Yang Guyun

The old couple jumped in fright when they saw someone else approaching.

"Don't be afraid, sir, ma'am," Zhou Qiubai reassured them gently. "I was just passing by. That person just now... is my friend."

He told a well-intentioned lie.

Only then did the old woman breathe a sigh of relief. Trembling, she picked up the money pouch and Soul Copper Coins from the ground, tears spilling from her eyes once more. "Thank you... thank you, benefactors..."

Zhou Qiubai took some dried rations from his pack and gently set them on the ground. "Take these. The village isn't safe. You should head to a nearby town."

The old couple thanked him profusely, overwhelmed with gratitude.

Zhou Qiubai did not linger. He turned and left, following the direction the black-clad young man had gone.

He was not trying to strike up a conversation. He had simply become curious.

So young, yet his spear techniques were so strong. His personality was so cold, yet he had stepped forward for two elderly strangers.

Such people were truly rare.

With Flowing Wind fully unleashed, he sped forward and caught up with the black-clad young man in a forest three li away before long.

The young man was washing his spear by a stream.

The spear shaft was submerged in the water, its vivid blood-red patterns gleaming darkly beneath the rippling current.

He cleaned it with great care, wiping every inch as though tending to his most precious treasure.

Zhou Qiubai did not conceal his presence and walked straight over.

The young man did not look up, but Zhou Qiubai could feel his muscles tense instantly, like a leopard poised to pounce.

"I saw what happened earlier," Zhou Qiubai said, stopping ten paces away.

Only then did the young man raise his head and glance at him.

Those eyes were as cold as a deep pool, seemingly bottomless. Yet Zhou Qiubai could sense no hostility in them, only a hint of wariness.

"Do you need something?" the young man asked.

"No." Zhou Qiubai smiled faintly. "Your spear is very fast."

The young man fell silent for a moment, then lowered his head and continued washing his spear. "Your sword isn't slow either."

Zhou Qiubai froze, as if suddenly awakened.

Only then did he remember that, back in the village, his hand had already been resting on his sword hilt.

Though he had not drawn it, the Sword Intent he had released had likely been noticed by the young man.

"Your hearing is good," Zhou Qiubai praised.

"Just perception," the young man replied blandly. "You followed me just to say that?"

"No." Zhou Qiubai walked to the stream, crouched down, and splashed a handful of water over his face. "I simply wanted to see what someone capable of that kind of spear technique looked like."

"Now you've seen."

"Mm, I have." Zhou Qiubai dried his face and looked at the young man with unwavering eyes. "My name is Zhou Qiubai."

The young man did not respond and merely continued washing his spear.

Zhou Qiubai was in no hurry. He simply waited quietly beside him.

After a while, the young man finally spoke. "Yang Guyun."

"Great name!" Zhou Qiubai's lips curved upward, his smile as brilliant as sunlight. "Amid blood and storm, a lone cloud shatters souls. It suits your spear perfectly."

Yang Guyun's hand paused slightly. At last, he gave the fellow before him a proper look.

His gaze lingered on Zhou Qiubai, as if considering something. An unfathomable glimmer flashed through his eyes.

But in an instant, he withdrew his gaze and returned his attention to the weapon in his hands, meticulously washing the spear. "You're quite good with words."

"I mean it." Zhou Qiubai rose to his feet, his relaxed posture carrying a touch of easygoing freedom. "Where are you headed?"

"Heaven Dou City."

"What a coincidence. So am I." Zhou Qiubai's smile deepened. "Why don't we travel together?"

Yang Guyun hesitated. After finishing with his spear, he shook off the water. The spear trembled in his hand before settling firmly into his grip, just like his sword.

"Why?" His brows furrowed slightly as he looked directly at Zhou Qiubai.

"Why what?"

"Why travel together?" Yang Guyun's eyes held a trace of probing curiosity. "We're strangers. Earlier, I took your chance to act. Aren't you angry?"

Zhou Qiubai smiled even more casually. "That was something you should have done in the first place. Why would I be angry? As for traveling together, the road of the martial world is long. Wouldn't it be better to have a companion?"

Yang Guyun fell silent.

At last, Yang Guyun nodded faintly. "All right."

"Then let's go." Zhou Qiubai turned around, a light smile on his face. "It'll be dark soon. Let's find somewhere to spend the night."

Zhou Qiubai walked ahead, smiling to himself. This Yang Guyun is quite an interesting fellow.

On the road of the martial world, meeting a companion like this counted as good fortune.

After all, not everyone was like the Golden Iron Triangle—two powerhouses dragging along one deadweight while playing at a love triangle.

Yang Guyun followed behind, staring at Zhou Qiubai's back. Earlier, the moment Zhou Qiubai had moved to draw his sword, he had sensed that Sword Intent—aloof and desolate, much like a cold wind in late autumn.

People like that were truly rare.

Perhaps they really could travel together for a while.

Night fell, and the two rested in a cave.

Zhou Qiubai lit a campfire and roasted some dried rations. The atmosphere was somewhat quiet, but not awkward.

"Why don't you put your spear away?" Zhou Qiubai suddenly broke the silence, asking with interest.

Yang Guyun's hand paused slightly. "Why don't you put your sword away?"

Zhou Qiubai smiled. "Because a sword is only truly a sword when it is in your hand. Put it back inside your body, and it's nothing more than decoration."

"Same for me," Yang Guyun replied blandly. "A spear is only a spear when it is in your hand. Putting it back inside your body is cowardice."

Zhou Qiubai lightly stirred the campfire.

"So, Brother Yang." Zhou Qiubai smiled faintly, his tone as relaxed as if they were chatting about the weather. "We've only just met, but I still don't know where you're from."

Yang Guyun lifted his gaze from the spear.

"You go first," he replied slowly.

Zhou Qiubai smiled. "Sure!"

"My name is Zhou Qiubai." He sat upright, the solemnity on his face making it seem like a small ceremony. "But I chose this name myself."

Yang Guyun raised a brow slightly, seeming to take an interest in the name.

"I have no father or mother. I grew up eating meals from countless households and sleeping in ruined temples. No one gave me a surname, and no one bestowed a name upon me, but..." He paused, his tone gradually deepening. "The seasons change in cycles, endlessly repeating. That isn't so bad. I chose Zhou as my surname because I was born in late autumn. Seeing the mountains covered in white frost, I named myself Qiubai. White Clothes gained a sword, and that sword was named White Clothes. So, I am Zhou Qiubai."

For a moment, the cave was utterly silent.

Yang Guyun stared at him, feeling as if his toes had clawed out a three-bedroom apartment.

After a moment, a rare hint of a smile appeared at the corner of his lips. "That introduction... uh, was rather literary. You must have thought about it for a long time, huh?"

Zhou Qiubai froze for a moment, then could not help laughing. "Seeing through it is one thing, but saying it out loud is another. Brother Yang, that's not very kind."

"I'm only telling the truth." Yang Guyun turned his head and looked toward the campfire. "People like you are indeed rare."

"Likewise." Zhou Qiubai lazily leaned against the stone wall, relaxing his body. "Your turn."