Volume One: The Celestial Cloud Palace Chapter Six: The Turmoil of Sword Training

Chapter Six: The Sword Practice Incident

The mountain soared tens of thousands of feet, piercing the heavens, shrouded in swirling white clouds and suffused with an ethereal aura. Among these peaks, the Cloudmist Immortal Mountain stood out, noble and striking, the entire mountain radiating a purple immortal energy that greatly benefited those cultivating upon it.

At this moment, on the mountaintop, a vast plaza paved entirely with blue bricks stretched out. Three hundred disciples stood assembled, yet much of the plaza remained unused, a testament to its grand scale.

Zhou Hao was, of course, among them. Though all the disciples appeared to be youths in their teens or twenties, he knew that, apart from himself, even the youngest was over a hundred years old. Yet he felt a touch of anxiety, for while everyone else wielded an immortal sword, he alone stood empty-handed—a rather awkward sight.

At this hour each day, the three hundred disciples of Cloudmist would gather for collective sword practice. The vast plaza was theirs to use at will, and even the blue bricks beneath their feet were no ordinary material; not even a Golden Immortal’s strike could shatter them, making the plaza a perfect arena.

Gazing at the ranks of white-robed young men and women, Zhou Hao felt a wave of helplessness: his esteemed master had told him only the time and place, but had not provided him with robes or a sword. Sure enough, the disciples nearby eyed him oddly, some even snickering and whispering among themselves.

"Who’s that kid? A newcomer? I heard someone new arrived yesterday."

"Yes, I think I saw him yesterday. Seems he’s Yun Fang’s disciple."

"Yun Fang’s out of seclusion? And he took a new disciple? Does he have no shame?"

"Indeed! What right does someone like him have to be an elder of Cloudmist? The greatest talent of our Immortal Hall, Yu Yang, died tragically, and Yun Fang, as his master, didn’t even avenge him. Useless!"

The murmuring grew, much of it turning to Yun Fang, and the attitude towards him was one of utter loathing.

“Hey, junior brother! What a coincidence—didn’t expect to see you again so soon!” A white-robed youth approached Zhou Hao with a smile, though it was clearly tinged with mockery.

“Have we met?” Zhou Hao replied, “Might I ask your esteemed name, senior brother?”

“You!” The youth’s face flushed an angry red, his brows shooting up, his handsome features clouded with embarrassment.

Never had he expected this delicate, innocent-looking boy to treat him with the same disregard as his damned master, as if he were invisible.

“Listen up, brat! My surname is Cheng, given name Yan—Cheng Yan, disciple of Elder Nangong, and my father is Elder Cheng Bing. You’re unfortunate enough to be Yun Fang’s disciple, and now you insult me as well! I’m declaring a challenge!” Enraged, Cheng Yan leveled his immortal sword at Zhou Hao, signaling his intent to duel.

“Oh, so it’s Senior Brother Cheng Yan. My apologies! But as you can see, I have no sword. And I don’t think you’re the type to bully the weak—shall we arrange another time?” Unruffled, Zhou Hao replied, his experience as a former emperor manifesting in his calm.

The sword’s tip hovered a mere inch from his eyes, showing Cheng Yan’s disdain and fury. He wanted to humiliate Zhou Hao before all the disciples, stripping him of dignity. Yet Zhou Hao showed not the slightest fear, remaining completely at ease—as if he were the one holding the sword.

Not all the disciples despised Yun Fang; seeing Zhou Hao face a drawn sword with composure, they admired his bearing.

“Cheng Yan, you’re really domineering—bullying the new junior brother already? Shall I try picking on you instead?” Suddenly, another youth stepped forward—not tall and graceful, but rather short and plump, his features squeezed together on a round face.

“Cao Shuang!” Cheng Yan’s expression changed instantly, wariness and even a trace of fear in his eyes.

“Well? Shall we spar, Junior Cheng?” Cao Shuang grinned, stepping right up to Cheng Yan.

Facing the shorter, chubby youth whose eyes nearly vanished when he smiled, Cheng Yan knew he was no match for him. Worse yet, this fat fellow was the vice hall master’s own son and disciple—outclassed in both background and strength.

“Hmph! I have no desire to spar with you. I need to practice my swordplay—what are you all standing here for? Move aside!” Retracting his sword, Cheng Yan made his exit.

Soon, only Cao Shuang remained beside Zhou Hao. Zhou Hao cupped his hands in gratitude. “Thank you, Senior Brother Cao, for stepping in.”

“Ah, it was nothing. You must still be adjusting to Cloudmist, especially as Elder Yun Fang’s disciple. It’s only natural for others to treat you poorly. But from your reaction just now, I can see you’re no ordinary person.” Cao Shuang’s face was comical, but his words were sincere.

“How about it? Shall we be friends?” he asked, probing.

“Friends? Certainly! I’ll be counting on your guidance, senior brother.” Zhou Hao was clearly surprised, but pleased.

“Since we’re friends, and I’m your senior, let me give you two small gifts.” Cao Shuang waved his chubby hand, and a flash of light appeared.

Zhou Hao’s black-gold dragon robe, which he’d altered to fit his smaller body, instantly transformed under Cao Shuang’s immortal art into a set of moon-white robes, flowing in the gentle breeze.

And in Zhou Hao’s left hand, an immortal sword appeared out of thin air—the scabbard crafted from sacred wood, exuding a unique fragrance, and the blade itself forged of silver-gold metal, far beyond anything from the mortal world.

Now Zhou Hao blended in perfectly among the three hundred disciples.

“Senior brother, your gifts couldn’t be more timely! Thank you!” Zhou Hao beamed.

“Indeed, you look every inch the gallant youth!” Cao Shuang’s small eyes fixed on Zhou Hao, full of praise.

But Zhou Hao felt rather awkward being stared at so intently by someone who, in appearance, seemed about his own age.

“Senior Brother Cao, I’m curious—how powerful is the Cloudmist Sword Art? Perhaps you could demonstrate for me?” Zhou Hao tried to redirect his attention.

“Oh? Well, I’m not particularly interested in swordsmanship, but I am quite talented in the Art of Transformation. Would you like me to teach you?” Cao Shuang replied.

“The Art of Transformation? Wonderful! Isn’t that an essential skill for an immortal? Please, senior brother, teach me!” Zhou Hao’s eyes lit up.

He’d heard countless tales of immortals and their wondrous arts in the mortal world, but here, such skills were no longer legend—they were real. The thought of shape-shifting, turning beans into soldiers, stones into gold, a speck of dust into a mountain, or a tree reaching the heavens—these were the dreams of mortals, now within reach. Zhou Hao was exhilarated.

“Listen well. The Art of Transformation relies on turning the imagined into reality—what you picture in your mind, you manifest with immortal power. At first, you’ll be clumsy, but that’s normal. Just keep practicing,” Cao Shuang explained earnestly.

“Alright, let me try!”

With a snap, a figure appeared in the air. Cao Shuang’s face darkened—it was an attempted copy of himself, though not very accurate. The conjured figure resembled a puppet and soon deflated, collapsing onto the plaza as a sheet of skin.

“Seems you have much to learn. For now, focus on sword practice. Mastery of the sword is essential for survival in the outside world!” Cao Shuang waved, signaling Zhou Hao to stop.

On the plaza, swords danced, white-robed youths and maidens vibrant as the morning sun. Their movements followed their will, swordplay guided by their breath, training together atop the immortal mountain.

Even as they practiced their swordsmanship, every breath was cultivation. Especially on Cloudmist Peak, where the mountain’s purple energy could be absorbed by their immortal bodies, enhancing their cultivation.

A single day here equaled ten days elsewhere!

Swords swept the sky, their brilliance peerless. Zhou Hao focused solely on his practice, mind and body as one. He was learning the Cloudmist Sword Art, which emphasized the unity of heaven and man, reaching a state where self and sword were forgotten, unleashing the art’s true profundity.

Like the clouds above—calm and still under ordinary skies, yet shifting unpredictably when the wind rose, ever-changing and unfathomable. This was the genius of the Cloudmist Sword Art: still as a maiden, swift as a rabbit, man and heaven one.

“What a marvelous sword art! Its changes between motion and stillness are unfathomable, both defensive and offensive—impenetrable when defending, a storm when attacking. Truly, ‘The Cloudmist Sword Art is of infinite wonder, unheard of in the mortal world!’” Zhou Hao sheathed his sword, full of admiration.

“Zhou Hao, would you care to spar with your senior sister?” A light laugh sounded behind him—a familiar voice.

Zhou Hao turned. A white-robed girl stood there, sword in hand, her beautiful face showing a hint of barely concealed resentment.

“Yu Nan!”

He murmured her name. Though she wore white rather than her usual red, the robes could not hide her proud figure—slender waist, graceful form, all evident despite the clothing.

“Junior Brother Zhou, is my request too much? I’ll use only swordsmanship, not my cultivation—how about it?” Yu Nan smiled lightly; to the unknowing, she might have seemed the gentle older sister next door.

“My, if it isn’t Fairy Yu Nan! It’s been too long!” Cao Shuang, grinning widely, now joined them—he’d been practicing right beside Zhou Hao.

“Brother, you’ve been holding out on me, knowing such a beauty and not introducing us! Do you think I’d steal her from you?” Cao Shuang teased.

His voice wasn’t loud, but his words crashed in Yu Nan’s ears like thunder.

Yu Nan was never a quiet or demure beauty; now, this chubby fellow had lit her fuse. How could someone accustomed to being a goddess tolerate such teasing?

The atmosphere grew awkward. Several of Yu Nan’s acquaintances were present, some growing visibly angry, especially seeing Yu Nan’s irritation.

“What right do you have to know Senior Sister Yu? You’re deluded—” one of her junior brothers began, but a murderous glare from Yu Nan silenced him.

If he went on, Yu Nan would be laughed at for days, especially by the other girls—chattering endlessly over the “scandal.”

She needed to clarify things immediately.

“Cao Shuang, stop making trouble. Don’t make things up. I’ve only met Zhou Hao twice—we’re not close.” She looked at Cao Shuang and continued, “Since the new junior brother’s cultivation is shallow, I’ll spar with you instead, as his friend.”

“Oh, hear that, everyone? Fairy Yu Nan, having failed to challenge her sweetheart, wants to take out her anger on me instead! Well, I did let slip their secret romance—so blame me!” Cao Shuang pretended to look contrite.

“You—! Cao Shuang, today you won’t leave this plaza upright!” Yu Nan’s face darkened, her silver teeth clenched, immortal sword flashing, ready to strike.

The crowd buzzed with excitement. After all, there’s no smoke without fire—Yu Nan challenging Zhou Hao was odd enough, and saying she’d use only swordplay, not her cultivation, made it sound exactly as Cao Shuang had teased: a lover’s duel.

“Brother, your Senior Sister Yu is angry—aren’t you going to comfort her?” Cao Shuang suddenly gave Zhou Hao a hearty shove.

There was a protective spell in the push—otherwise, if Yu Nan’s sword slipped, things could turn dangerous.

“What do you think you’re doing, brat? Get back!” Several male disciples rushed forward to block Zhou Hao from getting close to their goddess.

Clang!

Immortal sword sang as Yu Nan struck, her blade aimed straight at Cao Shuang, who opened his round eyes but moved his hands without hesitation.

“Draw!”

In an instant, Zhou Hao was pulled forward by Cao Shuang, and he reacted quickly, drawing his sword to deflect Yu Nan’s thrust.

“Fairy, you’re mistaken—he’s your true opponent!” Cao Shuang grinned, hiding behind Zhou Hao.

Hiss!

Sword-light flashed. The disciples scattered as Yu Nan, truly angered, brought her blade down with such force that even an immortal would be gravely injured.

“Don’t be afraid, I’ll help you,” Cao Shuang whispered to Zhou Hao, grabbing his right hand.

The two leapt up together, their immortal swords sweeping forward to deflect part of Yu Nan’s attack, the rest slamming into the blue bricks of the plaza.