Wandering Swordsman |

At this moment, the bookworm slowly stepped forward, a smile playing on his lips, but his eyes held an undisguised sense of satisfaction. He gently raised his right hand and slowly unfurled a scroll over ten feet long—the ink was still moist, the gold powder not yet dry, it was the "Twin Phoenixes of Jinling" that he had painted in seclusion for several days.

In the painting, the sea of ​​clouds churns and purple aura rises from the east. In the center stands a figure in black robes, wielding a sword, atop the highest heavens. Wherever the sword points, all evil is shunned—this is Shen Mo, whose brows exude a commanding presence, yet he is also kind and benevolent.

To his left, Situ Meng was dressed in white, her eyes as clear and cold as the moon, but when she looked at the person in the center, the corners of her eyes curved slightly, and a surge of tenderness welled up inside.

To her right, Murong Qingjiang, her skirt trailing on the ground, smiled, as if a thousand words were hidden in her eyes.

The three figures, their robes fluttering, were supported by auspicious clouds beneath their feet, while two phoenixes soared behind them, their tail feathers scattering golden light, as if they were celestial couples descending to the mortal realm.

"Brother Shen!" The bookworm laughed loudly, his voice not loud, but clearly reaching Shen Mo's ears. "I don't have anything to offer, so I specially prepared a painting for you. Please don't think my brushwork is clumsy—your life should be like this: sword guarding the mountains and rivers, two beauties of one heart, living up to the lives of the people, and living up to you."

After saying that, he solemnly handed the scroll to the official in charge of the ceremony, then took out a small gourd from his pocket, uncorked it and handed it to Shen Mo: "Here, have a sip? This is the Ghost Valley's secret brew, 'Joyful Forget-Worries,' which I went through a lot of trouble to get."

Shen Mo's eyes welled up slightly. He took the gourd of wine and drank it all in one gulp. The wine was spicy yet sweet, just like the campfire and vows made in the cave back then. He chuckled softly, "Brother Shu... thank you. If it weren't for your guidance that day, I might still be wallowing in the mire of the martial world."

The bookworm patted him on the shoulder, his gaze deep and thoughtful: "Brother Shen, this is all a path you've forged yourself. I merely... happened to light a lamp at the crossroads."

After speaking, the bookworm turned and rejoined the academy's ranks, his back view as free and unrestrained as the wind.

Shen Mo gripped the empty wine gourd in his hand, silently reciting in his heart, "Brother Shu, the lamp you lit has illuminated my entire life."

At 3:45 AM, the bells and drums sounded again.

Following the four great academies, the eight sects and one gang, the backbone of the righteous path in the martial arts world, finally stepped into the Martial Alliance one by one, bathed in the morning light.

Because Diancang was wiped out, the original nine sects became eight.

The first to arrive were those from Shaolin.

Eighteen eminent monks approached slowly, their robes billowing like clouds, their footsteps steady as bells.

The leader was none other than Abbot Huiming, with white eyebrows and downcast eyes, holding sandalwood prayer beads in his hand, and exuding compassion and solemnity with every step.

He clasped his hands together and bowed deeply to Shen Mo and the other two: "Amitabha. The Sword God stopped the killing with his sword, repelled the evil cultivators from overseas, and protected the Central Plains. He is truly the 'Guardian Vajra' praised by the Buddhist sect." After speaking, his disciple presented a congratulatory gift—a Buddhist shrine with "twin lotus blossoms" carved from Songshan cold jade, symbolizing "purity and unity of mind, and eternal freedom from suffering."

The Wudang Sect arrived shortly after.

Sect Leader Zhang Taixuan, dressed in a green robe, had a kind face; Elder Zhang Zixuan stood beside him, his smile warm; all the true disciples were present, their robes fluttering like crane wings.

Upon reaching Shen Mo, all the disciples bowed in unison, their voices echoing across the land: "Congratulations on your wedding, Martial Uncle!" The shouts were thunderous, drawing everyone's attention. Zhang Ye stood at the head of the group, his eyes filled with reverence.

Shen Mo nodded slightly, feeling a warmth in his heart: Wudang had been kind to him and had even taught him Wudang's unique skills. In Shen Mo's heart, he had long regarded the disciples of Wudang as his own people.

After the Wudang Sect entered, the Emei Sect followed, their white robes fluttering, their sword aura cold and clear.

The Supreme Elder, Abbess Jingkong, with her snow-white hair, walked with a cane, her eyes sharp yet filled with compassion; the Emei Sect Leader and the Abbess in plain clothes each held a gift box containing a pair of "brocades of unity woven from ice silkworm silk," which were more flexible than iron and impervious to water and fire.

What stirred Shen Mo's heart the most was a familiar figure among the Emei Sect members—Zhou Xinlian.

At this moment, she seemed to have shed her girlish naiveté, and her features became even more refined and beautiful.

She stepped forward, curtsied, and said in a soft yet firm voice, "Young Master Shen... no, you should be called the Sword God. Xinlian wishes you, Miss Situ, and Miss Murong a harmonious and lifelong marriage."

Shen Mo returned the greeting and said in a low voice, "Thank you, Miss Zhou. Please come inside."

The two exchanged a smile, their shared past unspoken.

Suddenly, the sound of copper bells jingling and bamboo canes tapping the ground rang out—the Beggars' Clan was coming in a grand procession.

The Beggars' Sect leader, along with nine elders, all wore patchwork robes and had nine bags around their waists, exuding a heroic aura.

At the end of the line, a man in a coarse cloth shirt and short jacket, with a weathered face but a kind smile, stood out—it was Wang Daniu, the branch leader of Yimen County!

He recognized Shen Mo at a glance, and quickly stepped forward, his voice choked with emotion: "Young Master Shen! When I first saw you and Murong Qing in Yimen County, I knew you were no ordinary person! Now it has proven that I was right! Upon learning of your wedding, I specially accompanied the elders of the gang to offer my congratulations."

Shen Mo felt a warmth in his heart: "Brother Wang, we owe you a lot for the intelligence you provided in the battle against the Black Wind Gang back then. Please come in quickly."

At this moment, the Huashan Sect arrived, their swords flashing.

The sect leader stood with his hands behind his back, exuding an aloof and noble air. Behind him, disciples lined up, among them one dressed in snow-white robes, her eyes like autumn waters—Qin Wan, one of the "Four Beauties." She glanced at Shen Mo from afar, blushing before speaking, then lowered her head and retreated into the crowd.

However, at the very end of the line, a chubby figure hopped and squeezed out.

The man wore a Huashan disciple's headscarf and a long sword at his waist, but his belly pushed the sword sheath crookedly. His face was round like a full moon, and his eyes narrowed into slits when he smiled—it was Zhu Pang!

Shen Mo's pupils contracted slightly as memories flooded back:

That chubby boy who kicked over his begging bowl on the street in the small town; that mischievous child who mocked him outside the private school for "even a beggar wants to study"; that old friend who now stands at the end of the Huashan Sect's ranks...

But at this moment, his heart was completely still. There was no hatred, no resentment, and no triumphant joy. There was only a calm that came after weathering countless storms—like watching a fallen leaf drift across a stream, knowing where it came from and letting it go as it pleased.

Zhu Pang, however, completely forgot about the past and was so excited he almost jumped up: "Shen Mo! It really is you! I thought it was 'Sword God' who shared the same name as you!" He grabbed Shen Mo's arm, his face full of pride, "I begged my master for a whole month before he would bring me to the wedding! I knew it! How could that smart and stubborn kid from back then be a beggar for life? Look! You really have become the peerless hero of the Central Plains martial arts world, 'Sword God'!"

His tone was sincere, his eyes filled with pure surprise and pride, as if the bullying had never happened, or perhaps in his hazy memory, it was just a "childhood squabble".

Shen Mo looked at him and suddenly smiled—not with sarcasm, but with relief. "Zhu Pang, you haven't changed a bit."

At this moment, Zhu Pang's master—an elder from Mount Hua—was greatly surprised upon seeing this. He quickly stepped forward, cupped his hands, and said with a smile, "Sword God! It is truly an honor for my humble disciple to know you! I have long heard rumors that the 'Sword God' possesses extraordinary martial arts skills and is a dragon among men. Seeing you today, I can confirm that these rumors are indeed true!"

As he spoke, he glared at Zhu Pang, cursing inwardly: This idiot, he actually knows the Sword God and didn't say so earlier!