Zhou Yan turned around, his gaze slightly lowered as he looked beneath the crystal coffin, where a broken, snow-white long sword lay.
This sword was snow-white, so white that it seemed almost forlorn.
Many spider-web-like cracks marred its surface.
Within those cracks, a broken Sword Spirit lay sleeping.
"Little Xue... I've arrived. Now, I have become a true powerful warrior among the Twelve Sword Souls, a supreme genius, far surpassing the Dual Sword Souls...
I'm going to save your sister, Xiao Shuang... But you must hold on!"
Zhou Yan gently cradled the sword as if holding a rare treasure. This broken sword now appeared extremely desolate, bleak.
A bone-chilling coldness emanated bit by bit from the sword, no longer possessing the warmth it once had.
The Little Xue of the past, the Feng Lingqing of the past... Memories of a happily laughing past. Though powerless, not mighty, and far from a notable genius, those days represented a lifetime of joyful memories.
