On an unnamed mountain, a woman dressed in red sat atop a tall pine tree, gazing at the full moon in the sky. She spoke slowly, her voice calm, “What night is this, to meet such a fine soul?”
“City Lord of Jimo, what poem are you reciting?” Below the tree, a man leaning against its trunk asked with a smile, cradling a golden broadsword in his arms.
“A poem I heard long ago,” Jimo Huaxue replied, her thoughts returning to the present. She glanced downward and smiled faintly. “Seeing this moon suddenly brought it to mind.”
“It’s rare to see you smile—just as rare as seeing you draw your sword. But whether it’s your smile or your sword, both are beautiful,” the swordsman said softly.
“City Lord Xu, I’m already married,” Jimo Huaxue said coolly.
The swordsman reached up to trace the scar running across his face, then chuckled. “I know that. But a married woman can remarry, can she not? Your husband is gone now, and before he died, he told you to find someone better to marry.”
“I won’t. Because there’s no one better than him in this world,” Jimo Huaxue said, turning her gaze back to the full moon. “Lord Xu, you really should stop waiting for me.”
The swordsman shrugged. “That’s for me to decide.”
After a moment of silence, Jimo Huaxue suddenly said, “I should go now.”
“Back to Jimo City?” the swordsman asked. “Or are you going to find those children from the academy?”
“You specifically arranged to meet me in Yunmeng Prefecture,” Jimo Huaxue said with puzzlement. “Could this have something to do with the recent events that have occurred here?”
“I’ve been receiving many letters lately. As you know, those who dare write to our Devil City are usually individuals steeped in evil—righteous sects rarely correspond with us. But recently, I’ve received letters from the Four Great Families of Jiangnan, the Three Major Sects of Yunmeng Prefecture, and even from Shanglin Heavenly Palace,” the swordsman smiled. “The old order of the martial world is about to crumble.”
“The old order is about to crumble?” Jimo Huaxue frowned.
“Shanglin Heavenly Palace no longer has the power to govern the martial world. Ning Qingcheng has been in secluded meditation for years due to his grave injuries—he can’t even maintain control over Shanglin Heavenly Palace itself anymore. Swords will be drawn one by one, pointed at enemies and former allies alike. Su Han’s dream of a unified martial world was a beautiful one,” the swordsman raised his golden blade, its cold gleam catching the moonlight. “But that dream should have ended the day Su Han died.”
“Do you wish for this so-called age of chaos to arrive?” Jimo Huaxue asked.
“As the City Lord of Devil City, I suppose I should favor evil. But I dislike the kind of evil these noble sects bring. It lacks purity, filled with nothing but nauseating greed. One day, they’ll regret it,” the swordsman sheathed his blade and dusted off his clothes. “These petty squabbles are nothing but a farce compared to the battle of those days past.”
“I never experienced that battle myself—I only heard my father mention it occasionally,” Jimo Huaxue recalled her father’s deeply guarded expression, pausing before continuing, “They say all who returned came to some sort of agreement. The specific events of that year were never to be spoken of, not even to their closest kin.”
“I was there,” the swordsman said, his lips curving into a bitter smile. “Back then, I wasn’t the lord of Devil City. I joined because I admired Su Han. Nearly a thousand of us set out, all elite fighters of the martial world. But only a few dozen returned. If not for the intervention of the Confucian Sage and the Daoist Lord, those extraordinary masters, even we few dozen might not have made it back.
“If you’ve taken an oath, I won’t press you. I ask only on behalf of my junior sister from Jade Tower—was that battle truly to overthrow the Heavenly Gate Sacred Sect? If it’s not too much trouble, City Lord Xu, please share what you can,” Ji Mo Huaxue asked.
“We did make an oath not to speak of those events to others. But I can tell you this much: Nangong Yunhuo was a true hero in my eyes,” the swordsman raised his thumb. “He stood as an equal even to Su Han himself!”
Jimo Huaxue nodded. “I see.” She turned to look in the direction of Heavenly Dawn Cloud Realm, uncertain whether she should seek out these academy disciples. By nature, she preferred not to step foot outside Jimo Sword City, wanting nothing to do with the martial world’s conflicts. But after hearing the Devil City Lord’s words, she could no longer remain at ease. She wasn’t afraid of anyone in Yunmeng Prefecture, but she had her city, her people—a thousand lives under her care.
“You’re strong—among Jimo City Lords, your swordsmanship is unparalleled. But Jimo City itself is weak, the weakest it’s been in three generations. If you go, you’ll drag the city into the storm, and for now, that’s not a wise choice,” the swordsman rose and began walking down the mountain. “Don’t worry. I’ve met that Su kid. I don’t think he’ll be in trouble. He’ll find a way to lead those young ones to safety. My skill at reading faces has never failed me.”
Jimo Huaxue shook her head with a smile, saying nothing.
“Ah, I was wrong once before,” the swordsman added as he walked. His voice grew softer. “When I first met you, I predicted you would fall in love with me. That prediction didn’t come true.”
Jimo Huaxue remained silent, casting one last glance toward Heavenly Dawn Cloud Realm before pushing off with her feet and soaring over the swordsman’s head, disappearing into the mist below.
“I have a feeling I’ll be meeting those children soon,” the swordsman quickened his pace. “And you and I—we will fall in love one day.”
Over the Emerald Lake, a young man strode across the water as if walking on solid ground. Bathed in moonlight, he moved with grace, but with each step, his frame grew slightly smaller, his face somewhat younger. By the time he crossed the lake and reached the shore, his white robes hung loose and trailing on the ground. The reflection on the lake revealed a boy of thirteen or fourteen. Looking at his youthful face, he let out a bitter laugh. “Three days of fighting, and I’ve grown three years younger?”
On the opposite shore of the Emerald Lake, a thin man picked up his bamboo hat from the ground and placed it back on his head. Looking at the now much shorter figure across the water, he broke into heavy coughs. “Confucian Sage, your reputation is truly well-deserved.”
The boy looked up, his brows furrowed as he gazed at the man in the bamboo hat. “Bai Jile, the Hand of Heaven —your strength rivals that of Ning Qingcheng in his prime.”
“Confucian Sage, it is my honor,” Bai Jile said, bowing deeply from across the lake.
The young boy turned away, quickening his pace. “My disciples, this dying body of your master could only do this much for you.”