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On the day Hong Hui passed away, Hong Feibai practiced his swordsmanship all night in the back mountains.
As if possessed by madness.
At sunrise, atop the back mountains, there rose Sword Qi soaring to the skies, with a sword's cry clear and lingering, continuing without end.
In just one night, Hong Feibai of the Heavenly Sword Sect advanced from Eighth Rank to Seventh Rank.
When Wang Anfeng saw him again the next day, this swordsman, initially t with unbridled boldness, had cald down, yet despite being only in his twenties, his temples had started to show strands of white hair, but his aura had beco even more stable and tranquil.
"Will Young Hero Wang be staying here for a couple more days?"
The elderly man clad in white sat by the pavilion, pouring tea into the cup before Wang Anfeng, speaking in a rather placid tone. Yet, his eyes and brows contained traces of Sword Qi, not to be underestimated.
He was the attendant of the first generation Heavenly Sword, who wandered the world of Jianghu. Imrsed from a young age, he mastered an extrely sharp swordsmanship, his Inner Strength at the Fifth Rank, and even at over eighty years of age, he still commanded respect and fear from various sects.
Wang Anfeng accepted the tea and fell silent for a mont before saying,
"At least until the burial of Elder Hong Hui..."
Hong Hui had unleashed that sword strike with the life force of a martial artist, his body shattered, leaving behind only a ceremonial mound for the mbers of the Heavenly Sword Sect, an offering of rembrance to others.
The old man remained silent for a long while, finally sighing and turning his head towards the view outside the pavilion, saying leisurely,
"Thirty years ago, I bid farewell to the original Heavenly Sword."
"But I never imagined that I would live to see off the second generation Heavenly Sword, the ti to say goodbye to Hui'er..."
"Jianghu, the affairs of the world, indeed difficult to see clearly..."
Wang Anfeng didn't know what to say.
He could only raise his hand to drink the tea.
The tea was bitter, the world vast.
Accustod to watching the spring moon and autumn wind, so many affairs in Jianghu, just go with the flow.
But how hard it is to truly go with the flow.
Bu Yunng awoke in the empty room.
She instinctively turned over, but her body stiffened slightly.
Beside her, the familiar form was no longer there. Bu Yunng lay stiff for a long ti, then seed to lose all her strength and collapsed, the clarity of her awakening mind telling her.
The fact that she was now alone.
No husband, no daughter...
The world she had known so well, which she thought would continue, had suddenly changed.
The most intense pain of loss is not when one thinks of the incident occurring, but rather when, having montarily suppressed these emotions, in the future one thought they had let go of, it is during so casual mont one realizes that the loss is indeed real, like a thorn in the fingernail, subtle yet lingering pain.
The dicinal porridge that won't be had again.
The empty green umbrella after the rain.
There might be things that cause annoyance or joy, but no one left to share them with.
She had grown up in the sa sect as Hong Hui, and it had taken her fully thirty years to get used to his presence, but he destroyed it all with one sword strike, in one day.
Bu Yunng clenched her hand tightly.
Her heart ached so much that she could hardly accept the reality.
Her carefully arranged room was supposed to be her place of relaxation, but it had now beco a dark whirlpool, pulling her into the abyss of pain and loneliness, where each breath felt indescribably painful.
As her consciousness began to fray in this pain, suddenly there ca a rhythmic knocking from outside the door, like tapping on a sword edge, like flicking cold jade, the sound clear and resonating in her ears.
Bu Yunng gathered what little strength she could muster from her grief.
She looked up in the direction of the door.
After a mont of silence, a young man's steady voice ca through, saying,
"Master's wife..."
Bu Yunng was dazed for a mont, it took her a long ti to rember that it should be the hour of Chen.
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Great Qin has always placed great importance on the ntor-disciple relationship. After morning lessons, disciples traditionally greet their Master and Mistress. In the past, disciple greetings were handled by Hong Hui, while she would simply lie in with her eyes closed, half-asleep, listening to her senior brother's voice. But now, only she remained, sitting dazedly on the bed.
It was an indeterminable ti later that Bu Yunng finally propped herself up with one hand from the bed and rose to her feet.
She was still wearing her sword robe, unaware of how she had fallen asleep the night before.
Bu Yunng, disconsolate, raised her hand to straighten her clothes and opened the wooden door.
Today was no longer early.
The sunlight was splendid, almost unbecoming of winter's day, more akin to sumr or early autumn, bright and blinding. As she opened the door, the light flooded into the room, nearly preventing her from opening her eyes. After struggling to adjust, her eyes finally opened.
She saw a stern-looking Hong Feibai standing at the bottom, and behind the young man, she saw one familiar disciple after another.
Hong Feibai's eyes had so redness but showed no signs of weakness or collapse. Clad in a sword robe, his temples touched by traces of white, holding his sword in both hands, he bowed deeply and said hoarsely,
"Disciple Hong Feibai greets the Mistress!"
His voice paused, then continued,
"May our way prosper!"
The disciples behind him followed suit and bowed down.
"Disciple You Ruoqian greets the Mistress!"
"May our way prosper!"
"Disciple Ling Hao greets the Mistress!"
"May our way prosper!"
"Disciple..."
Bu Yunng looked on, dazed, and beheld the entire peak's temples and pavilions nestled among the clouds, with disciples in sword robes lined down the white jade staircase, each bowing to her, their swords held in reverse, their intent soaring to the skies. Above the main peak, the sound of bells rang out, persisting for a long ti.
The majestic air of the great sect had ford.
May our way prosper.
"You are their Mistress, and after I'm gone, it will be up to you to lead them..."
In a trance, Bu Yunng seed to see Hong Hui's silhouette, the fluttering of the sword robe, turning to look at her, the corners of his mouth smiling complexly.
Looking back at that mont, her senior brother's voice was filled with remorse.
Bu Yunng gripped her longsword tightly.
Hong Feibai made a sword salute, motionless, while the disciples behind him felt an increased concern. The biggest blow from Master's death had been upon the Mistress; they didn't know how she was holding up now, and if the Master had died, and the Mistress too...
Amidst their unease, they heard a familiar voice.
"Rise."
Hong Feibai's body slightly jolted before he slowly straightened up.
Before him, before all the disciples, Bu Yunng stood with resolute determination, showing no weakness, bringing them peace of heart. Then they saw their Mistress, holding the unadorned yet upright Cloud Soaring Sword, just as their Master used to, descending the steps at a slow pace.
The many disciples stood up, holding their swords, and followed behind her, descending from the ninety-nine stone steps.
A massive peal of bells sounded.
The clouds dispersed, and the mists faded.
The white crane soared into the sky.
The energies of the heavens surged, our way prospers day by day.
Hong Feibai followed behind Bu Yunng, walking towards the front.
The sect, the legacy...
If this is what you protected, then I, too, am willing to protect it.
Bu Yunng gripped her longsword tightly.
PS: Today's first update...
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