Carrying Yin San's corpse, Zhao Layue walked out of the town. Her footsteps were light and quick as she stepped on the green grass.
The bright light from the sky cast a long shadow on the ground of her petite body, which was then gradually faded by the brighter light.
The most important thing in the whole continent was happening, but she didn't turn around to look. She just watched the shadow in front of her change in thickness, as if it was more interesting than the strange phenomena in heaven and earth.
No one noticed her, and naturally, no one noticed that her expression had finally changed.
She lifted the corners of her mouth slightly. She was smiling.
Cheers gradually rose among the peaks.
There seemed to be cheers in the town.
As the world became brighter, the cheers became louder and louder, and her smile became brighter and brighter until shallow dimples appeared on her cheeks, which was a little cute.
She was really happy, but also a little regretful.
How nice it would be if she could be in the same generation as a genius like Grand Master.
Whether it was to seek knowledge or to ask for Taoism or anything else.
The cheers among the peaks suddenly disappeared.
There was no surprise.
The silence at the moment represented good wishes.
It was like the light that illuminated the world.
Of course, there would still be some disappointment in the end.
Grand Master Jingyang had ascended.
Zhao Layue finally turned around and looked at the sky.
Looking at the gradually disappearing crack and the sword light that was almost out of sight, she didn't know why, but she slightly raised her eyebrows.
She looked at the corpse in her hand, and her smile gradually disappeared. She was a little confused and uncertain.
…
…
There was endless moisture in the clouds and mist, which was often accompanied by streams.
There was a stream not far from Cloudy Town. The stream carried a thin mist, flowing around high cliffs and low hills. After traveling for dozens of miles, it re-entered the mountain wall of another peak.
The stream flowed into the mountain wall for an unknown distance. The channel gradually widened, and the light gradually brightened. There was actually a stone room, and the wall was inlaid with a rare bright jade.
The stone room was very simple, with only a stone bed connected to the mountain wall. In front of the bed were two rotten cattail hassocks.
A young man had his hands behind his back, tilting his head to look at the stone bed. Occasionally, a gust of wind would blow up his white robe.
There was a person lying on the stone bed. His entire body was covered in blood, and there were wounds everywhere. Some were narrow, some were wide, some were deep, and some were shallow. It was impossible to tell what kind of weapon had injured him. His clothes were also in tatters, and it was impossible to tell that they were woven from Sky Worm Silk. The belt was still intact, and there was an extremely faint murderous aura on it. It was actually made from the tendons of the Hell Flood Dragon. There was a token tied to it, but it seemed to be carved from ordinary black wood.
This person's aura was completely gone, and he had died a long time ago. The strange thing was that his face was always shrouded in a layer of mist that was incomparably deep and serene, making it impossible to see his appearance clearly.
The young man stood in front of the stone bed and looked at the man in silence. No one knew what he was thinking.
After a long time, he finally spoke.
"So … annoying."
His voice was very clean, but a little rough. He spoke very slowly, as if he rarely spoke.
The light fell into his eyes.
His eyes were like an ocean. They seemed calm and clear, but they were incomparably deep and vast, hiding countless storms and waves.
There was confusion, anger, regret, tiredness, and some vicissitudes that did not match his age.
A moment later, all the emotions in his eyes disappeared, leaving only calmness.
It was like the clouds had disappeared between the nine peaks, or like the light that fell from the sky had turned into nothingness.
"I somewhat envy you. You can rest well, but I still have to work for many years."
The white-clothed young man said to the dead man on the stone bed.
The dead man's belt moved slightly, and the wooden token suddenly disappeared.
A cold light left the stone bed and flew around his body, illuminating the stone room. After a moment, it stopped in front of him.
It was a flying sword, about two feet long and as thick as two fingers. The blade was as smooth as a mirror. There was nothing special about it, but it gave off an extremely unusual feeling.
The white-clothed young man raised his right hand. The flying sword fell by itself, and with a clap, it curled around his wrist. It gradually darkened, and became like an ordinary bracelet.
Turning around and walking to the stream, the white-clothed young man suddenly thought of the words that person had said to him.
— A person could not step into the same river twice.
Was it really so?
Thinking of this question, he walked into the stream.
…
…
The stream passed through the belly of the mountain for who knew how many miles, and came out on the other side of the mountain, forming a beautiful waterfall that was more than ten feet high.
The white-clothed young man followed the stream and fell between the cliffs. He was about to walk on the water, but his feet had already stepped through the water and fell into the lake.
Only when his feet touched the bottom of the lake did he roughly understand what had happened, and he was somewhat stunned.
But he did not seem to know how to express his astonishment, so he looked a little dazed.
The slightly cold lake water had no effect on him. He opened his eyes and looked around, and saw a stone at the bottom of the lake.
He picked up the stone from the bottom of the lake, and walked along the terrain, getting closer and closer to the water, until he walked out of the lake and onto the shore.
With a muffled sound, the ground shook, and the water on the shore rippled. That was when he put down the stone in his arms. One could imagine how heavy the stone was.
He was soaked, and felt somewhat uncomfortable. He wanted to use the sword fire to dry his body, but found that nothing appeared.
His dripping hair and wet clothes reminded him that he should make a fire. Then he remembered that he had never made a fire before.
He tilted his head and recalled the books he had read many years ago, and repeated in a hoarse voice, "I need hay and branches of different thickness."
After confirming that all the water in his left ear had flowed out, he tilted his head to the right and continued to rummage through those distant memories, saying, "If I don't have flint, I need crystal or wood drill."
There was a forest on the shore. He walked into the forest and reached out to touch it. The fallen wood rustled down, and soon piled up into a small hill.
He picked out the smoothest piece of wood and padded it with a few wadding under the bark. With a thought, the silver bracelet on his wrist turned back into the small sword and hovered above it.
The sharp edge of the sword pressed against the wood through the wadding, and began to spin at an unimaginable speed. Soon, there were sparks, then smoke, and finally flames.
His clothes were placed on the branches, giving off steam.
Looking at the thickness of the steam and the speed at which it rose, the young man easily calculated that it would take three quarters of time for his clothes to be completely dry.
He didn't need to think about what he should do during this period of time.
All the time had only one purpose for him.
He sat down cross-legged, closed his eyes, and began to meditate and cultivate.
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