(TL Note: All this chapters talks about is how great Shen Zhenyi is, but it gets better. I swear.)
The most popular swordsman in the world was Shen Zhenyi.
The most famous sword technique in the world was called the Ten Thousand Sword Sutra.
The most powerful and mysterious place in the Nine Hells Realm was the Abandoned Sword Villa.
The Ten Thousand Sword Sutra was the secret technique of the Abandoned Sword Villa, and its young master, the Third Prince, was Shen Zhenyi.
Shen Zhenyi began to practice his sword when he was four years and two months old. At the age of seven, he studied the Ten Thousand Sword Sutra. By the age of eleven, he fought against the Yudao in Shangqing Palace. In an instant, he unleashed one hundred and eighty-five sword strikes, which made it impossible for anyone to retaliate.
The Yudao admitted defeat and deemed him as "The Peerless Genius".
At the age of 14, Shen Zhenyi, with his Six Forms of the Ancient Sword, surpassed the swordsman Zuo Tianxing who was ranked among the top ten masters, and won the title of "The First Swordsman of the Abyss."
The number of people who were jealous was not small, but no one dared to challenge him in a battle. Everyone knew that in the nine hells, no one could resist his brilliant swordsmanship.
He truly was a dragon amongst men.
Some people say that Shen Mengtian who created the abandoned sword villa three hundred years ago was the strongest in history.
Others said that although Zhenyi had not yet surpassed him, he would surely reach a realm beyond all previous sages within ten years.
It was even possible for him to achieve the Immortal Realm of martial arts.
Cut the moon, fly like a fairy, and break through the void!
"However, it was a pity that there was an unexpected storm in the sky..."
"Nine months ago, Third Prince Shen fought with the world's top player, Mino of the Devil Sect at Chiri Island. Although he tried his best to use his sword to pierce Mino's throat with 100 strikes, he was also injured by an Evil Qi that crippled 19 of his meridians. Zhenyi's life was intact, but he was no longer able to practice his martial skills. This was the greatest regret of the martial arts world.
The middle-aged man explaining Shen Zhenyi's deeds sighed, with an extremely sad look on his face.
The boys and girls gathered in front of the gate of Abandoned Sword Villa roared, and several girls even cried loudly. They came for a story about their idol, but they didn't expect to hear such sad news.
The ancient brass sword, more than ten feet high at the gate, stood quietly, casting a thick shadow under the oblique sun enveloping the people underneath.
There seemed to be thunder rolling and rumbling in the sky. If any clouds began to stain the western sky, it would probably start to rain.
Today was the second day of February when the Abandoned Sword Villa opened every ten years to recruit excellent disciples and pass on the sword.
No one knew exactly how many people came thousands of miles just to see the Third Prince. Three hundred years after the Abandoned Sword Villa was founded, the ancient gate of the Abandoned Sword still existed, but noone knew where Shen Zhengyi was.
"Is Shen Zhenyi not here?"
"It's said that he's closed up in the back hill, but no one has seen him for a long time."
"Will he give us one or two lessons?"
"If you got to see him, you would probably die at once!"
The young boys and girls whispered, their eyes secretly throwing looks at the misty white pagoda in the back of the mountains.
Where is the Third Prince? Almost every newcomer's heart asked this question.
He's somewhere on this mountain, here. But the rolling clouds make me wonder, where?
Late at night. The back hill was quiet. At this time, in the early spring, a chill still lingered, and there was still residual snow on the top of the mountain. Only the evergreen pines and cypresses stood proudly. Shen Zhenyi sat quietly in a wooden wheelchair, looking up at the moon hanging in the middle of the sky. His clothes fluttered back and forth in the cold night wind.
The moon was bright and peaceful.
He was the third son of the Abandoned Sword Villa, only a teenager who had just reached the age of seventeen.
Shen Zhenyi had a refined stature, elegant features, high nose and bright eyes, and looked as if he could see through anyone. He liked to wear white clothes every day and his heart was spotless with no yearnings for luxury or wealth.
In front of Shen Zhenyi sat a small red mud stove. Resting on the stove, a teapot whistled, the cover of the purple pot quivering slightly. On the grass beside his feet, one of the Sword Sutra books were opened, its pages colored in pale yellow and lit with a faint light. The pages were made of silk paper woven by a special silkworm, allowing it to be passed on for thousands of years without being damaged by water or fire.
If it were not for its aura, no one would have guessed that the book thrown on the ground would be a supreme martial art treasure that all the people in the world long for.
The Ten Thousand Sword Sutra.
In Shen Zhenyi's hands, was an unusual copy. It was a 300-year-old manuscript from Shen Mengtian, the founder of the Abandoned Sword Villa. However, it was just casually thrown at his feet, like worthless papers.
The pages of the Sword Sutra were covered with characters and brush strokes. On the second page, there even depicted a beautiful woman sketched in white. Although composed of only a few strokes, they were charming and elegant, with a solid foundation. A masterpiece drawn with occasional childlike innocence.
If Shen's ancestors saw how he had altered their sacred manual, they would jump out of the coffin in anger when they saw the state of the spoiled treasures handed down from generation to generation.
Shen Zhenyi seemed to take it for granted, but he didn't think he did anything wrong.
He sat still and thought deeply. The teapot suddenly made a sharp scream.
The water had finally finished boiling.
Shen Zhenyi lazily reached out and lifted the teapot. His wrist shook. A silver stream of water shot out from the spout of the teapot landing in a cup filled with tea leaves. Refreshing and clear, the tea was from the Ming Dynasty, worth a thousand gold.
A table with a teacup on top stood about two feet away from Shen Zhenyi's wheelchair. Boiled water naturally cools in the process of flying through the air, and the temperature was just right when it fell into the cup. It was neither too hot to destroy the color and taste of the tender tea, nor too cold to soak the tea without brewing.
If this tactic was seen by a Taoist Tea Master, he would be amazed and intrigued. But if one wanted to use this tactic to make tea with wonderful flavor, they must first practice magical martial arts to Shen Zhenyi's degree. How many people could achieve such delicate control that didn't even leak a single drop of water?
Shen Zhenyi put down his teapot, closed his eyes and enjoyed the fragrance of tea breathing in through his nose. When the fragrance gradually faded away, he slowly pushed the wheelchair close to the tea table, reached his sleeves, stretched out his long white fingers, held the hot cup, and drank.
His movements were calm and elegant. Every move seemed to contain the mysteries of heaven and earth. It was pleasant to watch.
Rumor had it that Shen Zhenyi could appreciate the charm of swordsmanship in every movement.
His figure was a brilliant sword in the eyes of swordsmen as Zuo Tianxing once said.
All of a sudden!
Shen Zhenyi seemed to have noticed something, and slightly paused.
An unnatural aura destroyed the scene of relaxation.
A gray and yellow leaf blew out from nowhere, and drifted to Shen Zhenyi's body, about to make contact with his shoulder. But then a slight hiccup sounded out, and the leaf seemed to be swept by a sword. It was divided into two neat and uniform pieces along the stem of the leaf and fell down in a small whirl.
Shen Zhenyi watched the scene and sighed softly, "Come out! You can't hide your Killing Aura now."
He faced the darkness. Even if they lost their true spirit as rumored, how could anything be concealed from Shen Zhenyi's eyes which were as bright as a torch in the night?
But there was still silence from the mountains; no one answered.
A restless bird rustled up from the bushes and rushed into the night, whining and then disappearing.
"Since nine months ago, the white pagoda on the back hill, which was usually rarely visited, had been targeted by assassins three times per month. Aren't you bothered?"