Late at night, at the mountaintop villa.
A figure in white, as pure as snow, appeared amidst the clear breeze.
Her presence and form were so ethereal that Liu Liying, who was leaning against the bamboo forest nearby, fanning herself with a folding fan, did not notice her at all.
Second floor of Tianran Ju.
Lin Zhao lay on the bed, his breathing even, already fast asleep.
For a moment, the woman in white curved her lips, revealing a smile that was as refreshing as it was captivating. She had long pondered whether to pass on the Yongheng Sword Scripture to Lin Zhao. After all, Lin Zhao's current cultivation was shallow, and learning it might greatly benefit him, but it also felt somewhat like trying to pull up seedlings to help them grow.
However, time waited for no one. No one knew when the next catastrophe would strike. She had to prepare as early as possible, so for Lin Zhao to learn the Yongheng Sword Scripture now would only bring him benefits and no harm.
As for what level he could cultivate the Yongheng Sword Scripture to, and what stage he could reach, that would depend on Lin Zhao's talent and fortune.
She frowned, looking at Lin Zhao's sleeping face in the moonlight on the bed, her beautiful eyes filled with reluctance.
They had just met, and now they had to part again. Among her disciples, Lin Zhao had the worst background and had endured the most suffering. Now, with a catastrophe looming over the mortal realm, who knew what this little disciple would have to face.
But there was no help for it. Among her disciples in the Yongheng Secret Realm, which one was not a pillar of heaven and earth, enduring the trials and tribulations of the human world?
She looked at the sword that Lin Zhao was using as a pillow at the head of his bed.
Dragon Slaying Sword, once her own treasured sword. Now, the extraordinary spiritual essence within the Dragon Slaying Sword seemed to have stirred.
The woman in white smiled faintly, "Time to wake up, isn't it?"
"Mmm."
From within the Dragon Slaying Sword, a soft sigh echoed, "I know what to do about Xiao Zhao. You don't need to meddle."
"Hmph~~~"
The woman in white chuckled, amused. As the memories within the Dragon Slaying Sword continuously resurfaced, the spirit within it seemed to be growing more and more willful.
Finally, she glanced at Lin Zhao one last time.
Then she turned around, no longer looking back. A transcendent sword intent enveloped her entire being, and she ascended directly, sword in hand, transforming into a golden sword light that vanished into the heavens and earth, heading towards the Upper Realm in the blink of an eye.
...
The ancestral land of the demon race, Demon Soul Mountain.
At the core of the forbidden area, demonic energy surged to the heavens. Figures of demon souls began to awaken from the Great Wilderness, all for that twelfth-realm great demon who had turned into a mad dog, Huang Tingyu, who had betrayed the demon race and defected to the human race.
"Come on!"
At this moment, Huang Tingyu was covered in blood, his sword Amber stained with blood, and streaks of bloody sword qi swirled around its blade.
He spun, looking at the souls of over twenty ancient great demons surrounding him, his eyes burning with fierce killing intent. "If you demons can't kill me, Huang Tingyu, today, you will all vanish!"
"What arrogance!"
An old man with the phantom image of an ancient fierce tiger coiled behind him sat atop a hill, wielding a golden long spear. He chuckled, "Huang Tingyu, you, a mere twelfth-realm cultivator, truly believe you are a peak demon immortal?"
Another twelfth-realm sword cultivator demon soul with a sword on his back scoffed, "Peak demon immortal? In my opinion, he's just a stray dog that doesn't know its place."
"Huang Tingyu!"
On a towering stone spire stood a middle-aged demon cultivator in a gray robe, wielding a flying knife. He sneered, "What benefits did that Chu Huaixi give you to make you so loyal? Are you really willing to be a watchdog for the human race?"
"Does that concern you?"
Huang Tingyu raised an eyebrow and sneered, "Aren't you trash just being watchdogs for the ancestral land of the demon race? The opportunities in the depths of this ancestral land belong to the capable. Can you guard them?"
"Everyone!"
A seductive female demon, wielding a blood-colored whip, sneered, "No need to waste words with this stray dog. Let's attack together, tear him to shreds, and present his head to the Azure Kui Demon Ancestor. Perhaps we can exchange it for some resources for the ancestral land."
"Attack!"
A group of great demons surged forward.
Huang Tingyu roared, and as his sword rose, streaks of sword light shot up into the sky. He faced dozens of ancient great demon souls alone, yet he showed no fear.
The wounds on his body increased, a dense covering. Smoke hissed from his injuries. Since his bloodline began to show signs of reversion to its ancestral form, Huang Tingyu's physical strength had grown stronger and stronger, allowing him to heal his wounds in combat. This was the reason he had been able to fight his way here.
Basically, as long as these great demons couldn't tear Huang Tingyu to pieces in a short time, he wouldn't die.
Instead, honed in the crucible of life and death, Huang Tingyu seemed to be awakening an ancient wildness. The sword qi in his strikes became more and more fierce, and even his sword intent deepened, showing signs of surpassing the twelfth realm. With each sword strike, his sword heart became more and more stable.
And so, the battle in the depths of the forbidden area of the ancestral land raged on, its sharpness imperceptible to the outside world.
Outside Demon Soul Mountain, a young sword cultivator in a green vine-colored robe was fishing.
Lin Zhujie glanced at his fish baskets. Both of them were overflowing with fish. It wasn't due to his unparalleled fishing skills, but because Old Brother Huang had been training in the forbidden area for too long.
Fortunately, even though the baskets were full, Lin Zhujie was a twelfth-realm sword cultivator. He drew his long sword and painted a golden barrier over a nearby lake, creating a prison of sorts. This served as another large fish basket, allowing him to fish for a long time.
He frowned, contemplating. The fish in the ancestral land were all wild and quite plump. If Huang Tingyu really managed to walk out alive, would taking several thousand catties of fish to see Lin Zhao, as his first gift to the Mountain Lord, solidify his position as a retainer of the mountaintop villa?
The future looked promising!
A smile spread across Lin Zhujie's lips. He looked up at the depths of Demon Soul Mountain and secretly prayed, "Old Brother Huang, please don't die! Otherwise, my future path to the Great Dao will be gone with you. I was counting on mooching off the mountaintop villa!"
...
Morning, mountaintop villa.
Lin Zhao slowly woke up from his sleep. He searched the mountain and found no sign of his master.
"Lin Zhao."
Not far away, Lu Qi, carrying a Pear Blossom Spear, passed by Tianran Ju and cupped his fists with a smile. "The Divine Lord has already returned to the Upper Realm. You were asleep at the time, so she didn't tell you."
"Really?" Lin Zhao was surprised.
"Mmm."
Lu Qi chuckled, "The divine energy of the Yongheng Secret Realm is no longer present in the world, so she must have returned to the Upper Realm. Moreover, she has accomplished what she needed to do during this descent, so she didn't bid you farewell. Perhaps she didn't want to part with you."
"Understood, thank you!"
Lin Zhao nodded and smiled.
Lu Qi waved his hand and descended the mountain with a peculiar gait, as if he were practicing some Mohist technique.
"Young Master."
Dong Zang emerged from the kitchen, smiling, "Breakfast is ready."
"Mmm."
Lin Zhao nodded with a smile. In fact, Dong Zang was now an eleventh-realm spirit. It was theoretically inappropriate for her to be doing chores like cooking and washing dishes. But it seemed... there was no need to change the current situation. Dong Zang's path to enlightenment was due to her diligence and integrity at the mountaintop villa. There was no need to deliberately alter things.
Shortly after, Xing Zhi, Tang Guangjun, Yu Wanning, Chen Ben, and others all gathered. Breakfast at the mountaintop villa began.
Breakfast was still noodles. Dong Zang had prepared noodles of different flavors, and Lin Zhao, as always, chose the eel noodle. He couldn't help it; they were simply too delicious.
"Master!"
Zhang Luobai slurped a large mouthful of noodles and looked up. "Where is Master's master?"
"Up there?"
Lin Zhao pointed his finger at the sky.
"Ah!?"
Zhang Luobai's eyes immediately welled up with tears. "Master's master was so beautiful, and she treated me, Zhang Luobai, so well. I never imagined... she left us at such a young age... How unfair is heaven to our lineage?"
"Slap!"
Lin Zhao directly flicked his forehead, giving him a chestnut. "What nonsense are you spouting? Master has simply ascended back to the Upper Realm, she hasn't met with any misfortune."
"Oh, I see..."
Zhang Luobai's tears dried up as he broke into a smile. He immediately lowered his head and continued slurping his noodles.
Lin Zhao shook his head. Perhaps their lineage would be able to prosper in swordsmanship in the future, but their heads were still a bit problematic.
He took a deep breath. After he comprehended the Yongheng Sword Scripture himself, he would need to create a set of inverted sword stances, tailored specifically for this rascal Zhang Luobai. Through practicing swordsmanship, he would try to drain the water from his little brain.
...
Morning training.
In the afternoon, he continued practicing swordplay, still cultivating the Yongheng Sword Scripture.
However, he didn't practice for long before Lin Zhao felt a heavy drowsiness in his head. Although he was not far from entering the first stage of the Yongheng Sword Scripture, he felt as if his mental energy had been completely depleted, forcing him to stop. At this point, Chen Xue sent a message, indicating that it was time for a late-night snack.
He had no choice but to log off.
In the studio lobby, Ding Chi, with his arm around Zhang Jun's shoulder, descended the stairs, laughing. He said that a certain mm in the guild liked Ding's professional demeanor and meticulousness. Zhang Jun, on the other hand, scoffed, claiming that ten thousand mm in the guild liked his peerless looks. Ding Chi retorted, "Do they also like your bald head?" Zhang Jun fell silent.
Lin Zhao felt somewhat dispirited, perhaps influenced by his cultivation of the Yongheng Sword Scripture in the game. When practicing the Yongheng Sword Scripture, the activity in his brain was quite intense. To comprehend the essence of each sword intent, those profound and mysterious things were difficult for him to explain.
After eating his late-night snack, he fell into a drowsy sleep.
At midnight, a military transport plane landed outside the villa.
Two figures in military uniforms disembarked from the plane: Murong Feiyue and Ning Yu.
...
The next morning, Lin Zhao slept in a daze until past ten o'clock.
Upon waking, he noticed that the arrangement of his room had changed. There was a bouquet of flowers on his desk, and also a piece of paper left by Murong Feiyue: "Seeing you asleep, I didn't want to wake you. I've replaced the flowers for you, and I also found an old photograph from the old house. It's under the glass on your desk."
"Huh?"
Lin Zhao looked down. Indeed, under the glass on his desk lay a faded old photograph. It depicted a young couple and their seven-year-old son. It was a picture of himself when he was young. In the blank space of the photo, their parents' names were inscribed.
Father, Lin Zhengxi.
Mother, Murong Qin.
The edges of the photograph had some burn marks, which immediately reminded Lin Zhao of the fire caused by the car accident on the Huning Expressway over a hundred years ago. His parents had suffered severe burns protecting him and had passed away.
As for Lin Zhao himself, he had been shielded by his parents, and had also suffered severe burns, requiring cryopreservation technology to survive. Therefore, he also had a burn scar on his arm.
He looked down at his right arm. There was a conspicuous burn scar, about twenty centimeters long.
The so-called Qilin Fire Mark was merely the last memento left by his parents who had sacrificed their lives to protect him.
He caressed the photograph.
Suddenly, tears streamed down his face. He knelt before the desk and sobbed uncontrollably.
At this moment, the boy from the small town, the real Lin Zhao, finally truly merged into one.