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Xie Chengyun left for Songtao Pavilion, while Chu Yunsheng remained in Heming Courtyard with the old servant Fu Bo, tidying up the small side room that would become his temporary lodging.
The side room had once been Xie Chengyun's little study in his childhood. It had not fallen into disuse and was regularly cleaned, so it took little effort to set in order and make ready for occupation.
There were very few servants in Heming Courtyard. Fu Bo only called over one quick-handed maid of fourteen or fifteen to help. Within sight, there were merely two or three figures moving through the courtyard, attending to their tasks. It bore none of the bustle or formality typical of a noble household, nor did it possess the splendor one would expect of a legitimate heir.
As they went about the cleaning, Fu Bo kept stealing cautious glances at Chu Yunsheng, hesitating several times as if he wanted to speak but stopped himself.
Perhaps it was because others were present in the courtyard, or perhaps he dared not comment on Xie Chengyun's decision, nor casually provoke Chu Yunsheng. In the end, he said nothing at all.
By the time everything was settled, half an hour had passed. Xie Chengyun had yet to return. Night had grown deeper, half the lamps in the courtyard were extinguished, and the place gradually fell silent.
Chu Yunsheng propped open one of the side room's windows. Half a lotus pond came into view, its surface a ripple of jade-green water, along with a slender willow swaying gently in the breeze. Shimmering reflections filtered through the gaps in the leaves, and together with the cool night wind, spilled across the bed.
After appreciating the tranquil moonlit scene for a moment, Chu Yunsheng sat cross-legged on the bed, deciding to take the opportunity to sort through the martial arts techniques belonging to the original owner of this body.
Judging by the current timeline, Xie Chengyun should have just returned to the capital after six years of traveling the world, having reached the peak of the Hanshen realm, in time to undergo his coming-of-age ceremony and formally enter adulthood.
Rong Ange, on the other hand, was four years younger than Xie Chengyun. At present, he was only sixteen, still in the Hanshen realm. It would not be until he turned eighteen that he would reach the Dingdan realm.
In other words, there were still eight years before the upheaval at Taixu Temple, and nine years before Rong Ange descended the mountain. For the foreseeable future, no protagonists would appear before Chu Yunsheng.
He had ample time to temper himself and strengthen his power.
Moreover, he had no intention of standing by and doing nothing when the disaster at Taixu Temple came eight years later. If an early warning could not avert it, then he would have to step in and stop it himself. Strength would therefore be crucial.
Of course, speaking now of helping Taixu Temple avert catastrophe was still far too early. At present, he was merely an ordinary martial artist at the late Hanshen stage, still a long way from even the White Dragon Ranking.
What was more, the original body was already 28 years old. A 28 year old at late Hanshen stage could only be considered moderately talented—absolutely nothing that could be called a genius.
If the original owner of this body had begun practicing martial arts earlier, he might have achieved far more. Though he still would not have matched those prodigious geniuses on the White Dragon Ranking who rose like blazing suns, he could at least have easily become a first-rate expert—serving as a retainer to a minor noble house, or establishing himself independently as the leader of a small faction.
With greater effort, he might even have broken through to the Dingdan realm someday.
Unfortunately, he started far too late. Orphaned from a young age and burdened by the struggle to survive, the original owner let his years slip away. His natural talent for martial arts was wasted in that long stretch of hardship. By the time he encountered the opportunity to step onto the martial path, his bones and meridians had already fully formed. He had missed the optimal age to train, and by then, it was already too late for regrets.
He began practicing martial arts at 13, reached the Hanshen stage at 18, and then endured 10 bitter years to advance to the late Hanshen stage. Compared to the countless figures in the vast martial world, he could indeed be considered a strong practitioner.
Given his rate of progress, reaching half-step Dingdan before his qi and blood declined at sixty would pose no difficulty at all.
With such cultivation, so long as he was sufficiently cautious and did not provoke those he could not afford to offend, he would have had ample means to protect himself while traveling the martial world.
Yet he feared the perils of the jianghu too deeply and chose seclusion instead. In one stroke, he secluded himself straight into disaster: his name never spread, and he died before his time, not even counting as a ripple upon the rivers and lakes—let alone fulfilling his lofty ambitions, or the self-assured belief that as long as he lay low, he would eventually become a genius.
One must know that though the martial world teems with talent, true geniuses are few.
The White Dragon Ranking, which lists young prodigies under 30 across the realm, contains only fifty names. The Astonishing God List, which ranks formidable Dingdan experts below the Youxian realm, has merely 40. As for the Ascension Immortal List, with its twenty-two Youxian, its numbers scarcely change over decades.
Everyone longs for fame and glory; everyone dreams of reaching the pinnacle. But how many, each year, descend the mountains to roam the world? How many step into the Hanshen stage and enter the jianghu?
Tens of thousands.
The mediocre are always hundreds, thousands of times more numerous than geniuses—like endless grains of sand compared to the stars strewn across the heavens.
Had there been no unforeseen turn of fate, Chu Yunsheng's original body would have been just such a moderately gifted yet ordinary man. But now, everything was different.
Following the memories of the original owner, Chu Yunsheng sat cross-legged in stillness, concealing his spirit and entering deep meditation.
He had never practiced martial arts before, yet when it came to entering meditative absorption, he was even more adept than the original owner of the body. He scarcely needed to spend time calming his mind or clearing away stray thoughts before stillness arose, his inner lake becoming clear and tranquil. Many things were like this: as the fragments of memory in his mind continued to increase, he seemed to possess an inexplicable familiarity with experiences he had never once gone through before.
The tangle of thoughts faded away, his spirit grew pure and quiet, as though he were set down in an empty, secluded place.
Gradually, Chu Yunsheng sensed the true qi surging through the meridians of his body.
It originated in the dantian and flowed like running water, dispersing into the riverlike channels of the meridians, gurgling along as it nourished and strengthened his body. After completing a full circulation, it grew a little stronger, then—like a hundred rivers returning to the sea—gathered once more in the dantian.
Different martial techniques give rise to different kinds of true qi.
The true qi within Chu Yunsheng was distinctly unlike the one Xie Chengyun had directed at him with a single finger in the prison cell. It carried no biting cold; instead, it bore a hazy, profound quality, elusive and difficult to grasp.
This was precisely why, even while bound by the God-Sealing Shackles, Chu Yunsheng had still been able to mobilize a small portion of his true qi to smooth Xie Chengyun's outer robes—and also why the original owner, when imprisoned, had possessed a certain confidence in the possibility of a successful surprise attack.
It was the peculiar nature of this true qi that prevented even the God-Sealing Shackles from sealing it away completely, without the slightest leak.
The martial art that produced this true qi was a manual titled The Shengsheng Yi Dao Scripture.
This technique was incomplete, containing only the Hanshen chapter, yet it was sufficient for a practitioner to find their own path and achieve the Dingdan realm. Once one reached higher realms, changing techniques would be natural and would pose no hindrance.
According to the words of the kind-hearted elder before his death, although this martial art was obscure and difficult to comprehend, it roughly grasped the surface of the ultimate principles of heaven and earth. It was an excellent manual, and within it was a single ultimate move—once mastered, its power was immense, something rarely seen even among those in the Hanshen realm.
Naturally, it could not compare with the supreme arts of great sects or powerful clans, but it was still far superior to many other martial techniques.
The problem was that this art was truly both arduous and abstruse. That the original owner had taken over ten years to reach the late Hanshen stage was partly due to his own aptitude, but also no small part due to the profundity and taxing nature of this technique.
Coordinating with the circulation of true qi within his body, Chu Yunsheng went through the Shengsheng Yi Dao Scripture from beginning to end in his memory, feeling a trace of surprise.
In his view, this martial art was undoubtedly derived from the I Ching. Compared to the I Ching, however, it was easier to understand and more closely aligned with the martial path.
(TN: The I Ching, also called The Book of Changes, is an ancient Chinese classical text dating back over 3,000 years. It's one of the foundational works of Chinese philosophy and cosmology.)
It spoke of the fates of heaven and humanity, of divination and destiny; it expounded the transformations of yin and yang. Once initiated, it generated a breath of profound, mysterious true qi—one that connected to destiny, discerned the will of heaven, and contained within it a single technique, known as the Yin–Yang Crosswise Palm.
The original owner had already cultivated this art to the level of minor accomplishment, barely attaining the late Hanshen stage. To break through into the peak realm, at the very least, it would have to be brought to major accomplishment.
By the original owner's understanding of the Shengsheng Yi Dao Scripture, reaching major accomplishment would likely have taken a lifetime. But Chu Yunsheng was well-versed in the principles of the I Ching. Though not a specialist, he had long believed it to be interconnected with mathematics and had studied it in depth. As such, this martial art was not particularly difficult for him.
With eyes closed and spirit gathered, silently reciting the scripture in his heart, a faint, indistinct breeze gradually began to circulate around Chu Yunsheng. Wisps of vapor rose in the air, shrouding his figure until it became hazy and hard to discern.
Moonlight draped itself over the scene, wavering and uncertain, as though falling into emptiness.
The sound of wind, of flowing water; the sound of leaves drifting down; the chirping of insects and the calls of cicadas; the subtle sounds of flower buds blooming and tender grass breaking through the soil—all entered his ears with crystalline clarity.
The fragrance of flowers, the scent of books and ink, the lingering trace of aloeswood incense, and even the faint smell of dust all passed across his nose.
Chu Yunsheng opened his eyes and gazed into the distance. He saw, atop the small pavilion at the center of the lotus pond, a dewdrop clinging to the edge of a roof tile, on the verge of falling yet not quite—clear and crystalline, cradling within it the reflection of a full moon.
At the late Hanshen stage, the five senses were already keen, but there were still degrees of acuity.
At this moment, as Chu Yunsheng emerged from meditative absorption and opened his eyes, he had undoubtedly heightened the five senses of this body by yet another degree.
Suddenly, his qi stirred in response to something. Chu Yunsheng shifted his gaze and, across a spread of lotus leaves and the moon's clear radiance, looked toward the courtyard's hanging flower gate.
Xie Chengyun stepped inside. As if sensing something, he lifted his eyes and looked over.
He saw Chu Yunsheng seated by the window of the side room. A hint of surprise flickered across his face as he slightly raised his brows, then he laughed softly. "You have battle intent."
Chu Yunsheng rose and stepped out of the side room.
"Having just broken free, you've already made progress. Your technique and aptitude are indeed quite good. It's just that you started training too late and wasted several years. If you wish to surge ahead from behind and catch up head-on, it won't be easy. You are far from my match—perhaps you couldn't even take a single sword strike. If you have the will, in the future you may rise at the hour of Yin each day, and I can spar with you."
As Xie Chengyun walked at an unhurried pace into the main hall, he continued, "When you were circulating your heart method just now, your body bore traces of the Dao. Yet it is not orthodox—likely of the Profound Gate variety."
"Your palms are lustrous white, with residual true qi released outward. You should be adept at palm techniques. However, the Profound Gate prevails through abstruseness and marvels, and is less compatible with palm arts. You would do best to abandon palm techniques and seek out a weapon instead; it may yield unexpected results."
Whether from Rong Ange's perspective in the original plot or from the original owner's memories, there had been little understanding of the martial world as a whole. Thus, it never occurred to Chu Yunsheng that merely leaving behind faint traces of circulating a technique would allow Xie Chengyun to see through so much of his background.
Such breadth of knowledge, along with keen insight and profound understanding of martial arts, truly befitted a prodigy of the age.
This owed partly to Xie Chengyun's six years of travel across the world, and partly to the vast intelligence resources of the Xie family. Yet more than that, it was due to Xie Chengyun's own exceptional talent—his sharp mind and discerning eye—that he had attained such vision and accomplishment.
The two of them entered the main hall.
The lamps inside the room had, of course, not been extinguished; it was still brightly lit and imposing.
As soon as Chu Yunsheng entered, he asked, "What weapon did Ji Ling use?"
A maid outside heard the movement and hurried over, presenting hot tea.
Xie Chengyun instructed her to summon others to attend to the bath.
Once the maid withdrew, he replied, "Ji Ling used a sword in the past. After entering the Nine Immortals Palace, she switched to a snake whip. Her weapon, Rou Chang Duan, has already been destroyed. I will prepare a new whip for you, so you can maintain the disguise."
Ji Ling used a whip—something Chu Yunsheng had not known before. Now that he did know, however, he found himself uninterested in snake whips or the like.
He trusted that Xie Chengyun had not deceived him in what he said earlier, and thus he seriously considered the suggestion to abandon palm techniques and switch to another weapon.
In fact, when circulating the Shengsheng Yi Dao Scripture, he had already noticed that the Yin–Yang Crosswise Palm did not mesh particularly well with this heart method. It lacked subtle, mysterious transformations and instead carried an added streak of domineering force, making it feel somewhat stiff and awkward.
"You didn't go to rest and instead came in with me—do you have something you want to discuss?"
Xie Chengyun stood straight-backed, his posture bamboo-like. With a casual lift of his sleeves and hands, he poured two cups of tea, pushing one toward Chu Yunsheng, and asked in an offhand, conversational tone.
Naturally, he had come along because there was something to discuss. Hearing this, Chu Yunsheng temporarily set aside his thoughts about weapons and spoke frankly, getting straight to the point. "Though Young Master Xie does not ask, with the capabilities of the Xie family, it would take only a few days at most to uncover my identity and origins in full. In that case, it would be better for me to inform Young Master Xie first."
Xie Chengyun lifted his eyes slightly.
On his way to Songtao Pavilion earlier, he had already dispatched people to investigate. He had not expected that this man would actually take the initiative to confess.
Chu Yunsheng felt he had little worth concealing. After briefly organizing his thoughts, he recounted his past, piece by piece.
He skimmed over his early years, focusing instead on encountering the illusory image of a young woman on the mountain path, and on how he subsequently came to impersonate Ji Ling.
"You don't seem like a madman whose mind has gone insane," Xie Chengyun said, commenting on Chu Yunsheng's reaction to the girl's apparition.
Chu Yunsheng could hardly explain that it had not truly been "him," so he replied, "A deviation in my heart method—temporary qi deviation and demonic intrusion."
Xie Chengyun nodded. It was unclear whether he believed him or not, but he did not press the matter further.
"False projections, exchange of true bodies…"
He murmured in a low voice, pondering. "Such methods should fall under the Substitution of Plum for Peach —substitution by deception. If it were The Cicada Shedding Its Shell, only the divine intent would escape. In that case, it would be an exchange of primordial spirits between you and Ji Ling, and when you appeared in the prison cell, the body you occupied would not have been your own, but Ji Ling's instead."
"But Substitution of Plum for Peach is different."
"Not surprising, that Youxian must have already come into contact with Ji Ling long ago, planting a peach body within her, then refining a plum body from a wisp of her aura. When Ji Ling fell into danger and could not be easily rescued, the plum body was released. Whoever encountered the plum body would inherit its karmic ties, and through their own body—without their knowledge—the Ji Ling trapped in peril would be swapped out. This is the Substitution of Plum for Peach method: a technique of the Youxian realm, commonly seen among heterodox and demonic paths."
As he spoke, Xie Chengyun lifted his gaze. The longsword at his waist flashed out of its sheath.
The sword-light was bright and pure, its chill razor-sharp as it slashed straight toward Chu Yunsheng.
Chu Yunsheng did not move, allowing the sword qi to fall upon him. In the span of a single breath, his right shoulder went numb and frozen, the cold biting to the bone. Fine frost silently formed on his hair tips and brows.
Almost at the same moment, Chu Yunsheng heard a secret voice transmission left behind within him resound: "Scum like you, who humiliate women, deserve to die!"
A clear, ringing sword chime sounded.
That voice, along with the crushing, pervasive cold, shattered at once and came to an abrupt halt.
His whole body felt suddenly light. It was as if the haze in his heart had been swept away—his thoughts leapt, and his bones crackled softly as his body rapidly began to change in form and stature.
No wonder that when he circulated his technique earlier, he had not detected any bone-shrinking art or disguise technique. It turned out that both the disguise and the bone-shrinking came from that trace of a Youxian-level imprint. Now that the imprint had been broken, he naturally reverted to his original appearance. If he wished to disguise himself again, he would have to do so by his own means.
The flowing, rainbow-like robes had been loose to begin with, but in the blink of an eye they were stretched taut, muscles and true form standing out starkly—an exceedingly strange sight.
Seeing this, even Xie Chengyun's motion of sheathing his sword slowed by a fraction.
If he were a beautiful or slightly androgynous youth, wearing a long dress might not have looked too out of place. But the person before him was a tall, powerfully built young man through and through. Wrapped in that dark red skirt, he looked utterly bizarre—deeply awkward to the eye.
"Aren't you afraid I'll kill you?" Xie Chengyun said.
Chu Yunsheng had not sensed the slightest killing intent or mortal threat in that sword strike. The reason lay in his familiarity with Xie Chengyun—something he could not explain—so he merely replied, "Young Master Xie is a man of his word."
Xie Chengyun raised a brow. As if he had heard a joke, the corners of his lips curled upward, and he laughed so hard he nearly bent at the waist. "Utter nonsense."
After laughing, he said, "That was only an imprint. It held no power or aura. Presumably, that person merely wished to leave you a final message. Now that it's been severed, you need worry no further."
As he spoke, his gaze swept over Chu Yunsheng's handsome, coolly detached features, paused for a moment, then dropped into the amber-colored tea.
Chu Yunsheng nodded and asked his final question. "If I am to be your sword attendant, what must I do?"
"There's not much you must do, really."
Xie Chengyun smiled. "As long as you are unwaveringly loyal and your strength is passable, you count as a qualified sword attendant. Unlike Sword Grotto or the Shu Mountain Sword Sect, the Xie family has no fixed rules or procedures. If you don't wish to idle about, you can also leave home with me to hone your sword. On the third day of the seventh month, I will establish a life-and-death challenge at Cangxi Mountain outside the capital, open a sword platform, and ask the sword of all under heaven."
This event had been mentioned in the original plot, so Chu Yunsheng was not surprised.
In the martial world, there had long existed an unwritten rule and tradition: any practitioner of the sword path who believed themselves invincible within their realm could open a sword platform, swear a life-and-death oath, and challenge all peers under heaven. Those challenged could choose to withdraw and concede, or postpone the duel within the span of one month, but they could not refuse the challenge outright, nor could they deliberately fight falsely. To do so would be deemed an insult to the sword path, and all swordsmen under heaven would rise to punish them.
Once a sword platform was opened, life and death were treated lightly.
Until one had fought a hundred bouts, or suffered five consecutive defeats, or broken through to a higher realm, the sword platform could not be closed—and the battles could not cease for more than a month.
This meant that the one who opened the sword platform could not suffer serious injuries in any bout. Otherwise, the time needed to recover from such wounds would far exceed a month. If the injuries were truly grave and could not be healed in time, making further combat impossible, then the life-and-death oath sworn at the outset had to be honored: from that point on, one would abandon the sword forever and never wield it again.
A lifetime of cultivation, cast aside in a single day—something most people could never accept.
Moreover, very few were arrogant enough to believe they could truly endure the trial of opening a sword platform and stand invincible among all peers under heaven.
In the several hundred years of records of the Great Xia martial world, to this day seventy-eight people had opened sword platforms, yet only five had succeeded.
Of those five, one was the thirty-second generation master of Sword Grotto, the foremost authority of the sword path; one was a fallen Youxian of the Shu Mountain Sword Sect; one founded the Bliss Academy of the Western Regions' demonic path, becoming the head of the Five Demonic Sects; one, with a single sword, turned the Three Great Views of the realm into Four.
The last came from humble origins, a lone wandering cultivator of the jianghu, who created three swords of his own, exhausting the killing arts of the sword path—techniques that to this day none had been able to counter.
Even these five legendary figures, radiant like blazing suns, whether they had opened their sword platforms at the Hanshen stage or the Dingdan stage, still recorded best results that included four defeats.
There were countless outstanding figures in the world, with powerful experts as numerous as clouds—none could be taken lightly.
And such an exceedingly harsh path of honing the sword had caused innumerable geniuses to shrink back in hesitation.
It had already been about thirty years since anyone last opened a sword platform.
Chu Yunsheng remembered the outcome of Xie Chengyun's sword platform clearly. Strictly speaking, Xie Chengyun's attempt had been cut short.
In the third year after leaving the capital, when he had reached roughly his fortieth bout, he encountered pursuit by a late Dingdan expert. During a flight spanning tens of thousands of miles, he broke through, which brought the challenge to an end, as he was no longer in the Hanshen realm.
Later, Rong Ange judged himself invincible below the Youxian realm and, in order to advance further, likewise chose to open a sword platform.
Because the oath of the sword platform permitted only five defeats—so brutally stringent— Rong Ange's heart had leapt in terror when he suffered his first defeat at Xie Chengyun's hands.
To suffer a defeat in the very first bout—how much more daunting, then, the ninety-nine that followed.
In fact, although Rong Ange did not become a Youxian until ten years after opening his sword platform, he never actually fought a full hundred battles. From roughly the thirty-somethingth bout onward, every opponent he challenged simply conceded, refusing to fight him.
Thus, with effortless ease, he completed the sword platform on the back of a resplendent record of ninety-nine victories.
Some people muttered about tricks and hidden dealings behind this, yet those who had conceded seemed genuinely convinced of Rong Ange's strength. When others voiced suspicions, they even stepped forward to speak up for him and defend him.
Over time, the jianghu came to believe in Rong Ange's overwhelming power—defeating his enemies without fighting.
"This is a dangerous undertaking. Was your trip to Songtao Pavilion to discuss this matter with the clan?" Chu Yunsheng asked, snapping back to the present.
His intuition told him that Xie Chengyun's later encounter with a late Dingdan expert's pursuit during the sword platform challenge was not simply the result of some swordsman being unable to accept defeat and hiring an assassin.
There was likely more hidden beneath the surface.
Xie Chengyun smiled faintly. He did not rebuke Chu Yunsheng for asking such a familiar question, yet neither did he answer it directly. "That was merely incidental. As for the rest, you will come to know it in time."
"It's getting late. Go back and rest."
As he finished speaking, sounds arose in the courtyard: servants carrying wooden tubs and buckets of hot water were arriving.
This was only the first day of meeting Xie Chengyun, and Chu Yunsheng was not in a hurry to build rapport with him.
Though ever since leaving the prison cell, Xie Chengyun had treated him with a gentleness like a spring breeze, as if he truly regarded him as his sword attendant, as one of his own, Chu Yunsheng knew this was merely a surface impression. Given Xie Chengyun's depth of scheming and calculation, he still placed no real trust in him at present—only suspicion and exploitation.
Once more using a bone-shrinking technique to assume a woman's stature and appearance, Chu Yunsheng said no more. He rose, left the room, and returned to the side chamber.
Meanwhile, a thousand li away in Yanzhou—
The night was deep and heavy. Inside a low, modest hut more than a hundred zhang from the Cliff of Reflection at Taixu Temple, two slender young novice Daoists lay on bamboo mats, covered by thin quilts. With the night breeze drifting in through a half-open window, they slept soundly.
Suddenly, the novice Daoist closest to the door began to tremble all over. As if trapped in a nightmare, he cried out and jerked awake, sitting bolt upright.
The other novice Daoist in the room was startled awake and asked in fear, "Ange? What's wrong with you… were you struck by a nightmare?"
In an instant, cold sweat poured from Rong Ange, soaking through his inner robes. When the wind brushed past him, the chill cut straight to the bone.
He stared wide-eyed in a daze, then turned toward the awakened Daoist at the sound of his voice. A flicker of shock and confusion flashed through his gaze. "You… you're Zhao Anfeng? How are you here? Weren't you dead—"
Halfway through, Rong Ange seemed to come to his senses and abruptly shut his mouth. He quickly lowered his head to look at his own body, then swept his gaze around the small room.
Slowly, an uncontrollable surge of wild joy and exhilaration welled up in his eyes.
Steadying himself, he flipped off the bed and rushed to a cabinet. From it, he pulled out a thick ledger— the daily patrol records kept by the six disciples assigned to the three huts overseeing the Cliff of Reflection.
Rong Ange flipped through it hurriedly and soon found the most recent page.
—Great Xia Calendar, Year 489, Sixth Month, Sixteenth Day.
Staring at the date written on the page, Rong Ange's fingers trembled, and so did his heart.
After a long while, he snapped the ledger shut with a sharp clap and burst into frenzied laughter.
Zhao Anfeng was badly frightened. Suspecting that an Outer Demon had invaded his companion, he hastily grabbed his sword and held it close, gathering his true qi as he stared warily at the laughing Rong Ange. Testing the waters, he asked, "Ange … are you all right?"
Rong Ange's laughter abruptly halted.
He saw the sword in Zhao Anfeng's hand, but paid it no mind. Instead, he clapped his hands lightly and laughed with carefree delight. "It's nothing. Just had a nightmare—almost forgot what year it was."
As he spoke, he gradually reined in his emotions, returned to his bed, and said, "Go back to sleep. Tomorrow it's the two of us on patrol for the entire day."
Zhao Anfeng answered aloud, yet he still did not loosen his grip on the sword. Only after Rong Ange truly settled down and the faint rise and fall of deep sleep came from his side did Zhao Anfeng finally let out a breath, set the sword aside, shift his pillow a little farther away from Rong Ange, and lie down to sleep again.
In the darkness, Rong Ange quietly opened his eyes.
Although his memories after piercing the heavens and departing were blurred and indistinct, he still remembered that his life had been joyful, with few regrets. Since Heaven had now granted him another chance—beyond even transmigration—he would seize it and cherish it well, living a life even more brilliant, even more astonishing to the world.
This time, he also had a clear measure of his own strength and was no longer so fearful of the jianghu beyond the mountains. With that, he could descend the mountain earlier and roam the martial world together with Ji Anbai.
Two youths traveling side by side—surely their bond would grow all the deeper.
Rong Ange curved his lips into a faint smile, slowly closed his eyes, and once more drifted into sleep.