After more than a year of arduous cultivation, Yichen’s cultivation had at last reached the Nascent Soul realm, and there was already a faint sign that he might soon step into the Transformational stage.

　　Throughout that year a recurring dream troubled him.

　　In the dream there always appeared a peerlessly beautiful maiden dressed in white as snow. She stood quietly, like a pure blossom unfolded upon the clouds. Her delicate face was like a poem made visible—so lovely it seemed to take one’s breath away. She gazed at Yichen with a rapt, unwavering look; her eyes overflowed with boundless tenderness and fond attachment, as if he were the entire world to her. At times her gaze was full of expectation, as though awaiting from Yichen some crucial reply—an eagerness that stirred pity in the heart. At other times her eyes brimmed with tears that fell like pearls; the sight of her tear-streaked face, fragile and beseeching, made one ache to fold her into one’s arms and wipe away those drops.

　　As days passed, Yichen dreamed of this maiden with increasing frequency. Each dream was so vivid and true that, upon waking, the images clung to him and would not be shed. The flowing white of her robes, the love-soaked gaze, those expressions alternately hopeful and sorrowful—these impressions branded themselves deep into his heart, filling him with curiosity for the mysterious girl and sending small ripples through his soul.

　　One day, while Yichen was peacefully cultivating beneath a mountain waterfall, he suddenly detected an unnaturally fierce and powerful aura. He froze for an instant; then a faint smile lifted one corner of his mouth.

　　“That aura… a ferocious beast!”

　　He twitched his nostrils; a bright light flickered in his eyes. He pressed a palm to his lower abdomen—though he had abstained from grain for over a month and the circulating spirit qi could sustain him, a hollow, stagnant sensation still lingered there.

　　“At last—something I can eat.”

　　Without hesitation he snatched up the simple wooden sword he had made in his youth and, like the wind, rushed toward the source of the aura. As he neared and at last saw the beast in full, he involuntarily drew a cold breath.

　　He had not expected the beast to possess the power of the Transformational realm. Its immense body exhaled an awe-striking气息 as if an insurmountable mountain stood before him; the oppressive force made him keenly aware of his own frailty. The beast also noticed him and fixed him with a haughty, dismissive gaze as though proclaiming the futility of Yichen’s boldness.

　　A chill rose from his feet, but after a moment’s hesitation he gritted his teeth and pressed on.

　　“Look to my sword!”

　　He swung his wooden blade with all his might. The instant wood struck hide, he found—much to his shock—that his blow was powerless, as futile as an ant shaking a tree. The beast hurled him with a savage toss; Yichen flew like a kite cut loose and crashed hard to earth. Bones ached as if disassembled; his head rang and golden sparks danced before his eyes.

　　Only after a long while did he struggle upright, spitting clods of earth and cursing under his breath. He wiped at his face, making it only worse, and presented a ludicrously dirt-streaked figure. His clothes were torn from the scuffle, hair in wild disarray, the whole of him smeared with mud and utterly bedraggled.

　　Undaunted, he continued to try—swing after swing against the beast’s unyielding hide. At last, with a sharp crack, the wooden sword that had accompanied him through boyhood snapped in two. Yichen stared at the broken shaft, aghast, then leapt and seized at the beast’s tail in a desperate bid for an opening. The creature’s power was overwhelming; with a brutal flick it flung him away once more.

　　At that quiet mountain glade, a maiden in white wandered as if in a dream, a breeze tangling her hair. She stood upon a small rise, drinking in the scene: green peaks and clear waters laid out like a peerless painting. Her beauty was of a kind seldom seen in this world—the very features seemed the finest work of Heaven. Skin white as snow, fragile to the touch; eyes like bright stars, lucid and lively; a nose small and straight, lips unstained yet vivid; black hair like a cascading waterfall flowing down her back, lifted occasionally by the breeze to lend her an otherworldly grace. No words could do justice to her loveliness; any gilded phrase would pale before it. She appeared an immortal descended—so lovely as to leave one breathless, intoxicated, reverent.

　　This maiden was from the Upper Realms; her name was Qing Nianli.

　　Qing Nianli had been reading in the heavenly palace when she chanced upon mention of a terrestrial treasure left by the Father and Mother Deities. Overjoyed, she told her mother and then, with all the coaxing she could muster, begged permission to descend and seek it. Her mother, knowing the mortal realm posed little danger to such a child and unable to resist her pleading, relented—and even charged her, as she left, to pay a visit to the reclusive Sword Sage, Jun Lintian, who dwelt in the mortal world. Qing Nianli accepted gladly and set out for the Lower Realm.

　　She had been leisurely admiring the view when something heavy struck the ground nearby. Before she could react, a tremendous impact sent her sprawling. Stunned and embarrassed—having never known such a fall—her mind briefly blank, heat rose to her cheeks. She looked up to see Yichen dazed, utterly unaware of what had happened. Anger and shame swept her like tides; she raised a hand and struck him a stinging slap.

　　“Bounder!”

　　Yichen stood bewildered for a moment; then crimson flushed his face. Shame and awkwardness twined within him like tangled vines. He had expected to hit the bare earth, yet instead his hand had landed upon something soft—he floundered and, to his shock, realized he had fallen against Qing Nianli’s bosom. His mind went utterly blank. Worse still, the face before him matched exactly the maiden that haunted his dreams.

　　Before he could recover, Qing Nianli, cheeks aflame and mortified, struck him with a crisp, ringing slap that sent his head sideways and left a rosy print upon his cheek. He had never imagined such a thing; he was completely at sea. A rush of shame flooded him and his face flamed; he felt he had committed an unforgivable mistake and did not know how to repair it.

　　At that awkward moment the ferocious beast reentered the scene and shattered the tension. Yichen, without thought, shielded Qing Nianli behind him. She stood still, mind awhirl. Though of celestial birth and hailed among her peers for talent and strength, Qing Nianli had never expected that, amidst such an incident, her heart would stir so strangely for a mortal. In the Upper Realms she had been admired and promising—her cultivation had long reached the Transformational threshold and she was one step from true ascension. Her future, by all accounts, would be radiant and storied. Yet now she was unexpectedly moved by Yichen’s protective act. To her, his silhouette suddenly seemed large and steadfast; each motion brimmed with power and resolve. A warmth rose in her breast—strange and familiar all at once.

　　Just as Qing Nianli’s thoughts steadied and she prepared to act, a flash of sword qi cleaved through the air and instantly slew the beast. The rescuer was none other than Yichen’s master.

　　Yichen’s heart leapt with joy and relief at the sight. Qing Nianli, too, perceived the newcomer’s formidable presence; surprise and newfound respect flitted across her lovely eyes. She had heard her mother speak of the Sword Sage Jun Lintian’s renown and recognized from the sword intent before her the same famed mastery. Awe stirred within her.

　　The man looked from Yichen to Qing Nianli and a faint, hardly noticeable expression of satisfaction passed over his features. He perceived that Yichen had grown: no longer the child who needed constant guarding, but a young man who could stand and protect. Qing Nianli’s sudden arrival was unexpected as well.

　　“Master, what brings you here?” Yichen asked.

　　“I felt your peril and so hurried over,” Jun Lintian replied.

　　“And this is—?”

　　Qing Nianli bowed with grace. “I am Qing Nianli, junior disciple pays respects to Senior Jun Lintian.”

　　It was revealed that Yichen’s master was indeed the famed Sword Sage Jun Lintian, once renowned across the celestial and demonic realms. His power had attained the Merged-Primordial Saintly level. Rumor held that the gap between the Saintly sphere and the levels beneath it was as vast as Heaven and Earth; beneath Saintly power all seemed but ants. Within the sects of the Upper Realms Jun Lintian stood second only to the Sword God in sword-craft esteem. Yet long years embroiled in immortal-demon conflicts had left him weary and disillusioned; after much reflection he had sealed away his supreme strength and descended to the mortal realm to seek tranquil obscurity.

　　On hearing Qing Nianli name him correctly, Jun Lintian’s face broke into surprise. His gaze traveled over her features as if searching for a memory.

　　“Child,” he said, “tell me—what is the relationship between Qing Zhi and Li Yuan?” (Note: the dialogue uses names indicating her mother and father.)

　　Qing Nianli bowed her head, answered softly, “Qing Zhi is my mother.” Her expression dimmed and she added lightly, “Li Yuan… is my father.”

　　Jun Lintian paused, then reached out to support her and sighed: “So it is. I had no idea you were their daughter. Astonishing—once I knew your parents well. Now they have a daughter, and she is grown.”

　　He then inquired with concern, “Are those old friends well now?”

　　Qing Nianli replied, “My mother is well—she even sent me to pay respects to you.”

　　“As for my father—”

　　At the mention of her father Qing Nianli faltered. Jun Lintian, quick and penetrating, perceived the change and waved her quiet. Turning to Yichen, he said: “Chen’er, go home and make ready—prepare to receive this young lady properly.”

　　Yichen assented and turned to leave. The clearing fell into a hush; only Jun Lintian and Qing Nianli remained, the air charged with a tranquil stillness.