem remained unsolved.

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The Sacred Emperor “Gu” lived to 93; none of his sons outlived him—some died as early as thirty, some at sixty; all passed at what we’d call a “normal age.”

So you can’t blame the ancients for wanting to open new paths. With technology undeveloped, it was still hard to contend with demon beasts boasting long lifespans.

A Sword Dao prodigy of dazzling genius?

A demon beast could simply go hide in a remote mountain forest, or the depths of a great river.

Hole up for seventy or eighty years; wait until you’ve aged and waned, then come out and wreak havoc again.

So a single human prodigy was not enough.

You needed many people, many generations; talents from many clans, nations, and surnames, all woven into a great net across the years—only then could you ensure that whenever a Great Demon emerged to throw the world into chaos, there would always be a worthy human to raise a sword and cut it down.

Bai Muying grew up under this current of thought.

Yes, the Cicada‑Shed Method within the Shenming Sword was indeed inspired by Daokong; she wrote and admitted this plainly.

But the founding idea of the Shenming Sword—the cry of “seek not to see winter, only to startle the summer sun”—was a reflection of the times, and Bai Muying’s own feeling.

What cicadas are to humans, humans are to demon beasts.

The logic is the same.

She had long foreseen the day of her death. Creating the Shenming Sword Dao, she meant to use that spirit to rouse her clan, to keep them from belittling themselves, and to remind them—“even if you cannot live as long as demons, you can still struggle and shine with your own light.”

Bai Xiang felt a little moved at this.

But before she could get sentimental, a soft hiss‑hiss‑hiss sounded over there: the forge was jetting out heat in a rush.

Was it time?

She dropped the book at once and dashed to the forge—sure enough, the sword embryo had turned red under the crimson demon fire.

She took up the tools, drew out the embryo, and tested it with a hammer.

Sure enough.

It could be shaped now.

Exhaling, Bai Xiang first forged the embryo into a hollow, then grabbed the broken wooden sword from the side. Taking the Egg Case root attached to it, she gave it a yank and tore it in two.

Pssht!

In an instant, surges of Egg Case essence blood gushed out, drenching the wooden sword and her hand.

The wood fibers drank the demon blood; their color grew darker and deeper.

Bai Xiang slid the wooden sword into the hollowed iron blank, sealed both ends, and began hammering.

Hammer for a while, then toss the embryo back into the furnace for a spell.

Pull it out, ladle on more demon blood, then move it to the table and hammer on.

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After a dozen such cycles, the wooden fibers shattered completely, and the internal heart‑meridian tissues that had already mutated—along with Bai Xiang’s own blood—melted into the blank until they were indistinguishable from it.

Only the last step remained, then.

Bai Xiang wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.

No need to hold back. With a sweep of her hand she pulled over a mass of rootlets, sliced them all open, and doused the blank madly with demon blood.

Some blood vaporized on contact with the sword embryo. Billows of smoke rose with the crimson flame; faintly, you could see part of the essence being absorbed.

“A millennia‑old demon… by rights, its cultivation should be more than a mere thousand years.”

Bai Xiang lifted her gaze to the Egg Case.

“Without a soul, I don’t know if this even counts as a complete ‘Demon Pool’?”

But it didn’t matter.

She just wanted a weapon that fit her hand. Whether this was a proper “Forge the Sword” path—she no longer cared.

She was about to continue when she suddenly sensed a cry for help.

“No…”

“Bai Xiang… please don’t…”

What was that?

Her hands didn’t stop. She looked up at the Egg Case again.

The sound grew louder; listening closely, it seemed to come from the severed root.

Focusing her soul ability into her eyes, Bai Xiang glimpsed a semi‑transparent female phantom hanging there.

“Chai Xuan?”

She froze, then curled her lip.

“Oh, so your luck really is obscene…”

“Bai Xiang! Listen to me!” Chai Xuan’s remnant soul spoke in a rush: “I was about to be eaten… stored in a corner of the Egg Case… now I live and die with this thing. You only need a little essence blood—there’s no need to drain it all!”

Bai Xiang said nothing, and she hurried on: “I know I was wrong to steal the Bai clan’s chance, but haven’t you taken all the benefits anyway?”

“I died… ended up like this, and my father was likely killed by you as well.”

“You also slew the Cicada Ancestor, obtained the Zhenyuan sword embryo, and can push straight for forging here!”

“You’ve gotten more than enough! So spare me—leave me a path to live!”

“I, Chai Xuan, swear on my remnant soul: if you let me go and then find me a body, I will serve you as master for all eternity! Whatever you want me to do—no problem!”

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“A body?” Bai Xiang frowned. “Just say who you want.”

“Xu Xi!” Chai Xuan’s eyes bulged; her spirit brightened.

“I’ve calculated it… she’s about my age, and she’s been drained of essence, her soul is weak—maybe I can succeed!”

“Only ‘maybe’?” Bai Xiang pressed. “Where did you learn a body‑seizing secret art? That’s not something you should even understand.”

“Of course… a fortuitous chance I found elsewhere…” Chai Xuan’s gaze flickered, then she urged on, “Well? What do you think?”

“That’s how you maximize profit!”

“I’ll also testify for you… you won’t lose out—ah!????”

Before she finished, Chai Xuan’s remnant soul screamed—Bai Xiang had stabbed her with the red‑hot embryo, burning a hole in the soul‑body.

“What is that!” Chai Xuan shrieked. “It can hurt the soul…!?”

“Ah!!!” Another scream.

“I’m not interested in dealing with trash.”

Bai Xiang drew back the Qi force from the blade; her golden eyes were pure cold.

Serve me as master, was it?

Sorry.

You’re not worthy.

“Ah!!!”

“Oh!!!!”

“Ahhhh!!!!!”

She deliberately didn’t kill Chai Xuan in one go—she burned her a dozen times over with the embryo wreathed in Qi.

At first Chai Xuan argued and begged; midway she despaired and cursed; by the end she was sobbing, only pleading for Bai Xiang to make it quick.

Only then did Bai Xiang lose interest. Qi’s baleful aura surged along the embryo, rolled up the last of Chai Xuan’s remnant soul, and shredded it to nothing in an instant.

As if she’d done something minor, she didn’t pause—she kept hammering the embryo’s profile.

Until it took shape; then she clamped it and quenched it in the nearby pool.

After quenching, she forged a guard and a cylindrical grip from spare material, pinned them in to secure against slipping.

No need to wait for further work on the hilt—she gripped it, slit her wrist, and let fresh blood run down.

“Sss sss sss…!”

White wisps rose from the blade.

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Bai Xiang wrapped the blade in blood and Qi force; within a few breaths, the polish was done.

Thus, a three‑chi blade—overall identical in profile to the Cloud‑Pattern Wooden Sword, a new Han‑style sword—was finally born.

Compared to the Zhenyuan embryo, the inscriptions on the blade were gone.

The embryo had been a bit too wide and long; the new sword, hammered down a size, was just right in both dimensions.

She wrapped the grip in leather. In the hand, that silky, perfect, rounded feel traveled straight into her palm—and at last Bai Xiang was satisfied.

Testing it, she found the sword had indeed inherited the wooden sword’s “tradition”: Qi could be poured directly in; fine heart‑meridian tissues remained within, continuing to proliferate.

Bai Xiang swung the sword in midair. Invisible blades of Qi cut darkness and air alike, letting out a steady low keening.

Time to name it.

She was about to sheathe it when she realized she still had this step to do.

What should it be?

She hadn’t decided—until she glanced at the old texts she’d tossed aside in the distance.

Oh…

So in the end, this longing of tens of millions of years still comes down to longevity…

“‘Feixiang Heaven.’”1

She spoke suddenly, golden eyes falling on the blade.

“I look forward to it.”

“To spend eighty thousand great kalpas by your side.”2

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1 Feixiang Heaven: i.e., the “Neither Thought nor Non‑Thought Heaven.” A Buddhist term. One of the Twenty‑Eight Heavens; in the Three Realms, it is the fourth of the Formless Realm and the highest of the Three Realms, with a lifespan of eighty thousand great kalpas.

2 Eighty thousand great kalpas: Human lifespan begins at 84,000 years, decreasing by one year every hundred years. When it falls to ten years, it then increases by one year every hundred years back to 84,000. This cycle of decrease and increase is one “small kalpa.”

Twenty small kalpas make one “middle kalpa,” and eighty middle kalpas make one “great kalpa.” One great kalpa is about 26.8768 billion years.

So eighty thousand great kalpas is eighty thousand times 26.8768 billion years.

References:

“Furthermore, in this world, twenty middle kalpas ‘decay,’ after twenty middle kalpas of decay it is ‘empty’; twenty middle kalpas ‘form,’ after twenty middle kalpas of formation it ‘abides.’” — Yogācārabhūmi‑śāstra

“Across twenty middle kalpas the world ‘forms,’ and after twenty middle kalpas of formation it ‘abides’—together called the kalpa of formation. Across twenty middle kalpas the world ‘decays,’ and after twenty middle kalpas of decay it is ‘empty’—together called the kalpa of decay. In total, eighty middle kalpas are called a ‘great kalpa.’” — Notes on the Abhidharmakośa