Wandering Swordsman |

After bidding farewell to the two, Shen Mo stepped out of the Wulin Alliance council hall.

He quickened his pace as he passed through the training ground, the library, and the pharmacy, each step reflecting his eagerness to return home.

Turning around the corridor, you'll see two figures standing side by side in front of the courtyard gate.

Murong Qing, dressed in a purple dress, held a scroll of "Sword Manual" in her hands, but was clearly absent-minded, her gaze frequently drifting towards the intersection; Situ Meng, on the other hand, sat on a stone bench, a bowl of freshly brewed medicinal food on her lap, the steam rising and reflecting her slightly pale but reassuring smile.

Upon seeing him appear, the two of them stood up at the same time.

"My husband!"

The sounds overlapped, yet were equally joyful.

Shen Mo strode forward, gently stroking Murong Qing's hair with one hand and taking the medicine bowl from Situ Meng's hand with the other, and said softly, "Qing'er, Meng'er, I'm back."

There were no grand pronouncements, no triumphant celebrations, only the simple phrase "I'm back," which filled the two women's eyes with peace and tranquility.

A gentle breeze stirred, causing the plum branches in the courtyard to tremble slightly, and petals to fall like snow.

Shen Mo stood between them, the Azure Ox Sword silently slung behind his back—at this moment, he was no longer the "Sword God," no longer the "Duke Protector of the Nation," but simply their husband.

The storms of the martial world, the power struggles of the imperial court, the long journeys, and the aspirations of the people... all quietly recede outside this small courtyard.

......

The moonlight, like water, poured onto the bluestone slabs of the courtyard, gleaming with a cool, silvery glow.

A gentle night breeze rustled the copper bells on the eaves, producing a delicate and melodious sound, as if time itself had slowed down at that moment.

Shen Mo sat on a stone bench in the courtyard, gazing up at the bright moon hanging high in the sky, his heart filled with indescribable emotions.

Since his marriage, for more than 700 days and nights, he has spent very little time with his two wives.

The world is a turbulent sea, and he is always a lone boat going against the current. Even though he is famous throughout the world, he can hardly hold onto a corner of warmth.

Now, he has finally returned, free from the turmoil of the martial world. He sits in this small courtyard, listening to the wind, watching the moon, and embracing his wife.

Murong Qing and Situ Meng sat beside him, one leaning on his left shoulder and the other on his right arm, like two orchids nestled against an ancient pine.

Their gazes never left Shen Mo's profile—his handsome face, etched with the marks of time, his eyes slightly weary, yet his lips still held a gentle curve.

This weariness is not weakness, but rather the calming effect after traversing countless mountains and rivers; this fatigue is not despondency, but rather the relaxation after unloading a heavy burden.

That's why they feel more at ease than ever before.

"Husband..." Murong Qing spoke softly, her voice like a clear and gentle stream under the moonlight, "This moment is so beautiful."

Situ Meng didn't speak, but gently placed her hand on the back of his hand. Her fingertips were slightly cool, but they carried a silent warmth—love that needed no words.

Shen Mo smiled slightly, then took their hands in his own. His palms were warm, as if he wanted to make up for all the warmth he had missed over the past seven hundred days. "Yes," he said softly, "I have been away for too long. But no matter where I am or what I am in, there will always be a light in my heart that burns for you."

He paused, his gaze shifting from the bright moon to the two of them, his eyes no longer filled with the bloodshed of the martial world, but with a deep, tender affection: "Now, the overall situation in the martial world has been stabilized, and the Martial Alliance has returned to peace. The Heavenly Demon Sect is also opening up the far west. Everything is progressing according to plan."

He took a deep breath, as if trying to inhale the entire tranquil night into his lungs: "So... from now on, I want to spend the rest of my days with you. No more secret orders or urgent summons, no more life-or-death situations. I want to accompany you to see all the sights of the martial world and travel all the roads under heaven; I want to brew tea for you in the spring and fan you on summer nights; I want to make up for those more than seven hundred days and nights of separation, day by day, minute by minute."

After he finished speaking, the courtyard fell into a brief silence.

Only the rustling sound of the wind passing through the bamboo tips seemed to make heaven and earth hold their breath.

Murong Qing's eyes were slightly red, but she raised the corners of her mouth, her smile as bright as a newly blooming white plum blossom: "Husband, we have waited too long for these words." She raised her hand to gently smooth the wrinkles between his brows, her movements as gentle as if afraid of disturbing a beautiful dream. "You don't need to make up for anything. As long as you are by our side, that is enough."

Situ Meng nodded, tears glistening in her eyes, yet her expression held a resolute tenderness: "The martial world needs heroes, but our family needs you. Not the 'Sword God,' not the 'Heavenly Demon God,' just our husband." She paused, her voice lower yet more sincere, "As long as you're willing to spare some time to be with us, even just for a day, we'll be content."

Shen Mo's throat tightened slightly, and he couldn't speak for a moment.

He simply pulled the two women into his arms and held them tightly, as if he wanted to merge them into his very bones, because at this moment his heart was filled only with the two of them, with no other thoughts.

Moonlight bathed the three of them, weaving a silvery cocoon that isolated them from the hustle and bustle of the world, leaving only the resonance of their heartbeats.

After a long silence, Murong Qing chuckled softly, breaking the tender silence: "Then let's set off tomorrow."

"Huh?" Shen Mo was taken aback.

"To travel the world," Situ Meng interjected, a sly glint in her eyes, "to see all the famous mountains and rivers of the Central Plains. To see the sea of ​​clouds at Huangshan, to witness the Buddha's light at the Golden Summit of Emei, and to greet the first rays of sunrise at Taishan."

Shen Mo was stunned, then burst into loud laughter, a clear and melodious sound that startled the night birds perched under the eaves. "Alright! It's settled then!"

The three looked at each other and smiled. In the moonlight, their three faces glowed with happiness. It was not the glory built on power, but the unwavering certainty of finally holding each other tightly after weathering storms.

The next morning, as dawn broke, a thin mist, like gauze, enveloped the eaves and brackets of Nanjing.

Murong Qing was dressed in a plain white dress, her hair simply tied up in a bun, adorned only with a white jade plum blossom hairpin, yet she possessed an ethereal and otherworldly beauty.

She handed the last volume of alliance documents to her trusted elder, her tone calm yet unquestionable: "Unless it is an extremely urgent matter within the alliance, do not disturb me."

Situ Meng changed into a light blue satin outfit suitable for riding, her sword still at her waist, but now carrying a small pouch embroidered with medicine. She temporarily entrusted the alliance leader's seal, which she was keeping, to her adjutant, and gave a few instructions on communication matters between the various factions. Her movements were swift, yet revealed a hint of barely perceptible excitement.

Shen Mo was already waiting outside the Martial Alliance gate with his horse.

Three fine horses stood side by side: his black horse was as black as ink, except for a tuft of white hair on its forehead; Murong Qing's jade horse was pure white, its four hooves treading on clouds; Situ Meng's green horse was strong and steady, its mane like a waterfall.

The three mounted their horses with perfect coordination, as if they had practiced a thousand times.

Shen Mo rode in the middle, Murong Qing on the left, and Situ Meng on the right. The three rode side by side, slowly stepping onto the official road leading out of the city.

As dawn broke, the light fell upon the three of them, casting long shadows.

The horses' hooves clattered on the bluestone slabs, producing a crisp and soothing rhythm, neither too fast nor too slow, like a melodious andante.