I Have the Martial Arts Heavenly Eye in the Storm Riders

The dark hall resembled a lurking beast, devouring the remaining light around it.

The hall was chillingly cold, with the icy air spreading like invisible tentacles through every inch of space. A suffocating sense of death quietly grew in this deathly silence.

Juexin sat high in the main seat, his face hidden in the shadows, his expression as indifferent as ice that had never melted for ten thousand years, untouched by the world.

Only the light tapping of fingertips on the table, the dull and monotonous sound, echoing again and again in this empty and desolate hall, knocks on the most vulnerable line of defense in people's hearts.

Below the steps, two groups of demons lay prostrate on the ground, their bodies trembling slightly in the eerie wind, whispering timidly, as if they dared not even breathe loudly.

"Reporting to Young Master, the plan to poison Duan Lang at Tianshan has failed. Duan Lang is extremely vigilant; it seems you will need to intervene personally."

"Reporting to Young Master, something went wrong while we were escorting Bu Jingyun. When we passed a suspension bridge over a cliff, Bu Jingyun suddenly broke free of his chains and jumped into the abyss... At that height, and given his serious injuries, there was no chance of him surviving."

Upon hearing the report, Juexin simply waved his hand dismissively, as if brushing away the dust that had settled on his clothes.

A slight upturn at the corners of his lips formed a faint, cold smile, a smile that didn't reach his eyes, yet was colder than the eerie wind in the hall:

"It's alright, they're all trivial matters. Let's put Duan Lang aside for now, and as for Bu Jingyun... it's good that he jumped off the cliff, it saves me some trouble."

Just then, a surge of air flowed at the palace entrance, and a dark figure, carrying a chilling aura, stepped into the palace.

The heavy, hurried footsteps broke the deathly silence; the newcomer was none other than Jue Tian.

"Second brother?" Juexin looked up at Juetian and asked with feigned concern, "How did it go? Did you manage to take Nie Feng down?"

"Hmph!" Jue Tian slumped heavily into his chair, gritting his teeth. "He got away! But don't worry, brother, next time we meet, I'll definitely kill him myself!"

Although he failed, his pride remained as strong as a pine tree on a cliff, refusing to bow down in the face of setbacks, and unwilling to admit that he was inferior to the older brother in front of him.

"They ran away?"

A fleeting, almost imperceptible hint of disdain flashed across Juexin's eyes, vanishing in an instant.

His expression changed to one of concern. He slowly stepped forward, gently patted Jue Tian's shoulder, and spoke in a gentle tone, yet with a hint of insincere comfort:

"So be it, Second Brother, it's good that you're alright. Nie Feng is one of the most powerful figures in the world, so some of his methods are quite common. Next time, I'll send you more men."

"No need!" Jue Tian abruptly shook off Jue Xin's hand, his eyes filled with resentment. "I'll deal with my own prey!"

Juexin smiled faintly and said no more.

But deep within his eyes lay a dark abyss, as if concealing endless scheming and cold-bloodedness, making him unfathomable.

At this moment, a guard named Gui Chaluo rushed over and knelt down: "Report! Young Master, Wuming... Wuming says he wants to see you!"

"Oh?" A glint flashed in Juexin's eyes. "Has this old guy finally come to his senses?"

Before he finished speaking, his figure had already transformed into a blur, sweeping across the corridor like a ghost and rushing towards the cell where the nameless man was imprisoned.

He left the gloom behind, leaving only a desolate atmosphere.

Inside the cell, a solitary lamp flickered, its light illuminating the nameless man's pale and forlorn face.

He sat languidly in his chair, his frail body barely able to support him, holding a yellowed copy of "The Return of Ten Thousand Swords."

As his fingertips gently turned the pages, his gaze seemed to pierce through the paper, looking towards a distant, unreachable horizon, revealing a sense of melancholy and vicissitude that came from seeing through the illusions of the world.

Juexin stood to one side, his gaze burning as he stared intently at the old book, his breathing becoming somewhat rapid.

In his eyes, this was not an inanimate object, but the only ladder to the pinnacle of martial arts, and the supreme authority to control one's destiny.

After a long while, Wuming slowly closed the sword manual and let out a long and heavy sigh, as if he had turned all the helplessness and desolation of his life into this sigh, which dissipated into the dim air.

"How is it?" Juexin asked impatiently, "What exactly is the secret behind this?"

Wuming raised his head, looked calmly at Juexin, and said indifferently, "This sword manual... is fake."

"Fake?!" Jue Xin's expression changed drastically, and a sharp killing intent erupted instantly, causing the furnishings in the room to vibrate. "Old man, you dare to play me?!"

"I have no reason to lie to you." Wuming shook his head, his tone revealing an undeniable frankness.

"What's recorded here are just some common introductory sword moves, not even second-rate swordsmanship, let alone the so-called 'Ten Thousand Swords Return to One.' If you don't believe me, you can find other sword masters to see for yourself."

Upon hearing this, the murderous intent in Juexin's eyes slowly subsided, replaced by a dark and unyielding gloom.

In fact, he had already consulted many famous sword masters about this book, and their conclusions were exactly the same as Wuming's—it was just an ordinary sword manual.

Originally, it was thought that those mediocre people were not enlightened enough to understand the mystery, so they placed their last hope on Wuming.

Now that even this martial arts legend has made such a statement, that glimmer of hope has ultimately shattered like a bubble.

"It seems the original is still in the Sword Emperor's hands." Jue Xin thought bitterly, a nameless rage burning in his chest.

The Sword Emperor is a man whose whereabouts are as elusive as clouds, and whose strength is unfathomable, like an abyss.

What Juexin feared most was that he was all alone, with no ties to him, so even if he had a thousand wicked schemes, he would have nowhere to use them.

To try and snatch the original from such a person is as difficult as ascending to heaven, leaving one feeling utterly powerless.

"Hmph! Since this is just a piece of waste paper, you can go back to the dungeon!" Juexin sneered, then shouted at Guichaluo, who was waiting outside the door, "Take him away!"

Deep within the dungeon, where the sun never shines, only the stench of decay grows silently in the darkness, suffocating all who see it.

Water droplets seeped from the damp walls, dripping and making a sound, like the only hourglass in this dark and hellish place.

Wuming was roughly shoved forward by two Ghost Chakravartins, his shackles dragging on the ground, making a harsh scraping sound.

He walked with a faltering gait, each step seemingly weighing a ton, and his once upright spine now bore a touch of desolation.

"Master?!"

A startled cry suddenly came from the dark corner, breaking the deathly silence.

Wuming struggled to lift his head. In the dim light, he saw a familiar figure gripping the iron railing tightly. His eyes were filled with anxiety and disbelief, as if, in that instant, the whole world had been reduced to just that one gaze.

"Chen'er?!" Wuming was slightly taken aback, then a hint of relief appeared deep in his eyes. "You're here too?"

That person was Jian Chen.

His former high spirits were long gone; now, his face was filled with guilt and worry.

The past is like smoke; all the shameful things about betraying my master and joining Po Jun's forces have now become the sharpest thorns in my heart.

But fate played a cruel trick on him. Po Jun died, and he himself became a prisoner in this godless palace, barely surviving in this dark and hopeless corner.

Now, seeing his master imprisoned and on the verge of death, clearly having lost all his cultivation, the regret in his heart was like a flood that had burst its banks, instantly overwhelming him.

"Master...your unfilial disciple..."

Jian Chen lowered his head dejectedly, unable to look Wuming in the eye. His voice trembled, filled with endless pain.

The nameless man showed no sign of blame; instead, he seemed to be seeing a long-lost relative, his eyes filled with loving kindness—a tenderness and compassion born of experience.

"Silly child, it's good that you're alive... it's good that you're alive..."

In his heart, he had long regarded Jian Chen as his own son.

Now, in this despairing place, seeing his disciple safe and sound is the greatest blessing from heaven. Even though he is imprisoned, he feels at peace.

However, this brief moment of warmth was quickly shattered by the cold reality.

Several demon warriors strode over, roughly shoving the nameless figure as they walked deeper into the dungeon. The cold touch reminded them once again of where they were.

"Come on! Your cell is at the very back!"

The nameless man was taken to the end of the dungeon and roughly pushed into a death cell surrounded by cold iron bars as thick as a child's arm.

The heavy iron gate slammed shut with a sickening metallic clang.

The cold iron bars severed him from the outside world, leaving only a few mottled shadows cast on the damp ground, like a cage laid by fate.

Although he could no longer see Jian Chen's figure, as long as he knew that his disciple was still alive, Wuming leaned against the cold wall, and in the darkness, a bitter yet peaceful smile appeared on his lips.

That smile bloomed in the darkness, unseen by anyone, yet possessing a captivating power.

At least, Chen'er is still here.

The setting sun over the long river casts a vast and desolate sky.

A turbulent river rushes down, but as it reaches its lower reaches, the current slows down and the water glistens.

The reeds on both banks swayed in the wind, making a rustling sound, like the whisper of the earth, telling of the loneliness of ages past.

An elderly man with white hair and beard, dressed in a worn-out Taoist robe, sat quietly on the shore fishing.

He looked relaxed, humming an unknown tune. Amidst the mountains and rivers, he appeared to be just an ordinary countryman, blending seamlessly into the natural landscape.

However, if a master were here, they would surely be able to perceive that the old man's every breath was perfectly in sync with the surrounding sounds of wind and water, indistinguishable from each other.

This clearly represents a return to simplicity and authenticity, as if he were the mountain, the water, and every blade of grass and tree in the world.

Suddenly, the fishing rod dipped slightly, breaking the tranquility.

"Hey! A big fish has taken the bait!"

Sword Emperor's eyes lit up, and he suddenly lifted the fishing rod with fluid movements, showing no signs of old age.

Whoosh!

Water splashed everywhere, creating ripples that shimmered with tiny golden light in the afterglow of the setting sun.

The waves shattered, and a mist of water spread.

Emerging from the water was not the expected koi carp, but a figure soaking wet and dressed in rags, like a water ghost, exuding chill and deathly stillness.

"What bad luck! How did I end up fishing up a dead person?"

Sword Emperor frowned slightly, a hint of impatience appearing at the corner of his mouth. Just as he was about to wave his sleeve to send this reckless burden back into the rolling river, his expression froze the moment his fingertips touched the cold body.

"Huh? There's still a sliver of life left?" A withered finger touched the faint pulse, and a sharp glint suddenly flashed in the old man's cloudy eyes, as if he had discovered something incredible.

"What a tenacious fate! Having suffered such severe injuries, how could it still cling to life until now?"

This man, covered in blood and unrecognizable, was none other than Bu Jingyun, who resolutely jumped into the abyss.

At this moment, he was covered in wounds, his skin was torn and his face was as white as paper.

The shocking wounds, soaked in the river water, looked particularly gruesome, like a porcelain doll about to shatter, exuding a heart-wrenching beauty of brokenness.

"Tsk tsk, this kid..." The Sword Emperor's eyes were like torches as he carefully examined the mutilated body before him. The more he looked, the deeper his astonishment grew, and he clicked his tongue in amazement.

"A natural swordsmanship talent? This is a once-in-a-million swordsmanship prodigy! It's just a pity... with one arm missing, this crippled body is ultimately incomplete."

He sighed softly and shook his head slightly, as if regretting that this beautiful jade had a flaw.

However, after a moment, the look of regret faded, replaced by a meaningful smile.

"However, since I've stumbled upon you here, it seems your life wasn't meant to end. I've been rather bored lately, so I'll spare your life and see just how much fortune you can handle!"

As soon as he finished speaking, he waved his sleeve, and a gentle force arose out of thin air, gently lifting up the broken body.

He turned and strode toward a solitary thatched hut in the distance.

The setting sun, like blood, stretched his hunched yet proud back long, gradually merging into the vast twilight, leaving only a mottled patch of light.