Wen Ting ruffled his hair, shaking his head furiously, resembling Hua Ancestor.
Before long, he cald down. His face was once again clouded with gloom as he murmured hoarsely:
"But just when I thought he was toying with again, he preached to , ’Nothingness is reality, reality is nothingness.’"
"The eternal dream doesn’t matter; what’s important is that after forsaking nothingness, only then can one return to zero and achieve final-stage perfection."
"Zero..."
Wen Ting stared absentmindedly at the Sword Washing Pool.
The water rippled slightly, and under the Witness Sword Technique, it spontaneously outlined the character "Zero."
Wen Ting shook his head slightly.
That "Zero" character, like a Mirror Flower Water Moon, silently disintegrated.
After a while, the pool surface rippled again, this ti forming an ancient-style "〇".
"〇..."
The "〇" pattern wasn’t large, but it could be divided into two halves.
The left half bathed in sunlight as yang, shimring with illusion, reflecting Bazhun’an’s hideously ugly ghostly face.
The right half shadowed by rocks as yin, had nothing, but there stood a sword, a broken sword.
Qingju, it was yin.
"Wuwu..."
The little crybaby was still sobbing.
Sword tears dripped into the Sword Washing Pool, uncollected by anyone.
The Burial Sword Tomb turned cold with no wind, Wen Ting closed his eyes heavily, goosebumps extending from his upper arm to his forearm, finally disappearing into the scripture scroll tightly clenched in his palm.
He rose to his feet, stepped out of the Sword Washing Pool, stood on a high rock, and facing the Eastern Mountain mist, said with a smile:
"Little fellow, you’ve won."
"He always enjoys the delicacies last; that’s indeed his nature, and he never gave up on you."
"After this farewell, don’t forget to tell him, if possible, help find Gu Qingyi, those few can’t take over my mantle yet."
Qingju was taken aback.
The crying imdiately stopped.
Suddenly, a familiar aura penetrated the Burial Sword Tomb’s rocks, stirring the ripples in the Sword Washing Pool, rushing into the sword body.
Warm and gentle.
Just like that familiar large hand from thirty years ago, gently holding him once again.
"Buzz!"
Mystic light erupted from the top of the Burial Sword Tomb.
...
"Qingju!"
"Look, it’s Qingju!"
Outside the Eastern Mountain mist, the mountain worshippers suddenly boiled over, eyes widened, fingers pointing at the sky.
In Zhang Xing’s projection, Bazhun’an held the sword to the east.
On the Eastern Mountain Burial Sword Tomb, Qingju soared skyward.
Even though decades had passed, hardly anyone rembered the figure of Qingju from "A Sword Immortal, A Qingju" of yore.
But still...
The broken sword!
Who didn’t know the title of Qingju? Who wasn’t aware?
That sword shadow streaked the sky with mystic light, even though it flashed by—a re half-foot sword body. How many such swords remain in the world?
Even if there are other broken swords, could they emit light and contain such mystic intent?
"Away it goes!"
"Qingju has gone!"
"Sky high stands Bazhun’an, half a Qingju dare any block...Oh my, perfection, it’s perfection!"
The entire mountain resounded with the ancient swordsn’s revelry, leaving only Wen Ting in solitude.
He flickered a step, reached the East Mountain Summit, standing beside Sword Hemp.
The Ancestral Trees’ Sword Hemp trembled with envy and unwillingness.
Wen Ting gently patted it, speaking seriously:
"I know what you’re thinking."
"But at this mont, right now, he has indeed surpassed the Sword Ancestor."
"What I want to tell you is, maybe ten epochs later, the five regions might give birth to another Sword Ancestor, or even two, but probably never another Bazhun’an."
Wen Ting gazed into Lingyu, speaking through gritted teeth, filled with discomfort.
He still spoke.
The jade bamboo forest behind had long been broken by heavy snow when the Sword Ancestor bent to demonic spirits.
But after cutting the bamboo, the roots stood unyielding, the ancient swordsn’s spirit and pride never dying.
Wen Ting took a deep breath, carefully holding a snowflake, gently blowing it into the clouds:
"Xu Xiaoshou acts out absurd dramas, his behavior ridiculous, yet his clever lines do occasionally land well."
"In my view, ’No peer in a hundred eras, no higher one in ten thousand years,’ seems more fitting to describe Bazhun’an."
"Sword Hemp, I want to help him."
Sword Hemp was silent, seemingly hesitating.
Wen Ting, with utmost seriousness, said: "The Sword Washing Pool, rearing nas for a thousand millennia, the ancient swordsn’s pride runs eternally unbroken, no one can understand or interpret it."
"Bazhun’an with one sword ’Great Dream Millennia,’ yet he’s revealed to the world the aning of the Burial Sword Tomb, even if the Sword Ancestor revives, he would also assist him now."
"Therefore, whether you agree or not, I must grant him a na, to directly aid him in passing through the Harmonization Stage, returning to zero in completion."
With that said.
Not waiting for Sword Hemp’s agreent.
Blood Pearls cracked from Wen Ting’s fingertips, rging into the Ancestral Trees’ Sword Hemp body, causing the Burial Sword Tomb to quake, and waves to ripple across the Sword Washing Pool.
With his fingers together as one, Wen Ting pointed toward the Central Region Ghost Buddha Realm.
After Qingju carried the mystic away, the Burial Sword Tomb thus erupted in light, surging through Lingyu Mountain.
"Sword, rise!"
...
The sword fell!
In the Central Region’s Lingyu Mountain.
On the sword column array that seals space in all directions, ten thousand Ghost Hunters bore down forcefully.
It’s always too late as mulberry trees, returning is rely the sword rising again.
But Bazhun’an summoned the sword from Eastern Mountain, calling upon Qingju, though with instantaneous arrival speed, yet as Sword Deity Hua Changdeng said...
"Too late!"
A Sword from the East.
Qingju pierced through spaceti, trailing mystic light.
Upon reaching the summit of Lingyu Mountain, only the familiar figure from thirty years ago was seen, holding steady to the east.
However, he could still hold fast to himself...
Under Ghost Hunting Town, completely and utterly Bazhun’an’s Divine Shedding and Sword were blasted to bits, annihilated into nothingness.
The world, completely silent.
Qingju arrived fashionably late, suspended mid-air.
The entire world focused on this sword that was not a fad sword but surpassed one, the broken sword above.
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