Wandering Swordsman |

Shen Mo held Murong Qing in his arms, turned around and walked out of the crevice. Every step he took was extremely steady, as if he was not holding a person in his arms, but the only light in his life.

She had fallen into a deep sleep, her breathing weak but steady, her cheeks still pale, but her fingertips were no longer cold—a result of him slowly channeling his demonic energy into her body, nourishing her meridians and suppressing the snake venom and coldness. Her head rested gently on his shoulder, her long hair hanging down, stained with blood, yet still exuding that faint fragrance of winter plum blossoms.

"Qing'er," he said softly, "you should get some sleep first."

He carried Murong Qing to the bottom of the sinkhole and looked up at the ceiling—the entrance to the bottomless "Abyss" resembled the maw of a giant beast, swallowing countless lives and hopes. Even with unparalleled lightness skills, ordinary people would find it difficult to climb out on their own.

But Shen Mo is no ordinary person.

He stomped his feet hard, shattering the ground! Demonic energy erupted from his dantian, swirling around him like black flames, and then condensed into a spiral staircase of energy beneath his feet! He leaped forward, as if treading on invisible steps, walking through the air!

One step, ten zhang!

Two steps, twenty zhang!

Clad in black, his long hair billowing wildly, he carried Murong Qing upstream in the darkness, like a god returning from a calamity. Stalactites crumbled along the way, and the abyss seemed to tremble at this heaven-defying act.

The higher you go, the stronger the wind becomes, the damp and cold air gradually recedes, and the sunlight finally shines through the pit opening, like a yellow veil falling down.

The moment his figure leaped off the edge of the abyss, the world seemed to fall silent.

......

Xishan Island became deathly silent, with only the waves gently lapping against the rocks, as if whispering the deaths of the pirates.

Shen Mo carried Murong Qing and boarded the boats that the bandits had moored on the island, leaving Xishan Island.

......

More than 30 miles away, on the shore of Taihu Lake, there is a small town called "Changxing". With its green tiles and white walls, it is situated by the water and is rarely disturbed by the turmoil of the rivers and lakes.

Shen Mo found a secluded inn and booked the two rooms in the deepest part of the backyard. He personally settled Murong Qing on the bed, and ordered the innkeeper to boil water and prepare ginseng soup, staying by her side every step of the way.

The night was as dark as ink, and the candlelight flickered.

He sat by the bed, repeatedly using his inner energy to smooth her meridians, dispelling the snake venom and cold.

Her breathing gradually became steady, and her face changed from bluish-purple to pale. Although she was still weak, her life was no longer in danger.

Shen Mo finally breathed a sigh of relief, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes to regulate his breathing.

Until dusk the next day, the air outside the window was filled with the fragrance of osmanthus blossoms, and the twilight was bathed in golden light.

On the bed, Murong Qing finally slowly opened her eyes.

The moment the light pierced her pupils, she instinctively frowned, her fingers twitching slightly. Then, she felt a soft quilt covering her, and a faint scent of medicine and sandalwood lingered around her nose—not the chilling, metallic feeling of the abyss, but… the warmth of humanity.

"Qing'er."

A deep voice sounded in my ear.

She turned her head and saw Shen Mo sitting on the edge of the bed. He had changed out of his blue clothes, and his face was covered in dust. But his eyes held an unconcealable weariness and... a gentle relief.

"Shen Mo..." Her voice was hoarse and almost incoherent.

"Mm." He nodded, his voice so soft it was as if he didn't want to disturb her.

Murong Qing slowly raised her hand, her fingertips gently tracing his face to confirm this wasn't a hallucination. Her eyes gradually reddened, and her lips trembled slightly: "You... why are you here? Shouldn't you be in Dali...?"

Shen Mo looked at her, his gaze as deep as an ancient well.

He said slowly, "Because Situ Changkong said you are in danger."

"...Situ Changkong?" Murong Qing was taken aback, then smiled bitterly. "He...is in Dali?"

Shen Mo nodded, and said meaningfully, "Yes, it's a long story..."

Shen Mo then briefly recounted his encounter with Situ Changkong inside the Martial God's Tomb and why he had appeared in Jiangnan.

After hearing this, Murong Qing concluded directly: "Situ Changkong, he was actually lying to you! He tricked you into leaving in order to disrupt the delicate balance at the time."

Shen Mo nodded: "I know."

Murong Qing asked in confusion, "Then why did you come?"

"Even if he's lying to me, I need to confirm it." Shen Mo looked directly into her eyes, his voice low and firm. "Because I... dare not gamble. The moment he mentioned you, I had only one thought—to come see you immediately."

Murong Qing's heart skipped a beat, and her eyes suddenly welled up with tears.

She understood.

The lie became the truth.

She was really in danger.

And Shen Mo really did come.

"So..." Her voice trembled slightly, "you traveled all the way from Dali to Jiangnan to find me for a lie?"

Shen Mo gently grasped her hand; his palm was warm and carried an undeniable strength.

"Qing'er," he whispered, "to you, what Situ Changkong said was a lie. But to me—if you are in danger, even if the whole world is lying to me, I will come."

Murong Qing could no longer hold back, and tears silently streamed down her face.

She recalled being trapped in the abyss, severely injured, with poison spreading through her body, listening to the roars of the giant python nearby. Countless times she had asked herself: Would I die? Would I never see Shen Mo again?

And now, he sat beside her bed, travel-worn, his eyes bloodshot, yet he spoke to her in the calmest of tones—

I am coming.

"Are you stupid..." she choked, her fingers gripping his tightly.

He leaned down and gently pressed his forehead against hers; at that moment, silence spoke volumes.

Murong Qing closed her eyes, tears streaming down her temples and soaking her pillowcase.

She finally understood—

Situ Changkong's lie, like a pebble thrown into the center of a lake, stirred up ripples in the course of fate.

Shen Mo's long journey was not because of that lie. Rather, it was because—he had already etched himself into his destiny.

Outside the window, dusk deepened, and the fragrance of osmanthus blossoms grew stronger.

Inside the house, their hands were clasped tightly together, as if they wanted to melt each other's warmth into their bones and blood, never to be separated again.

......

The following morning, a thin mist, like a veil, enveloped the shores of Taihu Lake.

Shen Mo helped Murong Qing walk slowly. Her leg injury had not yet healed, and she still needed to lean on his shoulder and arm to walk. Every step aggravated her old injury, and her brows furrowed slightly, but she stubbornly refused to cry out in pain. Shen Mo walked very slowly, his right hand always steadily supporting her elbow, as if she were the most fragile treasure in his hands.

"Are you sure you want to go now?" Murong Qing asked softly, her voice still weak from her illness.

"Hmm." Shen Mo nodded, his gaze calm. "The matter of the Xishan Island bandits using children's blood to cultivate evil arts should still be reported to the Martial Alliance. Furthermore, it would be more prudent for the Martial Alliance to handle the aftermath for the families of those children."

Soon, they stepped through the gates of the Jiangnan branch of the Martial Alliance, only to find that the once tranquil courtyard had been transformed into a wartime hub.

The disciples hurried about, carrying secret letters, maps, and weapon lists; the copper bells hanging under the eaves jingled sharply in the wind, like a constant alarm bell; several elders huddled together, discussing in hushed tones, their brows furrowed with seriousness.

A disciple who had seen Shen Mo a few days ago rushed to greet him, his expression complex: "Young hero... why have you come again?"

"What happened?" Shen Mo asked in a deep voice.

The disciple lowered his voice: "The Diancang Sect has been wiped out!"