Master and Disciple Reunited!

Master and Disciple Reunited! The remnant soul inside the pill was slowly stretching, like a sleeping flower that had finally waited for spring.

Chen Xuanji's outline grew clearer and clearer.

He sat cross-legged, hands folded atop his knees, his posture peaceful, the corners of his mouth slightly raised, as if he were dreaming a dream from which he would never wake.

Wuqing Sword Emperor reached out, his hand hovering above the pill.

His hand was long and powerful, the joints distinct—a hand made to grip a sword, a hand made to kill.

But at this moment, that hand was trembling slightly.

Tens of thousands of years.

He had slept for tens of thousands of years.

He no longer knew how he had died, did not know how Chen Xuanji had died, did not know what the outside world had become.

But he remembered Chen Xuanji.

He remembered that stubborn, unyielding youth. He remembered him kneeling before him and saying, "Master, I want to learn the sword."

He remembered the way his thumb web had been rubbed raw by the hilt the first time he held a sword, yet he had gritted his teeth and refused to let go.

"Xuanji."

Wuqing Sword Emperor said it again, his voice a little louder than before.

His lips were trembling faintly, but his tone was still very cold.

It was a coldness carved into his bones, an instinct tempered by ten thousand years of sword intent.

It was not that he was not gentle; it was that he had already forgotten how to be gentle.

The Nirvana Pill suddenly flashed.

Nine golden patterns burst open at the same time, turning into nine golden ribbons of light that coiled around the pill.

Inside the pill, Chen Xuanji's remnant soul shuddered violently, as if responding to