The ancient swordsman's strike never landed.
Three inches from Ye Qingxiao's throat, the corroded jian froze mid-thrust as A'Qing's voice cut through the water like a honed edge:
"Líng zhǎng!"
The words—"tomb guardian" in an archaic dialect—sent visible ripples through the submerged chamber. The armored figures shuddered in unison, their weapons lowering fractionally. A'Qing floated above the sword forest, her outstretched palms glowing with the same silver light as her eyes. The seven orbiting swords now formed a protective ring around her, their tips pointed outward.
Ye Qingxiao's star-metal blade vibrated violently in his grip. The Taiyi Sword Treasury projected frantic symbols:
Warning: Soul Resonance DetectedEntity Designation: Abyssal Warden
The bronze fragment darted between them like an agitated firefly. "Critical intelligence update: Blind anomaly exhibits command authority over prison constructs. Probability of ancestral lineage: ninety-seven percent."
Before Ye Qingxiao could process this, the obsidian greatsword struck the lakebed like a meteor. Shockwaves sent swords flying like straws in a typhoon. The tomb guardians snapped back to attention—but instead of attacking Ye Qingxiao, they wheeled to face this new threat with eerie synchronization.
A'Qing's voice carried an unfamiliar timbre, deeper and layered with echoes: "The wardens will hold the breach. You must descend now."
"Descend where?" Ye Qingxiao kicked toward her, barely dodging a spinning dao blade. "What's down that staircase?"
"The cradle of your sword." Her silver eyes reflected the chaos like fractured mirrors. "And the grave of mine."
A thunderous clang shook the water as the obsidian sword's serpent guards constricted around two tomb guardians, crushing their ancient armor like eggshells. Black ichor clouded the water as the remaining defenders advanced in perfect formation.
The bronze fragment buzzed around Ye Qingxiao's head. "Temporal window closing. Swordbearer must reach the core before—"
A'Qing seized his wrist. Her touch burned with unnatural cold. "Listen carefully. The dragon you sense isn't the prisoner." She pressed his palm against the star-metal sword's hilt. "You are."
The world folded in on itself.
Thirty-Seven Years Earlier: The Monastery of Unseen Blades
The child's screams echoed through the moonless courtyard.
Six monks in straw raincoats formed a circle around the sobbing girl, their unbound hair whipping in a wind that touched nothing else. Each held a sword pointed inward—not at the child, but at her writhing shadow.
"Again," intoned the eldest monk, his blindfold soaked through with blood. "The lineage must hold."
The girl—no older than five—clutched her stomach as silver light leaked between her fingers. When she opened her mouth, two voices emerged: her own childish wail, and something deeper that made the monastery's ancient beams creak in sympathy.
"I did not consent to this cage!"
The monks began chanting in unison. Their blades glowed white-hot as the girl's shadow elongated, forming the outline of a winged serpent. One monk faltered when the shadow's "head" turned toward him, his sword arm aging visibly to bone within seconds.
The eldest monk struck without hesitation. His blade severed the failing monk's head in a single stroke, the corpse collapsing just as the girl's scream peaked. Silver fire erupted from her eyes, mouth, and fingertips—then imploded back into her small body with a sound like a thousand swords sheathing at once.
Silence.
The remaining monks lowered their weapons. The girl lay unconscious in the courtyard's center, her shadow once more ordinary. Only the fresh corpse and the slowly fading brand on the child's abdomen—seven stars in a sword-shaped constellation—bore witness to what had transpired.
The eldest monk wiped his blade on his sleeve. "Mark this generation's warden. The prison holds...for now."
Present: The Spiral Staircase
Ye Qingxiao stumbled as reality snapped back into focus. He stood knee-deep in black water, the star-metal sword's glow their only light in the suffocating darkness. The staircase stretched endlessly downward, its steps carved with scenes of dragons battling armored figures.
A'Qing floated beside him, her silver eyes dimmed to faint candle flames. "You saw?"
"Enough." Ye Qingxiao's voice sounded alien to his own ears. The vision had left him with afterimages—a child's pain, a monk's merciless resolve, and the crushing weight of some unimaginable duty. "You're one of those...wardens?"
Her laughter held no mirth. "A failed one. They tried to bind a guardian spirit to my soul when I was five. It didn't take." She touched her abdomen where the brand had glowed in the memory. "The monastery dumped me in Fisherman's Bend when they realized I was defective."
The bronze fragment interrupted with urgent clicks. "Progenitor awareness at ninety-nine percent. Ascent no longer possible. Only path: downward to the heart."
As if to emphasize its warning, the water around them trembled. From above came the distant screech of metal on metal—the obsidian sword breaking through the tomb guardians' last defense.
Ye Qingxiao gripped the star-metal blade tighter. "Then let's meet this dragon."
The descent felt like walking through centuries. Each step revealed new carvings:
Han dynasty warriors sealing a screaming sword into a mountain
Tang poets using verses to bind winged shadows
A Ming-era blind monk standing over seven fresh graves, his sword planted like a tombstone
At the three-hundredth step, the water ended abruptly. They emerged into a cavern so vast its ceiling vanished in darkness. The "floor" was a single massive sword—easily the length of three warships—its blade buried point-down in the earth. Seven chains thicker than temple pillars anchored the hilt to the walls, each link inscribed with names.
Ye Qingxiao's breath caught. "That's no dragon."
The bronze fragment pulsed weakly. "Correction: Prison is not for dragon. Prison is dragon."
Before them lay not a beast, but the colossal skeleton of one—a winged serpent wrapped around the giant sword like a lover, its fossilized ribs forming a cage around the blade. The skull alone was the size of a village, jaws clamped shut on the sword's crossguard. Most disturbingly, the bones weren't white, but metallic—a tarnished bronze that matched the fragment hovering beside them.
A'Qing made a choked sound. "It's beautiful."
Ye Qingxiao approached cautiously. Up close, he saw the skeleton wasn't truly dead—flickers of blue fire danced in its hollow eye sockets, and the "bones" occasionally twitched as if dreaming. The star-metal sword in his hand flared brighter with each step, its seven pits now glowing like miniature stars.
The Taiyi Sword Treasury updated with glacial slowness, as if struggling against some unseen resistance:
Entity Identified: Xuanlong Zhenjian (Sword-Anchor Dragon)Purpose: Eternal Warden of the Abyssal Seal
A thunderous crash echoed from above. Dust rained down as cracks spread across the cavern ceiling.
"They're coming," A'Qing whispered.
Ye Qingxiao examined the nearest chain. The names weren't carved—they shifted constantly, as if written in restless spirits. One momentarily stabilized into characters he recognized:
Zhou Yan.
His senior brother's name.
The bronze fragment's light guttered. "Final revelation: Each link represents a sacrifice sustaining the seal. Recent destabilization correlates with Azure Mist Sect's destruction."
Another impact shook the cavern. This time, a blade tip—black and gleaming—punched through the ceiling like a spider's leg testing its prey.
A'Qing pressed her palms against the dragon's skull. "There's only one way to stabilize the prison now." Her silver eyes met Ye Qingxiao's. "You have to become what they meant me to be."
The Taiyi Sword Treasury finally completed its analysis:
Solution: Sword-Dragon SymbiosisRequirements: 1) Living Warden (A'Qing) 2) True Swordbearer (Ye Qingxiao) 3) Key (Bronze Fragment)
The obsidian sword fully breached the ceiling, its serpent guards hissing triumphantly. Behind it poured the hollow soldiers—dozens now, their chest cavities pulsing with the same winged shadows.
Ye Qingxiao raised the star-metal blade. "Tell me what to do."
A'Qing smiled for the first time since they'd met. "What else? We swing."
As the first shadow-serpent dove toward them, the star-metal sword's seven pits blazed like supernovas. The bronze fragment shot toward the dragon skeleton's forehead, embedding itself in a star-shaped depression with a sound like a slamming cell door.
The Taiyi Sword Treasury displayed one final message before going dark:
Fifth Realm: When Sword and Dragon Dance
Then the cavern erupted in blue fire.