Qingzhou lived up to its name—its mountains and waters were pristine, its scenery exquisite.
Sword Heart Studio's way lay in a clear sword heart and Natural Swordsmanship. It did not deliberately seek sharpness or slaughter, but emphasized the harmony of sword and heaven and earth. Its choice of Qingzhou as its site was precisely to borrow the spiritual charm of these mountains and waters to nurture a natural sword heart.
Xiang Yuan stood atop a mountain peak, gazing into the distance at layers upon layers of emerald mountains shrouded in mist, like an ink-wash painting unfurling between heaven and earth.
Clear springs and cascading waterfalls rang out through the mountains. Streams wound their way onward, their waters jade-clear and blue, reflecting the ancient pines and green cypresses on either bank. Now and then, birds skimmed across the surface, stirring ripples upon ripples.
His presence faded away. He watched the mountains, listened to the water, comprehended the wind, and merged with nature itself, gaining a few more insights into the Dao Sword Realm he had copied.
Xiang Yuan, who was not a disciple of Sword Heart Studio, found enlightenment in Qingzhou's landscapes. Shang Qingmeng and the other two, who were Sword Heart Studio disciples, each had their own schemes and not the slightest mind to appreciate the ethereal artistic conception of nature's mountains and waters.
At that moment, Xiang Yuan stood atop the peak while Shang Qingmeng stood in his arms, nestling against his chest. A faint smile curled her lips as she cast a sidelong glance at Ziping beside them.
Every so often, she gave a cold laugh, hooked her arms around Xiang Yuan's neck, and rubbed her temples against his, lips pressed to lips.
Ziping wore an expression of grief and indignation. Her fists, hidden in the broad sleeves