The Sword Falls in Heng'an

In the morning mist of Qingming Township, there are always two hatchets rising and falling. Lin Wuyan, an ignorant young man, guarded a small courtyard, chopping firewood and whittling wood. His fingertips always resonated with the grass and trees inexplicably. When he touched the old iron sword left by Qin Yan, he would feel a warm feeling. The old woodcutter Qin Yan talks little. When chopping firewood, he always carves some vague lines on the wood. Occasionally he hands over a piece of dry food and half-instructions, "Chop the wood evenly and keep your mind straight." The old handkerchief around his waist hides a past that no one knows about. The neatness of his moves is definitely not that of an ordinary woodcutter. When Lin Wuyan walked out of Qingming Township, he realized that the world had never been clear. The monks from the four realms competed based on their bloodlines, the silent ones fought with their swords, and the traces of spiritual imbalance were hidden among the mountains and rivers. He gradually discovered that it was no accident that he could purify his anger and sense the extraordinary talent of his spiritual veins; Qin Yan's old sword and handkerchief contained fragments of the Hengluan battle thousands of years ago, as well as an obsession for redemption that transcended bloodlines. The divine instinct and the care of human nature are pulled together, the Taoist heart is tempered by obsession and perseverance, three swords appear one after another, and a sword journey about balance, redemption and heart-keeping slowly unfolds from the morning mist of Qingming.