The Rise of Linghu Chong (Part One)
Gradually, autumn arrived...
On the face of the cliff, the bitterly cold wind howled like a blade, whipping up loose stones, fallen pine needles, and other dead leaves. They made sharp whistling sounds as the wind swept them toward the unfathomably deep sea of clouds.
The ancient pines near the cliff's summit stood proudly against the gale. Their branches and leaves rustled and swayed violently, yet their roots remained firmly embedded in the cliff face and cracks in the stone.
"..."
At that moment, Feng Qingyang stood beneath an ancient pine with his hands behind his back.
His gray-brown robe snapped in the wind, and his white hair and beard were tousled by the gusts. Yet he had the air of a martial arts master down to a tee; at first glance, he looked like an immortal elder who had descended to earth.
Fortunately, he wasn't putting on an affected display. He was focused, his deep gaze fixed on a young man in his early twenties practicing swordplay not far away. His eyes held scrutiny, admiration, and expectation.
The young man in green moved like a phantom, his figure flickering unpredictably as he swung his long sword. His techniques were still a little clumsy, yet already carried a distinctive charm, like a treasured sword just beginning to show its edge—its brilliance not fully revealed, but enough to make people wary of underestimating it. There was no mistaking him: he was none other than Huashan Sect's chief disciple, Linghu Chong!
He had been staying here at the cliff for nearly ten days. Then, a few days ago, this white-haired, white-bearded old man with the bearing of a martial arts master had come looking for him. The man had claimed to be an elder of