Chapter Three: The Legend of the Yang Ancestor’s Flying Sword

Jie Peiling cast a few glances at the room, hesitant. After a brief nod, he decided to enter. Pushing aside the overgrown weeds and stepping onto the veranda, he pried open the drafty wooden door. With a sharp creak, a damp, musty odor rushed out to meet him.

Jie Peiling turned his body slightly, covering his nose with one hand while waving the other through the air. The stench made him feel nauseated, but he had no choice. After acclimating himself, he shifted his gaze and began to scan the room once more.

The room was small, cluttered with broken tables and chairs, discarded brooms, and water buckets. Remnants of food, long since forgotten, lay scattered in chaotic heaps throughout the space. Jie Peiling shook his head. Despite his clear distaste, his hands moved without hesitation. The place was so derelict that even the lowest-ranking disciples would never venture here.

He stepped forward, lifting the broken chairs and stools piled upon the desks one by one, stacking them in a corner to tidy the area. It took about the time it takes for an incense stick to burn before he had cleared away most of the debris. His chest heaved with exertion as he looked at the desks now revealed beneath the clutter, and he let out a long breath. Since mastering the *Daoist Heart Transmission of the Immortal Elder’s Taiji Void-Clearing*, he could feel that his constitution had strengthened considerably; had he done this before, his back would have been drenched in sweat.

Jie Peiling pulled open the desk drawers and began to search them one by one.

"Nothing..." The first drawer was empty.

"Bad luck..." The second contained only rotten, corroded fruit, and an unfathomable stench hit his face.

"Nothing..."

"Still nothing?"

After rummaging through seven or eight desks, Jie Peiling felt a wave of frustration. Just as he was about to conclude that his efforts here were in vain, he finally made a discovery.

"Got it!"

In the ninth desk, which was so broken it stood on only two legs, the drawer slid open to reveal a faded, pale white scroll of paper.

"Hard work pays off," Jie Peiling sighed with relief.

*Chronicles of Ancestor Yang’s Flying Sword.*

He lifted the ancient book, which had miraculously resisted the erosion of time, and examined the vertical black characters on the cover before reading them aloud. Judging by the title, it seemed to be a travelogue about this "Ancestor Yang" wielding a flying sword. It was likely much like the popular fiction he had seen before—probably just tall tales concocted by later generations.

Jie Peiling didn't pay it much mind. Any discovery was better than returning empty-handed. He brushed off the dust and tucked it into his sleeve. After checking the remaining furniture and finding nothing but emptiness or filth, he gave up and left the abandoned site, returning to his own quarters.

Jie Peiling’s room was dismal, most of its sunlight blocked by the ancient, towering trees outside. Dozens of books he had scavenged from around the temple were piled on his table. Most were in tatters, and he only kept them because the characters were still legible. Accustomed to this, he sat at his desk by the wall and took out the *Chronicles of Ancestor Yang’s Flying Sword*.

The book was actually in decent condition, more complete than the others he had collected. His mind drifted back to the word "trash" used by Du Huagen, a slur that lingered in his thoughts. He poured a cup of water from his kettle, gulped it down, and took a deep, steadying breath. Closing his eyes, he rested for half a quarter-hour to calm his nerves.

Jie Peiling gritted his teeth. Every time he recalled Du Huagen’s look of contempt, a fire of indignation burned in his chest. He opened the *Chronicles* to distract himself.

On the very first page, printed on yellowing paper, was an illustration of a Daoist wearing a crown and a robe adorned with seven stars. The Daoist’s gaze was cast downward, his face stern like a Buddhist guardian, a long sword hanging at his waist. His eyes seemed to stare out from the dawn of time. This was clearly a portrait of Ancestor Yang, and if the intensity was intentional, this ancestor was far more terrifying than any ghost or demon.

Jie Peiling smiled and turned the page to read on.

As he read, he became completely absorbed. The text was indeed a work of fantasy, recounting how Ancestor Yang had wielded his sword to purge the world of evil, slaying every demon and monster across an entire province. The book contained no dates, making the timeline impossible to verify, though the place names were written with great clarity. Jie Peiling had never heard of them; they were likely ancient, or perhaps simply invented.

The book described the ancestor as a man of great integrity and vast learning, someone who had mastered the essence of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism. Most peculiar was his sword technique. The book stated, "With a single sword, he swept the world of demons."

Jie Peiling felt a surge of envy. If only he had such power! With the world so vast, where could he not go?

He stretched his limbs and looked to the side, realizing only then that the sky had turned dark. He rubbed his eyes, intending to head to bed, when a sudden chill wind jolted him awake.

Jie Peiling shivered. He was no longer in his small room, but sitting atop a stone.

Before he opened his eyes, before he could steady his mind, he had been staring into a void of darkness, deep within which flickered the light of stars. Waking from that darkness, he had no idea how much time had passed. He only knew he was no longer at Yingtian Temple. He had lived there for so long that he knew every corner of the mountain, but the landscape before him was entirely alien.

Fear and confusion filled him, but he knew he could not panic. His priority was to determine his location. He forced himself to remain calm and examined his surroundings. Two dilapidated, crumbling statues stood before a ceremonial gate, still radiating a sense of awe despite their ruin. The area around the stone was a mess, infested with snakes and rats.

And, unknown to him, the ink on the first chapter of the *Chronicles of Ancestor Yang’s Flying Sword* had completely faded away.