How Many Years Have I Been Dead Inside This Sword?

I'm a sword, a sword that's seen far too much bullshit.

I've spent ten thousand years inside a sword, and more than a hundred of my wielders have died by my hand: some were killed by their enemies, some went mad from cultivation, and one idiot tried to use me to chop wood and ended up crippling his own leg. I got used to it. Until a child named Yun Xiaoxi picked me up.

Seven years old, frail, despised by his family, with less than three days to live. As he lay dying, he held my blade and smiled. "Big brother, will you live on for me? I want to become a Sword Immortal." I agreed without a second thought. It's not like I can die.

Then I discovered that the human species has a serious design flaw: it needs to eat. It gets hungry. It needs to sleep. It gets tired. Its legs don't obey, and it can trip just walking along. I, a dignified ten-thousand-year-old sword spirit, was driven to question my existence by the body of a seven-year-old child. Even crazier, the child's illness wasn't congenital. Someone had poisoned him. And I was dragged into a storm of bloodshed in the cultivation world. All right, what's done is done. Let's see how this ten-thousand-year-old monster uses the wisdom of a sword to turn the cultivation world upside down.