"As long as one ets the requirents of the state of mind, even if they are incapable of even catching a chicken, they can pass."
"However, if the visitor fails to et the requirents, they might face a Great Grandmaster, who reached the pinnacle of their realm after the creation of the Zhan Lu Divine Weapon three thousand years ago... For now, it seems that Anfeng is not extrely satisfied, but neither is he being rejected."
Hong Luoyu muttered: "Is this sword looking for soone with a similar temperant?"
"It's not like they're forming a partnership for life, why so many requirents?"
The Ancient Taoist sighed: "Perhaps after witnessing the heroes of the world, its demands have increasingly grown. With three thousand years of enlightennt, this sword is not one that just anyone can lift."
"However, in this manner, the person it will eventually et is likely to be..."
Hong Luoyu scratched his head and fell silent.
At this mont, Wang Anfeng unleashed the final horizontal slash, shattering the swordsmith before him. Ouyang sighed contentedly and vanished. Wang Anfeng slowly sheathed his blade, having by now guessed the truth of the trial, his breath slightly heavier than before.
The first was Ouyang, the swordsmith.
So then the last one is...
He pressed his lips together, raised his head, looked at the path ahead, gripped his blade, and strode forward decisively.
Deceased at age six... Yes, at that ti, he was six years old, but now, he was about to turn nineteen...
Thirteen years.
Through three thousand years, there have not been many Sword Masters of the Zhan Lu Sword, at most one every three hundred years, sotis even once every five hundred years. Wang Anfeng moved forward continuously, focused and unwavering; the blade in his hand showed not a hint of hesitation. The Zhan Lu Sword is a blade of benevolence, and those with selfish desires find it difficult to make progress. But his quest had nothing to do with what the Zhan Lu Sword guarded against.
He does not seek the world, power, or to gain the ability to roam freely in the Jianghu.
No one would think that wanting to see his father one last ti is contrary to the path of benevolence.
With unstoppable montum, he finally reached the final destination.
The blade in his hand humd and vibrated.
Wang Anfeng looked up at the last person before him.
A scholar whose brows and eyes bore a seven or eight-tenths resemblance to him was clad in blue. The right hand held a sword, the palm long and pale, completely unlike the frail scholar in Wang Anfeng's mories, his brows exuding vigor, with eyes full of the grandeur that sweeps the world, embodying the elegance and charm of three thousand poetic words.
The frequently coughing, sickly man was also once a vibrant youth.
Wang Anfeng halted his steps, countless emotions swirling within, wanting to speak, yet finding himself utterly voiceless.
Wang Tiance, with youthful grace and bold spirit between his brows, lifted his gaze to the man opposite, but Wang Anfeng was left blank-minded, for Wang Tiance did not recognize him.
At this mont, he only existed within the mory of the Zhan Lu Divine Weapon, a reflection of a Sword Master once recognized by this Divine Sword, and like the earlier Ouyang, without personal thoughts and mories, only pure intent.
In the ringing sword cry, the blue-clad, dashing youth holding a sword in his right hand turned to the restored Wang Anfeng, and like every generation of Sword Master before, said straightforwardly:
"Those who wield this sword must move for the world."
"Those harboring selfish desires are vile, unworthy of this sword."
Wang Anfeng gazed deeply at the young Wang Tiance, raised his blade, the edge quivering, and stepped forth. Wang Tiance's swordsmanship was rely that of an ordinary scholar, but his vertical slashes and horizontal chops were made with form and grace. Wang Anfeng employed only defensive maneuvers, never once striking offensively, as their blades clashed, observing Wang Tiance up close.
That was the man's most vigorous ti, his brows and deanor full of pride and confidence.
Such a proud person, yet in the end, he beca like that.
With the final clash of blades, the shadow of Wang Tiance seed to exhaust its strength, slowly dispersing. Wang Anfeng's chest heaved with emotions; he pressed his lips together and looked at the scholar whose smile faded, and amidst the swell of emotions, he simply said:
"Father... I've been doing well all these years."
"You don't have to worry about ."
"May you rest in peace, Yong'an."
With just this, it was enough.
He closed his eyes.
Don't worry about ...
The last opponent vanished, and the surroundings transford again. A single candle flickered, reverting to the appearance of that wooden hut, with a sword embedded blade-down in the far end. The longsword was entirely black, and more notably was its broadness rather than its sharpness.
Beside the longsword, there was a table and chair, appearing quite ordinary, even sowhat worn.
A scholar sat in the chair, holding a scroll, clad in blue, with gentle eyes. At this mont, Wang Anfeng's heartbeat quickened slightly, soon calming.
The scholar looked up.
The face was unfamiliar, not the one he had hoped for.
The scholar looked in Wang Anfeng's direction, nodded with a smile, and said:
"Well done."
"Though your way of breaking through differs from those in the past, there is a unique perseverance. To overco this series of trials is indeed refreshing. However, the most surprising thing to is that in this era, one can still see the presence of a 'Taoist companion,' which is truly astounding."
"I thought they were all buried with that era."
He looked towards Wang Anfeng's right wrist.
A detached voice of Leng Che echoed faintly in the air:
"There are always exceptions."
With that voice, soone appeared silently beside Wang Anfeng, eyebrows and eyes crisp, clad in green. A re glance revealed an elegant deanor like orchids among jade, with a habitual coldness in his eyes starkly contrasting the broad and gentle presence of a Sword Spirit.
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