Chapter 8: 8: The Art of Becoming a Wealthy Heiress
Chapter 8: 8: The Art of Becoming a Wealthy Heiress
Sword Cultivators were notoriously destitute. Chu Yunmian had always lamented that those who walked the path of the blade possessed two innate traits: first, they were perpetually embroiled in bloody storms and tempests; second, they were truly, deeply poor. In truth, this was because Sword Cultivators focused their entire existence on refining their bodies, their blades, and their hearts. Unlike Artificers, Alchemists, or even Talismanists, they produced no tangible goods, making it naturally difficult to generate external revenue. Furthermore, the cost of nurturing a Lifebound Spirit Sword was not a burden an ordinary person could shoulder. As a sword grew alongside its master’s cultivation, it required constant reforging and rare materials; it was less a weapon and more a gold-devouring beast. One might ask: couldn't a spirit sword simply upgrade itself? Such a feat was reserved for spirit artifacts born with the primordial breath of heaven and earth, possessing an awakened Artifact Spirit to wield such formidable power. Such treatment was generally the province of protagonists or grand antagonists; ordinary folk would need a miracle of ancestral proportions—the kind where their forefathers' graves practically smoked with auspicious vapors—just to stand a chance. Because of these overwhelming hardships, a tragic joke had spread throughout the cultivation world: Sword Cultivators subsisted on Fasting Pills and coarse grains, braving wind and rain only to seek resources for their swords, to the point where they could never find cultivation partners and ended up wedding their blades instead. This had birthed a timeless maxim: think twice before taking a Sword Cultivator as a partner—unless, of course, you happened to be a second-generation cultivator yourself. Her father, for instance, had directly inherited the sect treasury left behind by predecessors who had suffered premature deaths—no, who had ascended early to the heavens. Consequently, he had become an extraordinarily unique and handsome specimen among his peers. Chu Yunmian’s eyes gleamed as she beheld the glittering hoard of the treasury. Chu Anhuai unlocked the final barrier, shaking his head slightly as he watched his daughter’s floaty, intoxicated gait. In his eyes, she was like a joyful little bird, bounding forward to touch this and inspect that, her mouth even glistening with suspicious traces of drool. Chu Yunmian was practically blinded by her father’s opulent display of wealth. However, her current cultivation was still too low; let alone using most of these items, she feared she would collapse under the sheer spiritual pressure if she drew too close. Her father, the Sect Master, picked out several defensive spirit artifacts, measured them against her frame, and began draping them over her. Before half an hour had passed, Chu Anhuai had decorated her in a dazzling, multicolored display. She looked exactly like a plump, succulent lamb wandering into a den of wolves, practically begging for a cudgel to the head. [Dear Father, although I am thrilled, this is truly far too much...] Chu Anhuai’s hand paused. [My white jade hairpin is already completely out of room. How can I tactfully express to my father that I would like yet another one...] Chu Anhuai: "..."
He muffled a low chuckle into his fist, turned around, and swept the newly retrieved assortment of treasures into a Sumeru Mustard Pouch before tossing it to his daughter. Together, they happily engaged in a round of zero-cost shopping. Walking toward the deepest recesses of the treasury, Chu Yunmian noticed a stone door tucked away in the farthest corner. Following her gaze, Chu Anhuai explained, "That is the back gate of the Sword Pavilion."
He looked at his daughter’s inquisitive eyes. "The Sword Pavilion is where the old swords of all past generations within the Qingfeng Sword Sect ultimately come to rest. Whether their masters failed their heavenly tribulations, died in unexpected accidents, or simply replaced them with newer blades, the final destination for all old swords is the Sword Pavilion, also known as..." [The Sword Tomb!] Chu Anhuai raised an eyebrow in slight surprise. In her mind, Chu Yunmian muttered: Now that is a classic map. She pondered for a moment before gently pushing open the stone door, revealing a space that resembled a mountain hollowed out from within. Inside the mountain, thick with the chilling aura of lethal weapons, countless spirit swords were wedged haphazardly between stone crevices. Some were covered in rust, others shone as bright as autumn water; some still retained a biting edge of frost upon their blades, while others had already snapped into jagged halves. Every single sword was a story swallowed by the passage of time. They stood in quiet obscurity beneath a single streak of heavenly light piercing the exact center of the Sword Tomb, forgotten by time, waiting... Waiting for a cheat-wielding protagonist to arrive! Chu Yunmian strode briskly into that shaft of light, threw her arms wide, and gazed at the surrounding blades with blazing eyes. Come on, come on! As a girl who had transmigrated by accident, she carried the sacred destiny of saving the entire sect and fighting against the unspeakable Son of Heaven’s Mandate. If this wasn't protagonist treatment, what was? Come on, my golden finger! She felt quite pleased with herself. [Ah, which one should I choose?] [Could it be that spirit sword whose blade resembles autumn water and radiates a bone-chilling frost?] [Or perhaps that broadsword with a phoenix-head hilt and mottled cracks, which practically screams of a tragic past?] [Dual swords would also be rather nice, though I am slightly uncoordinated...] Chu Yunmian’s eyes darted busily, almost unable to take it all in. [Or maybe there is some divine sword hidden in the deepest depths, once wielded by a legendary Sword Sovereign, waiting all these years for its destined master.] [That would be me!] A cold gust of wind swept past, leaving the Sword Tomb in dead silence. A spiritual frog of unknown origin hopped by, letting out a series of rhythmic croaks—(CROAK! CROAK! CROAK!). It sounded remarkably like mocking laughter. Chu Yunmian: "..."
Chu Anhuai: "..."
The young woman standing in the center of the Sword Tomb awkwardly lowered her arms, her back tinged with a forlorn sense of desolation. Chu Yunmian rubbed her face: Fine, fine. I suppose since our entire family consists of cannon-fodder villains, we truly don't possess much protagonist destiny after all. Chu Anhuai nearly laughed out loud. His little Mianmian was truly far too adorable. He had no idea where she came up with these whimsical thoughts. [Thank goodness nobody knows about my unrequited delusions of grandeur. There is only my dear old dad here, and he probably just thinks I was doing some pre-workout stretches!] [How mortifying!] Chu Anhuai nonchalantly shifted his gaze away, walked over to a random spirit sword, and began examining it with profound concentration. Turning around, Chu Yunmian caught him looking as though he had been immersed in contemplation for ages, and she let out a quiet sigh of relief. [Thank goodness Dad didn't see either...] Unwilling to give up, she ambled over to a Flexible Sword as thin as a cicada’s wing and tentatively reached out. (SNAP!) The Flexible Sword, which had been standing ramrod straight, instantly recoiled into a tight, defensive coil. Chu Yunmian: "..."
Wasn't this rejection a bit too obvious? [I never wanted to be a Sword Cultivator anyway!] [Ahhhhh!] Swallowing her overwhelming helplessness, Chu Anhuai watched as his stubbornly persistent daughter went from one sword to another, only to suffer repeated rejections. In the end, a trace of heartache lingered in his chest, accompanied by a microscopic hint of amusement. He could not help speaking up, "Mianmian, it is time for us to leave."
With a dazed expression, Chu Yunmian flipped the entire collection of swords a defiant middle finger before trailing dejectedly behind her father. The very instant she stepped across the stone threshold, a completely unremarkable book tumbled off a bookshelf beside the doorway, smacked squarely against the crown of her head, and vanished into thin air. Chu Yunmian: "???"
She tipped her head back to scan her surroundings, rubbing her scalp in sheer bafflement. What on earth was that? The next second, catching sight of her father waiting at the entrance, she hurried over. The treasury was sealed once more, and Chu Anhuai escorted his daughter back to her private courtyard before turning away to continue dealing with the fallout concerning the Second Elder. Meanwhile, Chu Yunmian, though initially depressed over her rejection by the swords, beamed with joy the moment she laid eyes on the Sumeru Mustard Pouch resting upon her table. She pried open the pouch, admiring her little treasury item by item, until she suddenly fished out a drab, dusty grey book from amid the radiant artifacts. Chu Yunmian: "?"
Where on earth did this come from? Just as she was puzzling over it, the book began turning its pages automatically without any wind, and an ethereal voice drifted out from within: "What are you staring at?" "..." "!!!"