Leaving the Mountain

Chu Ming looked at that sea of swords, at the sword tips pointing toward its depths, at the direction from which that summons came.

He stepped through the stone gate.

When his foot landed in the empty space beyond it, a warm sensation rose from beneath his sole.

It was neither the chill of stone nor the emptiness of the void, but a warmth left behind after being steeped in countless sword intents through endless years. He took his second step inside.

The stone gate behind him slowly closed.

It shut far faster than it had opened. Sliding from both sides toward the center, it gave off a deep rumble.

With every inch it slid, one of the sword-shaped runes carved upon its surface dimmed. When

the two stone doors fully closed, the final rune went dark as well.

Chu Ming did not look back.

He simply continued onward, walking toward the depths of the sword sea.

Behind him, Jian Wuxin stood before the stone gate, gazing at the tightly shut doors.

His expression was grave, his lips pressed tightly together, his hands clasped behind his back.

His gaze seemed to pass through the stone gate, as though he could see the sea of swords beyond it, see the young man walking ever deeper into its depths. Behind him, the eight elders remained where they stood.

The white-haired elder whose hair hung to his shoulders spoke, his voice so low it seemed he was talking to himself.

"Can he obtain it?"

No one answered.

The gaunt elder was silent for a moment before he spoke.

"I don't know."

His voice was equally low, as though he were telling a secret.

"That fragment has been suppressed by the sword intents of successive sect masters for thirty thousand years. No one has