At those words, Song Qingshu's eyes went wide. Others might not know what they meant, but how could he not? In his previous life, Dugu Qiubai had been a legendary figure in the world of novels. In this world, Song Qingshu had personally seen the words he had carved into the cliffs of Condor Valley, and the sword intent within them had benefited him greatly over the years.
"Madam, there should be hope for you now," Song Qingshu said.
Gu Ningqing muttered to herself, "Could the legend be true?" Since she had lived in Wushuang City, she had naturally heard the tales surrounding the Dugu lineage. When Dugu Yifang had died, Dugu Ming had even gone to the ancestral hall to burn incense and pray. She had secretly scorned his actions at the time, but now it seemed... had he truly summoned an ancestor?
"Madam, stay here and don't move. I'll go take a look." After instructing Gu Ningqing, Song Qingshu hurried out of the tent.
He discovered a man standing on a distant banner pole. He was not as aged as imagined; on the contrary, he looked quite young. With sword-like brows and bright eyes, he was unlike the usual pale, delicate young man. There was an inexplicable confidence and composure in his gaze, as though nothing in the world could stand in his way.
His black cloak snapped in the cold night wind. Standing there, he resembled the sharpest treasured sword. Meng Chixing's pupils shrank slightly at the sight. "Dugu Qiubai?" As an elder of the demonic sect, he had naturally heard the man's legends.
"I didn't expect anyone in the martial world to still remember me." The young man smiled freely, then fixed his gaze on him. "Were you the one who killed Dugu Yifang?"
Song Qingshu