Bodhi, symbolizing Buddhist wisdom and enlightenment, is where the Buddha attained enlightenment under the Bodhi tree in ancient times.
“Hmm, wearing a Bodhi seed can also help one perceive the heavens and earth, thereby gaining self-awareness and initially discovering one’s path. However, such matters can be relied upon but not solely depended on; ultimately, it still depends on oneself,” Jiang Zhiwei gently nodded, reminding Meng Qi as she always did.
Meng Qi forced a smile and said, “Don’t worry, I won’t lose sight of priorities.”
His main purpose was to use the Bodhi seed to “comprehend” the Buddha Palm, gaining insights from it. As for other aspects, if it worked out, that would be good; if not, it wouldn’t matter much. The path had to be walked step by step by oneself.
Qi Zhengyan and Ruan Yushu both understood his choice well, knowing that like Zhao Heng, Meng Qi had nearly reached the limit of physical cultivation during the Qi-opening stage, and currently focused more on enhancing his Yuan Shen and mind.
Although he hadn’t explicitly stated it, everyone could tell his goal was to achieve unity with heaven and earth before the next mission and take his first steps on his own path.
Turning around, Meng Qi took out the Bodhi seed he had long wanted but never had enough merit points to redeem.
It had a vibrant green hue, full of spiritual vitality, and brought a refreshing sensation throughout the body when held:
“500-year-old Bodhi seed, a terrestrial treasure. Worn close to the body, it aids in enlightenment, especially in Buddhist teachings. Its spiritual power lasts nine months, costing one thousand merit points.”
This Bodhi seed wasn’t particularly expensive, but its effect was somewhat mediocre. Unless one was a high-ranking Buddhist monk or someone like Meng Qi who carried authentic Buddhist teachings and needed to cultivate them, few people could benefit from it, as its ability to aid in perceiving the heaven and earth wasn’t particularly strong.
After stringing it into a pendant and hanging it on his chest, Meng Qi felt his mind instantly refreshed. After some consideration, he decided to choose a combined sword-and-blade technique, because without such a skill, he might only gain insights into corresponding techniques from the “Buddha Palm” through rare opportunities.
Thinking about “sword and blade combined” techniques, Meng Qi’s first thought was undoubtedly the “Three Blades, Three Swords, Three Divine Techniques” within the “Three Divine Techniques,” Unfortunately, those were techniques for the Dharma Body cultivators and still far from his current level. The Three Blades and Three Swords weren’t urgently needed either.
After expressing his thoughts, Jiang Zhiwei and the others began flipping through their own redemption lists, searching for similar techniques and continuously offering suggestions.
Eventually, Meng Qi settled on a signature technique from a wandering cultivator of the main world three hundred years ago: “Inverting Yin and Yang,” costing one thousand and fifty merit points.
It was merely an entry-level Outer Manifestation technique but contained the skills and methods of combined sword-and-blade techniques and the transformation between Yin and Yang, making it an ideal choice for Meng Qi, who was just starting to learn these aspects. As for the sword and blade techniques at the Qi-opening stage, they were too basic and elementary. With Meng Qi’s current level of sword and blade techniques, he could quickly figure them out on his own.
“Alright, see you again in two years,” Jiang Zhiwei took a deep breath and said with a smile, both encouraging herself and offering a heartfelt wish for Meng Qi and others to succeed in their upcoming missions.
After speaking, she turned her head and firmly stepped into the departing light column, rising amid swirling mists, leaving behind a faint, cool green silhouette.
Meng Qi showed a hint of sadness, a rare moment of silence, then bid farewell to Ruan Yushu, Qi Zhengyan, and Zhao Heng, stating his intention to head north to the grasslands.
In a flash of light and shadows, Meng Qi reappeared inside his room. Sunlight poured through the window, casting golden rays that illuminated dancing dust particles.
The cheerful and open-minded girl, the young lady who had extended her hand when he was at his most helpless, was about to enter a life-or-death retreat? Perhaps they would never meet again? A feeling of inexpressible melancholy surged within Meng Qi, leaving him momentarily dazed.
Was this a temporary separation, or a permanent farewell?
“Hey, third brother, you’ve already opened all nine orifices, why not come out and celebrate with a drink?” Suddenly, a shaggy head popped up by the window—it was Gao Lan, whose hair and beard hadn’t been trimmed for quite some time.
Meng Qi looked up and noticed the faint amusement in Gao Lan’s eyes, instantly feeling a chill in his heart. Had Gao Lan discovered something when he entered the cycle beside him?
Previously, Meng Qi had also seen high-level Dharma Body cultivators like Master Fangzhang Kongwen and Master Lu, but when entering the cycle, he had been far away from them and in crowded places. Now, Gao Lan stood within three zhang of him, with no one nearby, not even insects or rodents.
“Don’t worry, don’t worry, everyone has secrets. Do I look like someone who would dig into others’ affairs?” Gao Lan wore an expression as if he had already seen through Meng Qi’s secret.
Hmm, the Six Paths showed no reaction. Perhaps he could see only a little, nothing involving critical matters? Meng Qi slightly relaxed and stood up, saying, “Brother, is there still any ‘Drunken Immortal’ wine left?”
Right now, his mood was complex, desiring to drown his sorrows in wine.
Gao Lan casually inserted the iron bar into his belt, clasped his hands behind his back, and began pacing back and forth, constantly scrutinizing Meng Qi, making Meng Qi feel uneasy without knowing his intentions.
“Brother, aren’t we supposed to celebrate with a drink?” Meng Qi raised an eyebrow, concealing his unease.
Gao Lan clicked his tongue twice, “You don’t seem happy at all. What kind of celebration is this? From your expression, could it be that you’re suffering from lovesickness?”
“Nonsense!” Meng Qi immediately denied it.
“Third brother, you may fool others, but not my eyes. If your gloom isn’t caused by a girl, I’ll cut off my head and give it to you as a stool!” Gao Lan proudly declared.
“How…?” Meng Qi instinctively wanted to deny it but sighed deeply after uttering just one word, “It is related to a girl, but not lovesickness.”
Gao Lan nodded, satisfied with his own wisdom and insight, his eyes wide with interest: “Tell me more, tell me more.”
Seeing his expression, Meng Qi couldn’t help but think of gossipy old women. However, his mood was indeed complex, and he had the urge to confide, so he sighed, “Brother, you remember the life-and-death friend I mentioned earlier? She’s the direct disciple of a great martial arts sect, radiant and brilliant, filled with sword intent, cheerful and open-minded…”
“Right, right, what about her?” Gao Lan eagerly asked.
“She intends to enter a life-or-death retreat,” Meng Qi said gloomily.
Gao Lan let out a long “Oh!” sound, “So it’s the direct disciple from the Sword-Cleansing Pavilion. You’re quite something, little guy.”
“What do you mean by ‘something’?” Meng Qi was annoyed.
Gao Lan grinned, “Even the most gifted cultivators face a significant risk of perishing in the Sword-Cleansing Pavilion’s life-or-death retreat. Are you reluctant to part? Do you want to stop her?”
“I am reluctant, but I can’t stop her…” Meng Qi hesitated before replying.
Gao Lan clapped his hands together, “That’s right! Don’t dare say you don’t have a bit of lovesickness then?”
Meng Qi’s face slightly reddened, “It’s the reluctance between friends. Once she enters the retreat, we might never meet again.”
“In short, you’re reluctant, with countless emotions hard to resolve, right?” Gao Lan raised his eyebrows.
Meng Qi nodded silently.
“Then go and talk to her face-to-face. Whether to try to stop her is your decision, and whether she accepts it is hers!” Gao Lan grabbed Meng Qi’s collar.
“It would ruin her state of mind…” Before Meng Qi could finish speaking, he felt the surroundings suddenly fall silent, everything before his eyes turning dark, except for the sensation of Gao Lan’s hand on his collar.
Not knowing how long had passed, light finally appeared before Meng Qi, revealing a mountain peak straight as an arrow ahead.
“Where are we?” Meng Qi asked in astonishment.
Gao Lan’s cheerful laughter rang in his ears, “Naturally, it’s the location of the Sword-Cleansing Pavilion’s sect entrance.”
“Eh…” Meng Qi was somewhat bewildered.
Gao Lan’s laughter faded, his expression turning serious, “Even as friends, before parting, shouldn’t you express your feelings? In any case, don’t regret it. I don’t want my sworn brother to end up like me.”
The image of Jiang Zhiwei, with her dark eyebrows and bright eyes, her black hair simply tied up and flowing gently, dressed in a yellow robe, radiating brightness…
The Jiang Zhiwei who called him “little monk” and extended a friendly hand…
The Jiang Zhiwei who rode on his back, seamlessly cooperating…
The Jiang Zhiwei who repeatedly guided him and traveled thousands of miles to help him in Jiangdong…
The Jiang Zhiwei who never retreated in the face of powerful enemies…
The Jiang Zhiwei who burned herself and unleashed the 23rd Sword…
And the Jiang Zhiwei known as the “Chicken-Slaying Sword God”…
All these memories surfaced in Meng Qi’s mind. He took a deep breath, his gaze becoming resolute. Brother Gao was right; he must bid her farewell.
He took a step forward, heading toward the sect’s entrance. A disciple approached and asked, “Friend, what brings you to the Sword-Cleansing Pavilion?”
“I am Su Meng, seeking an audience with Senior Disciple Jiang Zhiwei,” Meng Qi bowed.
…
Inside a room, Jiang Zhiwei sat on a wooden stool, gazing around. Unlike other women’s boudoirs, this room contained only a mirror, no dressing table, and few boxes for clothes. The windows were bright and clean, the atmosphere fresh and simple, with sword manuals neatly placed everywhere.
This was the place she had lived for over a decade.
Jiang Zhiwei closed her eyes briefly, saying goodbye to the past. She picked up her long sword, ready to rise, when suddenly a junior disciple’s voice reached her through transmission: “Senior Disciple Jiang, Su Meng is here to see you.”
Meng Qi’s reputation was well-known among the Sword-Cleansing Pavilion disciples.
Jiang Zhiwei’s expression froze momentarily, her hand slipping slightly on the sword hilt. She bit her lower lip gently, momentarily unable to respond.
“Senior Disciple Jiang?” The junior disciple outside raised his voice.
Her master’s warning echoed in Jiang Zhiwei’s mind: “You must walk your own path.” She took a long breath, then slowly exhaled. Finally, she said, “Ask him to wait for me at the Half-Mountain Pavilion.”
Inside a stone chamber, a man in green robes sat cross-legged with his eyes closed, a long sword lying across his lap. He appeared empty and distant, as if far away, showing no reaction to Jiang Zhiwei’s actions.
Down the mountain, Gao Lan stood with his hands clasped behind his back, gazing toward the Sword-Cleansing Pavilion. Penetrating through numerous obstacles, he seemed to see a certain figure. Suddenly, he furrowed his brows and murmured, “This madman actually chose the most difficult path…”
…
Inside the Half-Mountain Pavilion, Meng Qi, his waist girded with a long blade, gazed at the mountain mist, suddenly feeling a bit uneasy.
At that moment, a figure in a yellow robe appeared around the mountain path corner.
It was midsummer, with blooming flowers and lush green trees. Jiang Zhiwei slowly approached, like a fairy among the flowers.
She no longer wore the blue attire but had changed back into a yellow dress. Her dark eyebrows and bright eyes, her black hair simply tied up and flowing gently, radiated dazzling beauty, almost as if it were their first meeting.
“I didn’t expect you to come,” Jiang Zhiwei smiled as she entered the Half-Mountain Pavilion and sat on the stone bench.
Meng Qi sat opposite her, smiling bitterly, “There are always some feelings of parting. I wanted to see you one more time. Besides entering the life-or-death retreat, there are many other ways to break through.”
After saying this, something he had wanted to say for a long time, Meng Qi felt a sense of relief but became even more anxious.
Jiang Zhiwei showed no sign of anger, smiling as she always had, “Naturally, I’ve made this decision after careful consideration.”
Her gaze turned gentle as she smiled at Meng Qi, her voice like flowing spring water:
“My master holds a special position within the sect, and as a result, I’ve always been the subject of everyone’s expectations or respect. My senior and junior brothers and sisters always treated me politely, never joking with me.
“But you, from the very first time—well, maybe the second—you dared to give me a nickname, calling me the ‘Chicken-Slaying Sword God,’ making me both angry and amused.
“You were just a little monk with no martial arts skills, yet you had the audacity to fight fearlessly, without hesitation.
Meng Qi remained silent, quietly listening to Jiang Zhiwei’s recollections.
“You always said you loved acting impulsively, showing off in front of others, wanting to become the kind of chivalrous hero from novels and ballads, always saying funny things and doing amusing things that made people laugh. Yet, when it mattered most, you were always the first to step forward, never retreating, someone people could rely on.
“In those days, you were like a delicate figurine, endearing and lovable. I regarded you as my younger brother. But gradually, you grew taller than me, more mature. Though your words remained humorous and witty, your actions were steady and reliable.”
“Being with you was always so pleasant. There was also Senior Brother Qi, who was quiet but tolerant of his companions, and Yushu, who, like me, had a lonely childhood. There was also Senior Brother Zhang, and Miss Fu. You all valued righteousness over wealth, lived life passionately, and followed each other through life and death, fulfilling all my expectations of the martial arts world…”
Jiang Zhiwei’s voice carried a hint of joy, her lips curving into a genuine smile.
Pausing, she gazed into Meng Qi’s eyes, clearly and softly saying, “But these weren’t what I wanted most.”
Meng Qi remained silent for a moment, then revealed a faint smile:
“I understand.”
Jiang Zhiwei nodded, without saying goodbye. She picked up her long sword and slowly turned around, walking steadily toward the summit.
As she neared the corner, she flicked her sword scabbard, producing a soft ringing sound from within, like a dragon’s roar.
Amidst the sword’s resonance, she recited gracefully, “All my life, I’ve loved only the seven-foot sword, cutting through what I see, slaying the self that is not truly me.”
Meng Qi listened quietly, watching as the vibrant mountain flowers gradually obscured the yellow-robed figure.
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