Section Seven: The Last Descendant of the Divine Soul Sect

The Divine Soul Clan was blessed with many who possessed natural physiques suited for cultivation, yet those with bodies capable of refining essence energy were truly rare. Such a gift was long envied among learned martial artists. The peerless divine skill of the Flying Immortal Sect’s sovereign, known as the Ten Directions and Nine-Five Supreme Art, was a perfect match for one with an essence energy body. In the past, Zheng Feixian had searched in vain for a disciple with such potential; now, having finally encountered one, how could she not be moved?

Moreover, she had once been preoccupied with the affairs of her sect and the nation. Decades of conflict left her with many disciples at her side, yet she had no leisure to give them careful instruction. In these recent years of peace, most of those who had apprenticed themselves to her had perished in battle, while the rest were forced to leave due to various obligations. Those who remained lacked the talent for great responsibility or no longer required her personal guidance.

Unmarried all her life, Zheng Feixian had grown increasingly eager in recent years to find a few gifted disciples to cultivate with care. She had therefore taken in several with the hope of replenishing the numbers of the Four Seasons’ Twelve Halls. At the request of her kin, she had also agreed to select a few more to join the sect—among them, a young girl traveling with her now, whom she considered a candidate of exceptional promise.

Yet July, from her very name to her physique, temperament, and appearance, pleased Zheng Feixian all the more. She had already resolved that she must accept this child as her disciple.

Just as she was about to leap down to offer aid, she saw July, who had collapsed, rouse Bu Jingxian by falling upon him, and so she paused to observe.

Bu Jingxian awoke to find July unconscious atop him. Alarmed, he assessed their surroundings and, seeing no signs of frost sickness in July, realized she had simply succumbed to hunger. He gently laid her upon a pile of firewood and covered her with more branches for warmth, then forced himself up to search for food.

He circled the mountainside, recalling the path they had taken up. Despairing, he slumped into the snow, pounding the icy ground in anger and frustration.

Where, in this season and this mountainous terrain, could he possibly find sustenance?

Snowflakes swirled endlessly, settling upon the child’s body. The sight was as cold and unfeeling as the snow itself—utterly without mercy for this pitiable orphan.

Bu Jingxian gazed out across the vast expanse of white, the barren branches stripped of all leaves. He knew that if this continued, both he and July would surely starve to death.

Distressed for July, he hurried back to check on her, only to find her still unconscious. He knew that even if he woke her, without something to eat, she could not be saved. Seeing the carefully arranged firewood in the snowy rocks, he guessed July must have worked herself to exhaustion, fearing that her weakened state would soon claim her life.

In desperation, he grabbed a branch, sharpened it to a point, and stabbed it into his own arm.

He pressed the wound to July's pale lips, letting the fresh red blood flow into her mouth.

After a short time, warmth returned to July's body, and she gradually opened her eyes. Upon realizing what was happening, she tried to move, but Bu Jingxian cupped her face and held her still.

"Don't move and waste my blood. Drink more so that we'll have the strength to climb. If we don't reach the summit today, we're finished. Compared to that, this blood is nothing."

July stopped struggling, waited quietly for a while, then gently pushed his arm away.

By then, Bu Jingxian too felt weakened from blood loss. Seeing July's color returning, he pressed a handful of snow to his wound to staunch the bleeding.

When July sat up, she began to cry. Bu Jingxian hurried to comfort her. "It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have refused those people’s kindness, or I wouldn’t have dragged you into this." Seeing that July remained inconsolable, he interrupted her self-reproach. "Let’s not talk about that. How long was I unconscious? Do you have any strength now?" When July replied that it had only been one night, he breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "Good, let’s hurry up the mountain. There’s no turning back, and there's no hope below. We can only press on!"

Though he spoke bravely, Bu Jingxian was still suffering from illness, blood loss, and the night's chill. Every inch of his body ached. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself onward, but he was slow and weak, nearly falling several times.

The two of them climbed for hours until, at midday, the sun hung overhead and they finally glimpsed the shadow of the summit wreathed in clouds. But before them was no path—only a sheer cliff, as if sliced by a giant sword. Unwilling to give up, the children circled the precipice, but at last they had to accept there was no way up.

July stared in confusion at the towering wall.

“How are we supposed to get up there?”

Bu Jingxian frowned in thought, then suddenly had an idea.

He called out toward the summit, “I am Bu Jingxian, son of the head of the Divine Soul Sect, here by my father’s dying command to seek a master. Now I stand before an impassable cliff. If Elder Beiling still remembers his old promise, I beg for help—!”

Zheng Feixian, watching from above, could not help but smile at his shout. Suddenly someone appeared at her side, and without turning she knew who it was.

“The master of the Divine Soul Sect was a stubborn man. Who would have thought he’d have a son like this?”

“I was once willing to fulfill my old promise, but now I truly have no wish to take this boy as my disciple.” The one beside her was Elder Beiling—the very man from the inn the day before. He was not, in fact, very old. Dressed now in white Daoist robes, his hair and sleeves billowed in the mountain wind, his gaze as deep as the ocean, bearing a hint of ethereal grace.

Though his words seemed dismissive, he nevertheless took Zheng Feixian by the hand, leaping lightly down to where the two children stood.

Landing before them, Bu Jingxian instantly realized that this was Elder Beiling, whom they had met at the inn. He quickly knelt and kowtowed, calling him Master.

Elder Beiling said nothing more. With Zheng Feixian, each took a child in their arms and soared to the summit, striding swiftly on.

At the mountaintop, they found a vast plateau, more than six hundred yards across, as smooth as if hewn by a giant sword. Among neat rows of buildings was a martial practice ground paved with blue bricks, weapon racks lining the edges, stocked with every conceivable implement. Beyond the practice yard walls lay gardens, and in the distance, one could see a miniature lake. How such things had been built atop so high a peak was a wonder.

The central hall was broad as a palace; Bu Jingxian and July were brought inside, where dozens could gather without feeling crowded.

The two boys and the girl they had seen at the inn yesterday were waiting there, eyeing the newcomers with curiosity.

Elder Beiling instructed the boys to bring food. The handsome one, seeing Bu Jingxian preparing to serve July, laughed, “There’s more than enough for her to eat, no need to be polite.”

Bu Jingxian murmured his thanks, finally at ease to eat with July.

July was more reserved, stopping after just five large bowls, declaring herself satisfied.

Bu Jingxian, skeptical, urged her to eat more, but she whispered that she would eat again later, after he had formally acknowledged their master.

Bu Jingxian agreed quietly, then rose and knelt before Elder Beiling, kowtowing and calling him Master.

Elder Beiling set down his teacup, his expression cool and aloof. “By rights, I once publicly declared I would take only two disciples to inherit my skills, so I am not inclined to take you. Yet, for the sake of old friendship and an oath never forgotten, now that you have sought me out, I cannot refuse you. But Beiling Sect has its rules. Our truly profound techniques are but two: the Divine Formula and the King’s Formula. These are already assigned to my disciples Ling Luo and Chu Gaoge. All other arts are but my early creations, far inferior in might. If I accept you as a disciple for the sake of my old oath, I must teach you everything. The Divine Formula is intended for Ling Luo, the King’s Formula for Chu Gaoge. You may choose one to learn, but in the future, Ling Luo and Chu Gaoge will each lead their respective branches, and whichever art you choose, you must serve its heir.”

Bu Jingxian remained kneeling, not daring to raise his head, his heart heavy as ice. The scene before him was nothing like the hopes he had cherished these past days. This master did not welcome him—he was being accepted only out of obligation. Worse, he was to serve his senior brothers, not his own ideals. The Divine Soul Sect had always upheld the indomitable spirit, pursuing the power of the soul and the vengeance owed to their clan. How could he serve those who did not share that vision?

Yet Bu Jingxian remembered his father’s dying admonition before the sect was destroyed:

“You must apprentice yourself to Elder Beiling. Only by mastering true skills can the ideals of our clan be fulfilled. I never had such an opportunity—now, all hope rests on you! The world is in chaos, people have forgotten their roots, and the will of the soul is all but lost. Strength alone cannot make the world remember what must never be forsaken…”

“Master, I beg you to show mercy. I truly cannot pledge to serve my two senior brothers in the future.”

“That is a difficulty. The rules of Beiling Sect are strict—only those who obey their master’s commands completely may learn all its secrets. Otherwise, you can only be taught the lesser arts I myself have long abandoned. Surely I cannot violate my oath and allow you to learn arts I have already forsaken…”

Such paltry skills, Bu Jingxian had no desire to learn. He suspected his master was making things difficult on purpose, for surely Elder Beiling understood the ideals and will of the Divine Soul Sect. Yet here he was, faced with this condition. He could not bring himself to lie or make promises he meant to break—he knew the gravity of the bond between master and disciple. To accept today and go back on his word later would be the height of disgrace, unworthy of anyone who spoke of the will of the soul. No matter how skilled in martial arts, such a man could accomplish nothing.

Thus, weighing the consequences, he knew clearly what he must do—he could not deceive.