Chapter 435: Sword Sea

With a loud bang!

A sky full of golden sword light pierced through the rolling thick fog around, falling like a waterfall, crashing onto the Heavy Water True Wheel.

A rapid, pattering sound like a sudden rain shower came continuously from above their heads.

Han Li's pupils contracted. He formed a hand seal with one hand and shouted, "Go!"

A buzzing sound was heard.

The water dao patterns on the Heavy Water True Wheel flashed, and a burst of pitch-black light erupted from the wheel's body. Dozens of streams of black heavy water surged out from the light, intertwining in midair to form a massive heavy water vortex.

The golden sword light fell into the vortex and was instantly twisted into fragments without any chance to resist.

"Go!" Han Li shouted, suddenly waving his hand.

The Heavy Water True Wheel abruptly shrank to the size of an ordinary shield, whistling as it traced a long black arc through the air, shooting toward a wooden puppet.

That puppet did not move; it formed a hand seal and pressed it against the sword body, condensing a broad-bladed light sword outside the blade to block the Heavy Water True Wheel.

Just as the two were about to collide, Han Li suddenly hooked his finger in the air, and the Heavy Water True Wheel spun in midair, bypassed the light sword, and struck the puppet's head.

With a crack.

A flood of black heavy water surged from within the puppet's head, exploding it directly. The remaining body, as if all its power had been drained, tilted to the side and fell.

The golden long sword in its hand, as if summoned, flashed with light, turned into a flying rainbow, and shot toward the mountaintop.

The other puppets ignored this scene, all holding long swords as they charged at Han Li and the others.

"No time to waste here..."

Han Li frowned, beckoned with his hand, and the Heavy Water True Wheel immediately flew back, hovering above his palm, spinning continuously.

The True Word Wheel within him secretly reversed, altering the flow of time, causing his figure to blur.

On the Heavenly Stone Stairs, a continuous afterimage flashed by and then abruptly stopped.

Immediately after, a series of continuous explosions sounded.

Of the remaining six puppets, four had their heads separated from their bodies and fell to the ground. The four long swords in their hands, like the previous one, were attracted by an invisible force and shot toward the mountaintop.

Han Li's figure swayed, then steadied. His face was slightly pale, and he breathed heavily. The rotation speed of the Heavy Water True Wheel in his hand gradually slowed.

Simultaneously driving the Heavy Water True Wheel and the True Word Wheel consumed too much immortal essence. Even for him now, he couldn't sustain it for long.

Lu Yuqing had been confronting two puppets, but in the blink of an eye, she found her opponents defeated. She was momentarily stunned, but upon seeing Han Li, her expression relaxed.

"Boom!"

Just then, a loud noise suddenly came from the mountaintop, causing the entire peak to shake violently.

Han Li's expression changed slightly, and he looked up.

"Brother Han, there's no time to lose. You go ahead and try to retrieve the flying swords. Leave this to me; I can handle it..." Lu Yuqing suddenly said.

"Thank you then. Be careful," Han Li said after a moment's hesitation.

With that, he tapped the step with his toe, and his figure shot upward again, quickly disappearing into the thick fog.

Seeing Han Li leave, the remaining two puppets tried to pursue, but Lu Yuqing flashed and blocked their path.

At this moment, her expression became somewhat strange. Her beautiful face bore an expression she had never shown before—a mix of coldness and confusion. Her eyes seemed to be filled with rising white mist, appearing moist and blurred.

She turned her wrist, put away the green feathered fan, and in its place appeared a silver-white long sword. It looked ordinary, clearly not some immortal treasure, and its grade was far inferior to the green feathered fan.

"Why do I suddenly feel that using a sword is not bad..." Lu Yuqing murmured to herself, looking at the long sword in her hand.

Her tone was not teasing but genuinely puzzled, as if she herself didn't understand why she wanted to use a sword.

...

After rushing out of the range shrouded by clouds and mist, the scene on the mountain suddenly opened up. Han Li realized he was still halfway up the mountain, and the Heavenly Stone Stairs before him still extended upward, with no end in sight.

The rest of the journey upward was calm, with no further obstacles.

When he reached the summit, Han Li followed a bluestone-paved path toward the center of the peak. From afar, he saw a Taoist temple-like structure nestled among clusters of emerald-green bamboo.

The temple was not large, appearing to have only three courtyards, but the white walls and black tiles were adorned with various brick carvings, giving it a rustic and simple charm.

Han Li had no time to appreciate this. After detecting no restrictions within the temple, he pushed open the black gate and strode in.

The furnishings inside the temple were very simple. In the first two courtyards, more than a dozen halls were mostly empty, except for a few that housed statues of deities of unknown origin.

Among them were two rooms that seemed to be alchemy chambers. In the center of each stood a furnace whose fire had long been extinguished, and on either side were shelves filled with various bottles and jars of all sizes.

Han Li only glanced at them, not bothering to check if they were still usable. With a sweep of his sleeve, he collected them all.

The last courtyard of the temple was far from the front, connected by a wide sacred path paved with white stone slabs.

Han Li walked slowly along the sacred path until he reached the main hall at the far end.

Outside the hall's gate, seven or eight wooden puppets lay scattered on the ground, identical to those he had encountered halfway up the mountain.

Han Li looked around and noticed that the doors, windows, and eaves of the hall were covered with complex and dense talisman patterns, clearly a formidable defensive restriction.

However, they had already been damaged. Many key points of the formation bore sword marks, with traces of sword qi lingering, indicating they had been destroyed not long ago.

Above the main door hung a large black plaque with three large gold-engraved characters: "Ancestral Hall."

The ancestral hall of an immortal sect shares the same name as that of the lower realm, but they are vastly different.

In the lower realm, ancestral halls are used to enshrine the memorial tablets of the sect's predecessors. In the immortal realm, due to the extremely long lifespans of cultivators, besides a few ancestral tablets, the hall mostly houses the sect's founding treasures left by successive generations of masters.

These founding treasures are not necessarily the most powerful immortal artifacts; they are often personal items that these senior masters frequently carried during their cultivation in the sect.

Such items, having been exposed to the sect's incense and offerings for the longest time, are most closely connected to the sect. Thus, they are the favorite items for many sect leaders and elders to place in the ancestral hall.

The ancestral hall is a place where the sect's incense and heritage are passed down, often gathering the sect's fortune. It is said that founding treasures enshrined there, after long exposure to incense and fortune, can sometimes become sentient on their own.

Some fortunate junior disciples, when paying respects to their predecessors in the ancestral hall, occasionally encounter a founding treasure choosing its own master, thereby gaining blessings and making a name for themselves.

Inside the Wusheng Sword Sect's ancestral hall, the furnishings were very simple. On both sides were rows of eternal lamps, their oil exhausted and flames extinguished. In the center, four tiers of offering tables were arranged in a terraced pattern, from high to low.

"Counting each tier as one generation, the Wusheng Sword Sect has only been passed down for four generations..." Han Li murmured, somewhat surprised.

But when he thought about their method of recruiting disciples, he understood.

After scanning, Han Li found that aside from a few scattered memorial tablets on the second and third tiers, there were only some rosewood trays, all empty.

His gaze lingered on the highest tier, where there was no tablet for Wusheng Daoist, only a slightly longer rosewood tray.

"It seems that when the Wusheng Sword Sect fell, Wusheng Daoist had not yet passed away..."

Just as he was pondering, a series of crisp, pleasant clinking sounds came from behind the ancestral hall.

The sound was not loud, but it had a strange penetrating power, reaching him clearly without his having to listen carefully.

His heart stirred, and he immediately left the ancestral hall, following a bluestone path in the backyard toward the back mountain.

After walking for about half a quarter of an hour, Han Li arrived before a vast, sloping hillside and stopped.

At his feet stood an inconspicuous black stone, half a person tall, inscribed with two large characters in ancient seal script:

"Sword Sea"

Standing at the edge of the slope, Han Li looked down and saw faint reflections of light in a patch of green grass. Upon closer inspection, his brows rose, and he couldn't help but exclaim in surprise.

In the lush green grass below, countless flying swords stood upright, varying in style and color, but most pointed skyward. Like blades of grass, they swayed gently in the mountain breeze, producing crisp sounds as they collided.

Among these flying swords were some as slender as sewing needles and others as wide as door panels; some curved like snakes, and others were straight with a single edge... all shapes and sizes, too numerous to list.

They had been stored in this sword sea for who knows how many tens of thousands of years, yet not a single one was damaged or rusted. Without exception, they all shimmered with dazzling spiritual light.

Han Li's gaze roamed over the sword sea for a long time before finally settling beside a broad-bladed giant sword.

There, he saw his Bamboo Cloudswarm Swords, seventy-two of them neatly arranged, swaying gently in sync with the other flying swords.

However, when he called out to them with his mind, the swaying rhythm of the Bamboo Cloudswarm Swords became somewhat chaotic, as if responding to him, but they seemed to be suppressed by an invisible force, never flying toward him.

Seeing this, Han Li's heart stirred.

He raised his hand, and with a tearing sound, a piece of his robe flew up, wrapped in a gentle green light, silently crossing the black stone and entering the sword sea. Immediately, a layer of fine, barely visible light and shadow drifted around it.

Without making any sound, the piece of robe disintegrated into powder within the light and shadow.

Seeing this, Han Li stopped and frowned.