This move was a memory branded deep into Wang Xian's soul, engraved into his very flesh and blood.
It was from that night during his journey through the Southern Frontier of the small world, when he encountered Tang Qingyu...
That deadly woman had smilingly drawn an exquisite silver tube from between her breasts.
The instant she lightly pressed it beneath the moonlight, a burst of Rainstorm Pear Blossom Needles suddenly bloomed. A rain of blossoms filled the sky, taking lives—beautiful enough to stir the soul, yet vicious enough to chill the heart.
That night, Wang Xian had not accepted Tang Qingyu's Rainstorm Pear Blossom Needles.
Yet he had etched that breathtaking sight, that instant of essence, firmly into his heart.
During his days at the academy, he embroidered by the window, stitch by stitch, sinking his heart into its deepest stillness.
Through countless dusks and late nights at the tavern in Green Ox Town, he still embroidered. Between each rising and falling needle, he gradually comprehended the sword intent of wielding lightness as weight from that slender embroidery needle.
An embroidery needle was light as a feather, yet in his hand, it weighed more than a thousand jun.
It could be said that Wang Xian, amid the tribulation of seated oblivion, had temporarily forgotten Tang Qingyu, yet subconsciously unleashed this move—
Rainstorm Pear Blossom!
At this moment, three hundred and sixty embroidery needles became three hundred and sixty flying swords, shooting through the air in perfect unison!
Seeing the cold gleams that filled the wind like a torrential downpour, Ghosts' Bane's pupils first contracted before he threw back his head and roared. His voice was filled with contempt and arrogance. "Mere embroidery needles, and you think they can hurt me?!"
In his eyes, these little trinkets were nothing more than