11. Bone Replacement

Lu Chanji lost track of how long she had been wandering.

After leaping from Sword Forging Cliff, she had believed her death was certain—either becoming a lingering soul trapped on the Yinghuo Sword or dissipating into nothingness.

Yet, unexpectedly, she survived.

Though to say she was truly alive would be inaccurate.

Her state resembled that of a wandering spirit, but she was not a spirit—she was a shadow.

It was her shadow that lived on.

At first, she remained within the territory of the Sword Bearing Sect, hiding in the crevices of rocks, watching the moon rise and the sun set from afar, witnessing the withering and flourishing of flowers and grass.

No one imagined that within the cracks of stone lurked a ghostly shadow. Occasionally, passing sword cultivators resting nearby would discuss matters of the Sword Bearing Sect, and Lu Chanji could catch fragments of news about Lu Wenshu:

—Lu Wenshu had obtained the sect’s treasured artifact, the “Yinghuo,” and with a single sword, the young prodigy emerged, a formidable sword genius of the Ten Continents of the Vast Sea.

—He had become the sect leader, slaying demons and monsters, rising in fame to become a pillar of strength across the Ten Continents.

—Lu Wenshu and Xue Huailing had forged a contract and were soon to become Dao partners—a perfect match from two great sects forming a powerful alliance, with congratulations pouring in from all directions.

...

She longed to leap out and tell these cultivators that Lu Wenshu was nothing like what they imagined—a talented youth with a noble heart. He was a complete madman, a hypocrite with a friendly face and a wicked soul.

False! All false! Everything was a lie!

But no matter how unwilling or angry Lu Chanji was, she remained only a shadow.

Just like her laughable thirteen years—naïve and trusting, living alone atop Qingfeng Mountain without defense, becoming nothing more than a shadow behind Lu Wenshu. After her death, this endless span of unknown time left her utterly disconnected from the outside world.

In the days immediately after her death, Lu Chanji often doubted whether it had all been a nightmare.

With time, she finally accepted reality.

She could no longer move, speak, touch the objects of the mortal realm, nor influence the world in the slightest. Most of the time, she lay in dark corners, listening to other cultivators praise Lu Wenshu’s glorious deeds, lauding his good name, while she fumed silently but helplessly.

Time flowed quietly, incapable of erasing the pain in her heart, yet it weathered the stone where she hid.

Eventually, Lu Chanji concealed herself beneath the shadow of fallen leaves, drifting away with the wind, far from the Sword Bearing Sect.

Wherever the wind blew the leaves, she followed—like drifting duckweed, here today, there tomorrow.

Sometimes, watching eagles soar overhead, she would shift her hiding place, following their shadows.

The eagles carried her far and wide, flying freely over grasslands, crossing mountains; when they finally landed, the surroundings were always utterly unfamiliar to her.

Thus, Lu Chanji embarked on what seemed an endless journey.

She appeared to have traveled every corner of the Ten Continents of the Vast Sea, unknowingly passing many years.

During this time, she was neither fully asleep nor fully awake, a transient guest in this world, a being of dreams.

—

On a barren wasteland like a vast swamp, no insects chirped, no beasts roamed, the infertile land bore no grass.

The sky was dim and heavy with night.

A towering tree stretched out its thick branches freely, its dense canopy ablaze with roaring flames—white fire, gentle and quiet, like the moonlight scattered across the heavens.

The fire illuminated a radius of ten miles as brightly as day, though without the brilliance of sunlight; the ground seemed to be coated in frost. As the fire burned, leaves fell from the canopy, drifting down like snowflakes, pure and white.

First, a slender, fair hand brushed aside the piled leaves, then a head emerged.

Lu Chanji awoke amidst the white leaves.

Her overly long black hair cascaded down her shoulders, wrapping around her bare body. She propped herself up with both hands behind her, tilting her head back like a drowning person, her jet-black eyes vacant and innocent as a newborn’s, staring blankly at the sky for a long time without moving.

She seemed to have slept for a very long time. She... was alive?

This body now had the tangible feeling of being human, no longer as light as a feather drifting in the wind.

The pulse vibrating within the blood vessels beneath her skin, the heartbeat pounding in her chest—all unmistakably told her she was still alive.

From within her shadow, she had grown new flesh and blood. Frail and weak, but her breath was genuine.

“You have awakened, descendant of the Yuanshen Qi clan.”

An ancient voice suddenly sounded from nowhere, pulling Lu Chanji’s thoughts back.

She was momentarily stunned, then moved her mind to summon her shadow into a garment, draping it over herself.

Afterward, she rose from the fallen leaves and looked toward the source of the voice—the quietly blazing tree.

It was this tree that was speaking.

Barefoot on the fallen leaves, step by step, Lu Chanji approached the tree, feeling little fear.

Instinctively, she sensed her body had undergone changes; she could feel strands of spiritual energy flowing endlessly through her limbs and bones, repairing the damaged spiritual veins from her death.

Having been born anew from death, she was no longer who she was before.

“Who are you? Where is this place?” Lu Chanji asked.

“I? I am the Endless Tree. This is Changzhou—the barren land where ancient survivors barely cling to life,” it replied.

Lu Chanji had read many ancient texts and knew of Changzhou, but was unfamiliar with the ancient survivors.

The Vast Sea comprised ten continents: Anzhou, Yingzhou, Xuanzhou, Yanzhou, Changzhou, Yuanzhou, Liuzhou, Shengzhou, Fenglinzhou, and Jukuzhou.

Since the last arrival of the Demon Lord, cultivators across the ten continents sacrificed themselves relentlessly to halt the apocalyptic threat, but at great cost.

The divine Shennong of Anzhou fell, never to rise again. Cultivators of Xuanzhou, Yuanzhou, and Shengzhou were nearly wiped out, their sects destroyed.

In Lu Chanji’s knowledge, only Yingzhou, Yanzhou, Liuzhou, Fenglinzhou, and Jukuzhou remained active.

Changzhou was special.

It was said to be the home of ancient survivors, who had long ceased to appear before the Demon Lord’s descent. Even the Sword Bearing Sect’s archives held few records of them.

Unexpectedly, she now stood on the soil of Changzhou.

Lu Chanji asked, “You just called me what? Descendant of the Yuanshen Qi clan?”

The Endless Tree answered, “Yuanshen Qi clan—you and I are both born and raised in Changzhou. Since the father god Pangu created the heavens and earth, since Kuafu chased the sun and Nuwa made humans, the world has changed greatly. This Vast Sea with its ten continents is not the same Vast Sea of old. The current Vast Sea is increasingly inhospitable to old families like ours. If we cannot adapt, we must perish. I have not seen kin from home for a very long time. You are the first in many years.”

It sighed deeply, its voice weary and ancient.

Snow-white leaves continued to fall, soon covering Lu Chanji completely.

She remained motionless, still confused. “But I was once just a mortal.”

The Endless Tree said, “The ancient survivors have a unique constitution, different from today’s cultivators. Modern spiritual energy is unsuitable for us; our bodies cannot contain it, nor can we practice magic. After years without progress, we gradually evolved into mortals again, losing our chance for immortality.”

—“Ah Chan, your constitution is special. You are the ideal vessel to be sacrificed to the sword. Yinghuo will favor you greatly.”

Lu Wenshu’s words echoed in her ears. Hearing this, Lu Chanji couldn’t help but smile bitterly, as if mocking herself.

So being “special” meant this.

The thought brought back the searing pain of being cleaved by the Yinghuo’s sword qi—a single fierce, vicious sword strike had torn her flesh and blood apart.

She had to clench her palm tightly to suppress the excruciating memory, masking all signs on her face.

After a long while, she regained composure.

Closing her eyes, Lu Chanji sensed the difference in her body from before. Within her dantian’s spiritual chamber, a strange spiritual power flowed gently over her reborn flesh. Though faint and unfamiliar, it responded to her will and was hers to command.

Opening her eyes, she whispered, “I can now wield spiritual energy. It seems... I can cultivate.”

“The cultivator refines the soul; as long as the soul remains, the body does not perish. But you, Yuanshen Qi clan, cultivate shadows. As long as the shadow remains, the body does not die. Awakening from the shadow means rebirth, a phoenix rising anew. I, the Endless Tree, also use my sparse spiritual energy to survive, preventing Changzhou from withering away.”

Lu Chanji sat quietly on the fallen leaves, her jet-black hair and shadow-formed garment making her look like a black chess piece on white paper.

After a moment, she asked, “Besides you, is there anyone else here?”

The Endless Tree shook its branches, showering more leaves.

“If anyone awakens and sees my flame, they will follow the light. I stand here so that none who wander outside will lose their way home.”

In this barren wasteland, the tree’s calm, bright fire was indeed impossible to ignore.

Lu Chanji paused, realizing that perhaps it was the Endless Tree’s flame that had summoned her shadow to drift to Changzhou.

But the tree had said the ancient survivors could not adapt to the current environment. Burning like this would consume vast amounts of spiritual energy, wouldn’t it?

She asked, “How long do you intend to keep burning?”

“I ignite in April and extinguish in December. This cycle repeats year after year until the day I wither completely,” the Endless Tree murmured, its voice older and lonelier than any Lu Chanji had ever heard.

Her mind stirred. “Since you burn in this endless cycle, do you know how long my shadow has slumbered here?”

“One thousand years,” the Endless Tree replied. “You slept here for a millennium. My canopy has withered and revived a thousand times.”

Lu Chanji was stunned.

A whole thousand years had passed.