Chapter Fifty-Three: The Seven Lineages of Tianyuan

The snow continued to drift, much like Su Fan himself, endlessly wandering. He had thought he had finally found a place to belong, that he could once again lead a simple, uneventful life as before.

Yet the person before him was so familiar, so dazzlingly painful to behold, that the outcome Su Fan had considered the worst now seemed trivial by comparison.

That figure in pink—a presence who had once given him hope countless times, someone he could truly believe in—now revealed herself in this way.

With his intelligence, he could have guessed as much. But he did not want to. He did not dare to.

Su Fan moved with a speed that exceeded the limits of his cultivation. No one could comprehend his current state of mind, and no one could save the once gentle, kind-hearted young man he had been.

Fan Ruoyu clearly had not anticipated Su Fan’s reaction. In panic, she hurriedly drew a dagger from her sleeve—a dagger identical to the one Su Fan had once received.

An exquisite blade, so resplendent, so cold-blooded.

A gentle breeze swept past Fan Ruoyu as Su Fan’s figure drifted by. She did not look back, for she already knew the outcome.

Her trembling body finally collapsed to her knees, tears spilling from her eyes and falling onto the snow, where they quickly crystallized into icy beads. The snow was littered with blood-red pearls formed from frozen tears—a gruesome, crimson sight.

She did not look back at Su Fan’s fallen form. She was afraid—afraid that a single glance would mean the end of eternity.

Slowly, Fan Ruoyu wiped away her tears, her voice low and trembling: “Old Ku and I were always deceivers. He coveted the treasures you carried, which is why he had me approach you. Only later did I realize you were already caught in a web of conflict.

He led me to the Imperial City, saying there were no cultivators there. I carried the hatred of my family’s destruction—I needed a safe environment to seek vengeance. But Old Ku’s schemes offended the hidden cultivators of the Imperial City.

They seized Old Ku, demanding that I kill you in exchange for his life. I could not abandon him—he had gone to such lengths, searching for elixirs to raise my cultivation, only to fall into this trap.”

As she spoke, she braced herself against the ground, forcing her body upright, and slowly walked away. Her forlorn figure bore a striking resemblance to Su Fan’s—at least, both were heartsick souls.

The snow fell heavier still, gradually covering Su Fan’s body. A dagger stood straight and unwavering in his chest; his face was ashen, his flesh slowly withering.

This was no ordinary dagger. Forged by an eccentric artisan, such blades were rare in the world. The iron was common, the gold was pure, the gemstones unremarkable.

Yet it was called the Blade of Heartbreak—a blade that wounds the heart. It would slowly drain the blood from its victim, beginning at the heart and letting one watch oneself die, thread by thread, regardless of whether one was a cultivator.

Su Fan had already fallen into unconsciousness. In his dreams, the strange scenes played out again and again, but this time, he would never awaken.

In this world of drifting snow, all was silent. The pale sky seemed to gaze down upon the earth with disdain.

Suddenly, a low sigh echoed through the air, filled with sorrow and regret.

A shimmer of violet mist descended from the heavens, materializing into a human shape—a figure clad in purple robes, bearing an air of natural authority.

Had Su Fan awakened, he would surely have recognized this person. The man’s features bore a resemblance to Daoist Liu, yet his bearing was utterly different, worlds apart from Liu’s.

With a wave of his sleeve, the purple-robed man sent the snow covering Su Fan’s body swirling away. With a grasp of his hand, Su Fan floated onto his shoulder.

In a flash, the purple-robed man vanished from the snowy peak, leaving behind only a faint violet afterimage.

The Tianyuan Mountains stretched on for tens of thousands of miles without end, belonging to the Tianyuan Sect. The mountains were dotted with countless sanctuaries for cultivation, and for millennia, the disciples of Tianyuan Sect had enjoyed enviable privileges.

They had no need to worry about spiritual energy, for there were innumerable caves and dwellings on the mountains, and the slopes were blanketed with spiritual herbs, which made the refining of elixirs much easier.

Countless itinerant cultivators, even the offspring of prestigious clans, longed to join the Tianyuan Sect. But the sect’s requirements for admission were strict. Every aspirant had to spend spiritual stones to purchase a registration jade slip in order to become a registered disciple.

These registered disciples were of little use, for they rarely received instruction from the sect’s elders. When their cultivation reached a bottleneck, most needed guidance from a master to avoid going astray, or worse, losing their path entirely.

To become an official disciple required passing a qualifying competition—typically held within the registered disciples’ own quarters. Those who distinguished themselves earned the right to participate in the grand sect tournament.

Should one place highly in the tournament, perhaps an elder would take notice and accept them as a personal disciple.

The Tianyuan Sect was divided into seven branches: Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Violet, and Indigo. The head of the Red Branch, the sect leader known as the Elder in Red, had a long line of prodigious disciples. Many of the most gifted cultivators entered the Red Branch.

Yet, even within the Red Branch, intrigue and rivalry abounded. Everyone knew that currying favor with the sect leader meant one never lacked for elixirs or techniques, and one’s cultivation and status could rise unimpeded.

Currently, the senior disciple of the Red Branch was Hong Yuan. Rumor had it she was kin to the Elder in Red, and her talent was prodigious—foundation established in ten years, golden core in thirty. Now, a century had passed, and she was just a step away from the legendary Nascent Soul stage.

Her reputation within the sect was formidable. Among the younger disciples, few revered the sect leader as much as they did Hong Yuan. Yet she was known for cunning and ruthlessness, never hesitating to achieve her goals—qualities that had enabled her to survive the cutthroat world of the Red Branch.

The Orange Branch specialized in the cultivation of spiritual herbs, and most of its disciples were women. They cared little for violence, so their cultivation was not their focus.

However, their constant contact with spiritual plants meant their cultivation was not insignificant. Their numbers were great, and among them were those whose abilities were extraordinary—chief among them was Hong Ling, the senior disciple of the Orange Branch.

Hong Ling was the daughter of the Elder in Red, but she adored tending spiritual herbs and possessed remarkable talent for it. The Elder in Orange, head of her branch, was especially fond of her and often provided guidance, so her accomplishments were naturally exceptional.

In terms of strength, the Yellow Branch might not be the most powerful, but it was certainly among the most sought after. The Yellow Branch focused on alchemy, and the importance of elixirs to cultivators was self-evident.

Even the proud disciples of the Red Branch would go out of their way to curry favor with the Green Branch in hopes of acquiring some pills, for refining elixirs was no simple task.

It required both deep knowledge of alchemy and sufficient cultivation to control the delicate process. Thus, there were few Green disciples, as pill refinement was extremely challenging.

A simple first-grade pill could perhaps be made with ease, but by the third grade, difficulties multiplied—not just in terms of the number of herbs needed, but because each furnace of pills took a heavy toll on the alchemist. Success was rewarding, but failure could be a serious blow.

Fortunately, the Tianyuan Sect was blessed with abundant resources, and the herb supply was sufficient. The Elder in Yellow was an accomplished alchemist, but his capricious and eccentric nature meant few disciples wished to associate with him. As a result, he had only three personal disciples.

The Green Branch focused on the sword, and the Elder in Green was renowned for his unparalleled swordsmanship—even the Elder in Red, with his unfathomable cultivation, dared not spar lightly with him.

Although the Green Branch had few disciples, each was a genius. Among the new generation, a young man named Qin Yu stood out—his talent for swordsmanship rivaled that of the Elder in Green himself.

Qin Yu had taken second place in the grand sect tournament, and the Elder in Green had expended great effort to accept him as a disciple. Upon entering the sect, Qin Yu was also accepted as a personal disciple by the Elder in Yellow. The Elder in Green had only four personal disciples, making Qin Yu’s achievement all the more impressive.

To survive in the world of cultivation, one required not only power, but also supreme magical treasures. The Blue Branch was devoted to the art of artifact forging—a time-consuming endeavor.

Often, they would spend centuries questing for a single rare material. Thus, though there were many disciples in the Blue Branch, most were away from the sect seeking resources. The Elder in Blue himself had been absent for centuries, searching for materials and yet to return.

The Indigo Branch was more easygoing. The Elder in Indigo was genial and freely offered guidance to all, regardless of cultivation or talent.

Consequently, the Elder in Indigo had the most personal disciples—virtually every disciple in the branch could claim this status. Among them, the most remarkable was Xiao Lin.

It was said that the Elder in Indigo once encountered Xiao Lin during a journey. At that time, Xiao Lin was only at the Qi Refining stage, but his talent amazed the elder.

He immediately accepted Xiao Lin as his disciple, and Xiao Lin did not disappoint—establishing his foundation in a year, attaining golden core in five. Now, his cultivation nearly matched that of Hong Yuan, making him the most outstanding of the sect’s younger generation.

Among the seven branches, one was shrouded in mystery, yet seemingly transparent—the Violet Branch. It had almost no disciples, and its grounds were desolate.

The Elder in Violet paid little attention to his disciples, who were mostly those of mediocre talent rejected by other branches, sent by their families with generous gifts that could not be refused.

The Elder in Violet cared nothing for any of this and had no personal disciples.

The Violet Branch rarely participated in sect activities; even at grand tournaments, the Elder in Violet did not appear, and the branch often forfeited its matches.

Each branch had its own mountain gate; the Violet Branch was situated atop Violet Mist Peak.

The peak was covered in purple flowers, purple leaves, and purple clouds. At the summit, a mansion floated in mid-air—the courtyard suspended, the buildings adrift among the clouds.

Within, the grounds were overgrown and wild, clearly untended for a long time.

In an elegant chamber in the rear courtyard, a young man lay on the bed. Beside him stood a man in purple robes, his hands weaving through the air, wisps of violet energy swirling between his fingertips.