"Taiwu, you still remember Taiwu, you remember the Fuyu Sword Hilt, but you've forgotten me."
In the desolate twilight, the woman in purple robes held a broken zither, as the setting sun slowly descended behind her.
The white-robed Taiwu's voice was bitter, "Why have you come?"
"Are you saying I shouldn't?"
"No, I just thought you would have forgotten me."
"But I can't forget."
The white-robed Taiwu sighed, "You held a martial arts competition to find a spouse in Guangzhou, and you were pursued by a senior from the Xuan Nu Sect, weren't you?"
"Yes."
"Are you injured?"
"It's none of your concern."
"Since we've already parted, why seek me out again?"
"I want you to stop being Taiwu. I want my An Jingzhi, not Taiwu Jingzhi."
"Don't be unreasonable."
"You promised me a lifetime together."
The white-robed Taiwu remained silent, merely gazing deeply at her.
The woman in purple robes took a step back, "Alright, I understand, Taiwu. The jianghu road is long; let's meet again in the next life."
She put down the zither, and let go of her feelings.
Feelings broken, strings broken.
The woman fell to the ground, this time never to rise again.
From that day on, the white-robed Taiwu left the Lion Appearance Sect and disappeared without a trace.
...
Wang Ping'an sat on a bamboo chair, his elbows resting on his thighs, his hands clasped into fists, propping up his pensive forehead.
Specks of moonlight pierced through the bamboo shadows, filtering into the small building.
A patch of delicate, shimmering light was evenly cast on the wooden floor in front of his toes.
It had been a month since Bai Zimo fell unconscious.
He now lay on a narrow bed in front of Wang Ping'an, his complexion normal, but his consciousness remained unawakened.
Li Dingxun said he would be fine, but he hadn't personally come to see what was truly happening.
The seniors of Ran Mountain had already given up, and Li Dingxun's words seemed more like a perfunctory remark.
The Daoist both believed him and didn't believe him.
He believed him because a halo, a divine halo, enveloped Li Dingxun. He never failed; everything he did was correct. Such a person—no, such an existence—transcended the human world. If the world were a shop, everyone else would be goods on the counter, but Li Dingxun was like a shop assistant. He could see the fate of the goods at a glance—bought, discarded, or left to rot in the warehouse. He had that power.
Precisely because of this, the Daoist didn't believe him.
If the world were a shop, it would definitely be unlit; everyone would be trembling in the shadows, gazing at the sunlight seeping through the door crack, but the only true companions would be each other and the dust.
Everyone thanked the Bodhisattva, for she was a lamp.
But one should also be wary of those with too much power. The Daoist didn't trust Li Dingxun; he held a guillotine in his hand. Even if you knew the blade wouldn't fall on your head, the fear brought by its sharpness was undeniable.
With Xiangxu causing havoc, what would be the future for the people of the Pure Land Era?
Over the past hundred years, nothing seemed to have changed, yet everything seemed to have changed.
The Daoist vaguely perceived that a new administrative system was rising across the Divine Land—an organization connecting villages and cities through the Pure Land, a new entity, similar to a court but transcending it.
Wang Ping'an disliked this feeling. Cultivators all disliked such drastic, unnatural evolutions.
Now, Li Dingxun was an arbiter hovering above human clusters.
First under heaven, second in history.
Wang Ping'an narrowed his eyes.
Cultivators follow nature. This is nonsense. Nature ultimately leads to destruction, yet humans vainly seek eternity. Cultivators defy nature—that is the correct path.
"No, acting without action is the true path..." the Daoist mumbled.
What could he do?
Wang Ping'an felt like a husband standing outside the delivery room; the anxiety was the same, the anticipation was the same. The only difference was that it wasn't a pregnant woman lying down, but a swordsman. However, in terms of probability, it was actually the same: either live or die...
These strange thoughts filled the Daoist's heart.
Why had Bai Zimo come to this point today?
It was the Xin Jian Jing (Heart Sword Sutra), it was that ink-jade broken sword.
Yes, everything began with them.
The Daoist looked up and saw the broken sword hanging on the wall.
Its body was black, its blade white, with a clean break and a round hole beneath the fracture, through which a thin silk thread passed, hanging from a tenon.
As if sensing his gaze, the broken sword trembled slightly.
Witnessing this moment, Wang Ping'an suddenly felt his heart skip a beat.
"Is it Momo?" he asked incredulously.
The broken sword jumped again.
The Daoist sprang from the bamboo chair and went to grasp the broken sword.
It felt warm and smooth to the touch, surprisingly pleasant.
"Momo!"
The broken sword stopped moving, as if the soul hidden within it had become exhausted.
What to do?
The Daoist injected internal energy into the broken sword. A luminous glow overflowed from the silver-white blade, spreading out invisibly and imperceptibly, pruning the bamboo branches outside the building.
Formless sword energy, a realm countless swordsmen dreamed of, could be achieved effortlessly through this broken sword.
Was the sword's material unique?
The Daoist fell into deep thought again, but quickly snapped back to attention.
Now was time to save the swordsman Momo, not time to be a curious baby.
Well, the sect elders all said it was like a soul-separation syndrome but not quite, so it could be confirmed that at least Bai Zimo's consciousness was separated from his body.
So how could he contact Momo?
Soul-summoning was useless; every method of soul-summoning had been tried, but to no avail.
So, should he risk his own body?
Daoists have methods for the Yin spirit to leave the body, and Wang Ping'an knew them. So, should he try using his Yin spirit to investigate this broken sword?
It's too dangerous, isn't it? Wang Ping'an felt his limbs go numb with fear; now his hands were already tingling as if electrified.
But he couldn't just leave Momo unsaved.
Should he let others try?
Only a few people had cultivated a Yin spirit, and apart from him, they were all elders who wouldn't be able to help.
Then, he would try.
...
Fu Xixi had run away from home again.
She was still worried about the swordsman and wanted to go to Guangdong to find Li Dingxun.
Bandits on the road had basically disappeared these days, so travel was very safe. She smoothly followed the post station to Guangzhou.
Why not go directly to Lotus Mountain?
Because she had no money.
She decided to work in Guangzhou to earn some travel expenses before continuing her journey.
Fu Xixi's cooking skills were vastly improved; even simple dishes could be made to be endlessly delicious. During her time as a cook in a restaurant called Juxian Lou, business boomed, and the restaurant's threshold had been replaced three times.
In July, the scorching sun was like fire. Walking on the street, if it wasn't cloudy, the intense glare could make people faint. Not to mention the humid south, it was truly stuffy and hot, like a steamer. Everyone was like shrimp dumplings, lying flat obediently, only making a Q-bouncy sound when squeezed by lips and teeth.
Here, the squeezing of lips and teeth was multifaceted: sellers encountering buyers was squeezing, sellers and buyers fighting was also squeezing. It was hard to say which of these two had a greater difference; at least the amount of sweat was almost the same. So everyone was also like exploding beef balls, sweating profusely with every movement...
The only way to replenish the sauce was with herbal tea.
Everyone was drinking herbal tea.
Wealthy families with ice cellars would have iced plum juice.
Fu Xixi also learned to make various Cantonese dim sum in the restaurant. In her eyes, the faces of the pedestrians on the street melted in the strong light, looking like a group of walking char siu.
Just then, a piece of char siu fell to the ground.
It fell right in front of the restaurant's door. With such strong sun, not doing anything would lead to a fatality.
So a few waiters carried the person inside. With no place to put him, they temporarily placed him in a corner of the back kitchen, by the ventilation opening near the door, where the pastry chefs made cold drinks, so the temperature was relatively low.
Fu Xixi looked down at the white-robed man.
He wasn't suffering from heatstroke; he was injured and unconscious.
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