After Ye Liuyun and Teacher Fei left, Fan Xian sat alone by the seaside for a long time. The shadow of the ship had long disappeared. His gaze was still focused on the boundless ocean. The wind and rain on his body had not weakened at all. His entire body was dripping wet. His sitting position was very strange. Hugging his knees, he looked like a cute little boy. In reality, everyone knew that Fan Xian could not be a simple little boy.
The two waves of zhenqi in his body slowly circulated and flowed. The zhenqi that Ye Liuyun had purposely released earlier was quickly circulating through his body in a relatively stable and harmonious manner. For him, this moment seemed to be an opportunity. A sudden spiritual light appeared because of the change in his heart and the change in the surrounding emotions. It gently shone in his heart.
Fan Xian closed his eyes. His palms were naturally extended into the rain, allowing the rain to hit his palms.
…
…
After a long time, Fan Xian's palms were still as dry as usual and as smooth as usual. It was as if the rain would never be able to truly land on his palms and wet any inch of his skin.
Fan Xian's palms were covered in a faint layer of zhenqi. This zhenqi was released from every pore and then flowed back through every pore, forming a thin but interesting circuit. It was the strange and completely useless method he had practiced since he was young.
Of course, this method had made him an ace climber in this world. He had once climbed the Royal Palace, Xi Mountain, and many dangerous places that humans would never have imagined. However, compared to the six years of time and energy he had put into this when he was young, this kind of result was truly not worth it.
Back then, Wu Zhu had not corrected him. Everyone knew that Wu Zhu did not know internal strength.
However, the feeling today was different. There seemed to be a slight and obscure difference from the past. Fan Xian slowly opened his eyes and wiped away the rain on his face. He looked at his palms in a daze and was still lost in thought and speechless for a long time.
Being able to separate True Qi from the body and turn it into a sharp weapon that could injure people was a very powerful realm in itself, but it was not an unattainable realm. As long as one cultivated to a certain extent, coupled with a sufficiently brilliant Qi circulation method, experts could barely achieve this.
In particular, Fan Xian had personally seen Ye Liuyun's sanshou. The Great Grandmaster's fingers were like withered plum blossoms. Zhenqi gushed out from his fingertips and pierced through the air in an instant. On the sandy beach under Danzhou's cliffs, tens of thousands of plum blossoms appeared. This kind of crisscrossing finger qi was already the highest realm for a human to break through the limits of the physical body and release energy outside of the body.
However, Fan Xian felt something different today. It was completely different. He sank deep into thought in the wind and rain. The rain slid down his hair and onto his face. Some of it was blown away by the wind by the seaside.
When the zhenqi skillfully left his body for a moment and then returned, there seemed to be something extra. Given the realm of Fan Xian's state of mind, it was impossible for him to sense what was extra, but he sensed it.
Amidst his surprise, he was immediately confused. Everything in the world was equal. How much zhenqi was released from the body was how much zhenqi could be taken back. To be able to take it back was already Fan Xian's unique skill, but … how could there be more? Did that mean he didn't need to meditate? He only needed to endlessly carry out this kind of circulation of zhenqi to increase the amount of zhenqi in his body?
Where did the extra zhenqi come from?
Fan Xian's pupils constricted slightly. Even the tips of his fingers began to tremble. He faintly knew that perhaps he had touched upon a door that no one had ever thought about, thought about, or reached before. What was behind that door?
Why would such a change suddenly appear? When Fan Xian sensed the opportunity, he followed this opportunity to sit quietly in the wind and rain by the seaside. What was this opportunity? Was it Ye Liuyun who came from the sea? Was it the death of Sigu Jian who looked into the sea? Was it the confusion at parting from family?
Fan Xian was confused. He then began to calmly comb through the events of this day and night. He had to find out what this opportunity was in order to know exactly what color that door was and who had opened it in front of him.
This task was not difficult. He had hurried from Ten Family Village to Dongyi and stayed a night in the Sword Hut. The only thing that could have caused a change was the two little booklets, particularly the one written in strange transliteration.
Fan Xian had already given this booklet to Fei Jie to bring back to the mysterious Western continent. He had completely memorized the contents of the booklet in his mind. Although he still didn't understand the meaning of many of the words, he understood the meaning of a few sentences.
Those words were not like incantations. They were more like a poem he had seen in his previous life, something in the style of Dante's Divine Comedy.
Did Italian originate from Latin? Fan Xian furrowed his brows and sat in the wind and rain with vexation. He couldn't remember the knowledge he had long forgotten. He only remembered that Italian had many dialects and that the true language was inseparable from Dante's Divine Comedy.
Was it those sentences that were imprinted in his heart and made him unconsciously move his thoughts as he circulated his zhenqi, thus creating the strange situation in front of him?
Magic? Fan Xian slowly stood up and furrowed his brows. He looked at the empty boat and the serene blue water with only the sea wind and rain. It was as if he wanted to see the continent on the other side of the sea.
…
…
I love you, this bright and beautiful spring wind.
I use my entire heart and soul to feel each jumping spring song in the air.
To be close to you, to be together with you.
…
…
This was a poem, not a magic incantation. Fan Xian stood in a daze in the rain. He still persisted in his own judgment. It was clear that these poetry-like words had allowed him to learn something and sense something. Was there really the yuanqi of heaven and earth in the air outside his body that should have been empty? Earlier, in the process of circulating his qi, he had added a sliver of a thought similar to the poem when he flowed back and thus absorbed something back?
His footsteps were hurried as he took a few steps on the beach. His body spun a few times in the wind and rain on the shore of the East Sea. He looked at the air around him and the rain around him. Narrowing his eyes, they glowed. It was as if he wanted to find something he couldn't grasp in this transparent or natural everything.
However, there was nothing.
In an instant, too many guesses, doubts, and judgments surged into Fan Xian's mind. It made him feel difficult to bear the burden. With a muffled grunt, he rubbed the space between his brows.
The book was a relic left behind by Master Ku He. Using an occasional word from Sigu Jian, one could tell that the former Imperial Advisor of Northern Qi was very interested in the useless magic of the Western world. He had even shown some of his skills on Dong Mountain.
However, it was all in Italian. No matter how talented the Imperial Advisor was, he shouldn't know it. So, how did he learn it? What exactly did he learn?
Furthermore, the collection of poems that might have something to do with magic was also strange. It looked like it was from a long time ago, perhaps even from before Ku He was born. It was probably an elder on this land who had accidentally come into contact with the essence of magic in the Western continent and forcefully memorized these words.
Fan Xian suddenly felt some regret. He shouldn't have given this little book to his teacher in such a hurry to take to the distant Western continent. He should have studied it a bit more. Using the power of the Overwatch Council, perhaps he could dig out the identity of the elder who had long become a white skeleton and then dig further into history from that line.
Rain dripped down from his face. Fan Xian suddenly smiled in relief and shook his head self-mockingly. He thought to himself that under the powerful pressure, he had indeed gone mad. The victory on Dong Mountain had already proven that no matter how much Master Ku He practiced or how much control he had over this strange technique, in the end, there was no fundamental change. He had still lost to the Emperor.
Spells, spells, perhaps they were not as useless as people thought, but they could not possibly be a sharp weapon that could change everything.
Fan Xian turned his head dispiritedly and left the seaside, heading toward Dongyi in the rain. Sigu Jian had already passed away. Presumably, the entire Dongyi had sunk into sorrow and despair. He had to go back and meet with the disciples of the Sword Hut to control the situation.
He didn't know that he had missed a precious opportunity, a chance to open that door. Regardless of whether it was on this land or that land, such an opportunity would only occasionally appear. Once it passed away, who knew how long it would take to seize such an opportunity again?
Fortunately, such an opportunity and luck were indiscernible things. They were always related to human perseverance and curiosity. Given Fan Xian's diligence and desire to explore, presumably, it would not take long for him to touch this door again.
… …
White smoke rose from the depths of the grass hut. This white smoke was not kitchen smoke or the pungent smoke of burning leaves in late autumn. The white smoke indicated a reality. The people of Dongyi who could see the white smoke and hear about it all looked in that direction with fear and unease. Some people had already knelt down and kowtowed endlessly in that direction.
Most of them already knew the news of the sword saint's passing.
Fan Xian walked to the door of the Sword Hut. All of the disciples on the outskirts of the Sword Hut glared at him angrily. The fire of hatred burning in their eyes was enough to melt him. Even with Fan Xian's strong willpower, he still couldn't help but feel fear under these circumstances.
He knew where the hatred of the disciples of the Sword Hut came from. Sigu Jian had died under the sinister pincer attack of the Qing Emperor and the Qing Great Grandmaster Ye Liuyun. He, a powerful official of the Qing Kingdom, had, without question, become a substitute for hatred.
Fan Xian didn't have time to think about how to soothe the emotions of the disciples of the Sword Hut. He only looked at the white smoke in the depths of the grass hut. A glimmer of worry flashed through his eyes. Pushing open the door, he went straight to the flat ground beside the sword pit. Looking at the blazing firewood, he walked forward with unusual straightforwardness and threw something into the fire.
The color of the flame immediately changed. The Great Grandmaster's remains in the fire had long disappeared.
Following Fan Xian's action, sword intent crisscrossed the depths of the Sword Hut. 11 swords surrounded his body. The sword intent spat out like a snake. In the next moment, it could stab Fan Xian to death on the spot.
Of the 13 disciples of the Sword Hut, other than Yun Zhilan and Thirteenth Wang, who were kneeling at the very front, everyone else was angered by Fan Xian's action.
…
…
Fan Xian felt the bone-chilling sword intent invading his body. He didn't make any large movements. He knew that faced with a pincer attack from 11 ninth-level masters, even if the Emperor came personally, he would have to consider whether or not to temporarily avoid the attack. As for himself, he wouldn't even have a chance to retaliate.
He looked at Yun Zhilan kneeling in front of him and said, "There's poison in the smoke. I don't want this white smoke to kill half the people in Dongyi."
When he saw the white smoke, Fan Xian's heart jumped in fright. He had not thought that while he was sitting by the seaside, the disciples of the Sword Hut would so straightforwardly cremate Sigu Jian's remains. After all, in his memory, this land did not have the habit of cremation.
There was poison in Sigu Jian's remains. There was a powerful poison. Unless it was Sir Fei Jie, it was impossible for it to harden the flesh and resist the injury of the Emperor's Way of the Emperor's punch for a full three years.
Once this poison was burned by the flame, it would rise with the white smoke. It was not as terrifying as Fan Xian had said. However, he had to be careful.
For the sake of the injury on Sigu Jian's body, Fan Xian had secretly prepared some methods. Those medicines were appropriate for the situation.
Hearing Fan Xian's explanation, Yun Zhilan, who was kneeling at the very front, did not rise or turn his head. He only raised his right arm.
The sword returned to its sheath, and the sword light returned to normal. In an instant, the surroundings of the sword grave returned to a calm and sorrowful atmosphere. A few sword boys cried as they added firewood to the fire. The 13 second-generation disciples of the Sword Hut knelt in front of the fire.
Fan Xian looked at this scene and was moved. He knew that after Sigu Jian's death, Yun Zhilan, without question, had the highest prestige in the entire Sword Hut.
Thirteen swords. How terrifying was this power? If the hands holding these swords were his own, how good would that be?
Fan Xian furrowed his brows slightly. Looking at the fire, he thought to himself.
…
…
As dusk fell, Yun Zhilan entered the room and carried a small urn wrapped in cloth. With an indifferent expression, he handed it to Fan Xian and said, "Although I don't understand teacher's meaning, since he wants me to give it to you, I will give it to you."
Fan Xian accepted it with both hands and found that the urn was still slightly warm. Thinking that it was Sigu Jian's ashes that had not yet cooled, he felt very strange.
Yun Zhilan slowly knelt down in front of him and said, "The 12 swords of the Sword Hut are given to you according to teacher's orders."
Fan Xian's pupils constricted slightly.
…
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