Back then, Butcher was a complete madman—overbearing, invincible, lonely, and yet brimming with learning, nothing like the crude figure he is now. Not only was his saber technique unmatched, his scholarship was equally impressive. The poems he wrote were bold and unrestrained, earning him fame as one of the era’s greatest talents.
For the next two days, Butcher holed up in his room, painting non-stop. Qin Mu didn’t disturb him. Serena Yunxiang got in touch with the Young Patriarch. “The Patriarch went to the Western Lands, but he’s on his way back.”
If Oldridge Village ever held a contest of literary talent, Deaf would take first place, and Butcher second. Even though he later grew wild and foul-mouthed, he was once the most celebrated literary giant.
At the time, he had already challenged nearly every top expert. Even Ben Coates, the Grand Venerable of Loulan Golden Palace, had to hide in his palace and didn’t dare show his face.
He was full of ambition; aside from a troublesome disciple, his life felt complete. Of course, his disciple was impressive too—Libationer Barrett, also known as the Overmountain Sabre.
For forty or fifty years, storm and gloom never returned. Fleeting clouds pass by, but in the end—Boundless One-Line Heaven!
Boasting is pointless—after disaster, what heroes want is peace. Gazing across sea and sky, every step leaves a trail of smoke!
Butcher pioneered the Boundless One-Line Heaven, elevating the battle skill school to unprecedented heights. At that time, saber arts dominated the martial world, overshadowing spell and sword techniques.
It was then that Butcher finally couldn’t resist raising his blade to the sky. He wasn’t like the Imperial Preceptor of Everpeace, who sought reform—he simply wanted catharsis!
“After I created this move, I immediately tested it. That slash—split the heavens open.”
Butcher danced his blade, executing the Boundless One-Line Heaven. This time, he didn’t unleash any power—just performed the move from start to finish.
He sheathed his saber and stood still, wearing a strange expression. After a moment, he seemed to recall his wild days: “Then I saw something bizarre—the sky split open, and beyond it, there were no stars. I was cautious and didn’t rush up right away. Instead, I found a few like-minded friends, all skilled in numerology.”
Qin Mu was surprised—Butcher, cautious? He’d always been the most hot-tempered, charging in headfirst, swinging his blade at the slightest provocation.
This side of him was just a façade Grandpa Butcher put on. Anyone who actually believed he was a brute… probably ended up dead. Qin Mu thought to himself.
[Intentionally skipped non-narrative/system line for transparency.]
Butcher fell silent, then after a while said bleakly, “My friends died. In the rift I cut open, a giant eye appeared—strange, ancient. When it looked at me, I felt my soul tremble, as if it was being pulled out. But my body was strong, my heart pounding, and I suppressed my spirit. My friends couldn’t. They….”
His eyes twitched, and he fell silent again.
I didn’t rush to hunt down the owner of that eye. Instead, I carried my friends’ bodies to their homes, settled their families, and gave them proper burials.
Butcher stared off, dazed. “I begged their families for forgiveness. One friend was my sworn brother—his wife was a good woman, but she slapped me. Then she told me to get out, as far as I could, and not to seek revenge. I understood—if I did, I’d die. But I went anyway.”
He smiled at Qin Mu and said, “My friends, my brother, died for no reason—all because of me. How could I not avenge them? A man with an eight-foot frame, muscles like cords, pride in his chest and a great blade in hand—why shouldn’t I seek vengeance and speak my mind? My sister-in-law cared for me, didn’t want me to die, but my saber and my heart were both upright and unyielding. I had to avenge them! So I went up alone, blade in hand. Ha, everyone says I’m mad, right?”
Qin Mu nodded silently.
For the next two days, Butcher holed up in his room, painting non-stop. Qin Mu didn’t disturb him. Serena Yunxiang contacted the Young Patriarch. “The Patriarch went to the Western Lands, but he’s on his way back.”
That duel was said to be the moment when the greatest battle skill master—Heavenblade—went mad and challenged the heavens themselves. Later generations spoke of it as myth.
Heavenblade was cut in half, his blood raining down on the mortal world. The battle skill school lost its strongest champion, though it still thrived for a time. When the Imperial Preceptor of Everpeace rose to power, he challenged the entire battle skill school for their violence and bloodshed, killing many veterans. From then on, the school declined.
Qin Mu turned and laughed. "Imperial Preceptor, there's no need for such formality! Just say you want to see the Cult Master. Calling me Human Emperor is too polite!"
Serena Yunxiang was full of admiration. “I could never match the Cult Master’s shamelessness.”
Qin Mu couldn’t help laughing. The sky was a hundred thousand miles high and three hundred zhang thick—he’d calculated it himself with Victor Bloom, Wayne Shen, and Lin Xuan. Butcher, being both brash and a poet, loved to exaggerate. Three inches was just his way of putting it.
“When I got up there, I saw all kinds of bizarre formations.”
Butcher stared up at the sky, dazed. “The sky was only a thin line wide, packed with countless self-operating formations—so complex they formed the sun, moon, stars, and the star river. I was furious—damn it, the whole sky was fake! All those Dao Gate old-timers calculating the heavens every day, but their results were all lies. Ordinary people worshipped the sun and moon, but what they bowed to was just this junk. I wanted to smash it all, destroy it—see how they’d fool people then. And then…”
And then, Heavenblade met the gods—the ones guarding these false celestial phenomena.
Heavenblade fought the gods and was cut in half, crashing down from the sky.
His lower body was taken away by the Witch-Venerable, along with the severed hand of a god he had cut off. Later, Qin Mu stole both back—now the hand remains with Butcher.
“I never found the owner of that eye, nor avenged my friends. I was crippled—ruined.”
A wildness flashed in Butcher’s eyes, but his voice stayed steady: “I have no face to see my friends’ families, no face to see my sister-in-law, no face even to die. My friends are still watching me….”
He looked as if he might cry or laugh, or both. “I couldn’t let them care for a cripple like me, and I couldn’t let Libationer Barrett see me broken. In this world, there’s only a Heavenblade who dies in battle, never one who clings to life. It was raining and snowing that night—I crawled and crawled, all the way to the Great Ruins, through icy mud. It was Grandpa Blind who found me and dragged me back to the village. That damned blind man still brings it up every chance he gets…”
Butcher’s face darkened. “Last year, when Grandpa Blind and I left the Great Ruins, I couldn’t resist visiting my sister-in-law. She was old, her eyes failing, her mind going, and she didn’t recognize me. Her grandson was with her; she could no longer walk and just sat in a recliner. He told me the thing she said most was, ‘I never should have let my second brother go.’”
Tears welled in Butcher’s tiger eyes, but his tone stayed calm: “I stayed with her through her final days. Even at the end, she kept talking about me, never knowing I was right there. She said she’d ruined me….”
Qin Mu fell silent.
Butcher straightened up. “I wasn’t in the sky long, but I saw a lot. The sun, moon, and stars up there were all formations packed into a narrow space. They looked like… like…”
He glanced at Deaf, who’d been turned into a big black bull. “It was like a painting. But the sun, moon, and stars weren’t just drawn—they truly existed, moving on their own, hidden within the painting, operating in its world. I’ve seen Deaf’s paintings—he’s skilled, but he can’t reach that level yet.”
Qin Mu was taken aback. “So inside the picture, formations created dazzling scenes of sun, moon, and stars?”
“Moo!” Beside Qin Mu, a large black ox snorted angrily—several doe demons nearby were flirting with him.
Butcher shooed away the doe demons and raised his butcher knife to the ox’s head, threatening it. The black ox shivered in fear.
With a snort, Butcher stabbed the ox in the neck, carefully skinned it, sending the doe demons fleeing in panic.
Deaf rolled out from inside the ox hide, complaining, “Butcher, you nearly hurt me.”
“The sky is like a painting, but not just a painting. The sun, moon, and stars inside are like forged treasures. This painting covers the real sky completely, letting the formations run for tens of thousands of years. You can’t do it—you’re not strong enough.”
Butcher slid his butcher knife back into its sheath. “The gods up there are just watchdogs guarding the celestial diagram, not true gods. They’re powerful, no weaker than those from High Heaven. But the owner of that divine eye—I never saw him. He’s likely not in this world. When I investigated the sky, he noticed me and looked my way.”
The painting that covers the world—the sun, moon, stars, and star river inside are all formations, operating automatically. The painting is three hundred zhang thick, a hundred thousand miles high.
Qin Mu’s head throbbed. Could humans really create something like this?
“At the time, I didn’t see what was beyond the sky.”
Butcher’s face darkened. “My slash only cut through the celestial diagram, not its far side. Back then, my body was terrifyingly strong—I survived, but I lost my mind.”
Even now, Butcher sometimes lapses into madness, cursing the damned heavens, growing ever more cynical.
Everyone in Oldridge Village had been battered, body and soul, and all carried a touch of cynicism.
“I can paint too—I could draw what I saw up there.”
Butcher said, “But my paintings aren’t as good as Deaf’s. Mu’er, give me a few days—I’ll draw those formations for you.”
Qin Mu was astonished.
Butcher was a giant of a man, strong as an ox demon, with a face full of wild beard—when he shaved with his butcher knife, sparks would fly!
Who would’ve thought such a rough man was a master of both poetry and painting—and revered as Heavenblade!
Deaf wasn’t surprised. “In our village, Grandpa Blind is the least cultured. Butcher’s poetry and painting are first-rate—if he’d devoted himself to art, he’d be famous in history.”
Qin Mu glanced at Grandpa Blind, who was glaring fiercely at Deaf.
Serena Yunxiang was full of admiration. “I could never match the Cult Master’s shamelessness.”
Qin Mu was surprised. “The Patriarch went to the Western Lands—could he be meeting an old flame?”
Just then, a voice called out: “Imperial Preceptor of Everpeace, requesting an audience with the Human Emperor!”
Qin Mu turned and laughed. "Imperial Preceptor, there's no need for such formality! Just say you want to see the Cult Master. Calling me Human Emperor is too polite!"
Serena Yunxiang was full of admiration. “I could never match the Cult Master’s shamelessness.”