Wandering Swordsman |

That night, the darkness was as black as ink, but the depths of the Martial Alliance were brightly lit.

The red candles burned brightly, casting a warm golden glow on the double happiness characters pasted on the window frame.

Shen Mo sat upright in front of the couch, holding a cup of tea in his hand. The steaming tea seemed to reflect the complex emotions he felt at that moment.

Murong Qing and Situ Meng sat side by side. One was dressed in white, her features exquisite; the other was in brocade robes, her eyes filled with affection. Their black hair cascaded over their shoulders, and their faces still held the shyness and tenderness of newlyweds.

But when Shen Mo slowly spoke and mentioned his agreement with Hua Tianyou to the two of them, that gentle light was quietly tinged with worry.

"The far west?" Situ Meng frowned, her fingers unconsciously tightening around her cuffs. "I've read countless books on astronomy and geography since childhood, yet I've never heard of this place. Could it be... that west of the Western Regions, there's no one else in sight?"

Although Murong Qing did not speak, a thin mist had already risen in her eyes.

She knew that Shen Mo never made promises lightly, and once he did, it was a promise of life and death.

But the words "kill someone" were spoken so casually, yet they made her heart tighten—the enemy that could make Hua Tianyou pledge his loyalty and make Shen Mo personally go was no ordinary foe.

"My husband," she finally spoke, her voice as light as a breeze rustling willow leaves, yet as firm as iron, "though you are the Heavenly Demon God of the Heavenly Demon Sect, and the Sword God of the Central Plains martial arts world, you are also our husband. The journey to the far west is long and fraught with danger. If you insist on going there, how can we... stay in the Central Plains with peace of mind?"

Situ Meng immediately nodded in agreement: "It is only natural for a woman to follow her husband after marriage. Wherever you go, we will follow. Even if it's to the ends of the earth, or even if we are buried in the yellow sand, we are willing to go with you."

Upon hearing this, Shen Mo's heart skipped a beat.

He looked up at his two wives, the candlelight flickering in their eyes, reflecting their unwavering trust and deep affection.

At that moment, he almost wavered—almost agreed to take them with him.

But he didn't in the end.

He slowly put down his teacup, rose, and walked to the window. With his back to the two men, his voice was low yet clear: "The far west... perhaps it's not even recorded on any map. The person Hua Tianyou spoke of is probably no ordinary person. This journey is fraught with peril, and we don't know when we'll return."

He paused, his tone suddenly softening, "You've only just put on your wedding dresses, how could I bear to let you step into an unknown abyss?"

He turned around, his gaze gentle as water: "Wait for me. I promise you, no matter how far the far west is, no matter how strong the person I'm trying to kill is, I will come back. I will return safely to your side."

Murong Qing's eyes were slightly red, but she didn't say anything more, only nodded gently.

Situ Meng bit her lip, and after a long while, she choked out, "Then... at least, stay a few more days. This parting might be another three or five years. We... want to see you one more time, to hear you say one more word."

Shen Mo gazed at them for a long time before finally nodding: "Alright. I'll stay for another seven days."

The following morning, Shen Mo summoned Hua Tianyou, Yue Linglong, and Xie Xin to a side hall of the Martial Alliance.

Hua Tianyou, dressed in a black robe, looked solemn. Upon seeing Shen Mo, he was about to ask about the upcoming trip back to the Heavenly Demon God Sect.

Shen Mo raised his hand first: "I will stay for another seven days. After seven days, I will set off back to the Heavenly Demon God Sect. At that time, I will meet you at the far west. Heavenly Demon Lord, you should go back to the Heavenly Demon God Sect first, make preparations in advance, and prepare the necessary supplies. Just the two of us are enough."

Hua Tianyou was taken aback, then clasped his hands in a fist and said, "Since my lord has made arrangements, I will obey."

Yue Linglong stood to the side, remaining silent throughout.

Her gaze towards Shen Mo remained fervent, yet she had learned to bury those feelings deep within her heart. She knew that standing beside him now were Murong Qing and Situ Meng—two of the Four Beauties of the Central Plains, women who stood shoulder to shoulder with him. And she, for the rest of her life, could only silently protect him as his subordinate.

......

After the three left, it was as if the noise had been taken away, leaving only the whispers of the wind through the corridor.

Standing in the side hall, Shen Mo's heart was no longer as cold and aloof as before. He suddenly realized—these seven days should not be a countdown to parting, but a tender time to give to his beloved. Not a silence before farewell, but a prelude to reunion.

The next morning, as dawn broke, a thin mist lingered over the martial arts alliance's training grounds, and the bluestone ground was still covered in night dew, its surface cool to the touch. In the distance, the mountains were shrouded in a pale golden halo, resembling an unfinished ink painting.

Shen Mo, accompanied by Murong Qing and Situ Meng, walked slowly. The three of them wore robes that fluttered in the wind, their white, crimson, and dark blue robes intertwined, like three wisps of cloud drifting down from the heavens to the mortal world.

He stopped and slowly unsheathed the Tai'a sword that had been with him for many years. Holding the sword with both hands, he solemnly presented it to Murong Qing: "Qing'er, please accept this sword."

Murong Qing was taken aback, then took the sword with both hands. Her fingertips touched the icy scabbard, yet she seemed to feel the warmth of Shen Mo's countless life-and-death moments. Her eyes welled up slightly, her throat tightened, and she simply nodded gently, holding the sword to her chest as if embracing all his past loneliness and resilience.

Then, Shen Mo took out another sword—Gongbu. This sword was a gift from Ding Chengfeng on their wedding day. Its blade was as smooth as autumn water, and its edge gleamed with a restrained cold light. Although it was not as domineering and sharp as Tai'a, it was more gentle and reserved, just like the person wielding it. He handed it to Situ Meng and said softly, "Meng'er, you take this sword."

Situ Meng lowered her gaze to the sword, her trembling eyelashes reflected in its blade. She slowly reached out and took it, her fingertips tracing the spine as if caressing a new destiny about to begin. She looked up at Shen Mo, her gaze clear as the first snow, yet holding a thousand unspoken words.

After the two women accepted the swords, Shen Mo smiled slightly and took out a yellowed ancient book from his bosom—"Martial God Sword Technique".

He gently placed the sword manual between their palms, his voice low yet firm: "This sword technique was left behind by the God of War. You two possess exceptional talent. If you diligently practice, you may reach the pinnacle of the martial world within three years. In my absence, let these two swords and this sword manual accompany you."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over their faces, his eyes softening like spring water. "When I return, I hope you will reach the pinnacle of martial arts—from now on, I will no longer walk alone ahead, but the three of us will walk side by side."

The two women exchanged a smile and replied in unison, "Okay."

But as soon as they finished speaking, they all fell silent.

The wind swept across the training ground, swirling up a few early-withered peach blossoms, which fell into the cracks between the bluestones.

Six days left, only six days. Even with a thousand regrets and ten thousand tender feelings, time flies like an arrow, urging us to part.

So, at dawn on the third day, with a waning moon still hanging in the sky, the three quietly left the Martial Alliance.

Without alerting anyone, they boarded a small, black-awning boat and sailed down the river to the south of the Yangtze River.

A thin mist hangs over the river like gauze, the oars creak softly, and ripples spread across the water, as if pushing away the hustle and bustle of the world.

Shen Mo stood at the bow of the boat, his two wives leaning against the awning behind him, whispering and laughing softly. The morning light shone on his shoulders, illuminating the long-lost relaxation and tranquility in his eyes.

He knew that the far west might soon be a land of danger and peril, but for now, he only wanted to be an ordinary person for a day—to watch the apricot blossoms in the misty rain with them, to listen to a soft Wu dialect song, and to walk along a cobblestone alleyway free from the grudges of the martial world.

This journey is not an escape, but a cherished memory.

......