Chapter Thirty-Five: Farewell

Inside the main house of the Qin family, the middle-aged couple lay side by side on the bed, their eyes closed. After a long silence, the woman, still not opening her eyes, asked, “Tian, that young lady—is she Jiang Yao?”

“Among the disciples of Mount Taiyi, only she could contend with Wang Weixue,” Qin Tian replied in the same manner.

The woman spoke again, “So what do you plan to do?”

The man answered, “Best not to disturb Jiang Yao too much. According to young Zhang Chen, our son is now apprenticed to Master Zi Xuan. We can ask our son about this matter.”

“That’s fine,” the woman agreed softly.

“Wan Ting, life with me has been hard for you,” the man said with a hint of sorrow.

He Wan Ting smiled lightly, dismissing his concerns. “It’s not hard at all.”

The main house returned to silence, and whether the two truly found rest was uncertain.

…

“I didn’t expect such a gap between the ninth and fifth elders of the Wang clan of East Ridge. The fifth elder cultivates the path of the void, and his strength is considerable,” Qin Yi remarked after a lengthy pause, recalling the earlier battle with genuine surprise. When he killed the ninth elder in his previous life, it hadn’t seemed difficult.

But he was certain—had it been Wang Weixue he faced in the past, he would never have prevailed. He would likely have been outmatched, for Wang Weixue had not fought with his full strength against Jiang Yao today, only revealing his power at the very end, which forced them into such dire straits.

Jiang Yao, still gazing out the window, replied, “You can glimpse the truth from Wang Rui slaughtering Lingyang City single-handedly. Though the city had fewer than ten cultivators at the Golden Core stage, it was the capital of the former overlord of Lingzhou, the Dongling Dynasty, with a population of several million and tens of thousands of cultivators. To kill so many alone is astonishing, and that’s without mentioning the great elder who no longer appears in Lingzhou.”

Qin Yi suddenly recalled certain events and asked curiously, “I wonder how those people are doing now.”

Jiang Yao replied languidly, “Everyone is striving. In the past five years, Ji Yunyang and Bai Feng have begun taking over the affairs of the Divine Yuan Sect, which has long sought to unite the human race. As future leaders, it’s naturally their duty.”

Qin Yi laughed, “You’ve always kept an eye on such matters.”

Jiang Yao’s tone was calm but faintly chilling. “Of course. After all, we’ll meet again someday.”

“Heh.” Qin Yi chuckled, words left unspoken between them.

---

“Song Yulin and Shanshan, after returning to Qishan Sword Pool five years ago, have never been seen since. Rumor has it they’re working to add two new swords to the Qishan Nine Swords,” Jiang Yao said, her eyes distant. The Qishan Nine Swords were legendary swordmasters, and she continued, “They helped me five years ago.”

“The gratitude of the little beggar and Shanshan will not be forgotten,” Qin Yi said, patting his chest. He held great affection for the Sword Crown and Sword Attendant of Qishan, the rare human prodigies with whom they got along so well.

He still remembered their first encounter with Song Yulin and Shanshan, in the grand city of Cloud Sway. Back then, Qin Yi truly believed Song was a beggar, buying him a steaming basket of buns from a street vendor and asking if it was enough. Song insisted it wasn’t and clung to both him and Jiang Yao, until Shanshan appeared and revealed his true identity. Thus, the four became companions, venturing together until five years ago.

What irked Qin Yi was that Song Yulin seemed to harbor feelings for Jiang Yao…

Jiang Yao continued, “Xuanyuan Yuanlie has also begun to manage the affairs of the Xuanyuan clan. The foundation of the clan in the northwest differs from that of the Wang clan in East Ridge, with many matters and numerous candidates for clan leader.”

“Mm.” Qin Yi gave a quiet assent, saying nothing more. He already knew that five years ago, Xuanyuan Yuanlie had not aided Jiang Yao, and likely made things more difficult for her.

“Master Longyun has represented the Pufan Monastery, traveling the world in search of the Dao since five years ago,” she went on. “He helped me as well.”

“Indeed. We will repay the master’s kindness in full,” Qin Yi declared with a heroic air, unsurprised by Longyun’s assistance, for monks are compassionate by nature.

“Linglong has not been heard from since returning to the Ten Thousand Mountains of the Southern Frontier five years ago.” Speaking of Linglong, Jiang Yao’s expression darkened. After all, her tribulation under the cold moon’s night was thanks to her.

“She will return,” Qin Yi replied, his voice steady and calm.

“Mm.” Jiang Yao simply acknowledged, then continued, “As for Wang Hong, I assume you’ve heard some news about him.”

“Mm.” Qin Yi nodded.

Jiang Yao concluded, “That’s how it is. If you wish to prove you’re not a traitor to the human race, you must face each of these people in turn. There’s plenty of time; don’t be too impatient…”

She was interrupted by a sudden snoring. Turning, she saw Qin Yi fast asleep on the lounge chair, snoring uproariously. She couldn’t help but smile—today’s fierce battle had exhausted him.

Jiang Yao approached, standing by Qin Yi’s side, watching him sleep. She murmured to herself, “If only life could always be like this. Too bad I know you wouldn’t want it to stay this way forever.”

She hesitated briefly, unable to bear it, then bent down, gently lifting Qin Yi and placing him on the large bed. She pulled the unique quilt over him, then lay down beside him, sharing his pillow.

At dawn, Qin Yi awoke to find Jiang Yao already dressed, standing by the window just as she had the night before, not waking him.

He realized he wasn’t on the lounge chair but on the big bed. Winter’s chill was biting, but the bed was wonderfully warm. Watching the sunlight streaming through the window, bathing Jiang Yao in its glow, he smiled. How pleasant it was to have a lovely woman warming his bed. Lazily, he rose, washed, and dressed, then took Jiang Yao to the main house. There, the brothers Wu Bo and Wu Lang had risen early and were already waiting. Upon seeing Qin Yi, Wu Bo greeted him, “Brother Qin, you’re here.”

“Mm,” Qin Yi replied, “Did you sleep well?”

---

Wu Bo answered with a smile, “Wonderfully.”

Seeing the brothers’ packed luggage, Qin Yi asked, “Are you two heading back to West River Martial Hall today?”

Wu Bo nodded, “The New Year is near. Best to return early.”

“Mm.” Qin Yi acknowledged. After a simple breakfast at home, he and Zhang Chen escorted Wu Bo and Wu Lang to the west gate of Fish-Dragon Fortress.

The brothers had purchased two horses for their journey, as they weren’t powerful enough to traverse great distances in a single flight. Sword-riding was tiring for long journeys; horses were more reliable. Thanks to the news of their battle with the Wang clan of East Ridge spreading throughout Fish-Dragon Fortress, even the notoriously stingy Old Ma, famous for his tightfisted ways, gifted them two horses today, insisting it was only proper.

Qin Yi joked that Old Ma should give him a horse next time he traveled. Old Ma finally dared not agree, muttering the feeble excuse, “It’s always the locals who take advantage of each other—tears in both eyes.”

Outside the west gate, Qin Yi watched the brothers leading their horses and clasped his hands in farewell. “Who knows when we’ll meet again?”

The brothers laughed. “At the latest, we’ll see each other at the next Southern Mountain Debate.”

Zhang Chen tossed them two bags of homemade purple rice brew. “Plenty for the journey.”

Wu Lang caught a bag and grumbled, “So stingy. After all we’ve been through together.”

Laughter erupted.

The brothers did not linger. Mounting their horses, they rode off. After a stretch, they raised their hands in farewell, then spurred their steeds and disappeared in a cloud of dust.

Qin Yi and Zhang Chen waved until the riders vanished from sight, then slowly lowered their hands.

Qin Yi thought, if in his past life he’d befriended men like Wu Bo and Wu Lang, and the Sword Crown and Sword Attendant of Qishan, perhaps death would have held fewer regrets.

Luckily, it was not too late.