(Chapter uploaded late. My apologies, my apologies.)
Just as Xiao Mo was about to draw his sword, a faint voice rang out between heaven and earth, like leaves rustling down in showers, carrying a heavy air of withering desolation. "It really is you."
Xiao Mo waited for what came next. After a moment, the voice sounded again. "You should all go back. Meeting would accomplish nothing."
Xiao Mo sneered. No longer willing to waste words on this Fellow Daoist he had only met a few times, he slowly walked forward and raised the longsword in his hand. "Young Master, simply follow me. In half an incense stick at most, we'll see their true body."
Xiao Mo first drove a longsword into the ground. The utterly empty and desolate world immediately changed color, like a painting scroll yellowed by the passage of countless years.
Chen Ping'an knew the purpose of Xiao Mo's sword. It served as a temporary inn upon the River of Time. No matter how formidable that Fellow Daoist's divine abilities or how uncanny his arts, Xiao Mo could always follow the pull of his mind and find this temporal ferry crossing he had created. Then, when he offered his sword again, all it would take was a thread linking two points for it not to miss entirely. After Xiao Mo had taken a dozen or so steps, he casually swung his sword again. Since the battle at Bright Moon Haocai, this was the first time Chen Ping'an had seen Xiao Mo draw his sword again.
The sword light was not a straight line, but like a drifting strand of gossamer carried by the wind, spreading more than a thousand miles away.
Xiao Mo's sword strikes did not cease. Some slanted, some horizontal, some vertical—all seemingly effortless—yet the Sword