Chapter 331

After killing Liu Xiuyuan, Wen Hemian once approached the bodies buried under the sand dunes.

The face and voice of his old friend were no more, leaving only a stark white skeleton, with a spine held straight to the last moment of life, fiercely guarding the long sword in his hand.

Tian Xianzi used to call Jueming an “antique,” teasing him for always being so serious and overly solemn, but once the war ended, he never called him that again.

Wen Hemian had always understood; Jueming wasn’t stubbornly old-fashioned, but rather adhered strictly to his own “path.”

In those days, when they wielded swords and conversed deeply, Jueming’s talk of “protecting all living beings” was no empty promise.

He upheld this vow throughout his life, until the moment he died.

Wen Hemian gazed at those hollow eye sockets for a long time before he used his remaining spiritual energy to shield the skeletons, ensuring they wouldn’t be disturbed by the shifting sands for a time.

After a brief pause, he reached out and grasped the dust-covered Zhuxie Sword.

The plans of the demon cultivators were unclear, and dangers lurked throughout the desert; if an emergency arose, this sword might prove useful.

Letting future cultivators use it to slay more demons was, after all, Jueming’s ultimate purpose in protecting it.

When Wen Hemian saw Tian Xianzi rush forward toward the demon god without hesitation, his fingertips trembled.

Though it had been years since he held a sword, he had once been a sword cultivator.

… And now, perhaps, he should be once again.

“Uncle master, what should we do?”

The little prince from the Dragon Palace once asked him this.

He didn’t know.

At some point, Wen Hemian began to fear wielding a sword.

Perhaps it was when he repeatedly picked up his life-bound sword but felt no trace of sword energy.

Or maybe it was when he held a sword and saw others glancing at him with pity and regret.

What had once been his greatest love had become a thorn lodged deep in his heart, always reminding him that Wen Hemian had lost his spiritual energy, reduced to someone who couldn’t even handle a sword.

So, he shut himself away in a closed shell, severing all ties to the sword path.

But now—

There was no doubt that Tian Xianzi alone would perish alongside the demon god, just as Jueming had once done.

Wen Hemian wanted to step forward to help, but he was helpless.

He hadn’t held a sword in years, and his memories of the ever-changing sword techniques were hazy at best.

More than that, the only sword available to him now was Jueming’s Zhuxie.

Zhuxie was a famous sword, cutting iron like mud, its sword spirit power exceptionally strong.

If he could gain its aid, perhaps he could be of some small assistance.

Yet the sword spirit was no longer within.

Recalling that day when the demon god self-destructed, with such a devastating impact, even a sword spirit couldn’t withstand it and was likely scattered into nothingness.

Thus, Zhuxie became an ordinary sword, unable to bring him the slightest hope in this critical moment.

Tian Xianzi was reaching his limit.

As a fellow senior disciple, Wen Hemian could only stand by, powerless.

Pale fingertips touched his storage pouch, and a buzzing sound rang in Wen Hemian’s ears.

Somehow, he remembered the letter he received before his departure in Qingxu Valley.

At that time, the elders of the Xuanxu Sword Sect had gathered to ask if he could leave the valley to search for signs of the demon clan in the desert.

Wen Hemian was immensely flustered and tense, instinctively repelling the outside world.

Although he replied calmly, saying, “Let me think about it,” his mind was in turmoil.

He didn’t have many close friends and couldn’t find anyone to confide in, so in a strange moment, he wrote a letter to Níng Níng.

She hadn’t realized that her true identity had been detected and still conversed with him in the tone of an unfamiliar young disciple.

That night, the letter arrived later than usual.

When Wen Hemian opened it, he saw her purposely messy handwriting.

She must have thought about it carefully, writing much in long, flowing lines.

At the end of the letter, the young girl wrote, stroke by stroke:

[Although the flashes of sword light and sword energy during battle are impressive, what truly draws me is the resolve at the moment the sword is drawn from its sheath.

The sword and swordsmanship are cold, but because of those who wield them, they are imbued with warmth, becoming a revered ‘path.’

It may sound a bit corny, but I feel that unwavering conviction is stronger than any dazzling sword technique.

In my heart, Elder Jiang Xing is always a powerful person.

P.S.: Autumn has arrived, and the mountains of Xuanxu Sect have turned red and yellow.

I found a hidden stream on Cailan Peak; when you recover and leave the valley, let’s go fishing there.

Grilled fish is amazing!]

He was not strong.

He only knew how to avoid things, always living in the shadow of the past, disappointing his mentors and his former self.

The frail youth coughed lightly, his gaze deepening.

But now, at this moment… he could not let down the friend with whom he had once fought side by side.

“Lin Xun.”

A flash of white light flickered from his storage pouch, and in his hand appeared an old, dusty sword.

Wen Hemian held it tightly with unfamiliar hands, each finger feeling the cold, hard surface.

His movements were stiff, accompanied by a slight tremor.

Suddenly, his grip tightened, stopping the tremble, as if he had finally made a decision.

He looked to the young dragon beside him and said, “Give me a spiritual pill.”

From the moment he raised his sword, Wen Hemian already understood his fate.

His spiritual sea of consciousness was still damaged, patched together like torn cloth.

To assist Tian Xianzi, he would have to force it open, rapidly raising his cultivation within a short time, burning away the last of his spiritual energy and life.

This was Wen Hemian’s resolve.

His “path.”

His unwavering conviction.

The hand that was accustomed to playing the qin and brewing tea held the sword hilt once more after many years.

The restrained sword energy belonging to Elder Jiang Xing was like a gentle stream as a tall figure rushed forward to stand by Tian Xianzi.

Their two sword energies interwove, and for an instant, the roar of dragons and the whistling of swords forced the demon god’s enormous figure back.

This was the first strike.

In his near-exhausted state, Wen Hemian could muster only enough strength for a final blow.

He took a deep breath.

His right hand trembled constantly.

—Wait.

It wasn’t his hand that was shaking.

Startled, he tightened his grip, lowering his gaze to the long sword in his hand.

At some point, a vast spiritual energy had begun emanating from the sword’s tip, glowing like falling moonlight, wrapping around the sword’s entire body.

The once-dim Zhuxie—

In an instant, it burst into radiant light, its hum long and deep, with its sword spirit energy surging like waves, pushing back the surrounding darkness.

A woman’s silhouette appeared within his collapsed spiritual sea of consciousness.

White mist rose, firmly protecting his fragile meridians.

Wen Hemian caught a glimpse of the woman’s mist-formed eyes.

“Zhuxie’s sword spirit—”

Tian Xianzi was also stunned, then burst into relieved laughter: “That Jueming… so like him!”

The scales of fate tipped in this moment.

If the townsfolk had not given their lives to protect the sword.

If Jueming hadn’t sacrificed himself to merge Zhuxie’s sword spirit with the Ziwei Realm.

If that young man who said farewell to his family one midnight had not left his sister with a compass.

Everything would have turned out differently.

But the chain of fate had finally reached its convergence.

It was known that Tian Xianzi’s strength was roughly matched that of the demon god threatening to break the barrier.

It was known that Wen Hemian’s last strike would allow Tian Xianzi to retain enough spiritual energy to survive.

It was known that the original “Ning Ning” had reincarnated time after time; Zhuxie’s sword spirit had waited in the Ziwei Realm, gathering boundless spiritual energy for millennia, ensuring Wen Hemian’s sea of consciousness would remain unharmed.

The lone figure battling in the desert finally became three, wielding swords side by side once again.

Tian Xianzi wiped the blood from his mouth and, with curiosity, asked, “Strange, why does that sword spirit have such powerful energy?”

But… that was not something he needed to ponder at this moment.

“When this is over, let’s go feast at the best restaurant in the world.”

He laughed boldly, his gaze in the sword energy shining bright as stars.

“Staying in that valley all the time is nonsense! Look at you; you’re practically growing moss.”

Wen Hemian gazed at the long sword in his hand for a long while, a faint smile lifting the corners of his lips.

“Alright.”

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