Chapter 94: Epilogue (II)

Xing Zhi went to Ming Qi Tian’s side; Pei Ye turned his head and looked at the old man lying stiffly on the bed.

This was the best room in the county magistrate’s office, built in a corner; though still audible were the clamors beyond the door and window, it was the quietest place available.

“How do you feel?” Pei Ye asked softly, frowning.

“Much better,” Yue Muzhou smiled. “Bring the wheelchair out. Let me catch some fresh air.”

“...You should rest. They told you to last two hours.” Pei Ye didn’t move.

“Hurry,” the old man gently pushed him.

Pei Ye stared at him in silence. Though he had just displayed divine power and the bearing of a master, his face remained grotesque and ugly.

He had long lost the ability to make expressions, but now, with true qi supporting him, the muscles of his face gained slight mobility. The withered cheeks pulled upward, as if trying to form a gentle smile.

If the descriptions in *The Hero’s Remains* were true, that smile must have been captivating eighteen years ago—and few would have earned it.

But now, unless one carefully traced the muscle lines, one could hardly guess what expression he was making; the scarred, wrinkled skin pressed toward the two enormous black hollows beneath his brow, appearing both terrifying and absurd.

Pei Ye stood without a word, went out, and pushed the rotting, creaking wheelchair inside, then lifted the old man onto it.

Yue Muzhou leaned back slowly into this familiar space, sighing with a mix of contentment and regret. The room was utterly quiet. After a long while, he smiled: “I still prefer it this way.”

Pei Ye asked, “Where do you want to go?”

“Wangxi Slope,” the old man said.

“That’s still far,” Pei Ye muttered.

Pushing the wheelchair through the magistrate’s office, they passed the gate just as Chang Zhiyuan entered. The former magistrate, once fastidious in appearance, now looked disheveled from exhaustion, clutching a stack of papers; he stared at the two, stunned.

Yue Muzhou slowly raised his hand and waved at him.

Leaving the magistrate’s office, they walked along the street. Wangxi Slope lay on the other side of the city—the part untouched by the Immortal Lord. From its summit, one could see the stream flowing down from the mountain, hence its name.

Climbing out of the city and up the slope, it was neither high nor steep; Pei Ye carried the old man to the top.

The sunlight had softened into warmth, dusk just beginning. They reached a large willow tree. Pei Ye pushed the wheelchair forward slightly, giving the old man a broader view, then stood behind it.

Yue Muzhou felt the sunset and the high wind, then rasped: “Little Ye, have you ever thought about how you’ll die?”

“No.”

“Think about it. The image that comes to your mind may point to the direction of your future life.”

Pei Ye looked up, thought for a moment, then shook his head: “I don’t know.”

“When I was your age, I already knew—I would be killed by someone,” Yue Muzhou said. “Because even then, I understood I could never leave behind the sound of clashing blades.”

“But unexpectedly, the last eighteen years were quiet ones.” He rasped a laugh. “And you, Little Ye? Have you ever thought about the tones of your life—the gong, shang, jiao, zheng?”

“I... I’m not sure. I want to train martial arts, and then...” Pei Ye frowned, gazing at the horizon. “Maybe I’ll spend a long time learning swordplay.”

“Yes, you’ve always loved swords,” the old man said gently. “Last night you saw Ming Qi Tian’s sword—you must have wished you could wield one like that, right?”

Pei Ye nodded.

“You truly have the talent,” the old man sighed, then shifted tone. “But that won’t be your true pursuit in life.”

Pei Ye stared at the old man’s profile.

“Because you are a real, living person—your seventeen years shaped you. Your experiences differ entirely from mine, from Ming Qi Tian’s.” Yue Muzhou said. “You love competing on the fighting arena, love challenging difficult things—you always have. When others said there was a giant catfish, you boasted you’d catch it.”

Pei Ye couldn’t help curling his lips slightly.

“You love being cheered, hate being dominated by others,” Yue Muzhou said. “Your desire for the Crane and Duck Scroll is really a desire for honor won fairly and squarely.”

Pei Ye gazed into empty space, listening to the old man’s piercing words.

You have a fierce competitiveness, vanity, a sense of justice, and a strong attachment to gain and loss—you are a passionate man. You love swords, but only one part of that love is for the sword itself; nine parts are for the sword in your hands. You cannot be an ascetic on the path of the sword.

“You cannot devote yourself utterly to the sword—so Yunlang Mountain is not your destination,” Yue Muzhou said finally.

Pei Ye froze, realizing the old man was thinking about his future.

“Long Jun’s Cave in Dongting might suit you... Would you be willing to join such a martial holy land, start from zero, and learn their arts step by step?” Yue Muzhou asked.

Pei Ye lifted his head, imagining such a life, torn between choices.

But the old man sensed his inner conflict instantly: “No, you don’t want it either. Pure martial training—making friends, studying arts, daily progress—it’s wonderful. But you can’t enjoy it now, because there’s a fire in your heart.”

The old man slowly patted Pei Ye’s abdomen: “You want... to avenge me, don’t you?”

Pei Ye fell silent, then nodded: “I’ll go when I’m strong enough.”

The old man laughed heartily: “You think I’m trying to stop you? No. When I was your age, I was far more reckless.”

The old man’s face grew solemn, his voice calm: “Of course I want you to avenge me. I entrust this hatred to you—can you cleanse it?”

Pei Ye nodded solemnly.

The old man smiled: “I know you can. Who else has the right?”

Pei Ye said: “This morning you called me weak, said relying on me would take forever.”

Yue Muzhou laughed: “Times change.”

“But whether you believe it or not, I’m not truly concerned about this,” the old man leaned back, watching the sunset, “smiling.” “So I know where you want to go—Shenjing.”

Pei Ye’s heart trembled.

Yes. Shenjing.

Before the name was spoken, he had never thought of it; yet once uttered, it felt as if it had echoed a thousand times within him.

It was not merely a real city on earth—these two characters represented a spirit, a direction, perfectly aligning with the hidden inclination in Pei Ye’s heart.

He did not wish to join any mountain sect, train mechanically, compete, graduate, and spend his life branded by its mark.

He wanted to go to a place like Shenjing.

Ten thousand clans gathered there, all contributing to a grand spectacle—the convergence of the entire world. Countless streams intertwined and clashed there: turtles, snakes, fish, tortoises, dragons... everyone sought to surge brightest.

He would go there, and carve his own path freely.

Because now, he too had something he vowed to kill.

(End of Chapter)