The Taoist priest muttered, "Command talisman, ritual altar, soul-guiding banner..."
He stood before a table laden with many scattered items: candles, incense burners, offerings, talisman papers, inkstones, and so on.
There are risks to the Yin Spirit leaving the body, so one must also invite guardian generals.
The ritual procedure is complex; once it begins, almost every step requires a corresponding incantation to be recited.
Before offering incense, recite the Incantation of Quiet Incense; before using the inkstone, recite the Incantation of the Inkstone God; before picking up the brush, recite the Incantation of the Brush God; before dipping the ink, recite the Incantation of the Ink God; before putting the brush to paper, recite the Incantation of the Pen Stroke God...
Finally, he recited a general invocation to summon the guardian general worshipped by Ran Mountain, who was a great general, radiating golden light and awe-inspiring.
Wang Ping'an greeted the general, entrusted him with his matter, and asked the general to protect his Yin Spirit from evil winds, which the general agreed to one by one.
"Alright, Mo Mo, I'm coming now." The Taoist priest's lips turned pale with fear, but he sat down cross-legged and instantly entered a state of meditation.
A spiritual light burst from his fontanelle, vaguely resembling a tiny human figure, delicate and translucent, like crystal carving, emitting a brilliant, radiant glow – it was precisely the Taoist priest's Yin Spirit.
This Yin Spirit had a perfect form and was not afraid of strong winds, indicating the Taoist priest's profound cultivation.
The general waved a flag, and countless talismans flew out, circling the tiny Yin Spirit to form a golden ring, making it even safer.
The Yin Spirit flew to the broken sword on the table, hovered for a moment, hesitated, and then abruptly plunged into it.
At this moment, the door of the small building was kicked open, and several old Taoist priests rushed in, "Ping'an! What are you doing!"
"Oh no, his Yin Spirit has left his body!"
"What is this, what is this!" His master wailed, his voice like a cold crow.
...
Fu Xixi had originally planned to leave the restaurant, but because she took in this white-clothed man, she stayed a while longer.
He was too severely injured and had a fever. He regained consciousness in the evening, then babbled incoherently all night, and finally stopped breathing before dawn.
The staff had left in the middle of the night, leaving Fu Xixi alone, by the long bench in the back kitchen, accompanying this poor man.
His body was half-leaning, half-lying on the narrow wooden bench, his legs still dangling on the ground, and his head tilted to one side.
"Xian'er... don't blame me." This man mumbled in his sleep, saliva dripping, wetting his lips. A thin layer of sweat covered his body. In the faint glow of the dying stove fire and the moonlight, his head looked like a porcelain ball, indeed devoid of color.
Fu Xixi was curious, who was Xian'er?
"...Xiangxu, Sword Tomb, I must preserve the vitality of Taiwu Village..."
"Avenge me, I will avenge you..."
"Fuyu, sword hilt..."
Fu Xixi giggled, "My name is Fu Xixi, and you said fu yu sword, hehe."
"Legacy... generation after generation..."
"The world, home, my love, cannot..."
"...Enough, enough, enough."
The first ray of morning sun, crimson and tinged with purple, shone on the white-clothed man's porcelain-like face, reflecting a faint Buddha's light.
"I, come, to be with you, in the next life..."
Fu Xixi felt a little sad; he was dead.
There was no saving him, truly. An internal energy probe revealed shattered meridians, completely destroyed internal organs, especially his heart meridian, which was almost nonexistent. He had only held on until now by relying on powerful cultivation.
With his internal energy exhausted, it was all over.
During the last five hours of his life, this person spent it in delirium, but fortunately, a girl accompanied him with laughter and tears.
The shopkeeper arrived, and seeing a dead person in the back kitchen, quickly recited a few Buddhist chants, then instructed the staff to find a mat to wrap the body, and throw it in the mass grave.
Fu Xixi sighed, accompanying the two strong and capable staff members to bury the person.
It was not yet fully light, and the road was a bit misty. These mists were also dyed golden by the morning sun. Their group, three living, one dead, three faces facing the light, one face in the shadow of the mat.
Outside the city gate, the staff hastily dug a pit, just a small depression in the earth, with broken grass stems exuding sap, like dewdrops.
The dead man was thrown into the pit, seemingly raising a bit of dust, or perhaps not.
His fingers seemed to tremble slightly, or perhaps not.
The staff covered the grave, shouldered their shovels, and prepared to return. Their faces wore knowing smiles, as if to say: just a dead person.
Fu Xixi mumbled, "Yes, just a dead person."
"Little sister, let's go back!"
The little sister shook her head, "You go back, I'm not going back."
Oh, now it was clear, it was a farewell; this smiling girl was leaving Juxian Tower.
The staff hesitated, then finally smiled at her encouragingly.
Their figures disappeared into the gradually dissipating morning mist, and Fu Xixi stood before the small grave mound.
The constantly undulating, high and low, dry and wet yellow mud of the mass grave did not look like a tomb, and of course, it wasn't a tomb; at most, it was a transitional zone for the physical body to return to the earth.
Countless people here, countless souls ascending...
Fu Xixi was lost in thought.
Suddenly, the mud in front of her moved.
Yes, the earth covering the grave moved.
The little sister was stunned.
A hand gripping a sword hilt pierced through the surface of the earth, the boundary between life and death, standing in the mud, rising high, like a simple tombstone.
The little sister gently placed her hand on the sword hilt.
The deceased's fist, which had been clenched, now suddenly loosened. Fu Xixi quickly grabbed it, and the sword hilt fell into her hand.
In an instant, she felt as if she was lost in an illusion. A thick fog rose around her. In the gray world, figures walked past, then walked back, appearing before her, revealing unfamiliar faces, and smiling gently at her.
The memories and cultivation of generations of Taiwu poured into Fu Xixi's body.
After an unknown amount of time, the sun had already risen high.
Fu Xixi looked down; the hand that had emerged from the ground had disappeared, returning to the deceased's underground.
Fu Xixi looked up; the clouds in the sky rushed back and forth, the wind whistled, carrying moisture, leaving a low murmur, "Legacy..."
Legacy.
The seventeenth generation.
Taiwu Xixi.
...
A white-clothed swordsman stood before the Taoist priest.
Wang Ping'an asked, "Who are you?"
The white-clothed swordsman replied, "I am you."
"Then who am I?"
"You are Mo Yun."
The Taoist priest shook his head, "How could I be Mo Yun? If I am Mo Yun, then who is Bai Zimo?"
"He is the Mo Yu Broken Sword." The white-clothed swordsman raised a hand, and in his palm stood a tiny human figure, curled up, who was precisely Bai Zimo.
"No... I can't be..." The Taoist priest was incredulous.
"Do not evade all this. This was part of our plan."
"What plan?"
"Sword intent reincarnation, breaking the shackles."
"Whose shackles?"
"The ancient sword wielder."
Mo Yun smiled at the Taoist priest and extended the Bai Zimo in his palm forward.
"Come, kill him."
"No." Wang Ping'an's tone was firm.
"Even if it means giving up the power of the sword dao's peak?"
"Even if it means giving up everything."
"Good." Mo Yun chuckled, then lunged at Wang Ping'an, and the two transformed into two invisible sword qi.
Dancing like dragons.
Converging like a river.
...
Li Dingxun sat at home drinking tea.
In a few days, he would set sail, and after returning, he would lead Taiwu to clear the Sword Tomb.
Then he heard that Taiwu had disappeared.
"???"
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