The Blade-Bearer

“Your grandfather stole something.” “What did he steal?” “A blade.” Lu Qingya looked down at the blade in his hand. Narrow, thin, with a deep blue edge. He'd trained with it for seven years and broken seventeen blades. He didn't know that this blade was a key. Beneath Qingyuan Mountain lay a truth that had been locked away for three hundred years. He didn't know that his grandfather wasn't a thief, that his father shouldn't have died, or that the Qingyuan Sect wasn't a righteous and prestigious school. The severance letter had been delivered. Revenge must not extend beyond three generations. The Qingyuan Sect refused to accept it. He stood at the foot of Qingyuan Mountain, the blade at his waist. He was the one who wielded it.