Wandering Swordsman |

Su Ming held his breath and leaned forward slightly, almost pressing his entire face against the plain paper.

The candlelight reflected off his face, casting dappled patterns of light that made his eyes appear to flicker.

At first, his brows were furrowed, and his fingertips tapped unconsciously on the edge of the table, as if he were having a difficult conversation with some kind of will from a thousand years ago; then, his eyes suddenly lit up, as if a flash of inspiration broke through the fog and illuminated the ancient truths that had been buried for a long time.

His fingers moved slowly and unconsciously in the air, as if tracing the first path drawn at the beginning of time. He murmured softly, his voice as soft as if afraid to disturb a sleeping sage: "My lord, this...this seems to be a cultivation manual! Not a martial arts technique..."

He took a deep breath, as if to absorb all the ancient Daoist wisdom into his very being and then pass it on to the person before him through his flesh and blood. The candlelight danced in his eyes, reflecting a clear and devout expression: "The Dao gives birth to One, One gives birth to Two, Two gives birth to Three, Three gives birth to all things. Yet, in the beginning of the Dao, there was not nothingness, but a spark of light within chaos. I observe the beginning of heaven and earth, and discern the changes of Yin and Yang, and realize: A sword can cut through metal, but not the heart; Qi can pierce a rainbow, but not the Dao. If you wish to transcend life and death, do not seek supernatural powers externally, but guard the Oneness within."

After he finished speaking, the room fell into complete silence.

Outside the window, bamboo shadows sway, and the wind rustles through the pine branches, as if echoing from ancient times.

Su Ming paused, his voice low but resolute: "My lord... this handwriting is ninety percent similar to the inscription left by Senior Li Er in the stone chamber of Demon Refining Mountain! The brushstrokes, the meaning, and even that solitary aura of 'detaching from the physical body and guarding the spiritual platform' are exactly the same!"

Upon hearing this, Shen Mo remained silent for a long time.

Moonlight filtered through the bamboo groves, casting dappled shadows on his black robe, as if he were draped in an old dream woven from shattered silver.

The candlelight flickered on his profile, reflecting the deep, unfathomable thoughts between his brows—not a thirst for power, but a questioning of the "Tao."

It turns out that what was hidden in the forbidden area of ​​Wudang was neither some peerless martial arts technique nor a treasure map, but rather the mental imprint left by Li Er, the founder of Taoism, when he walked alone on the edge of the mortal world before leaving Hangu Pass on his journey to the west.

The symbols on the stone wall are not techniques or secret methods, but the entire process of a heart seeking the Tao struggling, awakening, and finally seeing its true nature in chaos.

"A sword can cut through gold, but not a heart..." he repeated in a low voice, his words carrying a weight that seemed to weigh a ton.

He suddenly recalled the body that had sat there for a thousand years in the stone chamber of the Demon Refining Mountain—Li Er left the body as the core of the array, while his soul was separated and departed. At that time, he only felt shocked, but now, upon reflection, he tasted sorrow and determination: it was not an escape from life and death, but rather the most extreme way to protect the purity of the "Dao".

Shen Mo closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, there was no longer any confusion in his eyes, only clarity.

Before dawn, the gates of the Heavenly Demon God Sect had already become a dark shadow behind them, like ink dots disappearing into the vast night, gradually fading into the distance until they were no longer visible.

Shen Mo and Hua Tianyou stood side by side atop the precipice, with a bottomless abyss below and a river of stars flowing overhead.

The black robes fluttered in the biting mountain wind, like two battle flags about to go to war; the long sword was carried on his back, silent as a vow, its sharpness restrained yet ready to be unleashed.

Behind them lay Tianjian Ridge, where the Heavenly Demon God Sect was located—a place with majestic palaces and a million followers; ahead lay a desolate region marked blank even on the oldest maps—the westernmost part of the Western Regions, the far west.

That is not the end in a geographical sense, but a fault line between civilization and nature, a place where human footprints stop, a forbidden zone where legend and death intertwine.

There was no farewell, no music, not even a word of advice.

Only the wind swirled the remaining clouds, and the world was vast and desolate. It was as if even the Heavenly Sword Ridge behind them held its breath at this moment, watching the two lone warriors step into the desolate wilderness that no one dared to visit.

The two exchanged a glance, needing no words.

The next instant, he leaped off the sheer cliff, his figure soaring through the air like a hawk, cutting through the last darkness before dawn and disappearing into the first light of the rising sun.

Seven days later, they stepped into the border of the Western Regions.

At first, a few scattered poplars stood stubbornly upright, and camel bells occasionally rang out along the trade route; further west, the greenery faded away, and all vegetation disappeared, leaving only an endless sea of ​​sand stretching to the horizon, with yellow sand stretching endlessly without end.

During the day, the scorching sun pours down like molten gold, burning the skin and flesh painfully, and the air is as hot as a furnace; at night, the cold wind howls down from the snow-capped peaks, biting like a knife, freezing one's bones to the bone.

The temperature difference between day and night is like the difference between life and death; in a single day, one experiences both the scorching heat and the harsh winter.

The sand dunes stretch out in a continuous, undulating pattern, like the back of a sleeping giant, slowly undulating in the wind.

When the wind blows, it whistles and moans, as if countless souls are weeping beneath the sand, or as if the earth itself is issuing an ancient warning: "Mortals, do not enter; those who enter will not return."

This place is no longer the human world.

West of the Western Regions, the area is sparsely populated, and even birds avoid it.

For millennia, camel caravans have lost their way here; the bones of merchants have turned to dust, and even the wind is unwilling to linger here for a moment.

The map ends abruptly here, and historical records remain silent on the matter, leaving only a vague prophecy in unofficial historical fragments: "West of the Western Regions, no one can reach."

But they were going against the will of heaven and earth, heading towards the far west, a land completely isolated by nature.

Shen Mo stood atop the sand dune, looking back at the path he had come from—the eastern sky was already turning a pale white, and the bustling atmosphere of the Central Plains seemed to still be in a dream.

Ahead, there were no road signs, no water sources, no hope, only wind, sand, scorching sun, and withered bones.

Shen Mo and Hua Tianyou walked on the sand, each step feeling like sinking into a quagmire of time. The yellow sand beneath their feet was soft and scorching hot, as if the earth was silently devouring the intruders' will.

He looked up and saw an endless, deathly silence before him—no birds, no insects chirping, even the wind carried an almost suffocating stillness.

Between heaven and earth, only pale yellow and azure blue stand in opposition, like an ancient scroll forgotten for thousands of years.

He was deeply shaken.

Back then, what kind of willpower did the previous Heavenly Demon God Hua Shenyong possess to traverse this desolate land alone? Without supplies, without a guide, and not even knowing if the far west truly existed, he stepped into this desolate region where even death seemed unbearable, relying solely on his unwavering determination.

Even more unbelievable is Hua Tianyou—not only was he born in the far west, but he also survived and crossed this natural barrier back to the Heavenly Demon God Sect!

"Does my lord know that on my return journey, I traveled a full three thousand miles?" Hua Tianyou suddenly spoke, as if he had seen through Shen Mo's thoughts.

His voice was hoarse, like a millstone grinding over dry bones, each word carrying the harshness of wind and sand.

He raised his hand and pointed to a distorted horizon in the distance, where light and shadow flickered, as if heat waves were rising, melting the sky and the earth into a void. "My father said before he died that the road to the far west must pass through three perilous places: the central area of ​​the vast yellow sand, the frozen snowfield 'Eternal Silence Ridge', and the Soul-Devouring Abyss of the Soul-Severing Canyon. If one can pass through these three places directly, one can reach the far west in a year."