Wandering Swordsman |

He gently placed his palm on the Yuzhen acupoint at the back of Wumian's head.

In an instant, a gentle, spring-like Buddhist power seeped into her consciousness like a stream.

Faceless shuddered, his back felt as if struck by lightning, yet strangely relaxed.

The feeling was incredibly strange—it was a kind of all-encompassing tranquility, as if parched earth had suddenly received sweet rain, and a dry soul was gently moistened.

Wherever the Buddha's power passed, the chaotic energy that had lingered in her Niwan Palace for many years melted away like ice and snow. The tense nerves in her mind began to slowly relax, like frozen vines awakening in the spring sun. She almost shed tears—not from pain, but from a long-lost sense of "wholeness".

So... this is what Qingming Festival feels like?

But at this very moment—

"boom!"

It was as if an invisible dam had suddenly collapsed, and a massive amount of fragmented memories surged forth from the deepest part of my mind like a torrent bursting its banks!

It's not an orderly picture, but rather fragmented light and shadow, intermittent sounds, and torn emotions.

Countless images overlapped, collided, and tore apart, like thousands of steel needles piercing the brain at the same time.

She wanted to scream, but no sound came out; she wanted to cover her head, but her body was imprisoned by both the demonic energy and the Buddhist power.

"No...stop..." Her lips trembled, and her blue eyes were bloodshot.

But the torrent of memories could not be contained.

At the last moment, she saw a face—not the Pope, but a silver-haired man with fatherly compassion in his eyes, who softly called to her, "Alice!"

Then, darkness engulfed everything.

......

Three hours later.

The candle had burned to its last flame, and the wick crackled and burst into a tiny spark.

On the couch, Wumian's eyelashes trembled slightly as she slowly opened her eyes.

Those emerald eyes were as clear as the surface of a lake after the first snow, yet they were completely empty—without hatred, without fear, and even without a "self".

She looked around blankly, her gaze settling on the three people in the room: Shen Mo, calm and composed in his black robes; Hua Tianyou, aloof and cold in his silver shirt; and Albert, with his bushy beard and blue robes. Strangers. Utterly strangers.

"Who...are you?" Her voice was clear and crisp, yet it carried a childlike confusion.

Before the words were even finished, the body reacted before the mind could react!

Years of interrogation have ingrained an instinct deep within him—in dangerous situations, the first step is to subdue the enemy!

Her right hand shot out like lightning, its five fingers forming a claw, aiming straight for Shen Mo's throat; her left leg swept across, the wind howling, even kicking up three inches of dust!

This strike was as swift as a startled bird and as ruthless as a venomous snake; it was none other than the Inquisitor's deadly move!

However, Hua Tianyou reacted quickly.

He didn't move, but simply raised his right hand slightly, pinching it with his index and middle fingers as if plucking a flower—"click".

The faceless man's wrist was firmly gripped, and his attack came to an abrupt halt.

She looked down in astonishment and saw that her arm could not go any further, as if it had hit an invisible copper wall.

"You forgot?" Hua Tianyou released his grip, his tone calm as still water, yet carrying a barely perceptible hint of gravity. "We are not enemies."

Faceless staggered backward, her back slamming heavily against the wooden wall. Her chest heaved violently, as if she had just struggled out of a nightmare of drowning.

She looked down at her hands—the knuckles were distinct, and the fingertips were covered with thin calluses, the marks of years of martial arts training.

She tried desperately to recall, but her mind was like a desolate wasteland shrouded in thick fog, completely empty.

No name, no past, not even the most basic understanding of "who I am" has slipped through my fingers like quicksand. Only a martial arts instinct deeply rooted in my bones remains—my meridians are unobstructed, my dantian is full, and my internal energy flows like a surging river. I am clearly the body of a top master, yet I am trapped in a blank soul.

"Then...who am I? Why am I here?" Her voice trembled, filled with childlike helplessness.

Albert frowned and whispered to Shen Mo, "Oh no... Mr. Shen, has she lost her memory?"

Shen Mo stepped forward slowly, his black robe gleaming calmly in the dim candlelight. His gaze was like a deep pool, fixed on the faceless woman's eyes, which were both clear and bewildered, as if trying to pierce through the mist and uncover the truth behind her amnesia.

After a moment, he gently shook his head, his voice low and gentle: "The chaotic energy in her mind has subsided, but she has lost her memory, as if she has suffered some kind of mental shock..." He paused, a complex look flashing in his eyes, "Right now, I don't know how to help her regain her memory. But if we leave her here alone, someone with unparalleled martial arts skills but completely amnesiad could very well become someone else's pawn."

He turned to look at Hua Tianyou and Albert, his tone as firm as iron: "Take her with you. It's the only option."

Upon hearing this, all three fell silent.

Their journey to Beigong City was fraught with danger. Bringing another person would increase the risk of exposure. Yet, there was no hesitation in Shen Mo's eyes—not out of pity, but a sense of righteous indignation bordering on compassion: to see someone fall into an abyss and not lend a helping hand is no different from being an aggressor.

Hua Tianyou nodded slightly and sheathed his sword: "Alright, let's do it that way."

Albert grinned, a surge of magnanimity rising within him: "I have no objection!"

Faceless stared blankly at the three men, and the instinctive hostility in her heart quietly melted away. She didn't know who they were, but inexplicably felt that in this unfamiliar environment, they were the only real light.

Shen Mo extended his hand, palm up, his movements calm yet brooking no refusal: "Since you can't remember who you are, you can come with us if you're willing. Perhaps we can find some clues."

After a moment's hesitation, Wumian finally slowly placed her hand in his palm. Her fingertips were slightly cool, yet it felt as if she had touched a long-lost warmth.

The following day, the four of them embarked on their journey again.

The morning mist was thick, and the wheat fields on both sides of the official road rippled like waves, with dewdrops sparkling like stars on the tips of the grass.

Shen Mo led the horse forward, while Hua Tianyou lagged half a step behind, his gaze sweeping the surroundings like a hawk; Albert deliberately slowed his pace, walking side by side with Wumian, occasionally pointing to distant mountains or birds, trying to evoke a sense of familiarity in her.

The faceless figure remained silent, its silver mask gleaming coldly in the morning sun.

She occasionally raised her hand to lightly touch the edge of the mask, as if to confirm her own existence.

But whenever she looked at Shen Mo's back, a trace of trust would always flash in her eyes, a trust that she herself was unaware of.

......

They headed towards Beigong City.

As you travel further west, the terrain gradually flattens out, the wilderness recedes, and in its place come rolling wheat fields, neat irrigation ditches, and villages with blue tiles and white walls.

The official road was wide and smooth, with a post station every ten li (approximately 5 kilometers). The post station contained clean water, hay, and a simple medical kit for travelers to rest and treat their injuries. Occasionally, caravans would pass by, but there were no bandits to harass them; only the soft sound of wheels rolling over stone slabs and the tinkling of horse bells could be heard.

Hua Tianyou rode slowly, his silver robe fluttering slightly in the wind, but his gaze remained lowered, as if deep in thought.

What he saw along the way caused a crack to quietly appear in the sword in his heart, which had long been tempered and refined, and was born solely for revenge.

Yesterday, while we were watering our horses by the stream, an old farmer, noticing our distinguished attire, offered us some freshly picked melons, saying with a smile, "Are you all heading to Beigong City? That's truly a blessed place! His Highness the Duke has ordered the spring tax to be waived and even ordered the Ministry of Works to repair the irrigation canals; this year's harvest has doubled!"

The other day, I stayed at an inn in a small town. As the innkeeper wiped the wine glasses, he sighed, "If you ask who in this world is the most benevolent to the people, it has to be our Invincible Duke! Last month, someone impersonated a tax collector and forcibly collected 'atonement money.' He was caught on the spot by the Duke's personal guards, taken back to the North Palace City for a public trial—and finally beheaded, his head was displayed on the city gate for three days!"

On another occasion, they heard a wandering poet singing in the market: "Silver-haired old man, iron-hearted, neither greedy for gold nor fond of fragrance; as long as the granaries are full, he would rather let his armor be cold..."

Every word of praise pierced Hua Tianyou's heart like a fine needle.