Chapter Sixty-Two: The Green Hills Should See Me Thus, the Bond Between Sword and Stone

Sword energy blooms, surging toward the stars and constellations, its brilliance shattering the spring light and dispersing the clouds of the battlefield!
On the riverbank, opposite the cliff, the chains trembled violently, as if shaken by an earthquake, resounding with a thunderous, incessant clangor.
In that instant, everyone standing at the edge of the precipice was left stunned, their expressions shifting in alarm.
Ye Chong’s brow furrowed tightly, his heart seized by an invisible hand, for at this moment, the bloodforce pressure emanating from the Martial Titan Stone erupted to an unimaginable degree.
What was happening?
The young man in blue, sword at his side, walked the chain toward the Martial Titan Stone. Was he seeking death by provoking the stone with his spirit?
Yet, even if the youth dared to stimulate the stone with his refined spirit, that alone—so ethereal and detached—would be instantly obliterated by the blazing, sunlike bloodforce of the Martial Titan Stone!
How could such a thing incite this terrifying pillar of bloodforce?
Zhong Shuncha raised his hand to grasp the heavy black iron bow on his back, his face grave. Bloodforce smoke erupted from the Martial Titan Stone, piercing the sky in a single sweep and scattering the gentle spring clouds, dyeing them red.
The oppressive force swept outward, making the chains shudder violently, even pressing the surging river below a full fathom lower.
Ye Wenxi gazed deeply at the young man in blue stepping onto the chain. Her gentle smile remained, but curiosity shone ever brighter in the depths of her eyes.
What could have caused this?
Such sword energy could hardly have come from the youth himself. Could it be… his sword?
That treasured blade, a gift from the master of the Sixth Mountain, containing the Little Saint’s Order—the Ink Pool?
Or perhaps… the battered bamboo sword he so often wore at his waist?
A low hum sounded…
At Ye Wenxi’s waist, her treasured third-grade sword, Little Mount, began to tremble as well.
Little Mount was one of General Ye’s two swords, the other being Full River Red, which remained at the general’s side on the battlefield of the Canglang River.
Little Mount had been given to her, nurtured since childhood, a sign of his hope that she might one day wield its sword energy.
For years Ye Wenxi had labored for this, but today, she sensed the excitement of sword energy within Little Mount.
Whence came such sword energy?
At the cliff’s edge, as the Martial Titan Stone’s bloodforce pressure swept past, everyone’s own bloodforce stirred, rising instinctively to resist.
Ye Wenxi, Ye Chong, and Zhong Shuncha felt little pressure.
Lin Chui Feng and Ye Yinping, both prodigies of body-forging, also managed well enough.
But Ninth Sister Lin Qingyin felt it like the weight of a mountain; her own body-forging cultivation was shallow, having only just begun forming her inner core. Her true strength was in spiritual refinement, but here, she dared not extend her spirit at all.
Thus, face flushed and brimming with grievance, she could only retreat again and again.
She ought to be painting in the estate, not suffering such indignities here!
Yet even she grew curious, watching the young master An, cloaked in blooming sword energy, stride step by step toward the colossal stone.
Who would have thought An was not only a master of painting, but also so adept in body-forging!
…
…
The blue-robed figure soared, his garments slicing through the air.
The moment An Le set foot on the chain, he sensed a bloodforce pressure surging up from it, originating from the Martial Titan Stone bound at the center between the cliffs.
Such bloodforce—profound, unfathomable, vast as an abyss—stirred his spirit, tempting it to escape his control and probe outward.
But An Le knew: should his spirit, detached and refined, emerge, it would be burned by the Martial Titan Stone’s blazing bloodforce, perhaps even destroyed.
So he anchored his spirit within the sword furnace at his brow, advancing step by step.

By the thirty-sixth step along the chain, An Le sensed both the Bamboo Sword and the Ink Pool at his waist becoming restless, as if they were resonating with the Martial Titan Stone.
The swords quivered. An Le placed his hand on the hilt, took a deep breath, and moved on.
Then, as his foot fell, the chain shook with sudden violence, and the Martial Titan Stone’s bloodforce crashed down like a tidal wave.
Within An Le, his own blood surged beneath the skin, his spiritual bones squeezing out every shred of strength to withstand the blow.
The pressure struck him in waves, like giant breakers pounding down from above. An Le felt his very bones ringing in unison, the chain beneath his feet threatening to snap.
His face changed; he drew a breath, clenched his teeth, locking his spirit down tighter, and bore up with the force of blood and strength.
At the second stage of body-forging, facing such pressure was like a lone boat braving a thousand-foot wave in the endless sea!
The oppression, suffocation, and despair seeped into every fiber of his being, even seeking to penetrate his very soul.
Suddenly, a torrent of sword energy shot out from the sword at his waist.
After quivering for so long, the sword could hold back no more and released its force.
The Ink Pool and the Bamboo Sword hummed in resonance, sword energy gushing forth. Yet, to An Le’s surprise, this surge did not come from the Ink Pool with its Little Saint’s Order.
It came from the unremarkable, battered bamboo sword, a gift from the old man at the Grand Ancestral Temple.
The Bamboo Sword, sensing the bloodforce of the Martial Titan Stone and perhaps An Le’s predicament, released a strand of sword energy.
Sharp, brilliant, radiant—it split the bloodforce tide like a blade through water. In an instant, a single strand became a thousand, blossoming behind An Le like a flower in bloom.
The mountainous pressure was held at bay, the rotating petals of sword energy admitting just a trickle.
The bloodforce of the Martial Titan Stone mingled with the sword energy from the Bamboo Sword, falling over An Le’s flesh.
An invisible force—refining, forging—bathed every corner of his body.
Skin, muscle, meridians, spirit-bone, organs… His flesh was tempered, washed by the sword energy of the Bamboo Sword and the bloodforce of the Martial Titan Stone.
This was a far more profound method of body-forging than drawing demonic energy from a refining jade!
It was as if An Le’s physical foundation was being reforged anew.
Though he possessed the Time Aura Veil, and had awakened the Dao Fruit of "Talent Through the Ages," the fact remained: he had begun cultivation at eighteen, his body already set, missing the best years of childhood foundation.
Perhaps the Dao Fruit suppressed the effect, but it could not erase it entirely.
Now, crossing the chain toward the Martial Titan Stone, undergoing the baptism of bloodforce and sword energy, was a rare boon worthy of his Dao Fruit.
An Le stood upon the chain, his spirit stirring.
He devoted all twenty strands of freshly gathered Time Aura to the "Talent Through the Ages" Dao Fruit.
Eyes closed, blue robes fluttering, sword light and bloodforce ceaselessly washed over him.
Baptism, metamorphosis, and rebirth unfolded within his flesh.
…
…
As the bloodforce of the Martial Titan Stone surged into the clouds, exploding into a crimson mass in the sky,
across the vast city of Lin’an, countless cultivators felt the change. They looked up to see the mighty pillar of bloodforce, faces shifting in surprise.
At the Lin Estate, in the Waterside Pavilion,
Madam Hua, chatting idly with Madam Ye, suddenly wore a look of astonishment upon her exquisite face. Meeting Madam Ye’s gaze, they both looked up.
"The Martial Titan Stone… such a surge of bloodforce?"
Madam Ye sipped her West Lake Dragon Well tea, her face showing surprise.
What had happened in the Martial Temple?

Madam Hua’s long lashes fluttered, then she broke into a smile.
It seemed that granting the youth a chance to witness the Martial Titan Stone had not been wasted after all.
But how had he triggered such a mighty surge of bloodforce?
And how could he endure it?
Madam Hua closed her eyes slightly, spring breeze caressing her face, her features as serene as a jade goddess. Suddenly, a formless sword intent rippled through the pavilion.
Her heart sword trembled; she sensed, far away in the Martial Temple, a vast, radiant sword energy.
…
Qingbo Street, Grand Ancestral Temple.
Zhao Huangting was painting a galloping horse, his brushwork blending thick and wet ink with perspective, a unique style he adored.
Suddenly, his brush halted. His white hair and long brows stirred though there was no wind. He squinted through the temple’s red-carved wooden window at the pillar of bloodforce in the sky.
He also sensed a strand of sword energy entwined within that pillar.
A look of astonishment flashed across the old man’s face, then he burst out laughing, heedless of decorum.
"The Bamboo Sword releases its own sword energy in protection…"
"What a phrase: ‘I trust the green mountain shall recognize me thus!’"
He laughed until wrinkles furrowed his face, the marks of age deepening, then his smile faded as he walked to the window, wide sleeves behind his back, gazing up at the crimson, sunlit pillar.
In the depth of his eyes, scenes of roaming the world with sword in hand played out, memories of youthful glory.
A faint smile touched his lips—the smile of a man who, having entrusted an old friend to a worthy successor, feels no regrets.
…
The clangor of chains echoed on and on.
No one knew when the body-forging was complete, but the pillar of bloodforce piercing the clouds began to subside, gathering instead in a ten-foot ring about the stone suspended between the cliffs.
An Le pressed his hand to the Bamboo Sword, slowly opened his eyes, blue robes swirling, and gazed at the strange stone.
Step by step, he began to advance.
Though the chains swayed, he walked as if on solid ground.
Below, the river raced, its spray rising to dampen his blue robe, but An Le pressed on until he stood within a hundred paces of the Martial Titan Stone.
The bloodforce emanating from the stone shrouded his form, blurring him from the watchers on the cliff.
Upon the chain, all was crimson haze.
An Le contemplated the stone.
His heart beat faster—yet it seemed that the stone, too, was observing him.
In the next instant, the blood mist about the stone shifted, and faint, indistinct figures drifted forth, gathering around An Le, exchanging murmured words.
An Le seemed not to see them, his gaze fixed upon the Martial Titan Stone.
Within its surface—like a mirror—he saw himself practicing the Five Beasts Forms.
But the Five Beasts within the stone were utterly unlike his own!