It took quite a while for Yi Shuyuan to come back to himself. Whether this was a tribulation no longer mattered to him.
What mattered now was holding on to this feeling of being on the verge of understanding.
Yi Shuyuan gradually descended toward the Grand Canal, flew straight into a patch of woodland on the bank, and found a large rock to sit on.
Slowly closing his eyes, Yi Shuyuan held the sword by its hilt, laying the drawn blade horizontally before him.
"Ding, ding, ding, ding..."
Rain fell without wind. With no wind to interfere, the raindrops striking the blade rang all the clearer, even carrying a certain rhythm.
Or perhaps that rhythm lay in Yi Shuyuan's heart.
It was the ringing clash of golden spears and iron-clad steeds!
Glimmering sword qi flickered along the blade, seeming to reflect Yi Shuyuan's present state of mind.
Then Yi Shuyuan released his grip, and the sword remained suspended in the air.
Deep within his mind, all the landscapes of his inner realm vanished. Everything returned to darkness, leaving only himself seated on a rock. Above him shone neither sun nor moon, but a streak of sword light.
Curled up inside Yi Shuyuan's collar, Hui Mian hardly dared breathe, afraid of disturbing his master's enlightenment.
"Dang, dang, dang..."
Yi Shuyuan's eyelids trembled slightly. Those were the opening notes of plucked pipa strings.
The sword Chanting Dust had become actually blurred before Yi Shuyuan. A sword intent spread outward like an invisible winter north wind, bringing the chill of mournfully whistling gusts. Even Hui Mian could not help burrowing deeper into Yi Shuyuan's clothes.
"Dang, dang, dang..."
The strings sounded again. The hovering sword's supposedly solid blade twisted like flowing water and circled once above Yi Shuyuan's head.
Yi Shuyuan's eyelids fluttered