“What do you want with me?”
His voice wasn't loud, and his words were brief.
The woman behind him hadn't moved yet, but he already knew where she was.
On the single sofa in the living room near the floor-to-ceiling window, a warm presence had appeared.
She walked over with extremely light steps. The floor tiles made almost no sound, but the faint rustle of fabric rubbing together gave her away. Her footsteps stopped about three paces behind him.
“Young Master Luo truly has elegant tastes.”
The voice came from behind him, each word articulated clearly and precisely, as if measured beforehand. It was almost devoid of emotion.
“Coming all this way for a useless, broken sword... Aren't you afraid my Qiu family will keep you here forever?”
Luo Yang laughed. It was a genuine laugh that bubbled up from his chest. He let out a sigh of relief before the sound escaped his lips.
Only then did he move his hand from the doorknob and turn around, placing the box on the hallway shoe cabinet with a muffled thud.
“Leaving aside whether your Qiu family has the ability to do so...”
He looked up and met the woman’s gaze, the smile on his lips fading bit by bit.
“Even if you did, do you really think you could pull it off right under the Luo family’s nose?”
His voice turned cold, half a tone lower than his previous laugh.
“If you wanted to bring about the total destruction of the Qiu family, why go to all this trouble? You could have just told me directly.”
Luo Yang paused for a beat, speaking each word slowly.
“I guarantee that within three months, the Qiu family would cease to exist.”
The woman stared at him for two seconds, then burst into laughter. Her laughter seemed to bring a touch of warmth to the chilled air of the house.
“Good, good!”
After she finished laughing, she didn't approach him further. Instead, she turned and walked toward the dining area.
Reaching the table, she pulled out two chairs. She sat in one and gestured for him to take the opposite seat.
“Young Master Luo certainly has a personality,” she said. “Why don't you sit down so we can have a proper talk?”
Luo Yang didn't respond immediately. He spread his mental power through the house once more, confirming there were no other ambushes.
Then, he bypassed the sofa, carrying the box with him, and sat down.
“What do you want to talk about?”
He sat casually, his left elbow resting on the edge of the table and his right hand hanging over his knee.
The woman looked at his posture, something flickering in the depths of her eyes. Luo Yang couldn't tell if it was admiration or something else. She picked up a glass from the table and poured water from a nearby thermos.
Steam rose, and a mist drifted between the two of them.
“Allow me to introduce myself first.”
She pushed the glass toward Luo Yang.
“My name is Li Xinya.”
Luo Yang didn't touch the water.
“The current head of the Qiu family, I presume?” he asked in a casual tone, as if confirming a dinner time.
“Yes.”
“The mother of Miss Chief... cough, Miss Qiu Shubai.”
“Correct.”
Luo Yang didn't reply.
A very faint scent of perfume drifted from her side—an expensive woody note. Mixed with the cold air around her, it was so diluted by the time it reached his end of the table that it was almost undetectable.
He suddenly understood why Qiu Shubai was so reluctant to say a single word whenever her family was mentioned.
“What did you want to talk about?”
“About that sword.”
Li Xinya’s gaze flickered toward the box containing the black sword.
“That sword was custom-made for Shubai’s father, Qiu Lin. For as long as I’ve known him, he always carried it as his sidearm.”
Her tone was flat, as if she were reciting someone else's story.
“After he died, no one could draw that sword again, myself included. And after an unknown amount of time, it developed that strange domain on its own.”
She looked up at him.
“You should have felt it already.”
Luo Yang didn't respond. He glanced down at the box by his feet. Ever since he entered the house, that domain had been following him, neither too close nor too far.
However, its intensity was currently suppressed to the minimum because he had also suppressed his own mental power to the minimum.
“Why are you telling me this?” Luo Yang frowned.
Li Xinya didn't answer immediately. She took a sip of water. When she set the glass back down, the sound of the base hitting the table was very soft, as if she were afraid of waking something.
“The Qiu family has a Star Initiation level powerhouse.”
“His realm is high, but looking at the entire Republic of Shenzhou, the Star Initiation level isn't exactly rare. However, his ability is one in ten thousand—he is a Punisher with the power of prophecy.”
Luo Yang’s fingertip tapped against his knee.
Prophecy-type?
He had only heard of such things; he had never seen one. It was said there were very few in all of Shenzhou, making them as rare as endangered animals. Every single one was fiercely protected by various factions.
“He activated his ability a few months ago,” Li Xinya continued. “The prophecy stated that a special Punisher would appear who could unravel the mystery surrounding this sword.”
Luo Yang looked up.
“You think that person is me?”
“I don't know.”
Li Xinya shook her head, giving a blunt answer.
“We only know that such a person will appear. But the prophecy didn't provide any information about them. No name, no gender, no appearance, no background, no ability—not a single shred of detail.”
Her fingertip traced a circle around the rim of the glass.
“I heard that you and my worthless daughter have quite a deep relationship.”
Luo Yang didn't take the bait.
“So, I decided to take a gamble,” Li Xinya said.
She leaned back against her chair, her right hand resting open on the table. Her fingers spread and then closed, as if weighing the importance of a common household object.
“If you truly are the young master of the Luo family, even if you aren't that person, with your family’s wealth, you surely wouldn't covet this item.”
“If you really can find a way to draw this sword, then I will take it upon myself to gift it to you.”
“At the very least, it would allow the sword to reappear on the battlefield instead of being tucked away in this dark box forever.”
After finishing her last sentence, she simply watched Luo Yang, waiting for his answer.
Luo Yang pursed his lips slightly. Those seven characters in the walk-in closet seemed stuck in his mind. The section of the black blade inside the scabbard reflected the light from outside, and the faint silver-white handwriting flashed in his memory.
Those seven characters belonged to Earth, to the world he lived in before he crossed over, to a great writer who shouldn't exist on this sword at all.
But this sword belonged to Qiu Lin. Qiu Lin had it custom-made. He had carried it with him for decades, to the point where no one could draw it after his death.
Could it have developed a weapon spirit? Luo Yang had considered this, but such things were too fantastical; it seemed impossible for them to appear in this world.
His index finger stopped tapping. He looked up at Li Xinya for a moment.
“Fine,” he said.
“I’ll find a way to bring this sword back into the light.”
Li Xinya’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.
But before she could follow up with “Then it's a deal,” Luo Yang spoke again.
“However, regardless of success or failure—”
He raised his hand and tapped his index finger lightly on the table.
“You don't need to give it to me.”
Li Xinya’s brow twitched.
“I will return it to Qiu Shubai.”
Luo Yang’s tone was resolute.
“That is something her father left for her. Neither you nor I have the right to make decisions on this matter.”
“Unless she doesn't want it herself, only then will I accept it. Otherwise, the owner of this sword will always be her.”
He didn't raise his voice for that last sentence, but every word was hammered into the table, leaving no room for negotiation.
As if stunned, Li Xinya didn't reply immediately. She picked up her glass. The water inside was barely touched, its surface perfectly still. She looked down at the mirror-like surface for a long time before putting the glass down.
“...Fine.”
Just that one word.
Luo Yang didn't waste any more words. He leaned over, picked up the box, and hung it over his left elbow. He pushed his chair back, making a short scraping sound against the floor.
Walking to the entrance, he reached out to turn the doorknob. The click of the lock cylinder echoed in the empty hallway.
The moment the door opened, the early autumn wind rushed in from the desolate paved road outside.
As he stepped over the threshold and was about to pull the door shut, a very faint sigh came from behind him.
It was so soft that the sigh was almost drowned out by the hum of the air conditioning unit outside.
Rate on N.U.
