Shi Jiao remained silent for a long time.
He let out a long sigh, filled with both relief and reluctance.
"The younger generation is truly formidable... truly formidable!"
He closed his eyes. "I have lost."
Lu Changfeng held two fingers together like a sword and gently swept them forward. "Master Shi, fare you well."
Consciousness-Only Sword Intent descended!
The colossal sword crashed down, soundless, yet as though heaven were collapsing and earth were caving in.
Shi Jiao's divine soul dissolved in the sword light, like morning mist meeting the rising sun, like ice and snow meeting the warmth of spring.
There were no screams, no struggles, only stillness.
His consciousness was fading, and a thousand years of memories flashed past, one after another.
He saw his younger self at the Jixia Academy, debating masters of dialectics for three days, taking on a host of scholars with his tongue alone and winning renown throughout the world.
He saw himself seated across from Shang Yang, talking through the night by candlelight, planning sweeping reforms together.
He saw Duke Xiao of Qin seated in court, listening to his proposals for reform. The duke beamed with delight and bestowed a hundred yi of gold upon him.
He saw the day Shang Yang was torn apart by chariots. Five horses ripped his body to pieces, blood staining the streets of Xianyang. He stood in the crowd, watching the companion who had once brimmed with spirit become a heap of bloody flesh, his heart utterly cold.
He saw himself fleeing in panic, heading south, eating in the wind and sleeping beneath the dew, wasting away to skin and bones. Behind him were assassins from the Black Ice Platform; ahead lay the Shu Road.
He saw himself collapse beneath a ginkgo tree, barely breathing. Unwilling to die