The Secret Realm of Wendo Lake, six thousand zhang deep.
Here, the torrent of spiritual power was no longer a surging river of stars, but a sea of chaos.
Every drop of “seawater” contained enough violent power to easily tear apart the protective spiritual light of a Foundation Establishment cultivator, and the gray currents mixed within held a unique corrosive force against the soul.
Even cultivators at the Jindan Stage had to tread carefully here, for a single misstep could result in injury.
Yet, at the center of this chaotic sea, Ye Chen sat cross-legged, his figure as unmoving as an eternal reef.
Around him, invisible vortices tamed the destructive ocean into a gentle stream, flowing ceaselessly into his body.
The chaotic spiritual power and soul assaults that could give even Jindan cultivators a headache were refined by nameless Dao techniques, transformed into the purest energy, and gradually filled and tempered his Qi Sea and meridians.
Spring passed, autumn came; the cycles of cold and heat alternated.
When Ye Chen opened his eyes again.
The spiritual power within him had undergone an earth-shattering transformation—vast, condensed, and steadily settled at the peak of the late Foundation Establishment, just one step away from Jindan.
A whole year.
He stood up, brushed off nonexistent dust from his clothes, and turned to walk back along the path he came.
The chaotic sea that once pressured him now lay behind him, as gentle as still water.
—
Within this year, the storm stirred in the inner court of Heavenly Sword Peak by the name “Ye Chen” had long since calmed from its initial waves, settling into an enduring legend.
The first few months were a feverish period of exploration.
Countless inner court disciples, even some registered disciples, formed teams to venture to Wendo Lake, trying to uncover the myth behind the record.
But reality was cruel.
The vast majority of teams found their limit at three thousand zhang.
Even with a Jindan Stage senior brother leading, they could only struggle to reach the fifty-five hundred zhang mark before they could go no further.
Staring at the abyss-like chaotic sea ahead, they could only retreat in awe and despair.
“Six thousand zhang… That’s a realm we cannot step into!”
This conclusion shattered everyone’s fantasies.
Debates ensued.
Some insisted that “Ye Chen” did not exist at all, and the name on the Wendo Lake stone tablet was merely a product of a once-in-ten-thousand-years spiritual fluctuation.
This theory was quickly refuted.
Most of the discussion centered among the true prodigies—the core disciples of each peak.
At an internal tea gathering of the core disciples, someone brought up this inner court legend.
A true disciple from a prestigious family, with sword-like brows and star-like eyes, took a light sip of spirit tea and smiled calmly.
“Walking two thousand zhang at the Qi Refining stage? It’s just some junior suppressing their cultivation to play on the lower rankings. Such attention-seeking antics aren’t worth mentioning.”
Many nodded in agreement.
To these true prodigies, the so-called “inner court legend” was just the noise of frogs at the bottom of a well.
They had their pride, and could not believe that a genius beyond their understanding could be born in some unseen corner.
In the end, as time passed, all fierce debates faded into silence.
“Ye Chen” became a symbol—a mystery.
People no longer cared about his real identity.
Only occasionally, in idle conversation, would someone mention the name and sigh.
“Who knows which gifted cultivator was toying with the mortal world; or perhaps some hidden elder, on a whim, left a legend in our Sword Sect.”
The dust settled.
No one knew that the creator of the legend was, at this moment, walking back under the moonlight toward a secluded, long-forgotten courtyard at the foot of the mountain.
—
The courtyard door was pushed open softly, without a sound.
Inside, the bluestone path was spotless, and clusters of green bamboo in the corners rustled in the night breeze.
Everything was exactly as he left it.
The cleaning array faithfully performed its duty, keeping the place fresh as if its owner had never departed.
Ye Chen walked into the house, his gaze sweeping the room before settling on a plain wooden table.
On it, a thick stack of envelopes lay quietly.
He paused, then stepped forward.
The envelopes were made of fine Cloud Pattern Paper, with faint traces of spiritual power at the seals.
He casually picked up the top envelope.
With a gentle surge of spiritual power at his fingertip, the seal unraveled.
Familiar, delicate handwriting with a trace of childishness appeared before his eyes.
It was a letter from Xiaoxiao.
Ye Chen’s eyes softened for a moment, then he unfolded the letter and began to read.
“To the honored Young Master:”
“To see your words is to see you. Xiaoxiao has moved into the Thirty-Six Sword Tower with Sister Lin. The spiritual energy here is abundant, far beyond the mortal realm.
Master treats me well, and the senior brothers and sisters have not made things difficult. Xiaoxiao has begun guiding qi into the body, starting on the path of cultivation, and feels much joy in my heart.”
“However… I do not know how Young Master fares in the Sword Court. Has anyone troubled you? The mountain is high and the road is long—I cannot serve at your side. I hope Young Master takes great care. If you have time, please reply, even a single word, to comfort Xiaoxiao’s longing…”
At the end, a small ink-dotted drawing of a face squeezing out a smile was added.
A helpless smile touched Ye Chen’s lips.
This girl…
He set down the first letter and opened the second.
The date was a month later.
“Young Master! Why do you not reply? Did Xiaoxiao say something wrong? Or did the letter not reach you? Xiaoxiao is restless and uneasy, unable to eat or sleep. If Young Master is well, even a single character in reply would bring Xiaoxiao peace…”
The handwriting remained neat, but anxiety and unease seeped through every word.
Ye Chen’s smile faded, his brows faintly creasing.
He continued reading.
The letter for the third month grew messy, with ink blots smudged by water—like teardrops.
“Young Master doesn’t want Xiaoxiao anymore… sob… Young Master thinks Xiaoxiao is foolish, and now that you’re a cultivator, you do not wish to deal with Xiaoxiao anymore… Master is strict and forbids me from leaving the mountain.”
“I have to pretend to be happy before the senior sisters, pretend not to care about Young Master… But, Young Master, cultivation isn’t fun at all… really… not fun at all…”
The letter had become incoherent, full of a young girl’s grievances and self-doubt.
Ye Chen was silent.
He could imagine the little girl who always followed him, regarding him as her world, writing the letter in a strange place, anxious and hopeful, waiting endlessly for a reply.
He sped up.
Fourth month, fifth month, sixth month… The letters became almost weekly.
Their content was similar—all endless longing, and countless guesses as to why he did not reply.
She even wrote that she went to confront the outer sect senior brother in charge of delivering letters, who swore that every letter was sent into Ye Chen’s residence using spells.
“Young Master, Xiaoxiao does not understand…”
From the seventh month, the tone of the letters quietly changed.
“Young Master, was Xiaoxiao not good enough? Or… does Young Master think Xiaoxiao should not have taken the path of cultivation? If Young Master dislikes it, Xiaoxiao can disperse my cultivation immediately! As long as… as long as Young Master replies to one letter. Why won’t you tell Xiaoxiao, Young Master?”
Between the lines, the humble plea began to burn with obsession.
In the following letters, the tone grew intense.
“…I heard Young Master is in seclusion. I thought something had happened to you, and caused an uproar before Master. The senior brothers and sisters were frightened… Master did not punish me; she only told me you were well.
Since you’re well… since you’re well! Then why, why can’t you spare even a breath to send a transmission?! Why?!”
The two “why”s were written with such force that they nearly tore the paper, as if one could hear the girl’s tearful outcry.
Ye Chen’s fingers froze.
He skipped the middle letters and took up the last few, a sense of foreboding growing in his heart.
The paper felt cold.
The once delicate script had become sharp, like a drawn sword.
“Ye Chen, do you look down on me? Because I was once your maid?”
Seeing the icy salutation, Ye Chen’s pupils shrank imperceptibly.
“I don’t want to be your maid anymore! Listen—I am a Foundation Establishment cultivator now! Master says my ‘Spirit Root of Green Jade’ is a genius trait not seen in a thousand years! The senior brothers and sisters all respect and fear me!
It’s you who doesn’t want Xiaoxiao… no, it’s you who doesn’t want me! Fine… you don’t want me, I don’t want you either!”
At the end, the handwriting was wild and resolute, as if every stroke drained all her strength.
“In two months, I’ll have a chance to go out of the mountain. Then, I’ll come see for myself—Ye Chen, why did you treat me this way!”
“Pa.”
The letter slipped from Ye Chen’s fingers, drifting to the table yet seeming as heavy as a thousand weights.
Inside and outside the house, there was only silence.
The night wind drifted in through the window, stirring the letters with a faint rustling.
They sounded like a year’s passage whispering, and like a pure heart twisting and darkening in silent despair.