At night in the Sacred Hall Sword Pavilion, a Swordsman was going home. Without a word of farewell, he slung his sword case over his back and left.
But at the entrance to the Sword Pavilion's Sect Protection Array, he encountered an old man.
"What? You're leaving just like that?" Shen Zhihua, the Sword Pavilion's patriarch, frowned at Li Yaozu, who had departed without saying goodbye. Though he did not particularly like Li Yaozu, Li Yaozu's departure filled him with vexation. "Weren't you waiting around here for me to die so you could inherit my swordsmanship?"
Li Yaozu said nothing. Under Shen Zhihua's stunned gaze, he merely clasped his hands and bowed.
By the time Shen Zhihua came to his senses, Li Yaozu had already stepped through the gate.
"You... sigh, I'm not dead yet."
When Shen Zhihua turned around, Li Yaozu's figure had already vanished into the starry night. His expression was complicated.
Li Yaozu's departure left his heart ever more stifled. So he made a round of the Sacred Hall Sword Pavilion late that night. Hearing disciples within the pavilion practicing their swords, their blades whistling through the darkness, he nearly let out a long howl. Back then, Sword Left had fallen, while Sword Right had suffered damage to his foundation. In the vast Sacred Hall Sword Pavilion, there truly was not a single junior suitable to receive his sword.
Perhaps it was not that they were unsuitable. Rather, after Li Yaozu had slain Diwu Xuan with a single stroke, no one under heaven could ever again satisfy Shen Zhihua's heart.
The long night stretched on, and the insects chirped irritably within one's heart.
"After listening to my teachings every day for a thousand years, he shouldn't be leaving now."
He muttered with a frown, then angrily flicked