Xuandu spoke, his voice calm:
"Fellow Daoist Jieyin."
"Still want to fight?"
Jieyin fell silent.
He looked at Xuandu, at those eyes calm as an ancient well.
A long time passed.
He slowly shook his head.
"No more fighting."
Those three words fell, and he felt as though a burden had been lifted.
Zhunti stood at his side, his face deathly pale.
He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, yet no sound came out.
No more fighting?
They were admitting defeat just like that?
Bowing their heads just like that?
Were the grudges of tens of thousands of yuanhui simply to be forgotten?
Zhunti gritted his teeth and stared fixedly at Xuandu.
But in the end, he did not attack.
Because he knew that attacking would still mean defeat.
Because he knew that Senior Brother was right.
They could not win.
Even if the two of them joined hands, they could not win.
Xuandu looked at the two of them and gave a slight nod.
He did not attack again.
Nor did he say another word.
He merely stood with his hands behind his back beside the Eight Treasures Merit Pool, his gaze sweeping over the blasted pool water, the withered lotus flowers, and the shattered bluestone.
"Thank you for yielding, fellow cultivators."
As those four words fell, he turned around.
He took a step.
The void rippled silently.
That green-clad figure vanished from Mount Sumeru in an instant.
Beside the Eight Treasures Merit Pool, deathly stillness returned.
The pool water still churned, and the lotus flowers still withered.
The shattered bluestone still lay scattered across the ground.
Jieyin and Zhunti stood by the pool, looking at that vanished figure, looking at the void that was gradually healing.
A long time passed.
Zhunti spoke, his voice hoarse:
"Senior Brother...