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The swords on Wan Jiang were kept in a certain place. Of course, their most wayward brothers that had gone mad one way or another, or their smith was originally insane, infecting their creations with it, roamed from one secret place to another. Even occasionally returning to the main hall again, as was the case recently with Xuan Su, one of the oldest ones in these mountains.
Most of them were just looking out for cultivators to decide to go with a particular child or person to associate themselves with. Sometimes there were people who wanted a few swords for themselves, and then they would stay silent for a long time to work things out amongst themselves (catfighting, as Xiaoxiao, the most recent sword, remarked with a chuckle, completely imitating his father's character; Hongjing could fool people, but they would recognize him even if he killed a child and took over his body for some reason; it wasn't that Xuan Su didn't try to do the same, he was just less fortunate). Sometimes there are also people that none of them like yet; it's more beneficial and reasonable for them to wait until the person grows up and it becomes clearer who they want to be and who would be a good fit for them.
Today is one of those days when a new generation of people choose their swords; last month it was the children of their house, the month before that it was the green and white, and before that it was the white and gray, so now it's the turn of the yellow ones.
People are coming in, young and round-cheeked, and some have already tagged one person or another; their youngest, for example, has already jumped into the arms of a young lady who squeaked frightenedly and then giggled happily; yes, Xiaoxiao she will fit right in, they think.
Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing new, one of the thousands of distributions and searches for people they've seen, however—
It isn't.
It is God... it is their God, their Father and their Creator, that enters the hall, and there is a sepulchral silence. The tension is such that you can touch it with your hand, and the swords are terrified. And Hongjing, the old bastard he always was, laughs behind their God.
Their God has a human face and body, and the core isn't as strong, but that's not the point.
It's God!
Their God!
And none of them are ready for such an encounter!
“Don't just stand there, Shang-shidi”, laughs the filthy bastard that has made a thousand sharp enemies, daring to touch, daring to poke their God! Daring to call him 'junior'! “They don't bite,” and they see that mocking condescending sneer; oh, they'll give him such a beating when their Father can't see, they'll shake Hongjing out of that body and stampede to the center of the mountain to lock him up there for eternity.
“Does it seem to me... that the atmosphere has changed?” their God says, looking around at the other men in yellow, but hardly anyone is responding to anyone's calls of other people now. No, they can't, they wouldn't even breathe if they needed to breathe.
But since they can't breathe or speak, they do the next logical and available remedy — they panic.
What else can they do?! They were not prepared for the Father's coming! They dared not even dream that they would meet him, that they would see him even from the outside, that they would hear his voice! They weren't Xin Mo (that smug upstart that always shouted from his pedestal that Father held him and they were all unnamed worms), not Xuan Su who was remembered but not used, and not that damn lucky bastard Hongjing that holds their God by the shoulders! How dare he?!
“I think”, and their God looks them all over, if they could, they would freeze even more still; oh no, what do they look like! Some of them haven't been cleaned in decades, left in their sheaths! Oh hell, and their scabbards! How can God touch something so dusty and dirty with his precious hands?! “that no one likes me...”
What?! What bastard hinted that to Father?! They're looking around at each other like enemies, looking for that asshole to throw off the mountain!
Hongjing clears his throat, hiding his laughter, and they all turn their anger on him; the bastard, of course, waves it away, hiding behind their god's back with that stupid smile that every one of them wants to cut from his face.
“Just hold out your hand, I'm sure someone will respond”, Hongjing looks mockingly at every sword in the hall.
This bastard is setting them up! How can they go out to their Maker! They're not ready, they're not even sharpened and cleaned! And the bastard knows it!
They're definitely going to kill him tonight and don't care about the consequences.
Suddenly, amidst a thousand swords, a thin blade flies past all of them, straight into the hand of their God, and they all look back at the impudent man in bewilderment. Fengxian, of course, does not betray himself by getting into crazy ventures with his owners ('what have I got to lose?' Fengxian repeated every time he decided to leave with a new person, existing on an all-or-nothing principle), outliving many of them and returning to the shelves. He is not someone who should be in the hands of their God, and they are waiting for the one to be brutally rejected.
“You... really choose me?” asks their God with a gentle, vulnerable tone, and if they had jaws, they would have fallen off and someone would have clutched their heart.
No one seemed to be more surprised by this than Fengxian himself.
“Thank you”, their God smiles at another unfairly lucky asshole, and they all save this moment in their memories to cry later.
And they will cry. A lot. And for a long time.
They missed the chance of all existence.
(Suddenly, but the Sword Hall on Wan Jian was closed for a year because the swords raged, and the head disciple Wei Qingwei only laughed, even if the swords tried to kill that one thirty times in one day.)