"Are you serious?"
Ding Muchen stared at the old Daoist, having long seen through the profound mysteries. "The reason you weren't completely consumed by the fear-demon and your soul devoured, even after being killed, is because of this yellow gourd and the sword mud within it, which protected your Great Dao. If these were destroyed, you, Old Daoist Wang, would truly vanish from heaven and earth."
"What difference does it make."
The old Daoist smiled sadly. "It's fate."
"I won't do it!"
Ding Muchen abruptly waved his hand, dispersing the Fusang sword condensed from his sword intent. "Whoever wants to do this can do it. I am the Grand Sage of War; I will absolutely not engage in acts of betraying my master!"
"Ding Muchen, oh Ding Muchen!"
The old Daoist sat down beside a crevice in the boundary wall. "So many years have passed, why are you still so stubborn? The knots in your heart should have been untied by now. Many things are not as you wish, but they must be done by you. It wasn't Ding Muchen who killed me, but the will of heaven and earth. Do you understand?"
"I don't understand, and I don't want to understand."
Ding Muchen's brow furrowed. "But I know that with this sword strike, Guiguzi will cease to exist in this world. The School of Diplomacy, the School of War, and the School of Dao will lose a progenitor. Such immense karma, do you think I, Ding Muchen, am willing to bear it?"
"But..."
The old Daoist's lips curved into a meaningful smile. "If you, Ding Muchen, do not bear it, who else can? Rest assured, the School of War kills without incurring karma. Moreover, I, this old Daoist, am also from the School of War, a person whose hands are stained with karma. You are merely helping my post-mortem obsession to transcend, and it has nothing to do with karma."
He continued, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. "If you do not kill me, a wisp of my soul will not be able to escape the abyss of the Heavenly Demon. The karma is too heavy, and the Great Dao's corrosion is too severe. With you... you cannot possibly escort my residual soul back to the Upper Realm."
"Ding Muchen, why would you let me die without value?"
The old Daoist smiled calmly. "Be swift, be unrestrained. You are the Grand Sage of War, a Sword Immortal of the Fourteenth Realm. How can you have so little of a Sword Immortal's demeanor? This indecisiveness, this fussiness, will hinder your great achievements!"
"Enough, enough!"
Ding Muchen's eyes reddened. He turned to face the old Daoist, slowly drawing the Fusang sword condensed from sword intent from its empty sheath, his voice choked with emotion. "Do you have anything else to say?"
"No more."
The old Daoist sat by the crevice, his expression somewhat dejected, his eyes gazing blankly at the sky. He said softly, "It's just a pity. I won't have the chance to see you, Ding Muchen, become a Sword Cultivator of the Fifteenth Realm, nor will I see that young man Lin Zhao ascend to the Upper Five Realms."
Expectation and wistfulness flickered in his eyes as he smiled. "That young man Lin Zhao... his talent and comprehension are both first-class. The pity is that he is simultaneously from the School of Confucianism and the School of War, making his actions restrained and causing him to overthink. However, favored by heaven and earth, his Eleventh Realm is likely the most unique Eleventh Realm in this world, wouldn't you agree?"
"Undoubtedly!"
Ding Muchen propped his long sword on the ground, kneeling on one knee before Old Daoist Wang. "Is there anything else?"
"No."
The old Daoist closed his eyes. "My wish is fulfilled, I have no lingering attachments. I only seek death, and to do one noble deed that a scholar would not shy away from."
"Understood."
Ding Muchen rose, no longer hesitating. He raised the Fusang sword and struck.
Tears rolled down his cheeks.
"Grand Sage of War Ding Muchen bids farewell to Senior Wang Xu!"
An immensely magnificent light of the Great Dao erupted at the bottom of the abyss. The old Daoist's yellow gourd shattered, its fragments intermingled with countless sword mud particles that surged upwards, carried by the old Daoist's life's Great Dao. With a sweep of his power, they surged downwards, inch by inch mending the rift in heaven and earth.
Ding Muchen held his sword, kneeling on one knee beside the crevice, his head raised, tears dripping from his chin.
From this day forth, there would be no one in the Upper Realm to stand beside him as an equal, no one to share a cup of wine under the heavens with the Grand Sage of War Ding Muchen.
...
Deep in the night, at a secluded villa on the mountain peak.
In a small building, moonlight spilled onto an embroidered bed, illuminating the face of a young girl. She possessed exceptional natural beauty. Beside her bed lay her sword and a green gourd.
In a dream.
The girl was practicing swordplay under a tree. In the distance, she saw the figures of her father and mother. Her father, the Prime Minister of the Eastern Wu Kingdom, was engrossed in scrolls by the window. Her mother was making osmanthus cakes, a favorite of Tong Yu's since childhood.
"Tong Yu."
An autumn wind blew, and falling leaves swirled in the breeze, coalescing into the form of a disheveled old Daoist. It was Old Daoist Wang. He walked forward, gently ruffling the little girl's hair, and said with a smile, "Could you call me Master?"
"Old Daoist,"
Tong Yu pouted. "My only master is Lin Wanhua of Fusang Great Wall. When you taught me the Thirty-Six Stratagems of Diplomacy, you didn't force me to become your disciple... A person should not go back on their word."
The old Daoist rubbed his forehead and chuckled. "If you don't call me Master, my lineage might be lost."
"Why?"
Tong Yu asked softly. "My brother Lin Zhao told me that your sword techniques are powerful enough to pierce heaven and earth, that you are a true immortal. If that's the case, why would they be lost?"
"Because your senior brothers... they are all gone..."
The old Daoist turned and looked up at the sky, his eyes filled with wistfulness. "Your senior brothers Su Qin and Zhang Yi, those two children left too soon. Sun Bin and Pang Juan, senior brothers who turned against each other, also left early. Then there were senior brothers Shang Yang and Lü Buwei, each with their own destinies, long departed from this world."
"Ah?"
Tong Yu gasped in astonishment.
The old Daoist stroked her head and smiled. "And then there are your senior brothers Bai Qi and Li Mu. Although they were among the foremost figures in the ancestral court of the School of War, they... perished in the great battle against the Heavenly Demon from beyond the heavens. If you don't acknowledge me as your Master, our lineage of Diplomacy will truly have no successors~~~"
"..."
Tong Yu pursed her red lips, looking at the old Daoist, and said softly, "Master..."
"Good, my child."
The old Daoist revealed a smile that wasn't entirely pleasant.
Tong Yu's eyes welled up. "Master, are you leaving?"
"Yes."
The old Daoist said gently, "Tong Yu, a hundred years ago, your brother Lin Zhao drew the Dragon Slaying Sword, slew the Thirteen Realm Great Demon Bai Lan, and devised a Heavenly Furnace Strategy to defeat the four northern tribes. Was he not heroic?"
"Yes!"
The little girl nodded vigorously. "I've heard countless stories about my brother Lin Zhao, Lin Baiyi. But every time I hear them, I feel that my brother Lin Zhao is the best and greatest person in the world..."
"Hahaha~~~"
The old Daoist laughed. "Actually, Master did something similar to what your brother Lin Zhao did. It's just... I died silently. Most likely, there won't be any epic tales circulating in the martial world. And very few people in this world will remember..."
"Master!"
Tong Yu tugged at the old Daoist's sleeve. At that moment, she saw much sorrow in his eyes and realized that something significant must have happened.
Instantly, Tong Yu began to cry, tears streaming down her face. "Master... I just called you Master, you can't just leave..."
"There's no other way."
The old Daoist ruffled her hair again and smiled. "Master was also a hero, just once. Even if it was only once, the feeling was quite exhilarating. I'm leaving, Tong Yu. Practice your sword diligently from now on, don't disappoint your Master Lin Wanhua, and don't disappoint me, your Master. Master the Thirty-Six Stratagems of Diplomacy, establish a sect in the future, and carry on its legacy."
"Yes, Master!"
Tong Yu, her eyes brimming with tears, stood straight. Looking up, she saw the old Daoist's figure scattering like falling leaves.
"Master!"
Tong Yu wailed uncontrollably, standing frozen, feeling utterly powerless.
The next moment, Tong Yu jolted awake from her dream. She quickly grabbed her sword and green gourd, and still in her sleepwear, she leaped from the window and sped towards Tianran Ju on her flying sword.
...
Tianran Ju, the second floor.
A solitary figure stood there. Lin Zhao held the orange gourd in his arms. Just a few minutes ago, while observing the three-inch stream of time, he suddenly had an epiphany and gleaned much from the resonance of the orange gourd.
He saw a yellow gourd completely shatter.
After the yellow gourd shattered, an old Daoist, enveloped in the aura of diplomacy and strategy, slowly stepped into a crevice. His body was gradually annihilated, but the crevice was gradually mended.
A sense of extreme foreboding filled his heart. Lin Zhao knew that his orange gourd and the old Daoist's yellow gourd were of the same lineage and were undoubtedly connected. He hadn't expected that one of the seven gourds he had planted in front of Tianran Ju would be sacrificed to the world so soon, and it was Old Daoist Wang's yellow gourd.
"Brother Lin Zhao!"
In the wind, Tong Yu arrived, her face streaked with tears. She reached out and threw herself into Lin Zhao's arms.
"Tong Yu..."
Lin Zhao immediately guessed what had happened. He gently stroked the back of Tong Yu's head. "You... you saw the old Daoist sacrifice himself too?"
"Yes!"
Tong Yu's tears streamed down. "He asked me to be his disciple, and then he... then he..."
"It's alright, it's alright."
Lin Zhao frowned, tears welling up in his own eyes, but he held them back. He looked up at the sky. The old Daoist must have died a heroic death, right?
Even though he was in tattered clothes and shamelessly begged for wine at the mountain peak villa every day, Lin Zhao knew that he was a true hero of the human realm!
While comforting Tong Yu, he pondered.
If a Fourteenth Realm cultivator like the old Daoist could sacrifice himself, what had happened in the Upper Realm? And what could have caused someone like the old Daoist to fall in battle?
...
Danxia Mountain.
Beside the alchemy furnace, Xu Ming'an, the Sect Master, still wore a simple Daoist robe. He guarded the furnace, and as he grew sleepy, he leaned against the door behind him for a short nap.
But just as Xu Ming'an closed his eyes, he suddenly saw wisps of celestial energy rising within the alchemy room, creating a hazy, misty atmosphere. Within the mist, a highly respected old immortal, clad in a purple Daoist robe and holding a whisk, smiled and said, "Xu Ming'an, are you slacking off again?"
"Ah, Master?!"
Xu Ming'an quickly sprang up, knelt, and said with a smile, "Xu Ming'an pays respects to Master. Master, you've finally come to see your disciple?"
"Yes."
The old Daoist smiled gently. "I'm not just here to see you, but also to bid farewell."
In an instant, Xu Ming'an's eyes filled with tears. In his heart, he had already guessed everything.