The Sword Immortal of the D Ning River

The waters of the Daning River come from the sky.

That was what the White-Browed Daoist said. Whenever he said it, he liked to stroke the few sparse hairs of his white beard and gaze, squinting, toward the distant mountain peaks wreathed in clouds and mist, as though he could see something hidden from everyone else beyond a thousand layers of cloud.

Shen Qingya didn't believe him.

He believed only in the sword in his hands.

At that moment, he stood on the flagstones before the Sword Lodge, gripping a three-foot blade with both hands as he practiced the move "The Great River Flows East" in the morning light.

As his sword stance rose, the morning breeze abruptly stopped.

The tip of the sword cut through the air with a faint hum, as if something were awakening on the blade. Shen Qingya held his breath and focused. With a flick of his wrist, the sword flashed out like a ribbon, tracing a pale golden arc beneath the rising sun.

This novel and its characters are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual people or events is purely coincidental. Do not imitate.