Huang Rong from The Return of the Condor Heroes: Brother Jing, let's get a divorce.

The stone door was pushed open with a gap of more than a foot.

The chilling atmosphere seeped out from the crack in the door, causing the tinderbox in Lu Wushou's hands to sway wildly.

Yang Guo squeezed in sideways.

His shoulder brushed against the edge of the stone gate, and the five claw marks on his back were scratched, making his mouth twitch in pain.

But he couldn't care less.

This little pain is nothing compared to what's behind the door.

Lu Wushuang followed closely behind and crawled inside.

She was afraid of the dark, and even more afraid of being abandoned. She followed Yang Guo wherever he went, a habit she had developed while she was in Zhongnan Mountain.

Cheng Ying stood outside the door, her feet not moving.

She stared at the crack in the door, which was about a foot wide, her mind in turmoil.

To go in, or not to go in?

This place is clearly the tomb of some unparalleled master; it would be impolite to enter rashly. But she was unwilling to stay outside.

She studied Qimen Dunjia on Peach Blossom Island for fifteen years, guiding people all the way here, but in the end, she's the one guarding the gate?

After hesitating for a moment, she squeezed in sideways.

When I entered, my chest got stuck in the door frame, and I had to awkwardly twist half a circle before I could get through.

The edge of the stone door pressed against her chest, making her face flush. She quickly lowered her head, avoiding looking at anyone.

She cursed inwardly, thinking the door gap was too narrow.

Inside the door was a very large space.

The four walls are as smooth as a mirror, and the floor is paved with bluestone slabs with perfectly fitted joints.

A natural crack appeared in the ceiling, and light from outside leaked through the crack, casting a long beam of light onto the ground.

In the very center of the pillar of light stood a stone tablet.

Behind the stone tablet are four stone platforms.

On each stone platform, a sword lay horizontally.

Lu Wushuang took two steps forward, holding the tinderbox, and used the daylight to see what was on the stone platform. His mouth dropped open.

"My lord! Four swords!"

Yang Guo had already reached the stone tablet.

The inscription on the stele is the same as the one above the gate, with powerful strokes that penetrate deep into the stone. Some characters have strokes that have curled outwards, revealing stone fragments, yet they haven't fallen off even after decades, demonstrating the immense force with which the brush was written.

He read it word by word.

"Having roamed the martial world for over thirty years, slaying all my enemies and defeating all heroes, I am now utterly helpless. With no other choice, I have retreated to a deep valley, taking eagles as my companions. Alas, I have sought a worthy opponent in my life but could not find one; my loneliness is truly unbearable."

The signature consists of three characters.

Dugu Qiubai.

Yang Guo's Adam's apple bobbed.

When he read this passage in a novel in his past life, he thought this person had taken showing off to the extreme. Now, seeing the original text carved on the stone tablet with his own eyes, each word carrying a pressure that made his legs clench, he finally understood—this wasn't showing off, this was genuine awesomeness.

Having dominated for thirty years without an opponent, I can only keep company with an ugly bird.

This loneliness was even worse than when he ate instant noodles alone in his rented room on New Year's Eve in his previous life.

Yang Guo stared at those three words for a long time.

Dugu Qiubai.

Seeking defeat.

You could spend your whole life trying to find someone to lose a single match to.

If this old man had been born in his previous life, he probably would have gone into esports and dominated the entire server with ten smurf accounts.

"Husband, what does it say on the monument?" Lu Wushuang came closer. She didn't know many characters and had difficulty reading it.

"It's an epitaph for an old master," Yang Guo said. "Don't touch it. Take a look at those four swords first."

Lu Wushuang ran to the first stone platform.

On the stone platform lay a longsword as thin as a cicada's wing, its blade as narrow as a willow leaf, entirely silver-white. Sunlight filtering through from the ceiling shone on the sword, reflecting a streak of cold light that illuminated Lu Wushuang's face.

"So beautiful!"

Lu Wushuang reached out to take it. She had never seen such a beautiful weapon since she was a child. Compared to this sword, the willow-leaf scimitar was about the same as a kitchen knife on the stove.

"Don't move!" Yang Guo shouted from behind.

Lu Wushou withdrew his hands and stuck out his tongue.

She wasn't afraid of Yang Guo's harsh words, but she could tell that his shout wasn't a joke; it carried a real tension.

Yang Guo walked over and looked down at the sword.

On the stone platform next to the sword is a line of small characters: "Sharp and fierce, indestructible, used to compete with the heroes of Hebei before I came of age."

Young adulthood.

He was not even twenty years old, yet he was already sweeping across Hebei with this sword.

Yang Guo calculated his age and felt a pang of resentment. He was already in his early twenties and still stuck at the early stage of the Innate Realm. Comparing himself to others was infuriating.

The sword on the second stone platform was completely different.

The sword was flexible, and it curved and twisted as it rested on the stone surface.

The inscription on the platform reads: "The Purple Rose Soft Sword, used before the age of thirty. It was an ominous sign that I accidentally injured a righteous man. I was filled with remorse and abandoned it in a deep valley."

Yang Guo read the line of text twice.

He was filled with remorse for accidentally injuring a righteous man. Even such an invincible figure had things to regret. He silently kept these words in mind, without uttering a sound.

The object on the third stone platform made Yang Guo's breathing suddenly become heavy.

A large, black iron sword.

It was not sharpened.

The sword was wide and thick, thicker than Yang Guo's forearm. Just looking at it made it seem heavy. Its iron-black surface was completely undecorated, as rough as a half-finished blank in a blacksmith's shop.

He reached out and lifted it, but it didn't budge.

Yang Guo was stunned for a moment.

He now possesses sixteen years of refined internal energy, capable of pushing a hundred-pound boulder three zhang (approximately 10 meters) away with one hand. Yet, he can't even lift this iron sword from the stone platform with one hand?

"How many kilograms does this thing weigh?" Lu Wushuang's eyes widened.

Yang Guo used both hands together, gritting his teeth, to lift the iron sword off the stone platform.

The muscles in his arms bulged into knots, and the veins throbbed. When the iron sword left the stone platform, the soles of his feet sank half an inch into the ground.

"At least seventy or eighty pounds."

He put the sword back and shook his numb arm. His ten fingers were tingling and numb, and the base of his thumb was red from being rubbed against the rough iron of the sword hilt.

The inscription on the platform reads: "A heavy sword has no edge, great skill is without artifice. Before the age of forty, I relied on it to roam the world unchallenged."

A heavy sword has no edge, and a heavy sword has no skill.

These eight words struck Yang Guo's mind, colliding with the sword intent of the character "重" that he had gleaned from Wang Chongyang's stone tablet.

Within his meridians, the unfinished sword intent began to vibrate violently.

Wang Chongyang's "Chong" refers to rules and grandeur; every move and stance has its own rules, emphasizing uprightness and integrity.

The "heavy" in Dugu Qiubai's philosophy refers to overcoming skill with force, emphasizing simplicity and purity. No matter how fancy your moves are, one sword strike will shatter them all.

The two paths are different, but their destinations meet.

Yang Guo stared at the black iron sword, his eyes shining brighter than the sunlight filtering through the cave ceiling.

His fingers involuntarily curled up, and his palms were sweaty.

He wanted to take the sword with him.

It's not that I want it, it's that I'm craving it so much that my throat feels dry.

There was nothing on the fourth stone platform.

There is only one line: "After the age of forty, one is no longer attached to material things; grass, trees, bamboo, and stones can all be swords. From this point on, one refines one's skills and gradually progresses to the realm where having no sword is better than having a sword."

"No sword is better than a sword?" Lu Wushuang scratched his head. "Husband, what does that mean? You can fight without a sword?"

"Pretty much." Yang Guo withdrew his gaze. "But that's something only seniors could achieve after decades of honing their skills. I can't even reach the third level right now, let alone dream of a swordless state."

He was telling the truth.

He hasn't even passed the heavy sword stage yet, so the later stages are just wishful thinking for him.

But we have to keep our promises to ourselves and get our hands on the pie first.

Cheng Ying stood beside the stone tablet without moving.

She read through all the words on the inscription, and then looked at the inscriptions next to the four swords one by one. Her expression was very complicated.

She grew up on Peach Blossom Island and saw her master, Huang Yaoshi, practice swordsmanship.

Huang Yaoshi's swordsmanship was elegant and agile, with ever-changing moves, making it one of the best in the world. She had watched him grow up and always believed that her master's sword was the best sword.

But the things recorded on this stone tablet are more than one level higher than my master's realm.

My master never uttered the words, "For thirty years, I have been invincible under heaven." He knew in his heart that there were at least four people who could match him. When Wang Chongyang of the Quanzhen Sect was alive, my master wasn't even ranked first.

Dugu Qiubai is different.

He said he was invincible, and he truly was. There wasn't a single word of humility on the inscription.

Cheng Ying stood in front of the stone tablet, her fingers unconsciously tracing the patterns on the jade flute, her mind racing with thoughts about something.

She had always thought Yang Guo was a rogue and a scoundrel who relied entirely on elixirs to develop his martial arts skills and was simply a nouveau riche.

But as they walked along, she could feel the precise finger strength of his One-Finger Divine Skill in the darkness, the brute force that pushed open the heavy stone door, and the vibrations in his meridians as he stared at the inscription—even from three steps away.

The person who could elicit a response from the sword intent lingering on the stone tablet by Dugu Qiubai would be someone even her master, Huang Yaoshi, would have to treat with respect.

Cheng Ying felt a tightness in her chest.

She was unwilling to admit it, but the facts were undeniable, and she couldn't deny them.

She opened her mouth as if to say something, but then swallowed it back.

What should she say? Praise him? She couldn't bring herself to say it.

Ask him? Ask what? Ask him what style of martial arts he uses? She couldn't bring herself to do it.

Yang Guo ignored her and walked back to the third stone platform.

He placed his right hand on the blade of the heavy black iron sword and closed his eyes.

The internal energy of the Nine Yin Manual flowed from Yang Guo's palm into the sword. The surface of the iron sword was cold, but an extremely powerful force remained inside. That force had been dormant for decades, as heavy as an iron ore vein pressed under a mountain. Now, drawn by Yang Guo's true energy, it trembled slightly.

Within Yang Guo's meridians, the Chongyang Sword Intent suddenly surged.

That jump sent all the blood and energy in his body rushing to his palms, his temples throbbing, and his back teeth grinding together.

The "heavy" in Chongyang and the "heavy" in Dugu were tangled up in his meridians, one pushing to the left and the other pulling to the right, causing his internal organs to tighten.

But he didn't let go.

He knew this clash was a good thing. When two sword intents fight to the end, one of them will eventually concede. The one that concedes won't disappear, but will be swallowed up by the winner, merging together to become something larger and more substantial.

There's a saying from a past life, isn't there?

Do not break or stand.

Lu Wushuang watched as Yang Guo pressed his iron sword without moving, his whole body as tense as a stone, the muscles on his back bulging outwards.

She could see the veins on his neck throbbing, throbbing very fast.

She was a little worried and wanted to go forward and call out to him, so she took a step forward.

Cheng Ying reached out and stopped her.

"Don't disturb him," Cheng Ying said in a low voice. "He's practicing swordsmanship."

Lu Wushuang glanced at Cheng Ying and pulled her foot back. She didn't understand what "comprehending the sword" meant, but she wouldn't bother her since her cousin had told her not to.

Cheng Ying stood still, her gaze fixed on Yang Guo's hand resting on the sword.

The hand still bore the red marks she had just made, five crescent-shaped nail marks clearly imprinted on the back of her hand.

She looked at it for a while, then looked away.

The cave was so quiet that the only sound was the occasional gust of wind blowing in from the cracks above.

The beam of light shone on Yang Guo, stretching his shadow long all the way to Cheng Ying's feet.

Cheng Ying looked down at the shadow on the ground, lost in thought.