Chapter 41: Dust

As Lu Fengmian walked closer, He Shi’an seemed to sense something and abruptly turned his head.

“Senior Brother?!”

His eyes widened, his face filled with disbelief.

Zhou Wu and Zhao Qingyin turned at the sound as well, equally astonished.

“How did you come down too?” He Shi’an hurried forward to meet him, his tone brimming with surprise. “Were you worried about us? Or—”

“Cliff Warden called me down,” Lu Fengmian interrupted.

He Shi’an blinked, his expression shifting from shock to something subtly complicated.

“…Cliff Warden?”

“Mm.”

He Shi’an fell silent.

He turned to look at Zhou Wu and Zhao Qingyin. The three of them exchanged a glance, their eyes full of the same sentiment: “Senior Brother is indeed Senior Brother.”

Lu Fengmian ignored their silent exchange.

He looked around, his gaze sweeping over several ancient trees and massive boulders.

Since he was already here, he might as well make use of the opportunity.

He waved at the three of them. “Continue choosing.”

After speaking, he walked off alone toward the left.

There was a blue stone about half a person’s height over there. The surrounding space was open, and its flat surface looked perfectly suitable for sitting.

Lu Fengmian sat cross-legged on the bluestone, not in a hurry to seek enlightenment.

Resting his chin on his hand, he watched the three people in the distance. They were merely choosing spots, yet they looked as though they were selecting immortal caves.

Zhou Wu wandered for a while before finally stopping in an area where the vegetation was especially lush.

Behind it was a stretch of low woodland, surrounded by blooming wildflowers. The air carried a faint fragrance of grass and trees. He nodded in apparent satisfaction, then sat down cross-legged.

“Mm, he’s an alchemist,” Lu Fengmian thought. “Choosing a place brimming with vitality is only reasonable.”

Zhao Qingyin continued forward and stopped atop a flat rock.

She raised her head toward the light pouring down from above, then looked around. Finally, she took out several talismans from her sleeve and pressed them onto the four corners of the rock before sitting down.

Lu Fengmian raised a brow, thinking that talisman cultivators truly lived up to their reputation.

Only He Shi’an was still wandering about.

He looked around in all directions, brows tightly furrowed, as if making some major decision.

In the end, he stamped his foot and walked toward the edge of the cliff.

That was the position closest to the split mountain wall, where one could look up and see the smooth cliff rising straight into the clouds.

He Shi’an stood before the cliff face, craning his neck to stare for quite some time before sitting down right there.

Lu Fengmian heard him mutter softly, “Feeling the mountain wall splitting up close must yield the best results.”

The three of them eventually grew quiet and closed their eyes.

The surroundings fell silent.

Lu Fengmian withdrew his gaze and closed his eyes as well.

He slowly adjusted his breathing, letting his thoughts sink into the abyss.

The wind blew from afar, brushing across the grass, the treetops, and his long robe. Those sounds gradually grew clearer, as though amplified countless times.

The rustling of blades of grass rubbing against one another.

The occasional ripple from a distant pool of water.

Even the faint, intermittent chirping of insects from afar could be heard.

The entire world was incomparably clear.

Lu Fengmian did not deliberately try to grasp anything; he simply let himself immerse in this expanse of nature.

An ancient aura surged in from all directions, like mountain mist, silently permeating and enveloping everything.

He gradually sensed the change.

Just as water flowed downward and wind blew into empty spaces, Dao aura naturally gathered around him.

Suddenly, a crisp clang of a sword striking rang out.

Lu Fengmian’s consciousness trembled violently.

In that instant, he felt himself become very, very light—like a speck of dust.

The dust drifted with the wind, passing through clouds, passing through the years.

It descended upon a mountain peak from a thousand years ago.

At the top of the cliff.

The gray-robed man still sat at the edge, holding that sword in his arms.

He had already sat there for many years—so long that he no longer remembered the time. Each day, he watched people come and go, watched those young disciples jump down and climb back up.

Some sat below for a while and returned once a stick of incense had burned out; some sat for a day and a night; others sat even longer.

He suddenly opened his eyes.

Within those eyes that were always indifferent, a rare ripple of emotion surfaced.

He lowered his head and looked toward the bottom of the cliff.

The aura that had just descended was resonating and merging with the Dao aura at the cliff’s base at an astonishing speed.

“So quickly attaining enlightenment…”

The Cliff Warden withdrew his gaze, staring into the distant sea of clouds, and murmured:

“Truly worthy of…”

He did not finish the sentence.

The remaining words were scattered by the wind atop the cliff.

A thousand years ago.

What kind of world had that been?

The sky was leaden gray, heavy enough to suffocate. Dark clouds churned and layered upon one another, completely blocking out the light. A deep crimson seeped from the cracks between the clouds, as though the firmament were bleeding, dyeing the world in barren cold.

The gale howled.

That wind was no longer merely wind, but the wail of the entire world.

The mountain beneath his feet remained intact.

Jagged rocks. Withered trees. Scorched earth everywhere. There was not a trace of vitality, not a hint of green—only deathlike stillness.

Then he saw that person.

A figure stood not far away, facing him.

He could not see the face, nor the clothes—only a blurred outline.

Yet within that outline seemed to surge endless, uncontrollable emotions.

It was sorrow.

A heavy sorrow that could not dissipate, like ink dropped into clear water, instantly permeating the entire world.

It was anger.

An anger suppressed for far too long, finally no longer able to be restrained, like magma churning deep beneath the earth, ready to break through everything.

Lu Fengmian was nothing more than a speck of dust.

An exceedingly tiny speck, almost invisible to the naked eye.

Even separated by a thousand years, he could still feel those surging emotions.

They were too heavy—so heavy that even a grain of dust would be bent beneath them.

That person held a jet-black sword.

The blade was slender, dark red patterns flowing across it like congealed blood, or flames not yet extinguished.

He raised the long sword, its tip pointing straight at the firmament.

At that moment, the world underwent a heaven-and-earth overturning transformation.

The wind stopped, and the clouds dispersed.

The jagged rocks began to tremble.

The withered trees began to hum.

The land beneath his feet—every grain of sand, every inch of soil—responded.

The wind transformed into sword intent.

The clouds transformed into sword intent.

At this moment, all things between heaven and earth became blades.

A streak of sword light fell.

Heaven collapsed and earth split apart.

That sword light tore through the ink-dark clouds, leaving behind an enormous rift. The dark crimson hue was swallowed, and the leaden gray mist was ripped apart.

In its place was light.

A long-lost radiance, as though imprisoned for a thousand years, finally broke free and poured down through that fissure.

Brilliant sunlight.

The entire mountain was illuminated. Rocks, trees, scorched earth—at this moment, everything was gilded in gold.

That golden light fell upon the person, upon the sword in his hand, upon his blurred figure.

The mountain split open.

From the top, a thin line extended straight downward, growing deeper and wider. Rocks surged to both sides, as if forcibly torn apart by an invisible hand.

The sword light cleaved into the veins deep within the earth, plunging straight into darkness, never to be seen reaching an end.

That sword intent, interwoven with sorrow and fury, surged along the fissure—rushing toward the sky, toward the earth, toward a thousand years in the future.

Then everything vanished.

The sky, the earth, the mountain, that person, that sword, the light that illuminated the heavens.

Only a wisp of sword intent remained, crossing a thousand years to fall upon him.