Chapter 332: The Old Sword and the Youth (Part 2)
Swords, one after another, flew in from all across the grasslands, arriving in the rainy sky before the mausoleum.
More than a dozen swords hovered in the air around Chen Changsheng.
Countless auras descended with earth-shaking force, but whether it was Teng Xiaoming’s overbearing demonic arts or Nanke’s burning true blood, he only needed to reach out and take a sword from the rain to casually break them apart.
Ning Cui and Hua Qiu watched this scene, their faces pale, their legs feeling weak as if they could no longer stand.
Those swords were some long, some short, some wide, some slender, some domineering, some understated, some radiating holy light, some overflowing with demonic aura—but they all shared one trait: these swords were… famous.
The Mountain-Sea Sword, the Saintess Sword, the Yue Maiden Sword, the Autumn Water Sword, the Blue Lake Sword, the Eight-Foot Divine Sword, the Demon Marshal’s Banner Sword, the Dragon’s Roar Sword… After centuries, these peerless legendary swords, long vanished, finally appeared once more before the eyes of the world.
Now, these swords rested quietly in the rain.
Chen Changsheng stood among the swords in the rain.
Time was, after all, the most powerful artifact. The once-famous swords were now battered. The best-preserved was the Nanxi Zhai’s Zhai Sword, followed by the Mountain-Sea Sword. The rest were more or less damaged. Some bore the soil of the grasslands on their blades; as the rain gradually washed the dirt away, rust marks were revealed beneath, long stripped of their former glory, stirring a sense of melancholy in those who beheld them.
Yet in the torrential rain, these swords still exuded a cold, proud aura.
Nanke could not understand, could not accept why these once-arrogant, peerless swords would obey Chen Changsheng’s will. No matter how she thought about it, she could find no answer.
Chen Changsheng himself did not know. He only knew that these once-peerless swords wanted to leave the Garden of Zhou. Yet over the centuries, many demon and human cultivators had entered this sun-never-setting grassland. Why had these swords chosen him?
The key reason was the sword intent within the yellow paper umbrella.
That sword intent had separated from its blade centuries ago. From that day on, it became the only free soul within the Sword Pool, representing those famous swords that could not leave, continuously releasing its aura beyond the grasslands.
Chen Changsheng held the yellow paper umbrella, so he could clearly perceive that sword intent.
When he allowed that sword intent to enter the yellow paper umbrella, it meant the return of an old friend who had once left the Sword Pool, proving his identity to those proud swords. But that alone was not enough. These famous swords had been tarnished for years, their ambitions gradually fading. If there was no sure chance of escape, they would rather continue sleeping at the bottom of the Sword Pool, at least prolonging their existence for a few more years. Otherwise, if they mustered their final sword intent for this gamble and failed, they would likely shatter and perish.
Chen Changsheng had to prove to these swords that he had enough perseverance and enough ability to take them out of the Garden of Zhou.
The former was not a problem. He was a youth in the prime of his life, his clean brows and eyes filled with persistence and a longing for the freedom of life. The latter was originally a huge problem—but when the Black Dragon’s separated soul entered his body and began to sleep, it ceased to be an issue.
The jade ruyi that carried the Black Dragon’s separated soul was now tied to his wrist, washed by the rain, growing brighter and brighter.
This jade ruyi was the personal artifact of the Heavenly Sea Holy Maiden, carrying her powerful aura.
Chen Changsheng’s persistence and amiability, combined with this powerful aura, spread across the entire grassland through the sword intent and the yellow paper umbrella. Though those peerless swords were battered, their sword intent remained. Having followed their masters to witness countless powerful beings, their experience and insight were vast. Yet when they sensed the powerful aura emanating from the jade ruyi, even they were shaken. Even if Zhou Dufu were still alive, the master of that powerful aura could have taken them out of the Garden of Zhou—let alone now?
So they came, braving wind and rain, to Chen Changsheng’s side.
But where had these swords been all along? Where exactly was the Sword Pool?
…
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The rain washed the old, famous swords, and also washed Nanke’s small face.
Her face grew paler and paler, like that Zhai Sword. The flames in her eyes gradually extinguished, but still no fear could be seen—shock and anger were her intense emotional reactions to the history these swords represented, her disdain for Chen Changsheng, and the contrast between the two, which brought her a sense of loss. They meant nothing else.
Looking at the dozen or so famous swords suspended in the rainy air around Chen Changsheng, she was silent for a moment before saying, “Back then, you were nothing but defeated foes before the Severing Blade. Do you intend to rebel today?”
The swords could not understand her words. They remained silent in the rain. The cold rainwater dripped down the tragic break of the Demon Marshal’s Banner Sword, fell from the flat cross-section of the Mountain-Sea Sword’s tip, and gave her no answer.
Nanke raised the Soul Wood in her hand. The black Soul Wood, wet from the rain, appeared darker and heavier.
The beast tide around the mausoleum had long been restless, and now with this gesture, it grew even more frenzied. Countless shrill roars of demonic beasts rose from the grassland surface, hurtling toward where the rain fell!
She did not want to do this, but Chen Changsheng and these swords forced her hand. At this point, she could no longer care about anything else, even if the Zhou Mausoleum would be defiled and dirtied by tens of thousands of low-level beasts.
The Soul Wood suddenly blazed with light.
The black sea of beasts, accompanied by countless terrifying roars, surged with towering waves. The grassland began to tremble, and even the mausoleum started to shake. Countless beasts began their assault!
Nanke shouted at him, “Chen Changsheng, do you really think you can survive with these few decrepit, broken swords?”
Chen Changsheng looked at the boundless ocean of beasts surrounding the mausoleum and remained silent.
Not far behind him, Xu Yourong leaned against the main gate of the mausoleum, holding the Wu Bow, wrapped in linen, her eyes closed, not knowing when she would wake again.
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(Seven thousand words done. Tomorrow, six thousand or more. I’ll exhaust myself to death, Fenghuo… About mixing in four taels of meteor iron making it heavier—that’s definitely wrong. I often make stupid mistakes like this. In my draft, I’ve changed it to “a small amount,” but I won’t change it in the main text, as a way to mock myself. It’s Monday today. Please cast your recommendation votes, and also please cast your free Golden Keyboard votes. Just vote for the work, please. Thank you all for your hard work, and thank myself for mine.)