The endless wasteland shimmered under a bruised sky, its desolation punctuated by distant echoes of mechanical groans and the unyielding pulse of an ancient secret. In the fragile hours before dawn, Ye Xiu trudged through broken highways and piles of shattered concrete, the wooden sword pendant resting heavily against his chest. Its presence was both a talisman and a burden—a reminder of the power that stirred within and the curse that might one day claim him.
Since that fateful night in the mechanical graveyard—when the tentacles, laced with dark energy, had surged to life and an uncanny jade slip had mingled with his blood—his days had grown darker, filled with unspoken questions and ominous signs. The vendor's whispered warning on the black market, the terrified cry of an old scavenger as he was devoured by writhing metal, and even his mother's feeble, dream-like murmurs in the night had all conspired to weave a tapestry of fate that Ye Xiu could neither escape nor ignore.
For many days now, every twilight, the pendant would emit a faint, almost mournful hum. At night, when the barren winds whispered across the broken land, the wooden sword's surface would bear the marks of usage—delicate, blood-like filaments that glowed in the moonlight—and its internal vibration would grow stronger. Ye Xiu suspected that it was trying to tell him something, urging him toward a destiny he had yet to understand.
Today, however, the wasteland seemed to whisper a different tune. As he passed a ruined stretch of a once-bustling highway, his eyes caught sight of a crude message scrawled in red on a battered metal plate:
"When the moon wanes, the sword awakens—seek the hidden path."
It was a riddle, a warning perhaps, or a beckoning call. Ye Xiu pressed the plate with a callused fingertip, feeling the residual warmth of the words. They resonated with the secret he'd barely begun to glimpse—a secret woven into his blood and into the very fabric of the pendant.
By midday, Ye Xiu reached a temporary outpost where scavengers gathered to exchange supplies. Amid the grim barter of anti-radiation medicine for salvaged ore and mechanical parts, he traded a portion of the hard-earned "purification coins" he'd received from the remains of the mechanical graveyard. His thoughts, however, were far from the mundanity of survival. Every transaction, every whispered exchange of rumors, carried with it a subtle undercurrent—rumors of a particular time of night when active, living tentacles roamed the remains of decaying machines. They said these tentacles targeted "those with certain gene sequences," as if fate had singled out a few for an encounter with the otherworldly.
A cold shiver ran down his spine as he recalled the vivid image of Old Wu—the scavenger whose dying cry, "Run! This cursed thing consumes your spirit…" still echoed in his mind. His blood had reacted, igniting the pendant's latent power and revealing the first fragment of the ancient Nine Heavens Sword Manual: three rudimentary techniques named Breaking Wind, Cutting Steel, and Burning Blood. In that moment, Ye Xiu knew that his life was irrevocably entwined with forces far beyond mere survival in this broken world.
As dusk approached, he made his way to a hidden corner of the outpost, away from prying eyes. Sitting on a rusted barrel under the shadow of a collapsed overpass, he pulled out a faded scrap of paper—a crude map he'd obtained from a mysterious informant earlier. Its markings hinted at "The Fallen Star Gorge," a name that sent a jolt through his heart. The map's illegible scribbles on the reverse side suggested that the gorge might be more than a natural chasm—it could be the resting place of a secret, perhaps even a cache of remnants from a long-lost martial legacy.
He unfolded the map carefully, letting its ancient creases speak to him of forgotten paths. The instructions were vague but precise enough to ignite his determination: "Follow the course of the dried-up river; when the moon is absent from the sky, the gorge shall reveal its secret."
Even as he planned his next journey, the pendant's faint humming grew into a rhythmic pulse—like a heartbeat counting down the moments until its next transformation.
In the dimming light, Ye Xiu closed his eyes and recalled his mother's soft, sorrowful words during one of her rare lucid moments. "Don't let the sword's markings become whole… the past is dangerous." He wondered what she meant—was it a warning about the power of the sword, or a secret about their family's legacy? He resolved to guard that mystery close to his heart, knowing that every step toward mastery of the sword's art would lead him deeper into a labyrinth of truths and betrayals.
Night descended with a heavy silence. Under a starless sky, Ye Xiu trekked alone toward the outskirts, following the map's hidden hints. The temperature dropped sharply, and the barren landscape was bathed in a cold, ghostly luminescence. Somewhere in the distance, a metallic clamor echoed—the restless sound of machines long dead, yet their ghosts still roamed these fields.
As he neared the dried-up riverbed marked on the map, a subtle, almost imperceptible vibration pulsed through the earth beneath his feet. He paused, listening intently. The silence was broken by a distant, rhythmic tapping—a sound akin to footsteps in a cavern. His hand instinctively went to the pendant, which now pulsed with an urgency that was nearly painful.
In the gloom, Ye Xiu advanced with caution. The path was rugged, strewn with jagged rocks and twisted metal. Every so often, his eyes caught fleeting glimpses of movement—a shimmer of light reflecting off wet surfaces, the swaying of something unseen in the darkness. Then, a sudden flash: a pair of eyes, glowing like embers, fixed upon him from behind a crumbling wall. For a heartbeat, Ye Xiu froze, his pulse pounding as he tried to discern whether the figure was friend or foe.
Before he could react, the figure darted away into the inky blackness. It left behind only a rustle of movement and the lingering scent of ozone. Was it an informant? A stray scavenger? Or something else entirely—an omen of the forces that awaited him?
Shaken but undeterred, Ye Xiu pressed on toward the gorge. With every step, the pendant's hum grew louder, as if urging him onward. The night was long and filled with shifting shadows, but his resolve did not waver. In the recesses of his mind, he repeated the ancient incantations that had begun to seep into his subconscious since the jade slip's awakening—a faint echo of the martial legacy that he was destined to inherit.
At last, as the sky began to hint at the break of dawn, Ye Xiu reached the edge of the Fallen Star Gorge. The chasm yawned before him, its depths hidden by darkness and mystery. A chill wind swept up from the gorge, carrying with it whispers of ancient battles and long-forgotten oaths. Leaning over the precipice, Ye Xiu could see faint markings carved into the stone walls—runes that pulsed with a subtle, eerie light. These were not random etchings but deliberate symbols, a language of power lost to time.
As the first light of dawn touched the horizon, the markings seemed to come alive. A low, resonant hum filled the air—the sound of an awakening. Ye Xiu's pulse quickened, and the pendant in his hand vibrated with an intensity he had never felt before. He sensed that he was on the brink of something monumental—a threshold where the old martial legacy and the new world would collide.
With cautious anticipation, he stepped forward into the gorge's shadowed passage. Every stone, every gust of wind, and every heartbeat became part of an intricate dance—a prelude to the next stage of his journey. The promise of secrets unlocked and powers mastered stirred within him, mingling with the persistent ache of unanswered questions. Yet above all, in that silent, sacred moment, Ye Xiu understood that the path ahead was forged in the union of courage, sacrifice, and the timeless art of the sword.