The Legend of Sword and Fairy 1 · Chat

Before dawn broke, the roosters began crowing one after another across Shengyu Village in Yuhang Town. The front doors of the Yun Lai Yun Qu Inn remained tightly shut, yet the firewood in the kitchen was already crackling merrily. White steam rose from the steamers, seeping through the cracks of the door and drifting along the bluestone street, mingling with the salty briny air carried by the sea breeze. In the backyard, several faded coarse cloth shirts hung on the clothesline, swaying gently with the wind. By the dock at the entrance of the town, boatmen were carrying baskets of fresh fish out of the holds onto the shore, their bare feet treading on wet, slippery flagstones as their calls mingled with the crash of waves against the bank. An old woman carrying a bamboo basket squatted at the street corner, neatly arranging freshly picked wild vegetables one by one. Dew rolled off the leaves, seeping into the creases of her fingers. Toward the Nanzhao Kingdom, the morning mist was far thicker than in Yuhang. The surface of the Holy Lake was as calm as a mirror, reflecting the outline of the distant Cangshan Mountains. The stone statues along the lakeside were half-submerged in the water, their bases already overgrown with moss. Only the faint, blurry spire of the Sect of Moon Worship's high tower peeked through the fog, where a copper bell at the peak swayed in the breeze, chiming softly and echoing far into the distance. On Fairy Lake Island, the sea breeze swept through the peach grove, scattering petals all over the ground. Beneath the eaves of the Water Moon Palace hung a chime made of sea shells. Amidst the crisp clinking sounds, a young girl's singing floated out faintly—an ancient, unfamiliar tune that sounded as if it came from very far away. On the martial arts grounds of the Lin Manor, the sharp crack of a whip grew increasingly fierce. Meanwhile, high atop Mount Shu, the sea of clouds churned like boiling water; a sword pierced out through the clouds, only to plunge back into the endless white, vanishing from sight once more. Inch by inch, daylight brightened from the edge of the Eastern Sea, shining upon everyone's face—upon the stove in the inn's kitchen, upon the backs of the fishermen at the dock, upon the cloth shoes of travelers on the road, and upon the figure standing on the mountain peak with his sword sheathed. The sunrise of this day would mark the beginning of all stories.