Chapter 4

Zhao Lamuyue carried Yin San's corpse and walked out of town, her steps light as they trod on the green grass.

The bright light from the sky cast a long shadow of her small figure on the ground, which gradually faded as the light became even brighter.

The most important event on the entire continent was unfolding, but she did not look back. Instead, she watched the changes in the depth of her shadow, finding it more interesting than the celestial phenomena.

No one noticed her, and naturally, no one saw the change in her expression.

Her lips curled up in a smile.

Cheers began to rise from the surrounding peaks.

There seemed to be cheers in the town as well.

As the world grew brighter, the cheers grew louder, and her smile widened, revealing the faint dimples on her cheeks, making her look somewhat adorable.

She was really happy, but also a bit regretful.

If she could live in the same era as a genius like Master Uncle Jingyang, how wonderful that would be.

Whether for learning and seeking knowledge, or for other things.

The cheers from the surrounding peaks suddenly disappeared.

There was no surprise.

The current silence represented a beautiful blessing.

Like the light that illuminated the world.

Of course, there was still a sense of melancholy.

Master Uncle Jingyang had ascended.

Zhao Lamuyue finally turned around and looked up at the sky.

She watched the crack that was gradually disappearing and the sword light that was almost invisible, and for some reason, her eyebrows slightly raised.

She looked at the corpse in her hand, her smile gradually fading, with some doubt and uncertainty.

...

...

The mist was thick with moisture, often accompanied by streams.

Not far from Yunji Town, there was a stream, which, carrying a light mist, wound around high cliffs and low hills, and after several dozen miles, re-entered the wall of another mountain.

The stream entered the mountain wall, the waterway gradually widened, and the light became brighter, revealing a stone room, with a rare and precious jade embedded in the wall.

The stone room was simple, with only a stone bed connected to the mountain wall, and two rotten straw mats in front of the bed.

A young man stood with his hands behind his back, his head tilted as he looked at the stone bed. Occasionally, the wind would rise, lifting his white robe.

On the stone bed lay a person, covered in blood, with wounds all over, some narrow, some wide, some deep, some shallow, making it impossible to determine what kind of weapon had caused them. His clothes were tattered, and it was hard to recognize that they were made of celestial silk. The belt was still intact, with a faint but intermittent aura of evil, made from the sinew of a dark dragon. A wooden plaque was tied to it, seemingly carved from ordinary black wood.

This person had no breath, long dead, and strangely, his face was always shrouded in a layer of mist, deep and indiscernible, making it impossible to see his features.

The young man stood in front of the stone bed, looking at the person in silence, not knowing what he was thinking.

After an unknown amount of time, he finally spoke.

"Really... annoying."

His voice was very clear but somewhat hoarse, and his speech was very slow, as if he rarely spoke.

The light fell into his eyes.

His eyes were like a vast sea, seemingly calm and clear, but incredibly deep, hiding countless storms and waves.

There was confusion, anger, regret, some fatigue, and a sense of沧桑 (agedness) that did not match his age.

After a moment, all the emotions in his eyes disappeared, leaving only calm.

It was like the mist disappearing among the nine peaks, or the light from the sky eventually turning into nothingness.

"I envy you, being able to rest well, while I still have many years of work ahead."

The young man in the white robe spoke to the dead person on the stone bed.

The dead person's belt moved slightly, and the wooden plaque suddenly disappeared.

A cold light left the stone bed, circled around his body, and illuminated the stone room, stopping in front of his eyes after a moment.

It was a flying sword, about two feet long and two fingers wide, with a smooth surface like a mirror. Apart from that, it seemed ordinary, but it gave a very extraordinary feeling.

The young man in the white robe raised his right hand, and the flying sword fell, making a light sound as it coiled around his wrist, gradually darkening, like a simple bracelet.

Turning to walk to the stream, the young man suddenly remembered the words that person had said to him years ago.

— "A person cannot step into the same river twice."

Is that really true?

Thinking about this question, he stepped into the stream.

...

...

The stream flowed through the mountain for an unknown distance, emerging on the other side of the peak, forming a waterfall about ten feet high, which was very beautiful.

The young man in the white robe followed the stream down the cliff, intending to walk on the water, but his feet broke through the surface and fell into the lake.

Only when he floated to the depths of the lake and his feet touched the bottom did he roughly understand what had happened, feeling somewhat surprised.

But he seemed to not know how to express the emotion of surprise, so he looked somewhat dazed.

The slightly cold lake water had no effect on him. He opened his eyes and looked around, seeing a stone at the bottom of the lake.

He picked up the stone from the bottom of the lake and walked forward, getting closer to the surface, until he emerged from the water and reached the shore.

A dull sound echoed, the ground trembled, and the water at the shore rippled slightly, indicating how heavy the stone was.

He was drenched, feeling somewhat uncomfortable, and thought about using sword fire to dry his body, but nothing happened.

The dripping hair and wet clothes reminded him that he should start a fire, but he realized he had never started one before.

He tilted his head, recalling the books he had read many years ago, and repeated in a dry voice, "Dry grass and branches of various sizes are needed."

He confirmed that all the water had drained from his left ear, then tilted his head to the right, continuing to search his distant memories, "If there are no flint stones, then crystal or drilling wood is needed."

There was a forest by the shore. He walked into the forest, reached out, and dead leaves rustled down, quickly forming a small mountain.

He picked out the smoothest piece of wood, placed some fibers from under the bark on it, and with a thought, the silver bracelet on his wrist transformed back into the small sword, hovering above.

The sharp blade, separated by the fibers, pressed against the wood and began to spin at an unimaginable speed, quickly producing sparks, then smoke, and finally flames.

The clothes were placed on the branches, emitting steam.

By observing the density and speed of the steam, the young man easily calculated that it would take three hours for the clothes to dry completely.

What to do during this time was not something he needed to think about.

All his time had only one purpose.

He sat cross-legged, closed his eyes, and began to meditate, looking very natural.

But the next moment, he opened his eyes, looking confused, wondering, "What was the entry mantra again?"