All-People Game: As a Sword Cultivator, All I Can Do is Fly with a Sword

In the depths of winter, darkness falls very early.

Qingsong Mountain is located in the heart of northern China. It is usually a steep mountain, and now the roads leading into the mountain are blocked by days of heavy snow.

There is a Taoist temple on the mountaintop, called Qingsong Temple.

The name is extremely common and casual, just like the pine trees in these mountains, which can be seen everywhere and are not unusual.

Hundreds of years ago, this place was a sacred site for martial arts in the north. However, with the changing times, martial arts declined, and now it has become a famous 4A-level scenic spot.

Normally bustling with worshippers and throngs of tourists, the temple has fallen into a rare silence these past few days due to heavy snow blocking the mountain and the suspension of the cable car.

The cold wind howled through the eaves of the main hall, making a whistling sound.

Li Jin stood up from the prayer mat, walked to the entrance of the main hall, and laboriously closed the two heavy wooden doors.

Even though the door was tightly closed, cold wind still seeped in through the cracks, causing the eternal flames inside the hall to flicker.

"The crack in the door is getting bigger and bigger. If it's not fixed by next spring, even stray cats might crawl in to keep warm."

Li Jin rubbed his stiff hands, turned around, and looked at the figure huddled on the prayer mat deep in the main hall.

He was an old Taoist priest, wearing a blue Taoist robe, with gray hair tied up in a messy Taoist bun, looking somewhat unkempt.

He is the abbot of Qingsong Temple, and it is said that he also holds a nominal position as vice president of the city's tourism association. His favorite thing to do on weekdays is to sit in the main hall and stare blankly at the donation box.

The old Taoist priest didn't even lift his eyelids, and said lazily, "What's there to repair? This is a historical site. The more dilapidated it is, the more weathered it looks. Tourists love this sense of historical weight."

"If they replace the doors and windows with brand new aluminum alloy ones, what kind of ancient temple would it be?"

Upon hearing this, Li Jin shook her head helplessly.

He was neither a Taoist priest nor a lay Buddhist; he was simply a long-term resident of the Taoist temple.

As for why he lives here, even he himself can't say for sure. Perhaps it's because it's quiet here, or perhaps it's because the food here, though bland, suits his taste.

He walked back to his prayer mat and pulled a furry thing out from the corner.

It was an electric hot water bottle.

At this moment, the indicator light on the hot water bottle is lit up green, indicating that it has finished heating.

Li Jin contentedly slipped her hands into the velvet cover of the hot water bottle and let out a comfortable sigh.

On this cold winter night, in this drafty hall, nothing is more comforting than a piping hot water bottle.

The old Taoist priest finally opened his eyes, his gaze falling on the green light, and stretched out his withered hand: "Cover it for me for a while."

Li Jin glanced at him, then slightly turned her body to avoid his hand: "No."

The old Taoist priest's eyes widened, and his mustache stood on end: "Don't you understand the importance of respecting the elderly and caring for the young? My old bones are about to freeze to pieces."

"You're a martial artist, with internal energy protecting you from heat and cold," Li Jin said matter-of-factly. "I'm just an ordinary person with a weak constitution; this hot water bottle is my lifeline."

The old Taoist priest was furious. He withdrew his hand and said angrily, "What true qi protecting the body? That's just something written in novels. Martial arts cultivates internal strength."

"Besides, martial arts isn't like cultivating immortality, so how can you be immune to heat and cold? Furthermore, at my age, my energy and blood have already declined, and I'm even more afraid of the cold than you are."

After saying that, he stopped arguing, fumbled around under the futon for a while, pulled out another pink hot water bottle, got up and walked to the socket in the corner of the hall, and plugged it in.

The red indicator light is on.

The old Taoist clapped his hands in satisfaction, sat back down on the futon, and closed his eyes to rest.

The hall fell silent once more.

Li Jin hugged the hot water bottle, feeling the warmth spreading through her palms, and her thoughts began to drift.

He looked at the tall statue of a god in the very center of the hall.

The statue has a dignified face and holds a long sword; it is the founder of Qingsong Temple.

This patriarch was a martial arts grandmaster from 500 years ago. It is said that he could cleave rivers with a single sword strike. He founded his sect here and became a powerful figure in the north.

Martial artists are real people in this world.

Although modern technology is advanced and guns and missiles are capable of destroying everything, martial artists still hold a transcendent status.

They practiced ancient methods, tempered their muscles and bones, and developed great strength. Even a slightly accomplished martial artist could dodge bullets and punch through a steel plate.

But Li Jin had felt something was off since she was a child.

Because he always dreams.

There was no sweat to toughen my muscles and bones, no brutal, hand-to-hand combat in my dreams.

The person in the dream wore a wide robe and long sleeves, rode a flying sword, and traveled in and out of the blue sky, visiting the North Sea in the morning and Cangwu in the evening.

The person in the dream doesn't practice martial arts; they cultivate immortality.

He had asked many people and consulted countless books.

All the information told him that the so-called immortals were nothing more than the deification and imagination of powerful martial artists by the ancients.

Those legends about flying through the sky, disappearing into the earth, moving mountains and filling seas are all exaggerated rhetoric.

Is it really?

If that's the case, why are the images in my dream so vivid?

It was so clear that he could see the patterns on the flying sword, feel the moisture on his cheeks as the clouds brushed against him, and even remember those obscure and difficult incantations.

"Old man," Li Jin suddenly spoke.

The old Taoist priest, with his eyes closed, corrected him, "Call him Abbot."

"Do you believe in immortals?" Li Jin asked.

The old Taoist priest chuckled, opened his eyes, and looked at him as if he were a fool.

"Have you been reading too many novels lately? Where are there any immortals in this world? So-called immortals are just people who have mastered martial arts to the extreme and broken the limits of the human body."

Ultimately, it all comes down to people.

Li Jin then asked, "What about flying on a sword?"

"It's just that he has superb light-foot skills; he uses leverage to glide, making it look like he's flying."

"And what about immortality?"

"If you know how to maintain good health, you can live a long life, up to 120 or 130 years old at most."

Li Jin was silent for a moment, then said, "That's true."

Every statue in this world has a corresponding historical prototype, a renowned martial arts master.

But the people and events in his dreams have left no trace in this world.

Perhaps, it really was just a dream.

Or is it some kind of mental illness?

Li Jin sighed and stood up: "I'm going to sleep."

"Remember to bolt the backyard gate," the old Taoist priest instructed, his eyes fixed on the pink hot water bottle that was charging, as if it were the most precious treasure in the world.

Li Jin passed through the main hall, walked along the snow-covered corridor, and returned to the guest room in the backyard.

The room was small and simply furnished, with only a bed, a table, and a chair.

He took off his coat, crawled into the cold bed, put the slightly cool hot water bottle at his feet, and curled up into a ball.

Outside the window, the wind and snow seemed to have stopped.

The world became unusually quiet.

Li Jin didn't fall asleep immediately; he kept his eyes open, staring at the dark ceiling.

That strange feeling came back again.

It was as if the whole world had suddenly been muted.

The sound of the wind disappeared, the sound of snow breaking branches in the distance disappeared, and even his own breathing seemed to have become distant.

He was familiar with this feeling; there were always such omens before he had that strange dream.

But this time, it seems a little different.

The surrounding darkness seemed to have turned into some kind of tangible liquid, enveloping him within it.

He could not feel cold, nor warmth, nor even his own body.

A mysterious feeling welled up in my heart.

It was as if a door was slowly opening in front of him.

When~

A melodious bell suddenly rang out from the depths of his mind.

This bell sound was not the same as the broken bronze bell at Qingsong Temple; it was much grander and clearer, as if it came from the heavens above, or from the distant past.

As the bell rang, Li Jin felt that the things around her began to change drastically.

Then, my head started to hurt.

It's a sharp pain.

Li Jin tried to scream, but no sound came out.

His vision suddenly went completely white, and all his consciousness dissolved in the white light.

Before he completely lost consciousness, one last thought flashed through his mind.

This hot water bottle seems to be leaking?