Love Beyond the Grace (白日提灯) left me with one burning question: why did the sleeping Po Wang Jian (破妄剑) choose a mortal with no spiritual power as its master? He Simu’s (贺思慕) shocked face said it all. That sword had been dead cold for years, rejecting every hand that touched it. Yet Duan Xu (段胥), a mere scholar’s son without a trace of spiritual power, made it glow. What did the blade see that no one else could? The answer hides not in magic, but in three buried lives he has lived—each darker and more twisted than the last.
A Mortal's Miracle
The Po Wang Jian wasn’t just any weapon. He Simu’s aunt, Bai Qing (柏清), forged it with her own spirit, and the blade grew a will of its own. Arrogant and picky, it would never bow to someone ordinary. After Bai Qing died, the sword fell into a deep silence. Warriors, mages, nobles—none could wake it. To everyone, it became a piece of rusty scrap metal.
So when He Simu saw Duan Xu holding it, and the faint light flickering along the edge, she couldn’t believe her eyes. On paper, he was just the son of the Minister of Rites from the Hanning (翰宁) family—a clan of scholars. His father wrote poetry, not battle plans. Yet Duan Xu threw away a safe career in the capital, ran to the border, and started fighting alongside General Wudang (武当). Worse, he had zero spiritual energy. How could such a man wake a legendary sword?
He Simu didn’t show her confusion. She smiled, asked casual questions, and secretly sent people to dig into his past. Every answer only raised more doubts. The more she learned, the less he made sense. But the sword doesn’t lie. If it chose him, there had to be a reason—one buried so deep that even he tried to forget it.
Hell to Honor
His first identity is the one everyone sees: the youngest general of Da Liang (大梁). Bright armor, war horses, medals on his chest. He looks like a hero from a storybook. But that’s just the shiny shell. Peel it off, and you find a boy who crawled out of hell.
His second identity: Deadly Assassin Number Seventeen of Tian Zhixiao (天知晓). At seven years old, he was snatched from his home and thrown into that nightmare. Every day, they trained him to kill. No kindness, no sleep without blood on his hands. Just darkness and the sound of steel cutting flesh. He survived by becoming a ghost.
At fourteen, he made his move. He stabbed both eyes of the man who trained him—the monster who thought he’d broken the child forever. Then he ran. Across mountains, through rivers, until he found Da Liang again and reclaimed his name. That experience taught him the deepest evil humans can do. But it also gave him something rare: a quiet understanding of pain, and a need to save others. That broken compassion touched the sword’s spirit. It leaned toward him, curious. Still, that wasn’t enough to make it wake fully.
The Blood Pact
The third identity is the real key. Duan Xu is not just a soldier or a survivor. He is the sacrifice of a century-old blood pact made by the Duan family—and the destined soul-caller that Bai Qing searched for her entire life. Centuries ago, his ancestors struck a deal with the ghost realm: prosperity for the family in exchange for offering descendants’ souls, generation after generation.
From the moment Duan Xu was born, his soul was already tied to the Po Wang Jian. Not by choice, but by ancient ink and bone. That bond is stronger than any spiritual power or heroic deed. The sword recognized him not because he was worthy, but because his very existence was written into its forging. He belonged to it before he could walk.
And then there’s Bai Qing. She spent her life looking for one person—the one who could call lost souls home. That person turned out to be Duan Xu. When she died, her longing stayed inside the sword. So when Duan Xu’s hand closed around the hilt, the blade felt her wish come true. It woke not out of respect, but out of completion. The pact, the ghost realm, Bai Qing’s unfinished prayer—all of it converged on a single man with no magic. That’s why the light returned. That’s why the sword chose him.
