Chapter 139
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Chapter 139: The Blooming of the Four Seasons Flower
At the foot of Sword Demon Mountain stood a row of Winter Weed trees, their faint green hues contrasting with the yellow dust. They stood in perfect alignment at the boundary between the heavy mountains and the Northern Wilderness, forming a clear, distinct line that separated the two realms.
Sword Demon Mountain, though located deep within the Northern Wilderness, is not part of it.
It exists as a separate entity.
The Northern Wilderness is perpetually engulfed in swirling yellow dust, its climate dry and barren under the relentless scorch of the sun.
But Sword Demon Mountain is different.
It is a mountain forsaken by heaven and earth, much like Sword Demon himself, an existence abandoned by the world.
Here, there is no daylight, no sunlight, no light at all.
This place is a convergence of darkness and gloom, the sole refuge of Sword Demon.
As Ming He thought of Mu Chen, her gaze darkened slightly. She faced Liu Yu, whose eyes burned with intense hatred, and offered a calm smile before stepping into Sword Demon Mountain. In an instant, darkness enveloped her.
Within moments, she was once again immersed in the familiar, oppressive darkness.
Strangely, it felt almost comforting.
She even found herself growing accustomed to the darkness, perhaps even fond of it.
“Roar!”
The scent of the Tian Yan Tribe was thick and metallic, surrounding Ming He in an instant. They lunged at her, claws bared, their movements swift and menacing.
Months ago, she had slaughtered countless members of the Tian Yan Tribe on Sword Demon Mountain, to the point where the demonic energy had thinned considerably. The mountain stones had been stained crimson, and even the leaves of the Winter Weed trees had turned red.
Yet now, the number of Tian Yan Tribe members charging at her had not diminished; if anything, it had grown, and their strength far surpassed that of the Tian Yan Tribe she had faced before.
“Flatten the mountain!”
Yóu Lìng’s icy voice echoed faintly in Ming He’s ears, bringing back memories of the black wolf mask, its ferocity and deep-seated hatred impossible to conceal.
The Tian Yan Tribe’s assault was carried out under Yóu Lìng’s command.
And the enmity between Yóu Lìng and Mu Chen—
Ming He sighed softly, raising her bamboo sword. With a subtle flick of her wrist, her sword technique flowed like water, cutting through the demonic energy and blood aura with precision. Her blade struck true, piercing the skull of a Tian Yan Tribe member, and with a swift retraction, she claimed another life.
Mu Chen had once promised to teach her the Nine Styles of Swordsmanship, to show her how to eradicate the Tian Yan Tribe.
But in the end, he had only taught her the Nine Styles of Swordsmanship.
The Nine Styles of Swordsmanship and the annihilation of the other tribes—they were one and the same.
Ming He glanced at her bamboo sword, now glistening and radiant from the blood it had drawn. Her eyes flickered with a subtle light as she ascended, her sword carving a path through the Tian Yan Tribe, leaving a trail of blood in the endless darkness.
Though injured and exhausted from her long flight, she knew it was impossible to kill all the Tian Yan Tribe members surrounding her.
But self-preservation was within her grasp.
The Sword Domain opened, and the Ninth Level Sword Intent surged into her slender bamboo sword. Ming He’s blade moved with her will, deftly deflecting the sharp claws of the Tian Yan Tribe. In the brief moments when the darkness parted, she caught glimpses of the path ahead, step by step, as she made her way toward the mountain’s peak.
At the foot of Sword Demon Mountain,
Liu Yu sensed the disappearance of Gong Shu’s aura within the royal domain. A faint smile curled her lips as she lifted her gaze to the mist-shrouded summit. Her eyes then drifted to the Winter Weed trees before settling on the purple Merchants’ Guild token lying quietly at her feet.
The next moment, she bent down and picked up the purple Merchants’ Guild token, holding it in her palm. It still carried a faint warmth, a lingering trace of Ming He’s presence.
On Sword Demon Mountain stood an old acquaintance of the human race, yet also a sinner of the Tianwu Continent.
These three words had once been forbidden among the human race.
Though she had never met this old acquaintance, his name had echoed far and wide, resonating like thunder in her ears.
A shadow, a blend of black and blood-red, coalesced into a figure behind the Winter Weed tree. A faint light revealed a face weathered by time, trembling slightly, yet bearing a hint of a smile. The figure gave Liu Yu an almost imperceptible nod before turning to ascend the mountain peak.
He walked the same bloody path that Ming He had once tread.
Liu Yu stood in silence for a moment, then slowly bowed, her expression a mix of respect and solemnity. Her right hand clenched until it turned pale, and as she bent, her eyes lowered in a final farewell.
The summit of Sword Demon Mountain remained unchanged since the day they first met; the view was exactly as it had been.
The steep, jagged stones leaned precariously toward the cliff, and a dilapidated ancient pavilion stood resolute in the endless darkness. The Winter Weed trees swayed without wind, their leaves drifting in midair, a faint green hue blending into the shadows.
The mournful cries of crows echoed through the air, the black fog swirling ominously, and at the far end of the ancient pavilion stood a black figure.
The figure stood tall, his body marred with wounds, a dark red hole piercing his chest. Beneath the gruesome injuries, a gentle and broad countenance could still be discerned.
Who else could it be but Sword Demon?
Ming He stepped forward, stopping in front of the ancient pavilion, a short distance from the elder. “Mu Chen, senior,” she said softly.
The elder turned to look at Ming He, his expression neither joyful nor sorrowful. “You know now?”
Do you know all of my past?
“Probably,” Ming He replied in an equally calm tone.
“So?” The elder, once known as Mu Chen but now as Sword Demon, blinked. “Has my image in your heart… shattered?”
His tone faltered slightly, but he managed to complete the question.
Ming He remained motionless. “No.”
She met the elder’s slightly wavering gaze and continued, “You never presented me with a warm or clear image from the start. You were merely a passerby on my journey for medicine, so there is nothing to shatter.”
Even though he had taught her the Nine Styles of Swordsmanship.
But she had come to Sword Demon Mountain only for the Four Seasons Flower.
That was all.
Sword Demon clearly hadn’t expected Ming He to respond this way. He stood still for a moment, stunned, before letting out a long sigh. “Yes.”
He looked at Ming He earnestly.
The woman who had once worn robes as blue as the clear sky now donned black, blending into the darkness, almost becoming one with it.
The swordmaster’s brilliance still lingered, for she held a bamboo sword in her hand.
But what if that bamboo sword were to disappear?
What then?
Sword Demon gazed at Ming He, seeing through the layers of concealment to her heart, which had weathered both splendor and bloodshed. It remained clear and bright, yet now bore a layer of dust.
An air of despair and gloom clung to her.
The aura emerged because of him.
Everything that had happened to Ming He was not directly his doing, yet it was set in motion by him.
Because of him!
Sword Demon lifted his gaze to the oppressive, leaden sky, as somber as the one over Imperial Mountain, if not more so.
Because he was here.
“Then let us begin,” Sword Demon murmured softly.
“The number of Tian Yan Tribe members on Sword Demon Mountain no longer adheres to the limit I once proposed, so that condition is now null and void.”
“To obtain the Four Seasons Flower, all you need to do is defeat me.”
“Ming He, do you believe you can defeat me?”
“I don’t know,” Ming He replied in a low, steady voice, her mind suddenly recalling a phrase: “There is no answer to what has not yet been done.”
So she didn’t know now; she would only know after she acted.
The words seemed to echo from a memory, spoken by a young man in white robes.
What kind of young man was he?
Ming He shook her head, her thoughts too muddled to recall, so she let it go.
She weighed the bamboo sword in her hand and slowly raised it, her energy condensing into a single point. A sharp, piercing intensity radiated from her calm eyes, locking onto the elderly figure standing before her.
One had white hair and a beard streaked with scars.
The other stood in black clothes, a blend of sharpness and weariness.
Both had long awaited this moment.
Sword Demon watched her intently, his gaze unwavering.
That bamboo sword—he knew it well.
Crafted from Emerald Bamboo, it was light and blunt, swaying gently with the wind, embodying the path of agility. Yet it was merely a tool for outer sect disciples of Qingbi Mountain to begin their journey in Swordsmanship, far from being a true sword.
It had no edge.
A weapon should not be like this.
Yet Ming He seemed to have imbued it with a new kind of sharpness, a brilliance that existed only because she did.
“The sword exists with the person, and the person exists with the sword”—though the phrases sounded similar, they were worlds apart, separated by mountains and seas.
These were two realms that could not be compared.
The bamboo sword, naturally, required no sheath.
Ming He executed the first style of the Nine Styles of Swordsmanship—the Unsheathing Style.
It was an Unsheathing Style that needed no sheath.
She had already forged her own path in the Nine Styles of Swordsmanship, and that was more than enough.
Sword Demon’s expression grew solemn, his brows furrowing as he regarded Ming He for a moment. Then, slowly, he bent his body in a formal gesture and spoke with gravity, “I am Mu Chen. I challenge you, Friend Ming He.”
His expression carried a trace of nostalgia and sorrow; it had been centuries since he last performed such a gesture, yet it had never faded from his memory.
This was the very first thing he had learned when he began his journey on the Daoist path.
Ming He paused for a moment, then stiffly bent her waist and said, “I am Ming He.”
She could only manage these four words, unable to bring herself to say more.
Instead, she rose, holding the bamboo sword with its blunt tip pointed directly at him, the unspoken meaning clear.
Sword Demon let out a bitter laugh and straightened his posture. His cold expression hardened as he stepped into the air, his fingers forming a palm that glided effortlessly through the wind, striking toward Ming He.
This was not a clash of cultivation, but a confrontation of realms.
Ming He’s gaze remained steady; she chose not to evade, instead meeting the incoming palm strike with her own swordsmanship.
Her movements, though seemingly simple, concealed a deadly intent, and her heavy, unrefined strikes aimed directly at the attacker’s fatal weakness.
The bamboo sword was blunt, its edge nonexistent.
It was nothing more than an ordinary sword used by the outer sect disciples of Qingbi Mountain to practice Swordsmanship.
Yet, in Ming He’s hands, this sword had defeated the brightest light of the human race in a battle of realms, effortlessly dispersing the palm wind and piercing through Sword Demon’s chest, leaving a bloody hole.
But it did not harm him.
One sword to shatter myriad laws—the battles of sword cultivators were, in truth, simple.
No need to dodge or adjust one’s stance; a single sword strike was enough.
It was nothing like the fierce, all-out battle Ming He had imagined.
She had simply defeated Sword Demon!
“What is the name of this sword?” Sword Demon murmured, looking down at the bamboo sword lodged in the bloody hole in his chest.
This sword had slain countless members of the Tian Yan Tribe as Ming He approached, yet it had not harmed him in the slightest.
“Nameless,” Ming He replied calmly as she withdrew her sword.
“It is not that it lacks a name; this sword is called Nameless,” she added quietly.
This was the very sword she had used in the Young Tiger List competition in Dongfeng City in the Eastern Region.
With this sword, she had defeated Qu Yanran and claimed the top spot, becoming a celebrated prodigy across the five regions, a young genius praised by all, just like her Master.
Now, with the same sword, she had defeated Sword Demon and was on the verge of obtaining the Four Seasons Flower.
Though it was still the Nameless Sword, its power remained undiminished, yet the intent behind it was entirely different, and the mindset with which it was wielded had also transformed.
But this sword was still the Nameless Sword.
The person exists with the sword.
Ming He looked at Sword Demon and spoke earnestly, her gaze fixed on the tip of the bamboo sword, blunt yet concealing a sharp edge.
It glimmered faintly in the darkness, complementing the bamboo’s subtle green sheen, making it a strikingly beautiful sword.
“The Nameless Sword,” Sword Demon said, his eyes lighting up as he chuckled softly. “This sword is remarkable.”
“Having seen this sword, I have no regrets in this life,” he declared, his voice ringing out as he gazed at the sea of clouds.
“Since you have no regrets in this life, it is time to bring it to an end,” a cool voice resonated through the sea of clouds.
The figure emerging from the black mist gazed at Sword Demon’s frozen expression and slowly curved his lips, “After all, you have no regrets, but I still have many.”
Ming He watched as the newcomer lightly lifted her eyelids, her expression calm and steady, showing no ripple of emotion—neither joy nor sorrow, not even a hint of surprise.
She simply stood there, watching him.
Yóu Lìng, this time, waved at Ming He, “Friend, I hope you have been well since we last met.”
Once she finished this line, she shifted her gaze to Sword Demon, “Noble young leader of the human race, when will you fulfill my regrets?”
When will the remnants of life be settled?
“I want to as well,” Sword Demon replied for the first time, not evading Yóu Lìng’s gaze. His body trembled uncontrollably, “But you cannot kill me.”
You can’t even touch me, let alone hurt me.
“Indeed!” Yóu Lìng echoed lightly, a smile forming, “Now that I am the envoy of the Black Wind Alliance, how could I not be dissatisfied to find I cannot kill you?”
“But you can still stand before me and speak,” her brilliant smile could not mask the surging hatred in her eyes, “So how is the way of heaven so unjust?”
“I’m sorry,” Sword Demon struggled to speak, “I…”
His voice was hoarse, unable to form more words; he simply stared intently at the person before him.
She should have been his disciple.
But sadly, a single misjudgment changed everything.
“No need to apologize; it was your own choice, wasn’t it?” Yóu Lìng replied with a sarcastic smile, “But to make me do nothing while watching you linger on Sword Demon Mountain, that truly does not sit well with me!”
“So, I have prepared a gift for both the human race and the entire World of Martial Arts. In this way, it is good for your continued existence.” It’s only by living that one can see everything.
She coldly glanced over Sword Demon as she walked toward Ming He, “Friend, you should come with me now.”
After all, you are an indispensable part of this gift.
She casually disregarded Sword Demon’s expression.
After all, she could not hurt Sword Demon, and Sword Demon could not harm her.
Different paths mean they cannot cooperate.
“You…” Sword Demon looked somewhat frantic and at the same time expected, stamping his feet in frustration but unable to say anything, simply fixating his gaze on Ming He.
His gaze resembled Yóu Lìng’s sudden appearance among the clouds earlier.
Ming He did not move her body, nor did she care about Yóu Lìng’s hand reaching to imprison her freedom; she only looked at Sword Demon and spoke lightly, “What about the Four Seasons Flower?”
This time, Yóu Lìng had no patience to hear them finish speaking.
With a flick of her sleeve, Sword Demon’s body dimmed, and when he opened his eyes again, the ancient pavilion was already empty, engulfed in darkness, just like the past hundreds of years.
He stared at the spot where Ming He had been standing and smiled.
To conclude his remaining life, it was actually quite soon.
For it should begin and end with him.
He sighed, recalling Ming He’s moment of distraction when she had raised her eyes, “The Four Seasons Flower!”
“That is not a flower, but a type of flower.”
A flower that blooms all year round, blossoming only in the heart.
If that flower had a physical form, it would look like this.
Suddenly, Sword Demon waved his hand and made a gesture in the air.
From the top of the ancient pavilion, a burst of golden-yellow blossomed unexpectedly, spreading downward and covering the entire mountain.
The petals were golden, resembling the last rays of the sun, suddenly illuminating the distant darkness, radiant and bright like sunlight.
The darkness on Sword Demon Mountain receded, and for a moment, light was restored.
If Ming He were here, she would probably recognize that the flower was none other than the common sunflower.
This flower can bloom in all seasons.
