Chapter Twenty-One: Shadows of the Moon, Frost Remnants

As Yang Yan continued to pour his spiritual energy into the broken sword, the silver-white halo along its blade grew ever brighter. The sword trembled and vibrated in his hands, emitting a clear humming sound, like a gentle human moan of delight.

By now, Yang Yan had no reason to be sparing with his spiritual power. Under the control of his will, his inner reserves surged forth like stormy clouds, endlessly pouring into the sword.

The sword's trembling grew faster and faster, until it seemed as if it would break free from his grip at any moment, soaring into the sky to roam the heavens at will.

Startled, Yang Yan quickly switched to holding the sword with both hands, gripping the hilt as tightly as iron clamps. His spiritual power, far from weakening, rushed even more furiously into the blade.

Then, as if the sword had reached the limit of what it could absorb, it suddenly stopped trembling. The silver-white radiance along the blade slowly withdrew, leaving it as plain and unremarkable as when Yang Yan had first laid eyes on it.

He had only just begun to puzzle over this, when a sudden change occurred.

In an instant, countless rays of silver light erupted from the sword—like thunder crashing down to earth, judgment day descending. The world around him blazed as bright as midday; even Yang Yan's hair and eyebrows turned white in the dazzling glare, and he could not open his eyes.

After a long moment, the blinding light slowly faded. Blinking, Yang Yan rubbed his eyes with all his might, then quickly looked at the sword in his hands.

The once battered blade was now straight and slender, all mottled rust vanished. It seemed reborn, wholly transformed. A straight groove now divided the center of the blade, though not all the way through. The words previously hidden by rust now stood revealed for Yang Yan to see.

On the upper left side of the groove, two characters read: "Moon's Shadow." On the upper right, two more: "Frost Remains."

"Moon's Shadow and Frost Remains... So this must be your name. Poetic, tinged with a quiet sadness—so fitting for the crescent moon mark on your hilt..."

Yang Yan’s gaze swept further down the blade. On either side, two small lines of verse were inscribed:

"On Frost’s Peak, the moon’s shadow chills,
Parting tears for my love, sorrow wrenches the heart..."

As he read, a wave of melancholy, regret, and the faintest trace of sorrow welled up within him—emotions mixed and complex.

At fourteen, Yang Yan was just coming into his youth, his heart filled with the first stirrings of longing and innocent dreams of love. Yet these lines spoke of a sword’s master, forced by fate to part from their beloved, sitting alone atop a lonely mountain, lovesick to the point of heartbreak. Even the bright moonlight seemed to turn to bitter cold upon their shoulders. Such a scene made him feel the world’s cruelty, stirring sadness and sighs.

"This kind of brooding over lost love is hardly becoming of a true man!"

After a moment, Yang Yan banished the forlorn mood from his heart. Gripping the hilt tightly in his right hand, he stood the sword before him. His left hand traced the blade’s length with two fingers, gazing at the silver-lit words "Moon's Shadow, Frost Remains" with bright anticipation in his eyes.

"Now, it’s your turn!"

With these words, his spiritual power surged forth, flowing from his right arm into the sword. The silver light along "Moon’s Shadow, Frost Remains" flared, and with a clear whistle, Yang Yan shifted his stance and began to dance with the sword beneath the cold, silent moonlight.

His body spun and turned; the cool autumn breeze swept by, swirling fallen leaves through the air. His robe billowed as he wielded the sword, leaving trails of afterimages. Thrusts, sweeps, flicks, and chops—every movement carried invisible sword energy. Where the blade passed, the swirling leaves were sliced cleanly in half—red and yellow fragments fluttering down like a rain of blossoms.

"Exhilarating!"

When he finally came to a stop, Yang Yan stroked the sword lovingly, his eyes sparkling with joy.

Just now, as he held "Moon's Shadow, Frost Remains," their spiritual energies seemed to resonate—one heart, one sword. Under the bright moon, among the whispering pines, he moved freely, unburdened by form or technique, his heart soaring. The sword, too, hummed in answer, the silver light flowing as if it shared his mind, responding in perfect harmony.

Among magical treasures, a "Mortal Tool," as the name implies, is only slightly harder and sharper than a common weapon, of little use to those on the path of cultivation. But a "Spirit Tool" or higher can absorb and channel a cultivator’s spiritual power, gaining far greater offensive or defensive strength. In other words, the sword Yang Yan had stumbled upon was at least a Spirit Tool.

Attacks launched with spiritual power focused through such a treasure far surpassed those merely channeled through the body. When Yang Yan infused "Moon’s Shadow, Frost Remains" with his energy and danced at will, the sword’s aura was strong enough to slice drifting leaves midair before they even realized it—a measure of its true might.

"The feeling of wielding a high-grade treasure is truly incomparable!"

Yang Yan was filled with satisfaction, unable to stop caressing "Moon’s Shadow, Frost Remains."

Back when he was still in the Body Tempering Realm, he had learned a basic sword art. Day after day, he practiced with an ordinary bronze sword. After two years, his grasp of the basic moves was impeccable.

Whether in the mundane world or the cultivation realm, weapons and treasures come in countless varieties. The sword is the most common and familiar, yet also the hardest to master. A sword seems simple—just hilt and blade—but that simplicity is infinite. It can stab, slash, flick, or chop; some flexible swords twist and coil like snakes, attacking unpredictably. Heavy swords strike with immense force, cleaving water or splitting mountains in two is hardly an exaggeration.

Since childhood, Yang Yan had harbored a special love for the sword, lost in the pursuit of swordsmanship. But his strength had plateaued, and high-grade swords were beyond his reach, so he buried his yearning deep within. Fortune favored him: by chance, he had obtained this broken sword, and patiently nurtured it with his spiritual energy. At last, his perseverance paid off. Today, the sword was restored, its cold brilliance tested, and Yang Yan found both joy and freedom in his wielding. He had not expected that, almost accidentally, he would awaken the sword’s spirit and achieve the first glimmer of true resonance between man and blade.

Now, though the connection between Yang Yan and "Moon’s Shadow, Frost Remains" was still faint and elusive, the sword could sense his intentions. Before he even moved his arm, the sword was already responding. With such seamless harmony, each action flowed like water, smooth and unbroken—a great advantage in any duel.

"I’ve now reached the second tier of the Spirit Sensing Realm, and 'Moon’s Shadow, Frost Remains' is restored. If all goes according to plan, I’m at least ninety percent sure I can claim first place in the upcoming Grand Martial Gathering of the Clans!"