Wandering Swordsman |

"The Flame Demon Lord's actions are undoubtedly a demonstration of his sincerity to me. It seems that Lü Yan has successfully persuaded him," Shen Mo said in a low voice, with a hint of emotion in his tone.

Juechenzi smiled slightly, looking at Shen Mo with a firm gaze: "This subordinate will take his leave now. May the Heavenly Demon God's journey to the Central Plains go smoothly."

Shen Mo nodded, carefully put the envelope into his pocket, and hung the token on his waist.

Then, Juechenzi turned his horse around and galloped back the way he came, his figure gradually disappearing into the vast grassland.

As Shen Mo watched Juechenzi's departing figure, a deep sense of emotion welled up within him. If Juechenzi hadn't brought him before the Moon Demon Lord, how could he have become the Heavenly Demon God today? Although Juechenzi was now his subordinate, Shen Mo still felt a trace of gratitude towards him deep in his heart.

Then, Shen Mo rode slowly forward, passing through Yanmen Pass. The moment he stepped onto the Central Plains, a long-lost sense of familiarity washed over him. A complex and indescribable emotion welled up in Shen Mo's heart. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling the familiar land beneath his feet, as if telling stories of the past.

A gentle breeze blew by, bringing with it a scent of his hometown—a fragrance mingled with the fresh scent of the fields and the warmth of his mother's embrace. Yet, this breeze also stirred up the deepest sorrow in his heart.

Shen Mo rode south, his clothes damp with morning dew, the sound of his horse's hooves echoing softly on the mountain path. As he reined in his horse and bent down to examine the map, a wisp of tea fragrance wafted from the carved windows of a teahouse in the distance, mingling with the damp scent of moss from the mountains. A copper bell tinkled under the eaves, and several wandering swordsmen were wrapping pastries in oiled paper, their voices low but unable to conceal the turmoil in their conversation.

So Shen Mo found a seat by the window, ordered a pot of tea, and quietly listened to the conversations of the people around him. The teahouse was bustling with noise, a mix of various voices, including news about the Martial Alliance and the younger generation.

"Have you heard? The Martial Arts Alliance is growing stronger and stronger these days," an old man at the next table said, stroking his beard. "Especially the Ninth Young Master, each and every one of them is an outstanding individual."

Another young man chimed in: "Indeed, the Peng family of Hebei, the Huangfu family, the Zhuge family, the Dongfang family, the Nangong family, Hualin Academy, Changhe Sword Sect, Huashan, and Kunlun—these nine forces have nine young masters, and they are likely to rise even higher in the future."

Shen Mo smiled slightly, merely listening to these rumors without taking them to heart. After all, he had his own mission and pursuits. However, when the topic turned to the Four Beauties, the atmosphere in the teahouse suddenly became lively.

"Speaking of the four beauties who could make fish sink and geese fall from the sky, and the moon blush and flowers blush, they are truly breathtaking." A richly dressed young man said excitedly, "Sinking Fish: Situ Meng, I saw her once, her beauty was simply breathtaking. No wonder that when Jingtian Pavilion held a martial arts competition to select a husband, Situ Meng, who was only in her prime, was rumored to be the most beautiful woman in the world."

A scholar-like man sitting not far away shook his head and said, "You're wrong, Luo Yan: Murong Qing is the real beauty. No one can match her temperament and beauty. I would call her the most beautiful woman in the world today. If you don't believe me, just go to the Murong family in Luoyang and see for yourself."

"You're all wrong!" A burly man dressed in coarse cloth blushed. "I haven't seen the other three, but I have seen Bi Yue: Zhou Xinlian. She is the true number one beauty in the world. Not only is she the chief disciple of the Emei Sect, but she is also incredibly beautiful and highly skilled in martial arts."

"Hmph, I think that junior sister from the Huashan Sect is the one who deserves the title of the most beautiful woman in the world." Another young man retorted, not to be outdone, his eyes filled with determination. "I saw her when I went to the Huashan Sect last month. Her smile is as captivating as a flower in spring, truly deserving of the title 'the flower that shames others'."

Everyone argued heatedly, each convinced that the person they had personally witnessed was the true beauty of the world. The atmosphere in the teahouse became even more lively, filled with laughter and shouts of debate.

Listening to their argument, Shen Mo felt a ripple of emotion stir within him. He thought of the women he had encountered, especially Situ Meng and Murong Qing. They were not only exceptionally beautiful, but more importantly, each possessed a unique charm. Thinking of this, Shen Mo's gaze softened, and a faint smile appeared on his lips.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves outside the window, casting dappled shadows on the ground. A gentle breeze brought coolness, seemingly adding a touch of tranquility to the heated debate. Shen Mo picked up his teacup, took a small sip, and savored this moment of peace.

The scene shifts, and Shen Mo appears in that familiar little town. Five years seem to have brought little change to this place; the town still retains its rustic charm and tranquility. The cobblestone streets shimmer softly in the sunlight, and the shop signs on both sides sway gently in the breeze, emitting a slight creak. The air is filled with a scent that blends the fresh aroma of earth with the fragrance of cooking smoke, bringing a sense of peace and comfort.

Shen Mo was no longer the ragged, unkempt beggar he had been six years ago, but a dashing young man of the martial world. He wore clean cloth clothes, with two longswords at his waist: the Tai'a Sword and the Youth Sword. His steps were steady and powerful, his eyes revealing determination and confidence. Every step he took was unhurried, as if he had long been accustomed to this way of walking.

The teahouse on the street was still bustling with activity, people sitting together chatting and laughing. However, those once-familiar faces—Zhu Pang and the others—were nowhere to be seen. Only a few old tables and chairs silently bore witness to the passage of time. Shen Mo's gaze inadvertently swept over the teahouse, a flood of memories welling up inside him, but he quickly suppressed them and continued on his way.

As Shen Mo passed the private school, he slowed his pace slightly. Through the open door, he could see the teacher standing on the platform, a book in hand, earnestly teaching the children to read. His back was more hunched than it had been five years ago, his hair had turned gray, and his face was etched with deep wrinkles; clearly, the past few years had not been easy for him. Yet, his voice remained loud and clear, filled with a love for knowledge and high hopes for the children.

Just as Shen Mo was walking by the roadside, the private tutor's gaze inadvertently fell on him. For a moment, his movements paused, the book in his hand faltered slightly, his gaze swept lightly over Shen Mo, and then he froze.

Clearly, he recognized the young man in front of him as the boy beggar he had let listen to his lectures outside the window years ago.

"It's you..." The private tutor's voice trembled slightly, and a look of disbelief flashed in his eyes. He put down his book, slowly walked out of the private school, and came to Shen Mo.