Chapter Seventeen: Discovery

"Yan, don't take their words to heart. With the strength of merely the Tempering Body Stage, you faced opponents at the Spirit Sensing, even Spirit Channeling level, and yet remained unfazed. That courage alone far surpasses that Xu family boy by leagues!"

As the father and son of the Xu family departed, Zhang Tai slowly unclenched his tightly balled fists. Forcing a smile, he turned to Yang Yan and spoke.

Yang Yan simply nodded, making a soft sound of acknowledgment, and said no more.

Along the way, both Yang Yan and Ziling remained silent, quietly following behind Zhang Tai.

On the bustling streets, to Yang Yan, his father's figure appeared especially desolate and lonely. As his gaze lingered, he suddenly noticed how his father's once lean frame now seemed slightly stooped. A surge of sorrow and bitterness welled up within him, almost forcing tears from his eyes.

His father was not yet forty, but the torment of family and external pressures had aged him greatly. Just moments ago, after the Xu father and son left, the same father who had stood his ground against Xu Tianlong, brimming with heroic spirit, now seemed, in an instant, to have become an old man, frail and weary.

Yes, he could comfort Yang Yan with words, but he could not convince himself.

...

Upon returning to the Zhang residence, Yang Yan shut his door tightly behind him. His expression solemn, he carefully unwrapped the strips of cloth, exposing the broken sword to the air.

It was as before, lying there mottled with rust, looking no different from a worthless piece of scrap metal.

Yang Yan stretched out a hand to touch it yet froze midway, quickly pulling back. After repeating this hesitation dozens of times, he finally steeled himself, gritted his teeth, and grasped the hilt of the broken sword with determination.

"Let’s see what strange secrets you possess!"

Yang Yan knew full well that if he were to enter the "Martial Gathering of the Clans" with only his current first-layer Spirit Sensing strength, he would be nothing but cannon fodder. Not only would he fail to bring honor to the Zhang family or ease his father's burden, he would instead become a laughingstock, shaming his father before all.

Thus, he had to seize every opportunity to strengthen himself, leaving nothing to chance at the Martial Gathering of the Clans!

According to its rules, contestants could bring magical treasures into the competition. As the saying goes, a gentleman excels by making use of what is available. Any power one can wield as an extension of one’s will is a part of one’s own strength.

Considering all that had happened, Yang Yan was now convinced this broken sword was extraordinary. If he could unlock its secrets before the gathering, it would surely be a great asset, greatly increasing his chances of victory.

With this resolve, Yang Yan no longer hesitated. He would test it personally and learn what mysteries the broken sword held.

The instant his palm touched the hilt, even though he was prepared, Yang Yan could not help but be shocked!

A tremendous suction pulled from the broken sword, gripping his hand like a magnet. Spiritual power from his "Qi Sea" poured uncontrollably into his palm, rushing toward the sword. No matter how Yang Yan tried to restrain or redirect the flow, it was futile—he could only watch helplessly as his spiritual energy coursed through his meridians and vanished into the sword.

As more and more energy was drawn in, the broken sword began to tremble faintly, emitting clear, ringing tones, as if singing in delight. Silvery light spread from the hilt, rippling along the blade, converging at the tip into a milky-white glow that vanished in a flash.

Yet Yang Yan had no mind to observe the sword’s changes. He could only feel his spiritual energy draining rapidly, exhaustion flooding over him in waves. His eyelids grew heavy, and before long, he drifted into unconsciousness.

...

When he awoke, Yang Yan felt drained of all strength. Slowly opening his heavy eyelids, he found the room dim—it must be late evening.

He had already told his father not to let anyone disturb him, explaining he wished to study the mysteries of the broken sword in his room. Zhang Tai, guessing that his son was dispirited from the Xu family’s earlier humiliation, understood and agreed, thinking it best to let him be alone for a while. With a sigh, he had consented.

Shaking off the lingering grogginess, Yang Yan rose from the floor and crouched beside the broken sword where it had fallen.

"You gluttonous thing, you drained all my spiritual energy at once..."

Yang Yan couldn't help but grumble, though he knew his cultivation hadn’t regressed; he merely needed time to reabsorb and refine the spiritual energy of heaven and earth.

"Hmm, what’s this..."

His gaze inadvertently swept over the sword’s surface, and he noticed a difference. Compared to before, the sword had changed!

Previously, the blade was entirely mottled with rust, obscuring its true form and material. But now, after absorbing Yang Yan’s spiritual energy, patches of rust had disappeared, revealing specks of silvery light beneath.

Yang Yan was amazed but dared not act rashly. He wrapped his hand thickly with the discarded cloth before picking up the sword and examining it closely.

Indeed, several silvery spots now dotted the formerly rusted blade. Though dim, they were unmistakably real. At those spots, he also noticed some rather regular "indentations," resembling segments of Chinese characters. Yet only a small part of the blade was exposed, making it impossible to discern what words might be inscribed.

Though a little disappointed, Yang Yan’s theory was confirmed: his spiritual energy truly affected the broken sword! If he continued to pour his strength into the blade, perhaps one day he could restore and nurture it fully, making it a powerful weapon in his hands.

The thought excited him. Carefully rewrapping the broken sword, he placed it on his bed, then left the room.

Having been inside all day, he first checked in with his father to set his mind at ease, then devoured the supper Aunt Zhao had set aside for him. Only then did he return to his room.

Now, all that remained was to wait quietly for nightfall...