The Tangled Thread Play

Feng Yue was a decisive man of action. Once he said he was leaving, he left. After bidding farewell, his figure soon vanished at the end of the sect's mountain path.

Lin Huaixu was also someone who could never sit still. Feng Yue had barely left when Lin Huaixu's restless curiosity surged up again. Dragging along his not-yet-healed body, he limped toward the summit of Spirit Pool Peak.

His injuries had not healed, and after only a few steps, he was already gasping heavily. He had no choice but to stop again and again, pressing his right hand tightly against the rough trunk of a tree by the path to brace himself as he caught his breath.

Beads of sweat seeped from his brow and rolled down, dampening his temples before sliding along his gaunt cheeks, leaving streaks of moisture behind. Yet they could not extinguish the flickering flame of curiosity and urgency in his eyes, dazzlingly bright.

Zhou Wan had gone out today on sect business, leaving the entire Bamboo Retreat so quiet that only the wind and birdsong remained. Bored out of his mind, Lin Huaixu simply dragged his injured leg and felt his way, step by step, toward the mountaintop where Shen Yuxi cultivated in seclusion.

After much difficulty, he finally made it to the summit. The moment he rounded the bend while holding onto the enormous bluish-brown boulder at the path's entrance, a clear sword cry ripped through the air—like jade shattering upon Kunlun Mountain, like an icy spring suddenly splitting open. Each note rang sharp and stirring through the silent mountains.

Following the sound, he saw Shen Yuxi standing in the cloud-wreathed clearing at the cliff's edge, dressed in azure robes and wielding his sword.

The sword light was like snow, cold radiance flowing endlessly