Zhou Yang sat on his bed, holding the sword carefully in his hands. “The sword itself doesn’t look much different from any other I’ve seen,” he muttered, running his fingers lightly along its blade. “But there’s something about it... a kind of presence that makes it stand out.”

The sword, just over a meter and a half from hilt to tip, gleamed faintly under the room’s light. Its craftsmanship was flawless, every detail perfectly balanced. Zhou Yang turned it slowly, examining the blade closely. What drew his attention most wasn’t its appearance, but the name etched into its surface—Silent Reaper.

The name was written in English.

Zhou Yang frowned, his grip on the sword tightening slightly. The memory of his arrival in this world was still fresh in his mind, and the sword only added to his growing list of questions. Just what is going on here? he thought, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

Setting the sword aside for a moment, Zhou Yang sighed. “It’s a priceless treasure that could greatly help me. I should be glad, but it also raises more questions I can’t answer.”

He stood from the bed, placing the sword on the table. From his memories, he knew the process to bind a weapon like this—it required a blood contract. Taking a dagger from his storage pouch, he made a small cut on his thumb, allowing a few drops of blood to fall onto the blade.

The moment the blood touched the sword, it spread across the blade’s surface in strange, symmetrical patterns, as if alive. Zhou Yang watched in awe as the patterns glowed faintly before fading as the blood was absorbed into the sword. He waited, expecting something to happen...

But nothing did.

The room was silent, and the sword remained as it was. Zhou Yang frowned, his earlier amazement giving way to confusion. Extending his hand, he picked up the sword again. Still, there was no reaction.

“Why isn’t it responding?” he murmured, his brow furrowing.

As if answering his question, the sword suddenly began to absorb his qi, greedily pulling it from his body. Startled, Zhou Yang quickly let go of the blade, stumbling back. Almost half of his qi was drained in mere moments, leaving him weak and gasping for breath.

“What... what was that?” Zhou Yang said aloud, his voice strained. Sitting on the ground beside the table, he closed his eyes and began cultivating to replenish his qi.

As Zhou Yang meditated, the sword on the table began to glow faintly. Unseen by him, it silently absorbed more of his qi, feeding on the energy.

---

After some time, Zhou Yang opened his eyes and stood, feeling his strength return. Looking at the sword, he tilted his head. “Something feels different,” he muttered.

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Cautiously, he picked up the sword again. This time, it remained still, the earlier qi drain no longer happening. Zhou Yang let out a sigh of relief, but before he could relax, a voice sounded behind him.

“No need to worry about that now,” the voice said, light but firm.

Zhou Yang froze. He hadn’t sensed anyone entering the room. What is it with people appearing behind me without a sound? he thought irritably.

Turning around, Zhou Yang was surprised to see a young boy who appeared no older than eleven or twelve. The boy’s arms were crossed, his expression smug.

“A... kid?” Zhou Yang said, confused.

The boy’s face darkened as if insulted. “Who are you calling a kid? Huh? I’m the spirit of the greatest sword to ever exist!” he declared proudly.

Zhou Yang stared at him, skeptical. “You’re... the spirit of this sword?”

Before Zhou Yang could finish his question, the boy vanished, reappearing inside the sword momentarily before emerging again, now levitating in front of him. “Now do you believe me?”

Zhou Yang nodded slowly but couldn’t help asking, “Then why do you look like that?”

The boy huffed, crossing his arms again. “That’s because you’re too weak to handle my full strength. This form is all your pathetic cultivation can support.”

“I see...” Zhou Yang said, examining the sword in his hand. Swinging it lightly, he noticed something strange. The slash made no sound, not even the faint whisper of air being cut.

“Amazing,” Zhou Yang said softly, his admiration evident.

“Of course it’s amazing!” the spirit said, puffing out his chest. “I’m one of the strongest weapons ever created. Who do you think I am?”

Zhou Yang chuckled at the boy’s arrogance. “You’re right about that,” he said, nodding.

The spirit floated closer, his gaze scrutinizing Zhou Yang. After a moment, he pointed at him. “You’re strange.”

Zhou Yang placed the sword back on the table and turned to the boy, tilting his head. “Strange? How so?”

Internally, Zhou Yang’s mind raced. Does he mean he knows I’m not from this world? But Huo Tian wasn’t from here either... could it be that?

The boy, seemingly unaware of Zhou Yang’s inner turmoil, continued. “There’s a restriction on your soul. Or maybe a seal—it’s hard to say.”

Zhou Yang’s eyes widened in surprise. “A seal? What does that mean?”

The spirit shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. All I can tell you is that something is restricting your soul. What it does or who placed it, I can’t say.”

Disappointed by the lack of answers, Zhou Yang frowned. A restriction on my soul... who could have done that? And why?

Shaking his head, Zhou Yang pushed the thoughts aside. No use thinking about it now. More questions, and still no answers.

Meanwhile, the boy began floating around the room, curiously examining his surroundings. Zhou Yang watched him with an exasperated look. And he says he’s not a kid, he thought.

Looking back at the boy, Zhou Yang asked, “What should I call you?”

The boy paused mid-air, striking a thinking pose. “Hmm... let me think...” After a few seconds, he grinned. “Mo Ying. That’s the name he gave me.”

Zhou Yang nodded subtly, understanding who the boy was referring to.

Mo Ying floated a little higher, his tone suddenly firm and commanding. “Now that you’ve formed a contract with me, let me make a few things clear. Only you can see me. We can speak directly through our minds, so don’t embarrass me by talking out loud like some of my previous wielders did.”

Zhou Yang raised an eyebrow at the sudden shift in tone but nodded in agreement. “Understood.”

As his gaze drifted to the window, he realized the sky was growing lighter. Dawn was breaking. “It’s already morning,” Zhou Yang muttered.

Sending Mo Ying back into the sword, Zhou Yang set it aside and lay down on his bed. “I should at least get some sleep,” he murmured to himself.