When Xiao Ran returned to Sword-Wielding Mountain, it was already evening.
Fine rain had unexpectedly begun to drift down from the sky.
It was unexpected because Zongzhi Mountain was located in the Western Wilderness, and its elevation was already high to begin with. The clouds drifted very low, while the summit of Sword-Wielding Mountain stood far above the cloud layer. The clouds were all around the mountainside; there were no clouds overhead.
People often spoke of clouds and rain; without clouds, where did the rain come from?
This was probably Spirit Rain...
Xiao Ran thought.
The rain was very clear, spreading out wisps of immortal mist and washing the mountains clean.
The ethereal world became real, a few layers of immortal air stripped away, while a trace of melancholy was added.
Xiao Ran even missed that home from his previous life a little.
Not missing home was simple. He just had to head toward his new home.
Shaking the rainwater off his face, Xiao Ran sped back to Sword-Wielding Mountain.
People said each autumn rain brought a layer of chill, but on Sword-Wielding Mountain, the emerald valley and the riotous sea of flowers still seemed to remain in spring, at most drifting with a little melancholy.
Chuyan was sheltering from the rain beneath the lone pine while stroking the cat, entering some sort of Zen state.
Her fresh, cold, spring-stirred face held an extra layer of melancholy in the fine rain.
To her, the Sewing Needle Sword Art was far too simple.
She felt she might have been tricked.
But in order to climb the Sword Tomb with Xiao Ran, formally become a Sword Holder, and establish herself firmly on Sword-Wielding Mountain, and also so she could weave beautiful clothes, she did the work of harvesting the valley, weeding, removing