On the day the sect chose its spirit swords, my junior sister snatched the Flowing Wind Sword that was meant for me.
It was the finest sword in the Nine Provinces, and its sword spirit, Liufeng, was handsome and dashing.
In my previous life, I was the master of the Flowing Wind Sword. During the sect tournament, afraid my junior sister would get hurt, Liufeng forcibly turned his blade around. He and my junior sister stabbed me through, leaving four holes between their two swords.
That was when I learned his heart had belonged to someone else all along.
When I opened my eyes again, I picked up the broken sword my junior sister had dismissed as rusty.
An elder tried to talk me out of it:
“It’s nothing but scrap iron. The sword spirit is probably long dead. You’d be better off choosing another sword.”
He didn’t understand. The day the broken sword is reforged will be the day ten thousand swords bow before it.
