A light rain fell from the sky, pattering softly.
Mist shrouded the valley. In the distance, a line of white egrets flew alongside the mountains, forming a beautiful painting.
Within the white fog, a vast manor flickered in and out of sight. Above it, two bold characters danced like dragons and phoenixes—Hidden Sword.
The manor was under heavy guard. From time to time, people within rose with swords in hand and flew through the air.
Resounding sword's hum rang out from within the manor now and then.
On the rugged path at the foot of the manor stood a figure in white.
He held an oil-paper umbrella, his gaze distant as he looked up at the manor ahead.
His feet touched the ground, yet not a speck of mud stained them. He crossed spiritual marshes, yet not a trace of misty rain touched him.
With every step, he crossed a hundred feet, like a Banished Immortal descending to the mortal world.
When he appeared again, he was already ascending the stone steps before the mountain gate at an unhurried pace.
Before long, he had entered the manor.
Though the manor's defenses were exceptionally strict, no one noticed the extra figure in white.
He continued deeper inside.
Passing the training ground, he saw countless manor disciples practicing their swordsmanship, yet did not pause for even half a step.
Masters were Discussing the Dao in the manor's main hall, but he did not spare them a second glance.
Life was but a dream.
Everything happening around him seemed to have nothing whatsoever to do with him.
He was like air—truly present, yet impossible to grasp; without shadow or form.
It seemed that nothing in this world could draw his attention or stir his interest.
He passed through corridors and courtyards, arriving at