Entering the rift, Zhao Bai found the inside of the heart in a rare hollow state. The enormous, empty stone walls were as pure as violet crystals, like the legendary Nine Nether.
The neighing of warhorses reached Zhao Bai's ears.
The girl knelt before him, a pitch-black holy sword clamped between her thighs. Her eyes were shut as she slept an eternal slumber.
"Wake up, then die."
Zhao Bai spoke solemnly, his tone gentle, as if calling back a soul.
Soul, come back.
The girl opened her eyes.
Shadows swirled around her and formed into a warhorse. The girl drew the treasured sword from between her thighs and rose calmly. Like someone waking from a great dream, black tears streamed from her black eyes. Zhao Bai calmly drew his blade without a word, his heart filled with peace.
He had come to save Ji Lin.
Though he was thousands of years too late, and this salvation had become a blade for killing, Zhao Bai had no other choice.
At sunset, the warrior whose mind had been twisted by the seal was cut down beneath her horse. She knelt and lowered her head, peacefully welcoming the death that should have come long ago. It was a tragic, solemn scene, but Zhao Bai did not like that sense of a tragic hero. He preferred another story—a girl carrying a sword to face her fate, only for a chef falling from the sky to crash the scene. The chef would make quick work of the giant monster, then turn around, pat the girl on the head, and tell her to get the hell home.
From then on, the years would be peaceful, and the girl would live happily ever after.
It was a nonsensical, goofy story, but wasn't that good too?
But many