The sky turned black in an instant, and the snow began to fall just as suddenly. The youth’s voice echoed between heaven and earth, resonating with the mountain winds and the surging waves of the Wild River.
Ye Xianyu caught a snowflake, cradling it before her eyes as she studied it closely. She murmured softly, "Ye Xianyu, a first-generation disciple of the Wendao Sword Sect, respectfully bids farewell to Senior Brother Yun Zheng!"
Li Qingshan stood at the mountain peak with his hands behind his back, his green robes looking the same as ever. He said in a deep voice:
"Li Qingshan, a second-generation disciple of the Wendao Sword Sect, respectfully bids farewell to Martial Uncle Yun Zheng!"
Wen Qingxue subconsciously tightened the iron chain holding the auspicious beast and lowered her eyes. "Wen Qingxue, a third-generation disciple of the Wendao Sword Sect, respectfully bids farewell to Martial Grand-Uncle!"
Yao Zhijian cast aside his usual wild and unrestrained demeanor. He straightened his attire, smoothed his long sleeves, and bowed with clasped hands toward the heavy snow.
"Respectfully bidding farewell to the Patriarch!"
In the snowy night of the Demon Suppression Abyss, a piercing white light rose from the banks of the Wild River and streaked westward. Like a comet crossing the sky, it covered a hundred miles, then a thousand, in the blink of an eye...
Looking closely, one could see it was an immortal sword, trailing a world-shaking sword light, cutting through the falling snow as it returned.
In the Demon Suppression Abyss and Demon-Slaying City, people stopped in their tracks to look up, staring blankly.
First came the heavy snow.
Then came the voice of the youth.
Followed by an immortal sword returning west to Wendao.
They were surprised and bewildered, but realization soon dawned, and whispers broke out.
"It's snowing."
"That's Xu Xian's voice."
"What is this?"
"An immortal sword... the immortal sword is returning to its peak. A patriarch of the Wendao Sword Sect has fallen..."
"Fallen?"
"Is it that sword immortal?"
Countless speculations and rumors intertwined, but the answer was obvious.
Unlike the bewildered cultivators of the Central Plains, the disciples of the Wendao Sword Sect understood clearly in their hearts.
The Little Grand-Uncle's voice.
The sword returning across the sky.
Martial Grand-Uncle Yun Zheng.
The Fifth Patriarch.
He was dead!
Even if they could not accept it, even if it was sudden and they were completely unprepared, the fact was before them, and they had no choice but to believe it.
The Patriarch was truly gone.
They stopped what they were doing and faced the direction the immortal sword had gone. Amidst the freezing snow, they watched that blazing sword intent depart.
Some whispered like Wen Qingxue; some bowed solemnly like Yao Zhijian; some had eyes red with grief, choking back sobs; and the more sentimental among them wailed loudly, tears streaming down their faces.
Some voices were loud.
Some were soft.
Some were intermittent.
Some were clear.
"Respectfully bidding farewell to Patriarch Yun Zheng!!"
"Respectfully bidding farewell to Patriarch Yun Zheng!!"
"Respectfully bidding farewell to Patriarch Yun Zheng!!!"
From time to time, sighs could be heard inside and outside Demon-Slaying City, lamenting the fall of a generation’s sword immortal.
"What a pity."
"The one who swept through the Great Desolation, the sword immortal Yun Zheng..."
"Even one as powerful as him cannot escape the cycle of life and death?"
"The Wendao Sword Sect has lost a sword immortal, and the four worlds have lost a formidable rival."
"Quickly report back to the sect: Yun Zheng fell tonight on the banks of the Wild River!"
Thousands of miles away in the heart of the Northern Borders, at the mountain gate of the Wendao Sword Sect.
The immortal sword had not yet returned, but on the fifth floor of the Immortal Pavilion, the fifth everlasting lamp in the third row suddenly went out.
The entire dark room grew a few shades dimmer.
The disciple guarding the pavilion noticed immediately.
At first, he denied it, refusing to believe his own eyes. After confirming it several times, he bit his lip, clenched his fists, and climbed to the top of the Immortal Pavilion.
Night had just fallen, and the stars were shifting.
With tears in his eyes, he struck the ancient bell on Tianjian Peak.
Dong...
Dong...
Dong...
At the mountain gate, the disciples who had been prepared for battle at the head of Longevity Bridge for days were instantly drawn by the sound of the bell.
Their gazes turned in unison toward Tianjian Peak.
Their eyes shifted from calm to unease, and from unease to solemnity.
At three tolls, it was like a knock on the heart's door.
At six tolls, hearts burned with anxiety.
At nine tolls, brows were furrowed in sorrow.
At twelve tolls, the entire sect’s heart broke.
Twelve tolls—twelve in a row. A lamp had gone out on the fifth floor of the Immortal Pavilion, and the two Guest Elders were still present. If there was no mistake...
In a few days, one would see that immortal sword return to the Heaven Beyond Heaven of Zhujian Peak, and hear the mournful tolling of the ancient bell again.
Just as the entire sect was sinking into a daze, the sound of the distant bell faded, replaced by a long, sobbing cry.
"Mingdeng Tai, a fourth-generation disciple of the Wendao Sword Sect, respectfully bids farewell to Patriarch Yun Zheng as his soul returns to the heavens!"
That long proclamation tore through their spirits.
The disciples of the entire sect fell into a deathly silence.
Patriarch Yun Zheng.
The second Sect Master.
The fifth chair of the Sword Pavilion.
The fifth disciple under the Sword Ancestor.
The actual helmsman of the Wendao Sword Sect for over eight thousand years.
He had passed!
Although they had suspected it—the intelligence had been sent back a few days ago saying Patriarch Yun Zheng had entered the Great Desolation alone with his sword—no one expected that this departure would be one with no return.
After a brief silence, sorrow permeated the air. Han Yi stood before the crowd, facing the direction of the East Desolation, and bowed with clasped hands.
"Respectfully bidding farewell to the Patriarch as his soul returns to the heavens!"
Tens of thousands of disciples from the Seven Peaks and Thirteen Halls bowed toward the east in unison and cried out.
"Respectfully bidding farewell to Patriarch Yun Zheng!!"
"Respectfully bidding farewell to Patriarch Yun Zheng!!!"
Their voices were surging and resonant, echoing under the night sky among the thousand mountains of the Wendao Sword Sect.
That night in Fanzhou, the powerful figures of the world all witnessed an ancient star quietly extinguish.
With a flick of their fingers to calculate the meaning, they understood the truth.
Some sighed sentimentally.
"What a pity, what a pity..."
Some lowered their eyes in empathy.
"The immortal gates do not open; we cultivators are ultimately unable to escape death."
Some sneered, gloating over the misfortune.
"Heh... Yun Zheng, oh Yun Zheng. I thought the Wendao Sword Sect had produced another Li Taibai, but it turns out it was just your deathbed struggle."
In the heart of the East Desolation, at the bottom of the Shenyue Pool, the dying Bai Ze and several battered beast gods witnessed this scene.
The gloom in their eyes was so thick it seemed as if blood would drip from them.
One beast said, "A good death."
Another beast agreed, "Heaven has not abandoned our race."
Only Bai Ze said hoarsely, "Even with a dying body, you ruined my East Desolation to such an extent. Yun Zheng, you were truly vicious."
In the West Heaven Demon Abyss.
For the first time in days, the High Priest showed a rare smile. The corners of her mouth curled up uncontrollably as she uttered a single word, leaving the surrounding demon race disciples completely confused.
"Good!"
Outside the Demon Abyss, Lei Yunche looked up at the sky and said hoarsely, "Senior Brother, have a safe journey..."
The sword immortal flicked his sleeve and turned, carrying the sky full of thunder as he vanished. The Demon Abyss saw the light of day once more.
On the shores of the North Sea.
A grey-haired old man holding a blood sail lowered his head.
A white-haired man wiped away blood, his eyes turning crimson.
On a lonely peak in the Broken Sword Mountain Range.
When a gust of wind blew past, Jiang Wanyin cried. She poured a cup of tea on the ground before her.
One hand gripped her chest tightly as she lowered her head, whimpering like a young animal.
"From this day forth... no one will cherish me anymore."
That night.
The immortal sword returned at the Hour of the Rat. The ancient bell tolled again, and the entire sect observed a moment of silence.
That night.
When the news of victory from the Demon Suppression Abyss arrived near dawn, there was a silent celebration.
They had won.
A great victory!
Yet, for some reason, no one could feel happy.
The Wendao Sword Sect lifted its state of combat readiness. The disciples dispersed, returning to their respective duties.
Elder Yao returned to the Baicao Garden, and Master Ruan returned to the forging workshop.
The two Guest Elders made an appointment and went to Burial Sword Peak together.
Learning that Xu Xian was unharmed, the hearts of Zhang Yang, Lin Qianqian, and Yao Xiaoxiao finally settled...
That night.
The snow in the Demon Suppression Abyss fell for the entire night. By daybreak, the thousand mountains were covered in snow, a pure white landscape.
Looking out, the world was clean, untainted by a speck of dust.
That night.
The youth stood in the snow, bathed in the wind, listening to the tide. He sat there until dawn.
Later, people said that in the Demon Suppression Abyss that year...
Autumn departed extremely early, and spring arrived extremely late.
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