Chapter Two: The Great Wilderness Blade

When it comes to the question of who the protagonist is, it all begins with a certain blade.

As for whether he could wield that blade himself, Liu Pan had little confidence. After all, he was the author, and he knew every hidden secret of this world.

Spurring his horse onward, Liu Pan arrived at his destination in just half a day.

It was an abyss, a chasm that split the earth abruptly, dividing the entire forest in two. The abyss spanned nearly a hundred yards across, its depth unfathomable. Thick mists swirled within, resembling armies clashing in chaos or demons baring their fangs and claws, with no trace of the bottom in sight.

This abyss was called the Coldfall Chasm, the only place of certain death for a thousand miles around Whitewood Town.

The reason for coming here was because, in the original novel, after Liu Kuang was expelled from his clan, he was hunted by agents of the Second Elder. Fleeing for his life, he was finally forced to leap into Coldfall Chasm, which alone allowed him to survive.

To survive by venturing into death—that was the crux. It was here, beneath Coldfall Chasm, that Liu Kuang unlocked his protagonist’s golden finger: the Great Wilderness Blade.

Staring at the chasm, as insurmountable as a heavenly moat, Liu Pan couldn’t help but marvel. Though he had described every detail of Coldfall Chasm in his writing, seeing it with his own eyes filled him with awe.

The origins of Coldfall Chasm dated back ten thousand years. The precise time was lost to history. Back then, the Tianfeng Continent was sparsely populated, and this southern border was nothing but primal forest, uninhabited by man.

But later, something changed. A great battle carved out the chasm. In the aftermath, many came for its sake, including some insignificant figures who arrived at the southern border, never to leave.

As the millennia passed, the secret of the chasm faded from memory. Now, only a handful of ancient houses in the Central Plains retained any record. And if Liu Pan weren’t the author himself, setting everything into place, he would never have known any of this.

Removing the cloth and rope from his horse’s back, Liu Pan flicked his whip to send the animal away.

He hadn’t brought these supplies for amusement.

To descend into Coldfall Chasm, proper equipment was essential. Liu Pan wasn’t about to hurl himself down like Liu Kuang did in the novel. After all, he wasn’t being hunted, and he doubted he’d be as lucky as Liu Kuang—caught by a branch, cushioned by a bed of soft leaves, and landing near the blade itself.

The cloth was the finest from Jinxian Silks, and half a bolt had nearly emptied Liu Pan’s savings. Fortunately, the money wasn’t hard-earned, so he spent it without remorse.

In no time, he fashioned a simple parachute. Simple, because it was merely a few ropes tied around the edges of the cloth—nothing more.

Fastening one end of the rope tightly around his chest and abdomen, Liu Pan took a deep breath to steady his fear, then clutched the parachute and leapt from the edge.

A fierce wind whipped his hair as he plunged. The swirling mist rushed up at him in the blink of an eye. Liu Pan abruptly released the parachute; there was a resounding “bang” as the cloth billowed open. The jolt nearly made him cough blood as the rope dug into his chest and belly. Fortunately, the shock lasted only an instant; uncomfortable, but not fatal.

The parachute sank slowly, vanishing into the layers of mist.

Liu Pan’s nerves tightened. The unknown always brings both excitement and fear; even knowing there was no danger in the mist, the dense white around him still made him uneasy.

The further he descended, the colder it became. After the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, the mist grew dim and gray—not because it thinned, but because the light was fading.

Liu Pan didn’t dare to breathe too loudly. He fixed his gaze downward and waited in silence for the moment he would break through the mist and reach the ground.

It was both a moment and an eternity. When the mist below finally thinned, Liu Pan let out a breath of relief—he had reached the bottom.

The instant his feet touched the soft, spongy layer of rotting leaves, his mind reeled. The world seemed all the more real, a sensation that welled from his heart. He didn’t know why—perhaps it was the renewed certainty that he truly had crossed into this world, and it was no dream.

The base of the chasm was damp, but not flooded. The thick layer of leaves had drifted down from the forests above over countless centuries. For certain reasons, few creatures lived here, and the silence was almost terrifying.

His clothes were already soaked through by the mist during his descent, clinging to his body with a chill that reached his bones.

Yet to his surprise, despite the biting cold, Liu Pan did not feel any discomfort. On the contrary, a vague sense of exhilaration rose within him—as though he was born to dwell in frost and ice.

He frowned slightly, but didn’t dwell on his body’s peculiarities. Instead, he measured the distance between the stone walls on either side of the chasm.

Above, Coldfall Chasm spanned nearly a hundred yards, but at the bottom it was only seven or eight. Though the mist obscured his view and the light was dim, Liu Pan quickly got his bearings and chose the broader direction to proceed.

The Great Wilderness Blade was a sentient artifact. The chasm itself had been created when the blade struck the earth, splitting it open. To find the blade, one had to go to the very heart of the chasm.

As he pressed onward, the space between the stone walls widened, and his surroundings grew clearer. Liu Pan knew: the closer he came to the chasm’s center, the wider the opening above, and the more daylight filtered down.

At last, a withered branch appeared ahead, jutting from the stone wall. Liu Pan’s spirits lifted. He glanced up at the mist growing ever brighter above, excitement stirring in his chest.

The light here was just enough for plants to survive, meaning he was truly close to the heart of the chasm. In the original novel, it was the branches that broke Liu Kuang’s fall and saved his life.

After another stick of incense’s worth of walking, the passage ahead suddenly opened up—the rock walls drew back, doubling the width. The snow-white mist floated and swirled, and from one wall a gnarled dragon tree stretched out, its branches like a giant fan blotting out most of the sky.

Seeing the tree, Liu Pan’s heart pounded. He knew: this was the heart of Coldfall Chasm. The Great Wilderness Blade was close by!

The blade was called a sentient artifact because it possessed a spirit and could recognize its master.

He studied the rotten, plank-like thing before him. Even as the author—the supremely overpowered creator—Liu Pan couldn’t help but laugh. Who would ever associate this moldy “plank” with a legendary sentient blade?

A drop of blood—that was the simplest and most effective method for forging a bond in the cultivation world. Without hesitation, Liu Pan drew a dagger from his coat and sliced his finger.

A drop of blood fell, and Liu Pan watched it with anticipation. The Great Wilderness Blade, the protagonist’s golden finger, was no ordinary item. Liu Pan knew: if he could forge a bond with the blade, his path to mastery would be far smoother. Coupled with his knowledge of this world, his rise to the pinnacle would be inevitable.

But hopes are sweet, and reality seldom obliges.

After half a cup of tea’s time, Liu Pan stared at the drop of crimson blood on the “rotten plank” and sighed. As he expected—even as the author, his arrival had not altered the world’s essence.

In the novel, Liu Kuang bonded with the blade partly because of luck, but more importantly because his bloodline had awakened its ancient power.

The Liu clan, though now an unremarkable family at the southern border, could trace its lineage back ten thousand years.

Simply put, the Great Wilderness Blade was originally the ancestral weapon of Liu Luohan, founder of the Liu clan!

Liu Pan frowned. Although he had anticipated this outcome, it still stung to see it confirmed—that his blood could not forge a bond with the blade.

He wiped his blood from the blade’s surface—and froze. There, where the blood had fallen, a crimson snowflake had appeared!

Liu Pan was stunned, momentarily at a loss.

In the original novel, when the blade accepted Liu Kuang, a blood-red flame appeared on its surface. Liu Pan knew this well. The blade’s original master, Liu Luohan, despite the “cold” in his name, had practiced fire arts. The blade itself was a pure fire-type sentient artifact.

So, after forging a bond, the correct mark should be a flame. Yet the blade hadn’t accepted Liu Pan, and instead, a snowflake had appeared. What could this mean?

Perplexed, Liu Pan turned the blade over and over, studying it for a long time without understanding. He brushed his finger over the snowflake, and suddenly, his brows arched. A possibility occurred to him.

Perhaps, because he too was of Liu blood, even without an awakened ancestor’s bloodline, the blade recognized it as kin—and so it responded accordingly.

As for the snowflake, perhaps it had to do with his current constitution.

With this thought, Liu Pan’s heart stirred. Since the blade had reacted to his blood, its spirit must have awakened!

The blade’s spirit—that was the true essence of the golden finger.

What use was a nearly ruined artifact? The spirit was the key!

Any sentient artifact was priceless, not merely for its power, but for the knowledge it accumulated over a lifetime with its master.

Pondering this, Liu Pan pressed the Great Wilderness Blade to his brow.