Chapter Text
It was spring, two years into his discipleship on Cang Qiong Mountain's Bai Zhan Peak. However, by no means did the season denote the weather. Although the altitude of the mountain was as impressive as it was lofty, the raging thunderstorm found bounds within the tropopause, wreaking havoc among the twelve soaring peaks of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect.
Nevertheless, Liu Meng found no pause with the weather's temperament.
Today was the day.
Although his young, stoic face did not show it, the core of his spirit held boundless excitement. For once, the endorphins flowing through his blood instead of oxygen weren't from the heat of battle, but from the thought of obtaining his own spiritual sword.
He bounced on the balls of his feet, lightly swaying side to side, though, from the sharp planes of his youthful face and his serious countenance, it could be interpreted as yet another exercise.
Many of his martial siblings, being much older and much more experienced than him, had already obtained their spiritual swords from Wan Jian Peak.
And now it was finally his turn.
From the dry comfort of shelter, he ran through the raging storm, his wet ponytail slapping against his white clad back, stray hairs thoroughly sticking to the navy blue collar of his robes.
He didn't stop once on his way from Bai Zhan to Wan Jian, racing past moderately paced disciples of other peaks shaded by their own wax umbrellas. Many a head stopped at turned his direction, wondering if the physical cultivator was working on his qigong-light-stepping technique.
Liu Meng, unlike what they had thought, did not want to waste a single drop of spiritual energy before obtaining his own spiritual sword. Although it was childish and the sword would know his spiritual energy with even the smallest tendril, he wanted the best sword; one that could withstand the mass amounts of Qi and raw power he held within his spiritual veins.
When he arrived, his Shizun and the lord of Wan Jian were standing outside of the Zen-Jian caves under one light pink wax umbrella. The random splash of pink made it look as if the two peak lords were not expecting a storm and just grabbed the first thing on hand.
"Shizun, Shishu." He cupped his fist and bowed twice, once in respect to his Shizun, and once in respect for the lord of Wan Jian.
They both shallowly bowed back to him in greeting, as was appropriate of their station whilst his Shishu said: "My, my, what a respectful little disciple my Shijie raised."
Liu Meng's face remained unmoved as his brows slowly drew together. It was entirely untrue. He just addressed his Shishu as such seeing as he'd entirely forgotten the man's name.
After his Shizun dismissed him, so he wouldn't stand there like an awkward ox shoved into a merchants house whom sold fine China, he joined the short line of disciples standing in the rain before the cave.
The others all held equally bright umbrellas over their heads to keep themselves dry, whilst Liu Meng stood tall in the thundering rain. His shoulders were drawn back into a valiant posture, as if battling the lightning itself.
That is, until his view darkened with shadows. He whipped his head around, his reflexes that of a man whom trained years in martial arts (his parents had often told him that he knew how to punch before he could walk).
A small, mousy man squeaked, stiffening up under his gaze (glare. He was glaring he's just unaware how intimidating his resting face is. Always seeming angry). Tiny, sweaty hands almost dropped the umbrella whilst the short An Ding disciple mumbled nervously.
"I-I umm... I," the small man (boy? He looks much younger than Liu Meng, however the Bai Zhan disciple knew better than to judge off appearances.) fidgeted, "you were getting wet and- well... I just thought- I thought 'well! I have an umbrella and you don't' so..." Once his eyes met Liu Meng's he was instantly silenced.
Liu Meng grunted in response, "useless."
The small, chestnut haired boy, whom he later finds out is four years his senior, began trembling.
Liu Meng's frown deepened, making him truely look as if he were on a warpath to kill this small martial sibling. However, internally he was just thinking on what he could have said wrong to make this pathetic man tremble at a word. His lips thinned out as his eyes lit up in realisation and he backtracked, clearing up the misunderstanding. "The action is useless. I'll be wet regardless." Which was truthful, and on the way back to his peak he'd be more so.
Liu Meng turned back around, taking a step closer to the cave once the line moved up.
The two stayed in silence, however, the trembling mouse continued to hold the umbrella futilely over his head. He wanted to scoff and cross his arms. Was this guy brainless? He's already wet. But he didn't get annoyed at the other, as it was thought to be a good deed. Even if it wasn't thought through particularly well.
Whilst waiting, a few Xian Shu disciples in front of him began to gossip in boredom.
Disciple one said: "did you hear? A new sword was forged just this morning! It's said to be of the highest quality, never used before!"
Disciple two replied: "boring. I heard there's a sword that's been cultivating here for hundreds of years! Before it's hundred years of isolated cultivation, the sword went through so many owners that some say it cultivated a really strong spirit! Apparently, the reason swords from Cang Qiong get returned to Wan Jian after a cultivator dies is because the sword was never truely happy with the owner, otherwise the sword would shatter into a million pieces when their soul bond breaks and the owner dies."
Disciple two waved her friends closer, "I think this sword is waiting for its fated parter. Imagine being disappointed by your previous owners, then no one in a hundred years being even remotely close to their fated parter. Wouldn't that be disappointing, all alone?"
Disciple three swooned, "isn't that so cute! It almost sounds romantic, waiting hundreds of years for the right person!"
Disciple one, the only one with some sense, scoffed, "it's a sword. No matter how much it resonates with with your spirit it's a tool, they may seem lively but they don't have real souls. You can literally watch the Wan Jian Disciples forge them. Qi-Shimei, you're such a gossip."
Disciple two, now known as 'Qi-Shimei', shrugged, "I just thought the story was cool. Believe it if you want, you don't have to."
It took a while before the three disciples in front of him had retrieved their swords, disciple one's being noticeably more dull than the other two. They walked off together, happily chatting under their vibrant umbrellas.
His wet boots thudded against the rocky earth as anticipation filled his battle hardy mind. The cave was entirely dark as he walked through it, seating himself in the middle on a slightly raised platform.
He folded his legs into a meditative position as his eyes closed. He took a few steadying breaths before his Qi blasted from his body in all directions, like a powerful miasma.
Some disciples found this part of retrieving a spiritual sword difficult, focusing on expelling your qi into the surroundings rather than taking qi from the surroundings into your meridians.
However, Liu Meng found that it was as easy as breathing. His dominant, commanding, impressive qi was forced into the walls of the cave.
He could hear thunder crackling, as many a sword began to rattle.
He kept his eyes closed, frowning as he kept expelling pure qi from his body.
Barely a minute passed before a flash of lighting was right in front of his closed eyes. The light, so strong and blinding it made his own eyelids feel translucent.
At that moment, he could hear nothing except the distinctly powerful ring of the sword’s aura.
As he slowly opened his eyes, a magnificent sword was before him, using its own spiritual energy to hover by his very eye and blind him with its pure sword glare.
Then once again, the cave became dark, and the sword fell perfectly into his grip. He no longer heard the piercing sound of the sword reaching out to him, but instead heard the mundanity of the thunderstorm just beyond the cave.
He slid his calloused index finger over the flat of the long Jian sword then felt at the hilt. The grip was decorated with two magnificent phoenixes.
"From now on, your name will be Cheng Luan."
Of course. Yes Shen Yuan died by eating some off meatbun. Yes he died once he'd barely reached twenty. Yes he'd transmigrated.
And he was furious.
Sure, he died an embarrassing death at the prime of his life, which is something to be entirely pissed off about.
But what he was more so mad at?
Well...
After death, he'd just been in one spot in endless darkness. Left alone with his thoughts. He'd thought it was the afterlife. It wasn't like he could move, or see.
Just nothingness all around him.
That is, until he felt energy.
It took... a long time...
Yeah.
A long time for him to realise that he wasn't in some shitty afterlife. When he'd first felt the energy, he'd pretended like he was one of those stupid protagonists in his favourite cultivation novels and- well- what do you know!
It worked.
He'd become aware enough to figure out he was stuck in a cave.
More correctly... stuck in the wall of a cave...
And it took him even longer to realise he was a goddamned. Fucking. Sword.
He was so frustrated he felt like giving up on his shitty, cursed, 'second life' as a sword.
That is, until he'd truely realised... he was cultivating. It wasn't some stupid dream whilst he was a sword stuck in a wall.
If he could cultivate, then he could probably cultivate a human body.
So he meditated in the cave for only-god-knows how long. During that time, thousands of people had let out their spiritual energy. Yet, he never really felt much of a pull.
He wouldn't even know what to do if he did respond to some random person's qi. Just pretend to be a normal sword and take their qi without them noticing to cultivate a human form?
No... that sounds far too malicious, although tempting.
So when Qi enveloped his entire body, displaying a kind of power he'd never seen before, his mind whispered to him:
'Powerful'
'Strong'
'Reliable'
'Loyal'
'Honest'
'He's the one.'
And without even thinking, his body's instincts took over. He unsheathed himself from the solid stone of the cave walls and presented himself to a random guy. (Which-HOW!? he'd been trying for literal decades to unsheathe himself! Why was it so easy now!?)
It was honestly... nice being held in this guy's warm palms after spending so long alone. However, that did not take away from the awkwardness of the situation.
The random pretty-boy's face seemed to be stuck on one expression, an intimidating, angry, glare.
But as his Qi reached out for Shen Yuan once he was sat and renamed on the man's lap, Shen Yuan knew that the man wasn't angry at his spiritual sword being some millennial looser. Instinctively, Shen Yuan's own sword Qi reached out for the pretty boy.
Then all of a sudden, his blade started to glow once more. He felt himself shaking in the man's hold.
Then, once everything calmed, Shen Yuan heard the guy's voice.
"I really hope that worked..." Liu Meng bit his lower lip.
"What, the weird glowy thing?" Shen Yuan said sarcastically, "if you didn't notice that, then you must be blind." It's not as if anyone would hear him. He'd screamed multiple times for help to get out of the cave when he'd first transmigrated into a sword, yet no one seemed to hear him.
The pretty-boy tensed up, whipping his head left and then right, as if looking for enemies.
Apparently, his amusement had shown, choosing to represent itself as a low vibration in the man's hand.
The pretty boy frowned, gripping his hilt much more firmly before getting up off the rock to exit the cave.
Shen Yuan felt excitement pour over his sharp, metallic edges as he giddily said, "I haven't been outside in so long! What will it look like I wonder? Will it look like one of the period dramas I watched in my previous life? This guy seems to be wearing nine layers of robes, so I don't think it's some weird modern-cultivation mish-mash."
Liu Meng's grip on his hilt tightened even further, and Shen Yuan felt himself stop breathing.
Except... he wasn't breathing in the first place...
But could you blame him!? It's like someone going from loosely hugging your waist, to firmly hugging you, then grabbing you by your sides! It took him by surprise is all!
After exiting the cave, Wan Jian disciples took measurements of his blade for a sheath whilst he endlessly complained.
"Why does it have to be raining on the day I'm finally let out??? It's so heavy I can barely see shit!"
"No- kid! Don't go pretty boy! Don't leave me with these cold handed weirdos. What happened to loyalty!?"
"Get your hands off me! I'll cut you! Don't think because I'm not being wielded I'm not dangerous! I'm still a sword!"
After the pretty boy spoke to two elders, he came racing back over once measurements were finished having been taken of his blade.
He felt his warm fist grab his hilt once more, before he was brought closer to the drenched boy's face. Shen Yuan then noticed his attention on one particular spot of his blade, before a calloused thumb ran along the divots in his blade-
Wait.
Divots?
The words 'Cheng Luan' were forever etched into his body ever since he'd been named on the boy's lap back in the cave. Forever claimed as a legendary blade.
Shen Yuan shivered in the boy's hand.
The mousy boy was back, with a rather unimpressive blade of his own.
"Ah! Shidi that's a really impressive-" the chestnut haired An Ding disciple's mouth went slack as he read the characters on the blade of the Bai Zhan disciple's blade. "Ch-Cheng Luan— Liu-shidi?!" He then smacked a hand over his mouth before his eyes frantically scanned Liu Meng's face.
Liu Meng just stared at him, feeling no particular need to indulge the ramblings of this weak disciple only...
The disembodied voice sounded in his head again. "Liu-shidi? And if I'm Cheng Luan... fuck! Shit! No- no way- I can't be! Not in 'Proud Immortal Demon Way'! That piece of shit! Stupid author! Stupid novel!"
Liu Meng frowned, although what the voice was saying made little sense, one thing was certain.
It was Cheng Luan.
His sword...
"Does yours talk?" Is all he said to the quivering An Ding disciple.
The An Ding disciple went still and lifted a brow, thinking: 'has he fought one too many battles? Swords can't talk!' Before saying, "no, this Shang An's sword cannot talk. Maybe Liu-shidi's has cultivated in the cave for a long time???" He bullshitted before making a run for it. Though some Wan Jian disciples ended up cornering him to get measurements for his sword sheath.
Liu Qingge was satisfied with that answer. His sword did seem much more powerful than those everyone else had pulled thus far. It's sword qi and spiritual qi a superior, finer quality than anything he'd noticed from other spiritual swords. In fact, the other spiritual swords he'd noticed didn't even have spiritual qi, so of course his is just better.
He walked away from Wan Jian in the tepid spring rain, excited by the thought of having one of the most powerful swords produced by Cang Qiong.
Though, his walk wasn't quite so peaceful. His mind was far too loud from his 'most powerful sword produced by Cang Qiong.'
"Why meeeee!? What did I do wrong to be transported into this shit hole!?"
"I'm going to die! I'm seriously going to die!"
After a few more complaints, the sword fell quiet. The young Liu Meng was drawing a fair bit of amusement from the sword's incomprehensible rambling's, so he was startled by the silence.
"No... I'm not going to die. I'm not. But he is. Liu Qingge. If I'm Cheng Luan then this is the young Liu Qingge, before he becomes the peak lord of Bai Zhan Peak."
Liu Meng's footsteps stopped in the middle of the rainbow bridge connecting the peaks, a few people behind him got annoyed at having to step around the saturated young disciple, and some became startled as he began talking to himself.
"I'm going to become the Bai Zhan peak lord and then die?"