Wang Jian waited patiently. He was curious to know why Jian Feng wanted him as a disciple.

  Jian Feng smiled and spoke clearly. “Kid, do you want to know why I am so eager to teach you?”

  Wang Jian nodded. He wanted the answer.

  “There are three reasons,” Jian Feng said. “First, your constitution. It’s very special—even better than mine. I have the Immortal Sword Body, known as the best sword constitution under the heavens. As a sword cultivator, it’s natural for me to want someone as talented as you as my disciple.”

  Wang Jian was stunned. He had never imagined his body could be so powerful.

  “Second reason is my master,” Jian Feng said.

  “Your master?” Wang Jian was confused. How could a stronger like him be linked to the Master Jian Feng ?

  Jian Feng laughed. “Don’t be confused, kid. My master’s surname is also Wang. You two aren’t related, though—he is from the Immortal Realm and you are from the Lower Realm. Still, this connection makes me want to take you as my disciple.”

  Wang Jian nodded, starting to understand.

  “The third reason is your character,” Jian Feng continued. “I haven’t known you long, but I can feel you are honest and keep your promises. Skill is important, but character matters most for a true cultivator. That’s why I want you as my disciple.”

  Wang Jian was surprised. He didn’t think Jian Feng would notice so much, or care so deeply about choosing his disciple. But he was still hesitate to accept him as his master.

  Jian Feng saw Wang Jian’s hesitation and spoke gently. “Let me tell you my own story.”

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  Jian Feng’s eyes grew distant, lost in memory. “I was born in the Immortal Jian Family—a place filled with towering crystal halls that glimmered under an endless, blue sky. The air flowed with the scent of ancient pine and burning incense. My father, the Patriarch, was a mountain among men, his voice thunderous in the great clan halls at dawn.”

  He paused, his tone quieter. “As a boy, I practiced my sword beneath blooming lotus trees, their petals falling on white stone paths. But no matter how long I trained, my body felt heavy, like trying to move through thick morning fog. My siblings and cousins sped ahead, their blades shining and their laughter echoing through sunlit courtyards. Elders watched me, their eyes cold, whispering as I passed.”

  His shoulders drooped, and a bitter wind seemed to blow through his words. “When my father tried to ascend to the Divine Realm, the entire family fasted. Lanterns lined every rooftop, their red glow flickering in the night wind. But he failed, and in one cruel night, he vanished. I remember pale sunrise and the bitter taste of sorrow in every breath. The Grand Elder took charge. He declared me unworthy—my cultivation was too slow, my spirit too weak. I was cast out as the first winter snows fell, their icy touch stinging my cheeks.”

  Jian Feng raised his head, eyes shining. “I wandered mountains and misty rivers, sleeping beneath cold stars. My robes grew ragged, and hunger made rice gruel taste like banquet food. Then one day, on a rainy mountain pass, I met my master—a stern man with a gaze sharp as lightning and a laugh deeper than thunder. He told me my soul carried the mark of the Immortal Sword Body. The sky rumbled as he helped me awaken it, energy streaming through me like a rushing river. Colors seemed brighter—every sound clearer—my own heartbeat loud and strong.”

  He smiled, recalling better days. “My master guided me in sword arts. We trained above waterfalls, wind roaring, our blades flashing like silver fire. He spoke of the Divine Realm, describing clouds shaped like dragons and cities built upon rainbows. His stories glowed like lanterns in the night.”

  Jian Feng’s smile faded. He looked out the window, voice full of longing. “One day, my master left, saying he had a mission that could change worlds. He promised we’d meet again, under a blooming tree in the highest heavens. I’ve never stopped hoping for that day.”

  He sighed softly. Outside, sunlight danced on the trees and wind stirred faintly against the room, echoing the dreams and regrets of a sword cultivator.

  Wang Jian listened closely, captivated by the story. “Did you ever meet him again?” he asked, excitement in his voice.

  Jian Feng smiled sadly. “No, I haven’t seen my master since. But I hope to see him at least once more in my life.”

  Jian Feng looked up at the sky, his eyes filled with longing.