Wind and Cloud Wujie had originally saved Mu Huanran with the simple intention of using him as a guide. In the end, that idea proved utterly foolish. Mu Huanran turned out to be a textbook example of someone brainwashed by his sect's rigid doctrines.
He came from the Swift Sword Sect, whose disciples were all abandoned infants taken in by the previous sect master and raised from birth. Their lives were wholly devoted to mastering the sect's secret sword techniques. The sect was composed entirely of men, and because they were not skilled in communication, the entire sect focused single-mindedly on enhancing its prestige and status in the martial world. They trained obsessively, spending nearly all their time in cultivation. Mu Huanran, in particular, had trained alone for several years as a youth on the edge of the sect's cliff, perfecting the Swift Sword Technique.
Due to his isolation, he barely knew how to speak properly. Yet the most astonishing thing about the Swift Sword Sect was this: they had no need for words. A glance, a movement—these were enough. Their level of unspoken coordination was unparalleled and made their group attacks devastatingly effective.
This time, when their sect master was assassinated by the Drifting Sword Sect during a diplomatic visit, the entire Swift Sword Sect launched a revenge campaign. They never expected the enemy to have five cultivators at the Ascension stage—and they were wiped out almost instantly.
Wind and Cloud Wujie pieced this story together from Mu Huanran's fragmented and awkward retelling. Though he sensed there was more to the truth, he had no idea how to explain it to someone as naive and pure as Mu Huanran, especially regarding worldly matters.
The Swift Sword Sect possessed only a single cultivation method: the Swift Sword Technique. To Wujie, it was crude and barely worthy of note. But since Mu Huanran had been practicing it for over ten years, switching to something new might do more harm than good. Moreover, Wind and Cloud Wujie could see that this boy held deep affection for his sect. So, rather than teach him an entirely new style, Wujie took what he had observed from the boy's swordplay and, using his own insights, reinvented the technique under the same name—the Swift Sword Technique—focusing entirely on one principle: speed.
He had originally wanted to teach Mu Huanran the legendary speed-based swordplay of Ximen Yibei, but the boy's body couldn't handle such a domineering style. So Wujie extracted just the core intent of Ximen's swordplay and integrated it into the Swift Sword Sect's technique, creating a customized version more suited to Mu Huanran's condition.
Overwhelmed with emotion, Mu Huanran knelt and kowtowed three times. From then on, he practiced tirelessly, day and night. During the day, Wujie took him outside the city to train, and at night they'd find secluded corners in the outskirts to continue. After two or three days, once the boy had fully grasped the essence of the revised technique, Wind and Cloud Wujie grew restless. Taking advantage of Mu Huanran's absence one morning, he left a short note telling him to train diligently—and that when the time was right, Wujie would return.
Wujie's plan was simple: among the general populace, few might know about the Drifting Sword Sect, but any martial artist certainly would. He only needed to find one.
As he stepped out into the street, his powerful divine consciousness swept across the entire Pine Green City. Instantly, he locked onto a skirmish in progress and, in a flash of light, soared through the sky like lightning. The bystanders only saw a blur—the man had vanished in the blink of an eye, leaving them stunned.
Northwest of the city gates, about a mile away, five scholars dressed in traditional robes were engaged in battle with three swordsmen clad in grey cloaks and hair crowns. Among them, one swordsman's skills stood out—his sword danced with finesse, striking, twisting, sticking, and deflecting with expert precision. He alone was holding off multiple opponents.
Wind and Cloud Wujie descended into the center of the melee with a move called "Wild Goose Landing on Flat Sands." Eight blades instantly turned toward him with a howl of wind. With a slight flick of his palms, a series of crisp clangs rang out—the eight swords all snapped in midair, and their broken halves clattered to the ground.
Without wasting words, Wujie reached out and tapped the acupoints of the most skilled swordsman, immobilizing him before the others could react. He then seized the man's shoulder and leapt into the sky, vanishing once more.
Outside the city, on an empty stretch of land, Wujie flicked his finger to unlock the man's meridians. His tone was cold:"Take me to the Drifting Sword Sect."
"Who are you, senior?" the man stammered, eyes wide with fear. "Why trouble us juniors? With your cultivation, you could have ascended long ago."
Indeed, Wujie's display had shaken him to the core. On the entire continent, there were many ascendants, but none could soar through the sky with such ease—his movements didn't even stir the dust. This was the power of a true landbound immortal.
"Just take me to the Drifting Sword Sect. That's all. I won't harm you," Wujie replied flatly.
The man eyed him warily. After a long silence, he said, "Senior, if you have demands, just say them outright. Please don't play games with me."
Wind and Cloud Wujie could only smile bitterly. Apparently, among martial artists, knowledge of the Drifting Sword Sect was common—but he genuinely had no clue where it was. The man likely thought he was toying with him.
Wujie was about to explain when his expression suddenly shifted. With a flick of both hands, he fully released the man's meridians—and in the next instant, he transformed into a streak of lightning and vanished into the sky.
Tens of thousands of miles away, a crimson cloud churned overhead like a boiling cauldron. Golden-red lightning crackled outward from its center, roaring like thunder.
Below, a man in his forties stood on a desolate mountain peak. He wore a purple robe, his aura laced with sinister energy, and his eyes gleamed with excitement as he looked up at the sky. Waves of powerful qi surged from his body, kicking up clouds of dust. His long hair spilled over his shoulders, his face flushed with fervor.
"After decades of cultivation, today I finally attain the fruit of my labor," he whispered to the heavens.
Above, the tribulation cloud continued to seethe, ready to descend. Just as he prepared to face his heavenly trial, a terrifying aura approached at impossible speed. He turned his head and caught only a blur—before he could speak, more than a dozen of his meridians were sealed. His vast internal energy, surging only moments before, was utterly useless. Like a baby, he was completely helpless.
Wind and Cloud Wujie slung the would-be ascendant over his shoulder like a dead pig and flew off toward the nearest town.