Shen Xingzhi turned toward Jinyang City, gazing at the thousands of faces looking up at him from the city walls.
“A win is a win, and a loss is a loss. How can there be so many 'defeats with honor' or 'unfair victories' in this world? Today, I, Shen Xingzhi, hand over the title of Number One Under Heaven to Lü Beisheng.”
The crowd atop the city walls instantly erupted into commotion.
Some cried out in shock, some sighed, some had tears filling their eyes, and others shook their heads in disbelief.
Yet even more people simply watched in silence as the figure in the fluttering green robe stood over the sea, bearing witness to the slow end of an era right before their eyes.
However, Lü Beisheng spoke up once more, his tone carrying an almost stubborn earnestness.
“Senior Shen.”
He held Sheiru horizontally before him, the shimmering light reflecting off its blade shifting like ripples on water.
“I wielded Sheiru, a divine weapon forged with the full effort of Furnace-Listening Pavilion. Meanwhile, you fought barehanded, Senior, without even a decent sword. My victory was unseemly.”
Without waiting for Shen Xingzhi to object, he continued:
“What's more, your Sword Attendant, Gu Yiyou, has drawn your sword for over thirty years, carrying half of your sword intent. If he were present today, and if that half of your sword intent had returned to you, I would be no match for you at all. In this fight, I merely took advantage of your incomplete sword intent.”
Hearing this, Shen Xingzhi remained silent for a brief moment.
Then he took a step forward, his figure casting a long shadow in the twilight.
“Lü Beisheng, listen closely. Gu Yiyou is Gu Yiyou, and Shen Xingzhi is Shen Xingzhi. Though the two of us are master and servant, that sword intent of his was trained step-by-step by his own hands, comprehended through countless draws of his sword.”
His voice suddenly rose, carrying an unquestionable sword intent as it echoed over the expanse of the Eastern Sea.
“All of you remember this: that half of the sword intent belongs to Gu Yiyou's own Way of the Sword.”
Silence descended upon the city walls.
Lü Beisheng stared blankly at Shen Xingzhi, unable to speak for a long time.
Then, he sheathed Sheiru behind his back, cupped his hands in a formal salute, and bowed deeply to Shen Xingzhi.
“I stand instructed.”
Shen Xingzhi accepted the gesture naturally, then turned around, his gaze falling upon Chen Zui.
“Junior.”
His voice drifted over from the sea, laced with a hint of teasing.
“That spear of yours broke. You wouldn't blame this old man for failing to protect it for you, would you?”
Chen Zui hoisted the two halves of his broken spear onto his shoulder, the corner of his mouth curling slightly.
“Senior Shen, the trace of sword intent you sent my way earlier was already more than enough. This spear has been with me for five or six years—it's high time for a replacement anyway.”
Shen Xingzhi looked Chen Zui up and down, the smile at the corner of his lips growing deeper.
“From the Mountain-Viewing Realm to the Wind-Riding Realm in the time it takes an incense stick to burn. In all my long years, this is the very first time I've ever witnessed such a thing.”
He paused, his tone carrying a genuine sense of emotion.
“'Every generation produces its talents.' I suppressed this martial world for most of my life, thinking there was no one left to inherit the future. Looking at it now, it wasn't a lack of successors, but simply that the time had not yet come. I almost regret being born so early.”
He turned back toward Lü Beisheng, a meaningful smile curling his lips.
“Lü Beisheng, this title of Number One Under Heaven you snatched from my hands... how long you can hold onto it is hard to say.”
Lü Beisheng followed Shen Xingzhi's gaze to look at Chen Zui. His face remained expressionless, but the barely perceptible curve at the corner of his mouth was enough to show his attitude.
“If the younger generation surpasses us, that will truly be a blessing for this martial world.”
Hearing this, Shen Xingzhi laughed heartily, but just as he was about to speak, his brows suddenly furrowed.
He tilted his head, turning his gaze past the vast blue waves of the Eastern Sea toward the far, far north.
The sea breeze gently fluttered the loose hair at his temples, rustling his green robe.
He narrowed his eyes, a rare flash of chilliness sweeping through those usually uninhibited, carefree eyes.
“Those people behind the scenes went through so much trouble, linking scheme after scheme. They certainly calculated well.”
He pulled back his gaze, a mocking smirk appearing at the corner of his lips.
“Unfortunately for them, after all their calculations, they probably never dreamed that after an earth-shattering fight like ours, you and I would end up completely unscathed.”
Lü Beisheng said nothing, merely pulling Sheiru slowly back to his side.
He naturally knew whom Shen Xingzhi was referring to.
Shen Xingzhi held both hands behind his back, his green robe fluttering in the sea breeze.
“I still have a few matters to resolve, so I shall take my leave now.”
Before his words finished echoing, his figure vanished from above the sea.
Elusive as a divine dragon as always, effortlessly carefree as ever.
The thousands watching from the city walls looked at one another in shock.
He was gone, just like that?
The title of Number One Under Heaven had just changed hands, the aftermath of this world-shocking duel hadn't even dissipated, and the former Number One Under Heaven simply left?
No formal farewell, no grandeur, not even a single extra word of idle chatter.
Yet on second thought, this was precisely Shen Xingzhi.
If he had held a handover ceremony or exchanged pleasantries here, he wouldn't be the Sword Immortal Shen who had suppressed the martial world for most of his life.
What moved the crowd even more was something else.
From beginning to end, both Sword Immortals held such an offhand attitude toward the title of "Number One Under Heaven."
Shen Xingzhi gave it up without a moment's hesitation, showing not a shred of reluctance or regret.
Lü Beisheng accepted it without a second thought, without a trace of pride or arrogance.
It seemed as though they had truly come to this sea for the sole purpose of enjoying a satisfying duel.
Nothing more, nothing less.
On the city walls, someone's eyes suddenly grew hot with tears.
This was an Earthly Sword Immortal.
These were the people standing at the absolute peak of the martial world.
Fame and fortune were like passing clouds; victory and defeat, merely transient smoke.
The only thing worthy of being taken seriously was the sword in one's hand.
Standing over the sea, Lü Beisheng silently watched the direction where Shen Xingzhi had vanished for a long time.
Then he turned around to face Jinyang City.
His gaze swept across the thousands of faces on the city walls.
There were white-haired old martial artists, greenhorn youths, wide-traveled martial wanderers, and honest, law-abiding townsfolk.
Everyone's gaze converged on him—on this Sword God who had just reached the pinnacle as Number One Under Heaven.
Lü Beisheng slowly raised Sheiru.
The blade shone with a cold, piercing gleam in the twilight, and the dark gold patterns at the bottom of the blood groove along its spine suddenly flared to life.
“From this day forth.”
His voice was not loud, yet it spread clearly into every corner of Jinyang City.
“I, Lü Beisheng, welcome all martial artists from the Two Realms to come to Jinyang City and challenge me.”
The city walls instantly broke into an uproar.
He paused, his voice suddenly rising.
“If you have the skill, take this title of Number One Under Heaven from my hands!”
Before his voice died away, he thrust Sheiru downward with force.
The blade plunged into the reef at the edge of the Eastern Sea, burying itself up to the hilt, leaving only the handle exposed.
“Anyone who wishes to challenge me must first pull out this Sheiru.”
Lü Beisheng's voice echoed in the sea breeze.
“If you can pull it out, you are qualified to stand before me. If you cannot, go back and train more.”
Saying no more, he turned and stepped into the empty air, striding away.
His gray robe fluttered as his back remained as straight as a sword. In a few steps, he returned to the open window on the ninth floor of Wangchao Pavilion.
He stepped inside, and the window leaves slowly closed behind him.
The eerie blue sword lamp at the top of the pavilion lit up once more.
This time, the flame burned brighter than ever before.
As long as the lamp burned, he was there.
Only this time, the lamp was not meant for imprisonment, but to illuminate the path forward.
Rate on N.U.
