“Brother, where is this?” Song Aiguo looked around, taking in his surroundings.
An antique-style market unfolded in all directions, bustling with crowds and teeming with lively activity.
“This here is the Samsara Realm.”
Song Huaiyan briefly explained it to him. As he watched the surrounding scenery gradually sharpen into focus, a look of perplexity crossed his face.
The attire of the pedestrians on the street resembled that of ancient times, and the storefronts and stalls bore no resemblance to modern ones. Since this was clearly Xu Lin’s Samsara Realm, how could it possibly look like this?
“Why is he entering as well, though?” Song Aiguo pointed naturally toward Shen Yu.
“Because he is my junior brother.” Song Huaiyan gave his evergreen explanation.
Giving a light huff, Song Aiguo knew this wasn’t the time to dwell on that detail, so he shifted his focus back to the immediate scene, his face brimming with curiosity.
“Cough… cough… cough, cough, cough…”
Following the sound of rapid coughing, he looked toward the corner of the alley and spotted a ragged little beggar. Judging by the clothing of the people around, it should be winter, yet the boy wore only a tattered, thin shirt, with his body and face covered in injuries. He coughed into his hands for a while, staining both his palms and the corners of his mouth with blood.
Song Aiguo wanted to step forward to help him up, only to find he couldn’t make physical contact.
“Brother, is this place just a holographic projection? We can only watch and can’t interact, right?” Song Aiguo looked at the little beggar, sympathy and distress welling up in his eyes.
“Mhm,” Song Huaiyan nodded. While understanding it that way was technically correct—though the Samsara Realm was far more complex than that there was no need to offer excessive explanations right now.
Curled into a ball, the beggar shivered violently. He breathed heavily, the hot air exhaled turning into white mist. Feeling his vision grow hazy and as indistinct as a boundless fairyland, he pulled the corners of his mouth into a smile and slowly closed his eyes.
“Hey, don’t fall asleep here, you’ll freeze to death.”
The beggar opened his eyes, and a bamboo-green figure gradually emerged amid the mist.
“How did you end up getting bullied this badly?”
A young master dressed in brocade robes squatted down to look at him eye-to-eye, wearing a smile that lacked mockery or hypocrisy, carrying instead the pure, natural warmth of a friend’s smile.
The beggar half-opened his mouth, an itch rising in his throat, and he couldn’t help coughing again.
“Here, drink some water.” The young master handed over a delicate little gourd hanging from his waist, paying no heed to the embroidered hem of his robe dragging along the ground.
The beggar’s eyes flickered, soon lowering his eyelashes once more.
“There’s lots of good stuff inside for nourishing the body, my mom packed it for me.” The young master thrust the gourd into the beggar’s hands.
Refusing to take it, the beggar simply buried his head even lower.
“Drink some water. Once you have strength, keep walking straight ahead until you reach the city gates; you’ll see a bamboo shed with a banner bearing the character ‘Xu.’ They serve free porridge there every day until winter ends.” The young master looked at him with curved brows and sparkling eyes. “You want to see the spring again, don’t you?”
Biting his lip, the beggar raised his eyes a fraction to steal a peek at him.
The young master was only eight or nine years old, roughly around his own age, with handsome facial features and eyes like stars. When he smiled, a dark red mole at the corner of his left eye shone with a brilliant luster.
“My dad always says giving charity is useless, but year after year, he still serves porridge anyway. I know I can’t help everyone, but I still want to become a wandering knight-errant, travel to many places, see different scenery, and help the people I encounter.”
Resting his chin in his hand, the young master beamed with radiant smiles.
“Sometimes, perhaps a single bowl of porridge or a helping hand can pull someone through their darkest hour.”
The beggar blinked, his words teetering on the tip of his tongue.
The young master stood up and brushed the dust from his robes.
“Though overly idealistic, I still wish that from this day onward, your path may be smooth, worry-free, safe, and joyful.”
He turned and stepped into the bustling crowd.
Winter sunlight shone down upon this cold human world—not intensely hot, yet blindingly bright.
The beggar finally picked up that small gourd. Carved into its delicate patterns using a small blade was a crookedly scrawled character: Yun.
“Brother, is this person Grandpa Xu?” Song Aiguo looked at the little beggar in the corner. “But when he was this small, it should have been the Republican era, yet this place…”
This place bore zero resemblance to the Republican era.
“Be patient,” Song Huaiyan reminded him to follow the lead of the soul-guiding incense.
Very soon, the street scene faded away, and the surrounding light dimmed. Turning his head to look around, Song Aiguo discovered they were standing inside a mountain forest. The night was dark and the wind high, with not a chirp from a bird to be heard. A group of people holding torches and brandishing swords and sabers closed in menacingly from all directions, exuding an overbearing pressure.
Instinctively taking a step back, Song Aiguo found dead bodies sprawled haphazardly left and right beneath his feet. Although he couldn’t directly touch them, immersing himself in such a scene firsthand still made his hair stand on end and sent a shiver of horror through him, leaving him wanting to retch.
Lifting his head to call out to Song Huaiyan, he saw him and Shen Yu staring fixedly at someone ahead.
That person stood in the middle of a pile of corpses. Half of his profile was illuminated by the drawing fire of the approaching torches, casting a towering shadow. With his head lowered and face buried in shadow, he leaned upon a golden horse-drinking saber in one hand while dangling a round object in the other, dripping liquid down drop by drop.
It was a bloody human head!
“The scoundrel Lin Ji is at the end of his rope, everyone charge together and take him down!” Among the surging crowd, someone took the lead in shouting.
Filled with righteous indignation, the crowd rushed to within ten paces of the figure, only to witness a flash of the golden saber. A fierce, powerful sweep of blade-force blasted outward, sending dozens of men in front flying backward as they spewed mouthfuls of blood.
Amidst the pitch-black night, the man tossed away the severed head, dragging the blood-soaked golden saber as he stepped forward pace by pace. Upon his face rested a silver mask carved with eerie patterns, exposing only a single right eye resembling a Shura demon crawled straight out of purgatory.
Clutching blades and swords, the surrounding attackers dressed like martial artists from a wuxia film. Their reaction mirrored that of useless “righteous heroes” in most television dramas: frightened into retreating step by step, until a figure in green robes stepped out from the crowd.
“Hero Xu!” The blade-wielding fellow cried out joyfully upon spotting the newcomer. “This wretch Lin Ji is truly formidable—he’s this thorny even while poisoned. Quick, young hero, step in and capture him!”
Carrying a long sword on his back, the green-robed man stood with an upright posture. His otherworldly elegance stood out even more against the night, and through the flickering torchlight, his refined, handsome brows were faintly visible.
“Hero Xu! Absolutely must not let this villain go!”
“Kill him to avenge the righteous martial artists and innocent citizens who died!”
Shouting slogans, the crowd swiftly cleared a path for him.
The white-clad man walked forward, prompting Lin Ji, who was striding toward him, to come to a halt.
“Hahahaha…” Leaning his golden saber against the ground, Lin Ji burst into loud laughter. “You must be ‘The Breeze Traveler’ Xu Yun?”
“Rumor has it that Xu Yun’s Bright Moon Sword technique is peerless under heaven, and that he is aloof, upright, and boundlessly loyal…” Lin Ji’s laughter grew increasingly unbridled and eccentric. “Never imagined he’d sink so low as to herd with trash like this, resorting to unbefitting tricks like poisoning.”
Frowning slightly, Xu Yun ignored his provocation and stared coldly at the figure before him. With a jolt of inner Qi, the long sword on his back cleared its scabbard.
“The Black Cloud Stronghold has entrenched itself in Changling for decades, burning, killing, pillaging, and committing every evil imaginable. Today, I must demand justice for the countless souls who perished under your hands.”
“Fine by me! I appreciate righteous martial arts heroes like you the most! A debt of blood is paid in blood, and killing demands a life—it’s fair and square,” Lin Ji said with a calm expression. “Third Brother Zhao dared to betray me, so I chopped off his head. Now my head is right here, let’s see if you have the skill to come and take it.”
Unwilling to exchange any further words with him, Xu Yun produced a crisp ring of steel as his long sword lunged toward Lin Ji with the momentum to cleave the wind.
Standing his ground without the slightest evasion, Lin Ji released his grip on the golden saber, completely abandoning defense as if his earlier arrogant posture had merely been a final bluff.
Xu Yun’s long sword closed in near his heart, yet Lin Ji still refused to dodge or parry. Tightening with sudden tension, Xu Yun hastily wrenched his sword tip a fraction to the side out of a panicked reflex.
With a squelch, the long sword pierced into Lin Ji’s chest, spurting blood outward.
Xu Yun froze slightly. Under the violent collision of sword Qi just moments prior, the silver mask on Lin Ji’s face had abruptly shattered.
Beneath the mask was revealed a blind eye lacking an eyeball, while the other eye remained dark as ink, marked by a bright red mole at the corner—as striking as a splatter of fresh blood.
The next instant, a chilling dagger plunged straight into Xu Yun’s abdomen.
Yet he acted as though entirely oblivious to it, his gaze locked onto that chilling, slowly smiling face.
“Hero Xu!” Cries of shock erupted from the onlookers behind him.
Song Aiguo instinctively covered his eyes.
Everything had happened far too abruptly. Though Song Huaiyan and the others had been watching from close range the entire time, this development caught them completely off guard.
Lin Ji’s earlier refusal to dodge was a desperate, all-or-nothing gamble launched from a state of severe injury. He had wagered that a righteous swordsman facing an opponent stripped of all counter-ability would inevitably hesitate for a split second, worrying about mistakenly injuring the innocent or walking into a trap and that precise moment of hesitation served as his window for close-quarters counterattack.
Given Xu Yun’s reflexes and martial arts skill, he shouldn’t have been blindsided and impaled through the abdomen right after that sword strike. But observing his reaction upon seeing the mask fall away, it appeared Lin Ji might well be someone he knew.
“Hero Xu, your sword isn’t fast enough, and your hands aren’t steady either!” A smile hooked the corners of Lin Ji’s lips as he yanked out the dagger and used the momentum to retreat several steps. As the long sword dragged out from his chest, blood immediately gushed out in a torrent.
Showing not a shred of concern, Lin Ji shifted his gaze from the blood-stained dagger in his hand to the half-bloodied Xu Yun, his eyes filled with mockery.
Xu Yun parted his lips, coughing up a large mouthful of blood.
“Lin Ji, you despicable scoundrel!” Shouted someone from behind, brandishing a saber to hack toward Lin Ji, only to see Xu Yun pivot around and use his sword to block that heavy blow for Lin Ji instead.
Meanwhile, the dagger in Lin Ji’s hand drove straight into Xu Yun’s undefended back.
At that moment, the onlookers forgot even to cry out. Gasping in collective disbelief, they stared fixedly at the two men.
“Hero Xu… you…” Someone spoke with a trembling voice. “What are you doing?”
“Why save him?”
“Everyone stop staring, hurry up and capture Lin Ji! He’s heavily injured, there’s no way he can escape now!”
Urged on by one person, the rest realized Lin Ji was at the end of his strength. Emboldened instantly, they raised their swords and surged forward toward Lin Ji.
To their astonishment, standing in the path to block them was none other than Xu Yun’s Bright Moon Sword.