Primordial Tribulation: Sovereign of Yin and Yang

Chapter 3

Chapter 003: The Encounter — The Fragment and the Remnant Soul

1. The Baptism of Soulforce and the Fusion of Arts

The moment Lu Qingyun tore the sheepskin scroll from the swirling vortex, the violent maelstrom instantly collapsed, leaving a vacuum where chaos had reigned. Tens of thousands of berserk sword souls, once contained, erupted like a silent, terrifying tidal wave and rushed directly toward him, their collective resentment enough to shatter any ordinary Nascent Soul cultivator.

But this time, they did not tear him apart.

The massive portion of soulforce he had frantically devoured with the Soul Codex now turned the lethal sword soul vortex into an intense, purifying baptism for his spirit. Every trace of stray sword intent, every ounce of lingering grievance from the battlefield, bent before the ancient, overbearing aura of the Sun Demon Spirit dormant within him, as well as the faint, yet resilient vitality of his Azure Dragon bloodline. The storm became a profound source of nourishment, transforming into pure, refined soulforce and flooding into his consciousness.

A deafening, echoing hum vibrated deep within his mind as his spirit expanded like parched earth greedily drinking the first rains after a long drought. His perception sharpened to a terrifying, almost painful clarity—he could now see not just the immediate surroundings, but the residual history clinging to every rusted blade and skeletal fragment within dozens of feet around him. He felt an intense connection to the world around him, a connection his limited mortal senses had never allowed.

He slowly, reverently unrolled the thick, ancient sheepskin scroll. The black ink flowed and shimmered, and the text flowed seamlessly with the fragmentary Soul Codex he had cultivated—yet its depth and complexity were far more profound, unlocking previously hidden knowledge within his mind.

“Soul Codex, Second Layer: Gazing Into the Void. Wield the soul as a sword, and sheath it within intent—let it leave the body, piercing the tangible and the intangible. The soul is the ultimate weapon, and the body is merely its hilt.”

This was no ordinary cultivation technique found in the mortal realm. In the mortal world, the soul was typically used only for basic sensing and controlling internal energy; this unique art allowed the spirit itself to materialize and attack, making him a lethal threat even without a physical blade. The profound truth of the text resonated with the chaotic energies within his body, hinting at an ultimate solution.

2. The Awakening of Mo Lao

Just as he was reeling from the sheer impossibility and potential of the revelation, the black mist that coiled malevolently around the scroll’s edges coalesced and rasped out a faint, hoarse voice:

“Kh… finally… someone has entered this forsaken place… and survived the welcome…”

The voice was saturated with an intense, ancient demonic energy—it was frail, almost exhausted, yet it carried the undeniable authority of an entity from the highest heavens.

Lu Qingyun’s head snapped up, his heart leaping into his throat, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his non-existent sword. “Who’s there?!”

“It matters little who I am now…” The mist floated toward him, slowly coalescing and thickening into a blurred, human-like shape that seemed to absorb the surrounding light. “What matters is the sheer audacity of your survival against the sword soul’s assault. And… your spirit. It carries the faint, unmistakable trace of my essence… a familiar lineage.”

The shadow grew solid, revealing the tattered phantom of an old man. His ragged figure was heavily stooped, his spectral face deeply lined and streaked with the grime of ages, but the cold, piercing gleam in his eyes was razor-sharp, bearing down on Lu Qingyun like a mountain.

“What’s your name, boy? The sword intent and the chaotic power brewing in you… it is deeply, profoundly familiar to me. Speak truly.” His voice was probing, his oppressive presence pressing Lu Qingyun into the dusty earth.

“Junior Lu Qingyun, outer disciple of the Yunhai Sword Sect.” Lu Qingyun bowed deeply, struggling to suppress the raw tremor in his voice and the frantic beating of his heart.

“Yunhai Sword Sect? Outer disciple? Hmph. What a waste of potential.” The old man sneered, his gaze dripping with centuries of disdain for petty mortal affairs, then turned his focus to the sheepskin scroll in Lu Qingyun’s grip. “Do you even know what you’re holding, boy? That is no mere sword sect manual. It is a fragment of the ultimate ‘Soul-Devouring Codex,’ crafted for unique aberrations like you—those marked by both destruction and life.”

His expression softened—just slightly, a fraction of a century's weariness fading.

“From this day forth, I am your master. You may call me… Mo Lao.”

3. A Master of Both Demon and Immortal Paths

Mo Lao then revealed his true, extraordinary nature. He was no mortal remnant but a demonic grandmaster of the Nine Heavens, one who was once obsessively dedicated to the way of the sword and the manipulation of souls. In the great Celestial-Demon War that ravaged the Upper Realms a millennium ago, he had been gravely wounded, his true body sealed away in a forgotten corner of the universe. Only this remnant soul, bound to the codex fragment and left to slumber in the mortal realm’s abandoned battlefield, survived.

The sword sect itself, unknowingly, had built its f*******n training ground over his prison. He had been imprisoned by the immortal paths—only to be awakened now by the one youth whose unique, tumultuous soul resonated perfectly with his f*******n legacy.

“The forces surging violently in your body—the extreme yin and extreme yang—are tearing each other apart,” Mo Lao said gravely, his eyes assessing Lu Qingyun’s internal structure with terrifying clarity. “No common mortal internal art will ever work for you. The established immortal paths would only kill you faster by attempting to impose a false purity.”

“But this Soul Codex… it bridges those two extreme forces, forcing them into a desperate, volatile balance by giving them a common goal—the cultivation of the spirit. What you will ultimately walk is neither the pure immortal path nor the chaotic demonic path—it is the dangerous, unique Path of the Sword Soul.”

Mo Lao raised his spectral hand, sending a strand of pure, concentrated demonic sword-qi directly into Lu Qingyun’s mind—a lifetime of profound swordsmanship, tactical knowledge, and terrifying insights, condensed into a single, blazing brand. The knowledge slammed into Lu Qingyun's consciousness, forcing him to the brink of collapse but ultimately strengthening his spirit.

“You have inherited my legacy, and with it, the potential to surpass even my former self. Forget the petty martial arts and ridiculous hierarchies of the mortal sects. Return here in three days, when you have stabilized this initial torrent of knowledge. Then… I will teach you true swordsmanship—the kind that cuts through fate itself.”

For the first time in many years, the relentless storm raging inside Lu Qingyun's heart quieted, yielding to a powerful, singular purpose. All his doubts, all his humiliation, all his burning rage at being discarded—they were not extinguished, but transformed. They burned away, refined and replaced by a blazing, unshakeable determination to rise.

He looked down at the Soul Codex fragment in his hand, then up at the formidable phantom of Mo Lao beside him. For the first time since his life fell apart, there was no despair in his heart—only the fierce, singular belief that his destiny was about to change.

He was no longer a discarded outer disciple. He was now the apprentice of a demonic grandmaster who walked the forgotten line between demon and immortal—the first, crucial step on a road no one in the Dao Realm had ever dared to tread.