(I've found that whatever I say seems to cause inconvenience and trouble. I'm truly sorry. I hope you all enjoy reading.)
Jing Jiu floated up from the bottom of the Jade Pool, saw some remains bubbling as they gradually disappeared, and then saw a face.
To be precise, it was the skin of a face, still bearing unwillingness, grief, indignation, and despair.
For a once wild and untamable Evil Path Expert to end up as nothing more than food for a bored divine beast was, of course, an unbearable humiliation and shattering of illusions.
The face drifted in the pool water, then slowly disappeared.
Watching this, Jing Jiu's expression remained unchanged. He continued upward, surfaced, and came to the poolside carrying the Iron Sword.
He had lost this Iron Sword in the Jade Pool three years ago. Miraculously, it had not disappeared; only much of the rust and grime on its surface had vanished. The scorch marks left by six years of burning on the Snowfield had been washed smoother by the pool water. This did not give the Iron Sword the gleam of a freshly washed silver spear. Instead, it looked even uglier, like excrement.
Jing Jiu was not dissatisfied. Having endured three years in such corrosive, poisonous water without melting, it had done as well as even an Immortal Tier flying sword could.
He evaporated the deadly pool water from his body with Sword Flame, took out a fresh white robe and put it on, concealed his face with Sword Gang, then turned to look toward the towering cliff above.
The cliff was covered in wet moss, looking like a moldy green silk ribbon.
The old man stood atop the cliff, looking down at him. His disheveled hair fluttered, his expression indifferent, blood still staining the