The Yellow River Once Surged

The elder Song Fa felt a chill in his chest. Looking at his flying sword pierced there and the fresh blood flowing along the blade, his heart gradually turned cold. Only at this moment did he truly understand that even if his heavy injuries had healed, he could never be Jun Mo's opponent—Jun Mo had not even truly struck. He had merely reached out and grasped the autumn wind, seizing his lifebound sword and taking his life.

The bank of the Cui Garden stream was deathly silent, and the sound of the water on the Fuchun River had also ceased. The elder Song Fa slowly collapsed. Jun Mo, holding his staff, led Mu You away, and not a single person in the courtyard dared to move.

Wang Jinglue still stood in the crowd, having had no opportunity to act. Looking at the blood and flesh scattered around the historically significant grand armchair, and thinking of Old Master Cui, who had been reduced to a wisp of resentful soul, he finally understood what Ning Que's arrow was truly like. Looking at the elder Song Fa in the pool of blood and the flying sword pierced through his chest, he finally understood what the Second Senior Brother's sword was truly like.

It was not until long after Jun Mo and Mu You had left Cui Garden that the people in the garden woke up from their extreme fear and shock. Cries of grief and roars of fury erupted everywhere.

To Qinghe County, the various clans were everything, and the Ruyang Cui Clan was the spiritual pillar of the people. Old Master Cui, whom everyone regarded as their ultimate backer, had been reduced to a pile of blood and flesh without even a chance to resist. How could they not be terrified and anxious?

The news of Old Master Cui's death quickly spread throughout Yangzhou City, then into thousands of households, and naturally reached Chang'an.

The court of the Great Tang reacted with extreme speed. That very night, craftsmen urgently mobilized by the Ministry of Works from the Zhongnan Three Counties, along with auxiliary soldiers from neighboring prefectures, rushed to the north of Qing Gorge at the fastest speed possible.

The battle of autumn last year had buried countless enemy troops in Qing Gorge, and the difficult official road opened there was blocked by boulders, making travel extremely arduous. The court had spent more than half a year clearing it, yet had only managed to clear a narrow path. However, with the arrival of tens of thousands of craftsmen and soldiers, the speed of the clearance suddenly multiplied.

At the current pace, within a few months at most, Chang'an would complete the initial clearing and repairs. This also meant that the iron cavalry of the Great Tang would only need a few months to pass through Qing Gorge, whip their horses south, and like a torrent of steel, directly submerge Qinghe County.

The nobles and commoners of Qinghe County did not know what was happening north of Qing Gorge, but they knew very well what Old Master Cui's death meant for them—the treaty between the Tang State and the Xiling Divine Palace had, from this moment, become a useless scrap of paper. Thus, the Tang army could appear in Qinghe County at any time.

The terrifying pressure from the north, like a low-hanging dark cloud, pressed down so heavily that the people of Qinghe County found it hard to breathe. They could not understand. Having just experienced an extremely brutal war of national defense, why did the Tang State seem to need no rest, eager to tear up the treaty so quickly?

Chaos had already erupted in Qinghe County, and there was no longer any possibility of peace returning.

Wang Jinglue did not leave Yangzhou City because he wanted to wait for Ning Que here. Most importantly, he had to take responsibility for receiving the cultivators of the Tianshu Office and the military secret agents who were constantly infiltrating Qinghe County from the Tang State, and then use these forces to help Cui Huasheng secure a better position in this chaotic Qinghe.

...

...

A cylindrical passage appeared in the sky above the Front Terrace of Peach Mountain. The lingering traces of the surging torrent, like silk and cotton, clung reluctantly to this passage, making it appear even clearer.

This was the path the iron arrow had traveled—the path of the arrow.

Ning Que stood before the altar, his left hand holding the bow, his right hand pulled back in a tiger-tail-hugging posture, maintaining the exact pose from the moment he released the bowstring, as still as a wooden statue.

The sound of prayers had ceased at some point. The tens of thousands of people on the front terrace stared at him with tense expressions. No one spoke, as if they too had turned into wooden statues.

No one knew where Ning Que's iron arrow had flown, but they knew with absolute certainty that someone had died—they had not seen the actual outcome, yet they already knew it—and this filled everyone with dread.

Ning Que retrieved his iron bow and slung it over his shoulder, turning his head to look toward the Divine Hall of Light atop Peach Mountain, remaining silent. If the Haotian divine power within his body dissipated and the divine talismans around the altar returned to heaven and earth, he would surely die under the siege of those powerful experts. Yet, he did not think of these things.

At this moment, he had completed the first half of the Academy's plan. His attention shifted to the Divine Hall of Light. He could vaguely sense the outcome of the battle within the hall, knowing that someone was destined to die.

Just as the people on the front terrace knew someone had died the moment he shot his arrow, once someone entered the Divine Hall of Light, they too would inevitably die. This realization cast a shadow over his mood.

In this battle between heaven and man, if the one who died was man, then the survivor was naturally heaven.

...

...

Tang Tang looked at the Great Thousand World upon the sword. In her eyes, stars collapsed and formed, suns rose and set, tides ebbed and flowed, and countless autumns and springs passed, using time to erode the mortal world.

Liu Bai's sword was now only two feet away from her. The rust on the sword grew heavier, its surface turning an ominous ash-gray, indicating that the blade had completely rusted and begun to weather.

The closer an object was to her body, the faster the flow of time in that area became, and the more severe the natural damage. Even a sword that could withstand countless years of wind and rain could not endure it.

That Liu Bai's sword could enter her small world and get so close to her was already an incredibly unimaginable feat, one that conventional cultivation theories could not even explain.

His sword was the sword of the mortal world, carrying the will of the Sword Pavilion and the red dust of humanity. Yet, it was not the mortal world itself, and in the end, it could not withstand the flow of time.

The rust, like a layer of white frost, suddenly cracked, then turned into blue smoke and vanished.

The sword was destroyed, but the man remained. He himself was the true sword.

Liu Bai's eyes shone with unprecedented brilliance, even brighter than when he had first sensed the surging Yellow River years ago, brighter than when he had comprehended the Great River Sword Intent on the cliff by the riverbank.

The moment he struck, he knew he could not win. But he did not give up. Just as he had said, this was his final pleasure in the mortal world. He wanted to see just how close he could get to heaven, to see if he had the ability to touch the sky, and even use his sword to carve a mark belonging solely to him upon the heavens.

Liu Bai's hand reached into Tang Tang's small world.

His hand was very long, his fingers slender—the most suitable hand to hold a sword in the mortal world. Whenever he grasped a hilt, the sword seemed to merge with his hand, becoming inseparable.

At this moment, he held no sword; his hand was the sharpest blade.

His hand reached toward Tang Tang's face, seemingly wanting to brush through the black hair beside her cheek.

As his hand drew closer to her face, his fingernails gradually turned gray, his skin lost its elasticity, becoming dry and wrinkled, and his sleeves silently turned to ash.

Liu Bai continued forward. The traces of time traveled up his arm. The skin on his arm began to sag like that of a dying old man, almost devoid of the light of life.

He pressed on, using his realm that disdained the mortal world to wage the most silent yet terrifying battle against merciless time. It felt as though he had walked for tens of thousands of years, or perhaps he truly had.

No one knew how much time had passed, but Liu Bai finally stood before Tang Tang, stepping into her small world, bringing her within a foot of him.

Regrettably, he was now so weakened that he could not even raise his hand to strike the final blow. His silver hair fell over his shoulders, withered like frost-covered weeds. The wrinkles on his face were as deep as the blue flagstones in the eastern alleys of Linkang City. He had turned into a dying old man.

Tang Tang said, "You lost."

Liu Bai, using a voice aged and weary, replied, "You lost."

Tang Tang frowned slightly, not understanding the meaning of his words.

"I have left one sword in the mortal world. I hope that sword will not disappoint humanity."

Liu Bai looked at her and smiled, "But it has nothing to do with the victory or defeat of this battle."

Tang Tang said, "How can you still defeat me now?"

Liu Bai gasped for a few breaths, with great difficulty slowly raising his withered, stick-thin arm. He used his fingertip to gently touch the center of her forehead—without any harm, more like a gentle touch.

In this world, there was no such thing as man conquering heaven. Throughout history, it had never occurred. Yet, over countless years, many had strived for it one after another. They wanted to win, to show Haotian the strength of humanity. But more often than not, they simply wanted to prove to themselves and the world that as long as one was willing to strive, one could achieve what they desired.

Liu Bai, invincible in the mortal world, had come to Peach Mountain, entered the Divine Hall of Light, and challenged heaven to a battle. He did not think he could achieve ultimate victory, but he wanted to prove something.

In the moment before his death, he finally touched this high and cold sky. He had fulfilled his wish, and thus, he saw his Great Dao.

Tang Tang looked at the withered, powerless arm dropping before her eyes, remaining silent.

Liu Bai's body, like a dried-up riverbed, turned into countless parched clods of earth, disintegrating and falling to the ground with a rustling sound, turning into a pile of dust.

No one could truly be immortal, no one could truly last for ten thousand generations. Even the sturdiest wall would weather into sand, and the most majestic river would one day run dry.

But no one could deny, not even heaven itself, that the wall had once stood immovable in the mortal world, and that the Yellow River had once surged for ten thousand miles.

In the air before Tang Tang, a sword suddenly appeared. This sword was filled with ancient intent, yet it no longer possessed any breath of life. It fell to the ground with a crisp metallic clang.

The sword in Liu Bai's hand had turned to ash, and he himself had turned to ash, yet this sword remained, shining as if brand new, completely undamaged—just like the mortal world after a calamity, seemingly foretelling something.

Tang Tang looked at the pile of ash and the ancient sword at her feet, remaining silent.

This was the first time she had truly taken action in the mortal world. It seemed effortless, turning the strongest cultivator of humanity into ash, yet her face was slightly pale—whether from injury or some other reason, none could tell.