He stepped onto the Winter Sword Platform and, before the eyes of a hundred thousand people, first tipped his head back for a long drink.
A snow-bright blade hung at his waist. He wore no outer robe and went barefoot, clad only in a single layer that fluttered in the wind, exposing his powerful neck and chest. His long hair was loosely tied with some woman's silk ribbon and streamed behind him.
Everyone could tell that he had indeed lost his true qi. His steps were heavy and stumbling, and he twice staggered on the slippery, snowy ground. This truly was an utterly ordinary mortal body; even the weight of the sword at his waist was a burden.
He had indeed drunk rather too much as well. Even his swordlike eyes seemed lost in a dream.
He swayed to a halt a hundred feet before Li Zhi, gave the man ahead a languid glance, and raised his flask for another hearty mouthful. He drank with utter ease, as though it were the most wonderful thing in the world.
[Heaven-Qilin-Book of Changes] had never vanished.
Snowflakes drifted onto his face and onto his sword. Only yesterday, Jiang Yiner had been helplessly submerged in this snow, and not one of the watching swordsmen had risen after her.
The young man inevitably stumbled on the level ground. At the other end, Li Zhi moved for the first time, slowly raising a hand toward him, expressionless.
The wind and snow formed a vast curtain, almost completely concealing the young man. The Divine Capital's first snowfall of the Xinsi year had lasted two days and a night. It was vast enough, deep enough, and certainly enough to bury a young man in a single robe with an ordinary sword.
Whether it was drunkenness or a