The Record of the Wine-Swilling Swordsman
In a vast world of immortals and martial arts, the sword reigns supreme across the Nine Heavens and Ten Lands.
Shen Yan, a frontier youth, walks out of the mire clutching an old, rust-covered sword. He knows nothing of the vast path to immortality. He only knows that a sword must be held steady, and the heart kept pure. Until one night beneath the moon, when he points his sword at the flowing clouds and cleaves open a rift leading to an ancient sword tomb.
This is a world where the sword path flourishes. Sect elders turn sword energy into rivers of stars; demonic overlords conjure bloody hells from their killing intent; and reclusive sword cultivators conceal three thousand years in a single scabbard. Yet Shen Yan's sword carries an oddly carefree air.
His sword strokes flow like ink, unbound by form, and with a casual flourish he can cut through the wind's path. His intent rises like wine in a winding stream, unconstrained by rules; every rise and fall can call the heart of Heaven and Earth into question. He crosses Blackwind Ridge, where demon beasts roam, braves the Dragon-Sealing Abyss, which conceals the secrets of immortals and martial arts, discusses the Dao with a white-robed sword immortal, and drinks with a blood-robed demon.
People say his sword is too light to protect his sect's honor. He says a sword ought to be light: light enough to carry the still-burning passion of youth, light enough to bear the moon of a world on the brink of ruin.
When the remnant soul of an ancient Sword God opens its eyes in his sea of consciousness, and a sword named Severed Resolve brings a storm of bloodshed upon the Three Realms, Shen Yan finally understands. To wield a carefree sword is not to act recklessly. It is to take the sword as a boat and, amid the torrents of the immortal and martial worlds, carry one's original resolve across the waters, saving oneself and all living beings.
When the rusty sword is polished bright, Heaven and Earth become his paper, and the sword his brush. What he writes is not slaughter, but a legend about how a sword can live more freely than a person.
