Bingxin Jue: Lingyun’s Revenge Story

At the summit of Kunlun, where the snow never melts, Ling Yun sits cross-legged by Eagle Beak Cliff. His black training clothes whip in the mountain wind, and frost clings to his hair. With his eyes closed and his palms facing each other, wisps of white qi rise from his body and turn into mist in the cold air. Yet the inner power within him surges like boiling magma, crazily colliding through his meridians. That is the ferocious qi formed from the Nie clan’s inherited “mad blood,” the very power those black-clad men sought three years ago when they slaughtered the entire Ling family, all for this force capable of overturning the jianghu.

“Let the heart be as clear as ice, and even if the sky falls, do not be startled.”

The low incantation slips between his teeth as Ling Yun furrows his brow and tries to use the cool inner power of the Ice Heart Art to wrap around that violent qi. This mental cultivation method, inherited from antiquity, was found in the pouch his father gripped tightly before dying. The formula contains only a few lines, yet it holds profound mysteries for calming the spirit and steadying the breath. But at this moment, the ferocious qi inside him is unusually restless, as if sensing something, repeatedly breaking through the ice walls built by the Ice Heart Art and sending a sweet, bloody taste up his throat.

For three years, he has hidden at the summit of Kunlun, suppressing his inner power every day with the Ice Heart Art, while his swordsmanship has long been tempered at the edge of life and death into something ever sharper. His father’s dying words still echo in his ears: “Mad blood is neither disaster nor... ”