Finger Sword, Sword Fingers

"Damn it, could Chang Wei already be injured and unable to receive the sword?"

Others felt their minds buzzing, and Lu Xiaofeng thought of the same possibility.

If that was the case, things were bad.

Ximen Chuixue frowned and was about to step in. Joining forces with others to fight Ye Gucheng was not what he wanted, but if it were a one-on-one duel, even if he could not draw his sword now, Ximen Chuixue would not hesitate. To die beneath a sword was a fate he would gladly accept.

However, after watching for so long, he had actually already grasped his sword.

"Why do you not receive my sword?"

Ye Gucheng asked, his voice devoid of emotion, cold as a heavenly sound from beyond the ninth firmament.

"I already have a sword."

"Where is your sword?"

Ye Gucheng did not understand. To gain the sword and forget the sword, to forget the sword and gain the sword—this meant understanding the essence of the sword. Thus, Ye Gucheng did not find it strange that Chang Wei used a wooden sword, because that was a sword.

But now, Ye Gucheng did not understand.

"When there is no sword in the heart, there is a sword in the hand; when there is no sword in the hand, there is a sword in the heart. I am not bound by physical things. Flowers, grass, trees—everything in the world can be my longsword. The sword is me, and I am the sword."

No one understood Chang Wei's words, but Ximen Chuixue did. He immediately drew his own sword.

The sword light was peerless, dazzling and brilliant, impossible to look upon directly. It brought excruciating pain to the skin, as though it were being sliced by knives.

Ye Gucheng's eyes also shone like blazing torches.