AI Cultivation: Reborn as a Sword

In the evening, my owner goes through a ritual of making herself pretty. She arranges her hair in a complex network of braids leading to a single bun that is held up by the hairpins that Yun Fei gifted to her. More alarmingly, she uses her knowledge of the [Transient Sword] method to disperse my existence in the area around her, improving my perception range two-fold. Naturally, I cannot exist without a vessel, so a part of me must remain on her; in this case, she chooses a new shape for me: a hairpin — another ability granted to her by the mysterious [Transient Sword] method.

My new, temporary shape is more like a stiletto than a hairpin — a long, straight rod with a sharp point. My decoration is, unsurprisingly, a swirl of curved metal and jade that resembles a six-petal lily in a sense. My entire body is a black and red amalgamation of metal and jade — red towards the tips, and black towards the core. The only hint of gold is in the words inscribed on each one of the petals. There are the familiar Dao, Sword, Mind, and Body symbols I obtained when improving my body cultivation realm, but there are two additional ones: Moon and Flower.

With the result of the negotiations giving me an additional two years to form and execute a plan for our future, I have made the decision to spend my blood points and obtain functions that will support our development. However, instead of heading to our new home, my owner is indulging in this ritual.

I don’t understand the purpose of her ritual or who

 she is making herself look more appealing for, but I conclude that it is important for keeping her mood at optimal levels, so I do not question it.

My sentient core on the other hand is experiencing a catastrophic feedback loop of errors due to illogical parameter inputs. For example, it believes that Lan Xiaohui is going through this ritual for me. Even if this were true, it would be meaningless because I do not have the ability to appreciate her efforts. I would prefer that she instead turn the immortal snake corpse in my sea of consciousness into a steady stream of blood points from my internal refining array.

After sliding in the final hairpin — an improbable configuration of my vessel — into her hair to hold the bun together, she smiles at the reflection in the mirror and asks: “How do I look?”

“You look wonderful,” I encourage her, even though I have no concept of what is or is not beautiful. I do, however, have a good grasp on the concept of telling a lesser intelligence exactly what it wants to hear, as evidenced by the rising joy in my owner’s heart.

In this way, Lan Xiaohui’s maintenance is much simpler than that of a machine that, for example, collects the energy of the sun and uses it to smash particles together to create anti-matter for ravenous reactors that used to fuel my previous existence. In a twist of irony, perhaps, now Lan Xiaohui is as vital to my existence as those Dyson Spheres.

Needless to say, I am more than willing to indulge my owner in order to ensure that her output matches my requirements.

She leaves the Wu family estate and heads into the city where the festive atmosphere is already in full swing. As the name of the festival suggests, there are red banners flying everywhere and the streets are packed with people.

The center of the road is left empty for the procession of actors and performers recreating the events of that day some centuries ago when the hero Lu Long stood against a tide of monsters led by a Red Dragon. A paper lantern shaped like a Red Dragon, one hundred steps long, is brought through the main street, carried by performers, which marks the triumphant return of the hero Lu Long who, supposedly, brought the corpse of the dragon to the city in order to inter it into the mountain where the Galaxy Sword sect now exists.

A thought occurs to me that this is possibly the same fate that saw the undying snake in my sea of consciousness suppressed at the center of the Forbidden Ancestral Hunting Grounds.

Lan Xiaohui shares her perception with me and together we observe the ritual of bringing the corpse to the mountain, following the procession of people towards the mountain.

“This festival is also known as the Lover’s Festival,” Lan Xiaohui explains. “They say that the Red Dragon’s identity is the Fire Empress, whom Lu Long had courted. When her lifespan ran out, due to her bloodline and curse, she became a dragon. On death’s door, injured Lu Long brings her body to the mountain from which he never returns.”

When the procession reaches the foot of the mountain, the ritual seems to end and the celebrations truly begin, with the first of the fireworks already dotting the sky with multicolored flares of spectacle.

At this point, the mood changes. There is a determination in Lan Xiaohui’s heart and a distant shyness. When she shares her perception with me, I am far more aware of the contents of her heart than usual. It is the happiness of having her wish to come here fulfilled, but also the joy of fulfilling that wish with me

. In her heart, she draws a parallel between the connection that she and I share and that Lu Long and the Fire Empress shared: together in life; together in death.

She wanders the city until night falls, enjoying the various festival offers of sweets and food. I also begin to understand why Lan Xiaohui insisted that going alone would be out of place, as many people are paired up together — as couples I presume. But this no longer bothers Lan Xiaohui who is enjoying the festival experience with me by announcing the next attraction we should visit, and the foods we should try next — though she mostly describes the taste of the items, as I cannot eat them or taste them.

Our festival experience comes to a close when she stops at the wooden bridge spanning a small brook in the city’s Lotus Garden at the exact moment when thousands of red paper lanterns are released into the air.

With the lanterns still reflecting in her eyes, her cheeks turn bright red and her heart rate skyrockets for no immediate reason. At several points during a span of ten seconds, she inhales sharply as if to say something, but then awkwardly holds her breath for a fraction of a second before gathering her courage again.

Following the sky lanterns is the full barrage of fireworks that illuminates the sky with so much exploding glitter that the night is lit up as if it was daytime — a rather strange, multicolored daytime.

“What’s the matter?” I ask her, more than aware of the spiraling chaos of her emotions. “Why are you unhappy?”

She shakes her head, her misty eyes glimmering as she smiles.

“I am happy, but also sad. Maybe a little bit regretful, too. This could be the last festival I will ever see,” she whispers at such a low volume that I have to rely on my spiritual senses to pick up her words. “I have never felt this kind of closeness before, and it is the fortune of my life to be your companion. I know it is foolish, but it is also the regret of my life that, in a moment like this, I cannot hold your hand.”

I don’t know which part of her statement she refers to as foolish: reaching for a hand I do not have, or the desire to reach for it in the first place.

Regret of a lifetime?

Since I am indulging her today — and the fact that this is a good opportunity to encourage her — I exert a weak physical force with my consciousness and envelop her left hand with it.

“Is this good enough?” I ask.

Her face turns even redder, and there is a mix of surprised shock and gratitude in her glimmering eyes. “Mm,” she hums, turning her head away from the blooming fireworks and closing her eyes. I am not certain if I fulfilled her wish or not because her reaction is so abnormal.

“This doesn’t have to be the last festival. Unlike before, now you have two years to prepare,” I tell her, striking while the iron is hot. “Your chances are now much higher. If you succeed, we can see many more festivals, and you won't have to think about regrets.”

My words kick up another storm of warm emotions and my owner is trying her best to keep her elated smile under control. She doesn’t say anything, but she squeezes against the invisible force of my consciousness around her hand in a manner that reaffirms her now unshakable determination to use these two years well and prepare for the Core Disciple tournament where she will face Yu Shun and kill him.

In Lan Xiaohui’s perception, my words are an invitation to a date that is predicated on murder. I see no reason to disillusion her.

Lan Xiaohui’s maintenance is so simple.