Watching Yuan Yang fleeing into the distance, Mur Yunle stood at the edge of the forest, her robe fluttering in the wind, appearing rather delicate.
Suddenly, she sighed deeply with sorrow, turned around, and walked back, brushing aside branches and leaves, lost in thought.
My master often said that sorrow and suffering arise when beautiful things are destroyed, whether in emotions or people; only when they touch the heart can they evoke all sorts of emotions. This must be what I am feeling now.
Once a mighty figure who dominated the world, like a tiger devouring ten thousand miles, now he sits beside a solitary lamp and ancient Buddha, facing bleakness and sorrow through the passing years. Just thinking about it evokes emotion and pity.
She stood in the forest, not far from where Zhen Ding sat cross-legged—Su Meng, the “Furious Blade,” who shook the world ten years ago.
So it was him… No wonder the Joyful Bodhisattva wanted only to flee upon seeing him. With the might of A-nan’s Broken Precept Blade Art fully mastered, no wonder the Ten Thousand Insect Venerable was terrified by his severely wounded form…
Looking at that gaunt and weathered face, recalling many tales of his heroic vigor and gallant spirit, emotions surged within her, and she deeply lamented the whims of fate and the impermanence of worldly affairs.
Mur Yunle took a deep breath, walked over, and smiled: “Master, where shall we go next?”
She no longer intended to pry into the hidden story beneath his silence and sorrow. That past must have been unbearable; to ask would be like stabbing a knife into Zhen Ding’s heart.
Ten years is a long time, and changes are great. Back then, she was still an immature girl, always getting into mischief with roosters and dogs. Now, she has earned a name in the martial world and achieved some mastery in swordsmanship. Zhen Ding’s grief must have been immense for him to retreat from the world for a full decade. The green hills remain unchanged!
Then she saw Zhen Ding open his eyes, as still as ever, like an ancient well, with weariness in every line of his face. Slowly rising, he let his hands hang naturally at his sides and spoke in a low, calm voice: “Since you’ve come, come out.”
“Since you’ve come, come out?” Mur Yunle had not just begun her journey in the martial world. She sensed something was off and immediately drew her sword, extending her consciousness into the world around her, revealing every detail in the ocean of her mind.
Crack! The sound of a broken branch echoed. She turned and saw, from the other side of the woods, a middle-aged man in flowing robes and wide sleeves. His features were striking and handsome, with a wooden hairpin holding his hair. His demeanor was graceful and unrestrained, exuding a strange, almost demonic charm. He walked leisurely, his expression calm and composed, prompting Mur Yunle to recall a line of poetry:
“A bamboo cloak in the misty rain—let life take its course!”
With each step he took, she sensed nothing at all! Her eyes narrowed, and buried memories stirred naturally, descriptions and images from the past overlapping with the man before her.
This was…
This was the “Demon Sage” Han Guang!
Among the evildoers of the last few thousand years, he was the most outstanding and brilliant figure!
Two years ago, he broke through the final gate, entered the Earth Immortal realm, and exchanged blows with Su Wuming without being outmatched. Ranked third on the Heaven List, he was one of the most formidable figures in the Eight Wildernesses and Six Heavens, a true peerless evil genius!
Such a demonic figure was enough to force the Huanhua Sword Sect to seal its mountain gates for self-defense, lest they face annihilation… Mur Yunle felt as though she were trapped in a dream. To her, the Demon Sage was like a legend, existing only in stories passed from mouth to ear, never imagined to be encountered in her lifetime!
Thump, thump, thump—Mur Yunle’s heart raced, her hand gripping the sword slick with cold sweat. Unlike when she faced the Joyful Bodhisattva, she was fully composed now, yet she had never been more certain: she could not land a single strike on him without harming herself.
This was not a conclusion drawn from a clear comparison of cultivation levels but an intuition derived from her communion with Heaven and Earth.
“Heaven” was the Celestial Emperor, and the Celestial Emperor was Han Guang!
The hidden pressure seemed to surge. Even standing behind Meng Qi, Mur Yunle felt suffocated. At that moment, she saw the “Demon Sage” pause casually at a critical juncture, smiling faintly: “Ten years apart, and the Furious Blade has turned into a solitary monk. Truly lamentable.”
Meng Qi remained as still as deadwood, replying: “The master’s martial cultivation has reached perfection, and his charisma surpasses even before. I cannot compare.”
His aura was deeply concealed, like a flickering candle in the wind—empty and tranquil.
Han Guang nodded slightly, without arrogance, but with emotion: “Ten years of sitting still, ten years of torment, not something ordinary people can endure. Therefore, one must possess extraordinary qualities.”
Then, his tone shifted: “I’ve interacted with her several times. She often said she would kill you to attain the Dao, truly fierce and determined, sharpening her blade like a butcher toward sheep. At that time, I almost believed her. But in the end, she willingly died by your hand. Hmph, they say she speaks half-truths and deceives people. Indeed, she deceived the world, and even herself.”
Mur Yunle’s heart stirred, and she instinctively looked at Zhen Ding. She saw a flicker of fire and swirling whirlpools in those weary, lifeless eyes, but gradually, they faded back into stillness and concealment.
Who was the “her” the Demon Sage spoke of?
Meng Qi bowed his head as if in Buddhist reverence, but did not recite any mantra, speaking plainly: “Struggling in the cycle of samsara, seeking happiness is arduous. All beings fall into suffering, none are spared. She was like this, I was like this, and you, benefactor, are no exception.”
Han Guang smiled, then suddenly turned and walked away, not uttering a single word, exuding elegance to the extreme.
“Just like that?” Mur Yunle stood stunned.
…
Lightning soaring through the sky, Han Guang returned to the border between the grasslands and the northern frontier, landing before the Blood Sea Rakshasi.
“Well?” The Blood Sea Rakshasi sensed no major fluctuations in Heaven and Earth; it seemed the two had not fought?
Han Guang’s lips curled into a faint, unfathomable smile: “We met, exchanged a few words.”
“Has he achieved the Dharma Body?” The Blood Sea Rakshasi asked directly.
Han Guang clasped his hands behind his back, sighing: “He should not have broken through yet; he is self-restraining.”
“Self-restraint… breakthrough…” The Blood Sea Rakshasi frowned, thinking. Was the “Furious Blade” Su Meng aiming for perfect culmination before advancing?
He mused: “Is it a sign of the Other Shore, or has he achieved the Fruit of All Causes?”
“Most likely the latter, though it resembles one of the characteristics of the Other Shore. As for the rest, he hides it deeply, suppresses it deeply. I cannot yet grasp it fully.” A flicker of confusion passed through Han Guang’s eyes.
The Blood Sea Rakshasi asked in confusion: “Then why didn’t you attack? If this youth is not eliminated, we will never rest easy in the future. Even if we cannot kill him today, we should force him to lose his cultivation!”
Han Guang turned his head, his back to the Blood Sea Rakshasi, walking slowly forward, his voice smooth and pleasant: “Even if he is not injured, I still have a one hundred percent certainty of killing him.”
“But I have a subtle premonition. If I strike, the price I pay will make me deeply regret it.”
This… the Blood Sea Rakshasi was left speechless.
…
Prince Yu drove the carriage carrying Meng Qi and Kong Zhao out of Zhou territory, entering the chaotic world.
Their first stop was the State of Cai.
“Lord of Cai is known for benevolence and virtue, loving his people as his own children, lenient in punishment, light in taxation, often using the treasury to aid the commoners. There are no starving people in the streets, and even criminals are mostly reprimanded rather than punished severely. He is extremely compassionate. Were it not for his small territory, he would gain much support and end this chaos, becoming a figure like the Duke of Zhou.” Kong Zhao looked out the carriage window at the capital city of Cai.
He was not someone who stayed indoors and speculated blindly; he was quite knowledgeable about the affairs of the feudal lords.
Meng Qi, now disguised as Lao Dan, half-closed his eyes and said nothing. Prince Yu drove the carriage toward the capital.
After passing inspection, the carriage entered the city.
Kong Zhao eagerly looked out the window, eager to witness the paradise he had imagined.
But the moment he looked, his expression changed. The streets were chaotic, people often drawing blades against each other. Thieves ran rampant, ruffians roamed freely, and the weak lived in constant fear, the atmosphere thick with corruption.
And on the roadside, there were many idle people with fully intact limbs, their stomachs growling, yet still basking in the sun, unwilling to work.
“The king has opened the treasury again to aid the people!” a voice rang out from afar.
In an instant, the lazy and the violent disappeared, all rushing toward the palace, leaving behind a scene of utter disorder.
Inside the open shops, the hardworking people glared at their retreating figures with hatred, the tension on the verge of erupting.
“What do you think?” Meng Qi asked in a low voice.
Kong Zhao did not answer immediately. He stepped out of the carriage and went deeper into the city, inquiring from various people.
After a long time, he returned to the carriage, sitting upright and respectfully facing Meng Qi: “Disciple has come to understand a truth. Please, Master, guide me.”
He now addressed Meng Qi as “Master.”
“What truth?” Meng Qi did not open his eyes.
Kong Zhao spoke solemnly: “Excess is as bad as deficiency.”
“Does Master agree?”
However, he did not receive the guidance he expected. Meng Qi appeared to be asleep, yet his voice came from within:
“Proceed to the next state.”
Kong Zhao’s expression was puzzled, unsure whether he was right or wrong.
Could it be that the Master wished him to constantly reflect and not rely on others, waiting until he had seen more and formed a complete philosophy before truly beginning to guide him?
…
Watching the Demon Sage come and go mysteriously, Mur Yunle felt as though she had experienced a dream, utterly bewildered.
She gathered her thoughts, intending to ask Master Zhen Ding where they would go next.
Just then, she heard Zhen Ding softly sigh: “You’ve come.”
Before her eyes, a new figure appeared—a woman dressed in a yellow gown, her eyebrows like ink, her eyes bright and beautiful, her demeanor refined yet martial, like a sword that could cleave clouds above and strike the underworld below, yet remained sheathed, as graceful as a celestial maiden descending to the mortal world.
It was her… Mur Yunle was stunned. She watched the celestial maiden step forward to Zhen Ding, smiling radiantly:
“I’ve come.”
“Prince Wang said I could meet you here. Indeed, his words were prophetic.”
Ten years of emptiness erased with a single word, no questions asked.
A slight curve appeared on Meng Qi’s lips, a faint smile: “Then let’s go. Let’s meet Prince Wang.”
Watching Zhen Ding rise into the sky, supported by the celestial maiden, and looking back to nod at her, Mur Yunle opened her mouth, wanting to say something but unable to find the words. A faint sorrow welled up in her heart.
Indeed, once he resumed his identity as the “Furious Blade” Su Meng, Zhen Ding was no longer the lonely monk she could support. He belonged to the world of the Supreme Divine Sword, the realm of the Devil Emperor and Demon Sage. She was still far from reaching such heights, like a mortal gazing at immortals.
As the two figures faded into the distance, Mur Yunle felt a heaviness in her chest. All the sorrowful poems she had once recited vanished from her mind, leaving only a deep sigh.
In youth, I knew not the taste of sorrow,
I loved the view from the upper floors.
Loved the view from the upper floors,
I feigned sorrow to write new verses.
Now I know the true bitterness of sorrow,
I wish to speak but hold back.
I wish to speak but hold back,
Only to say, “What a fine autumn it is.”
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