The War Temple was the founding cornerstone of the Great Qian empire.
Its standing was beyond comparison.
The reason both the Division and the demon-hunters could operate independently of the court was precisely because they fell under the War Temple’s jurisdiction.
Elder Wu, as one of the Temple Wardens, spoke with the full weight of the War Temple behind him.
Any chance you’d stay?
Jiang Chengyun had entirely lost the thread. Across all nine provinces — whether court or jianghu — every practitioner with any standing wanted to be part of the War Temple.
The finest treasured implements. The greatest stores of medicine. Every rare technique ever collected.
And for backing — who could offer more than a living Spirit-Transformation stage practitioner?
They had never needed to extend invitations. The world’s talent came to them.
And yet here was Elder Wu, waiting for Shen Yi’s answer.
“Stay at the War Temple. Attend the golden forms.”
Something complicated moved through the old man’s cloudy eyes. The young man’s situation was unlike anything he’d heard of before — consuming every last trace of qi the golden forms could give, completely clean, without leaving a fragment. It had made all of them ache with a kind of parental regret.
But it also demonstrated, clearly, how rare this person was.
Letting him simply walk away was genuinely difficult.
After some discussion among themselves, it came down to keeping him. Not a bad arrangement for anyone.
Jiang Qiulan stood with hands at her sides, watching Shen Yi quietly.
About as she’d expected.
With the young man’s talent, no one could overlook him — the War Temple was no exception.
What surprised her was how directly the Wardens were approaching this. No trace of the distant, lofty manner they were known for.
They had only met him once.
What exactly had happened during those War Temple refinements?
“What’s in it for me?”
Shen Yi looked at the old man with genuine curiosity.
“What’s in it—”
Elder Wu’s eyelid moved.
In all these years, the War Temple had never once extended an invitation to another person.
And this young man was negotiating.
He closed his eyes. Steadied himself. Opened them again.
“Those of us who remain here do so for one reason only — to refine the golden dharma form, to break through to Spirit-Transformation. And this place holds the most abundant accumulated faith of any place in existence.”
He shook his head.
“Don’t rely on your youth and talent and think you have limitless time. A thousand years passes in a breath. When you truly begin this path, you’ll find time is never enough.”
“So — stop wasting precious lifespan on things that don’t matter. Qingzhou, for example. When those Mixed Origin Grandmasters have finished their other obligations, they’ll deal with it.”
A few short sentences — and Jiang Chengyun’s mood had quietly dropped.
When the Mixed Origin Grandmasters finish elsewhere and come to handle it — it sounded easy. What it actually meant was tens of millions of ordinary people in Qingzhou suffering, Demon Suppression Generals falling, demon-hunters dying in numbers.
But against the backdrop of timescales measured in thousands of years, these things looked so small.
Ordinary people were like grass — they grew back quickly.
Generals were somewhat more precious, but with enough accumulated faith, they could be replaced.
In the War Temple’s eyes, this was a temporary setback. Once other concerns were resolved, you simply took the territory back from the demons.
He was a Qingzhou demon-hunter. He couldn’t even argue with this logic.
Because if those other concerns weren’t resolved, it wouldn’t just be Qingzhou that was lost.
“…”
Shen Yi was quiet for a moment. Then he looked up.
“I’ll pass, then.”
Abundant faith available at will. Unparalleled talent and comprehension. Together — a future Spirit-Transformation stage practitioner.
The problem was — the talent was fake.
At those words, Jiang Chengyun fell into a more complete bewilderment than before, his mind actually beginning to spin.
Elder Wu had laid it out as plainly as it could be laid out.
If Shen Yi agreed, this wasn’t simply joining the War Temple as a disciple. He would be cultivated as a genuine successor.
How extraordinary a recognition was that?
Refused, just like that.
Did Commander Shen truly carry Qingzhou in his heart?
At that thought, Jiang Chengyun looked at the young man again, and something that had been building quietly in his eyes became unmistakable reverence.
“Aah.”
Elder Wu seemed to have anticipated this answer.
Only those who had walked the same road truly understood each other.
There had been a time when they were exactly like this — proud beyond measure, convinced the world had no one else of their caliber, breaking through realms as easily as eating and drinking, entirely unbothered by the passage of time.
The old man rose from the bench, took a long rectangular jade case from his storage implement, set it on the table, and said with mild exasperation:
“At least let us register your name.”
The young man was still young. The day of reckoning would come. That was something every one of them had lived through once — he hoped this one would learn from the experience and not take too many wrong turns.
But the most important thing — at least the immortal sects shouldn’t get to him first.
Besides, the young man was a Demon Suppression General. Back in Qingzhou he’d be cultivating the divine spirit path anyway. Slower was slower, but fine.
All three in the courtyard looked at the jade case on the table.
Something moved through Jiang Qiulan’s eyes — she seemed to have guessed.
If Elder Wu’s purpose was to recruit Shen Yi — then what was in that case was probably not a standard mid-grade implement.
She was right. As the old man lifted the lid, a blade appeared — its form deliberately selected to match the proportions of the dark blade Shen Yi wore.
“I was worried you’d find it awkward to use. I spent quite a while picking this out.”
The straight blade carried a cold, restrained light throughout, its surface covered in serrated scale-patterns, a black mist-like radiance rising faintly from the lines.
“The blade is called Qianyuan — Deep Abyss. Upper-grade implement.”
“Nothing unusual about it, in most respects. It can cut through a demon king’s body, and it has a soul-anchoring effect. If you ever face the Howling Moon Demon King — its divine ability can scatter and displace the soul from the body. Wearing this blade will keep your spirit intact.”
He took the blade out and tossed it to the black-armored young man.
Shen Yi caught it, turned it over carefully.
“There’s no scabbard?”
“…”
Elder Wu exhaled slowly. “Should I throw in a full set of armor while I’m at it?”
Would you?
Shen Yi raised his head — but the old man had already turned and was walking out of the courtyard, leaving one sentence behind.
“Since you’ve accepted the blade, I take it you find it acceptable. The matter of registering your name at the War Temple is settled, then.”
Not just an upper-grade treasured blade.
Specifically selected to counter the demon king currently threatening Qingzhou.
And the condition was registration with the War Temple — something the rest of the world would beg for.
Even Jiang Qiulan had never received treatment like this.
She found that since traveling alongside Shen Yi, she’d been having quite a few genuinely new experiences.
Then she noticed the black-armored young man had already taken the dark blade from his waist. He tried the new scabbard, fitted it, and then looked in her direction.
“Can I give you half of it for now?”
“…”
Jiang Qiulan walked over and held out her hand.
The blade settled into it, cold to the touch. The smell of demon blood had never fully left it — the kind that doesn’t wash out.
It was exactly as she remembered. And yet completely different.
He had carried this as if walking the last stretch of an old friend’s road, and was now offering that stretch to her. And was about to set out on something new.
She looked at the gold-patterned black scabbard at Shen Yi’s waist, and a quiet smile came to her lips.
“Alright.”
(End of Chapter)