The sword intent over the sea completely dissipated.
Dusk spread in layers from the edge of the Eastern Sea, dyeing the boundless blue waves a dark gold.
The heavenly scar cleaved open by Lü Beisheng’s single sword strike finally slowly closed. The cloud layers gathered once more, and the last residual rays of the setting sun leaked through the gaps in the clouds, scattering flecks of gold across the surface of the sea.
The sea breeze also regained its natural rhythm, blowing unhurriedly and carrying salty moisture as it brushed past every face atop the city walls, each still lingering in awe.
Aboard the city walls, thousands of people felt as if they had just awakened from a long, thrilling dream.
Some remained frozen in place, heads tilted toward the sky, completely oblivious to their stiff necks.
Others clutched the battlements with white-knuckled grips; when they finally let go, wet handprints remained on the blue bricks.
Even more remained silent—not because they had nothing to say, but because they didn't know what to say.
Every moment of the duel just now was still branded in their minds.
An old martial artist who had traveled all the way from Jiangnan Circuit suddenly sat down cross-legged, closing his eyes tightly as his aura churned relentlessly around him.
His companion blinked in surprise before his face lit up with wild joy.
This was a sign of sudden enlightenment.
For martial artists stuck at a bottleneck for years, the fragments of sword intent scattered during the fight were the key to unlocking their potential.
On the city wall, seven or eight people sat down cross-legged in quick succession.
Some knitted their brows as if locked in deep thought, some smiled as though tasting fine wine, and others wept openly, having comprehended something profound.
While most could not achieve enlightenment on the spot, they all felt something stir within their hearts.
It was their first time witnessing with their own eyes what the Peak of the Martial Dao looked like.
So a human could truly become this powerful.
“It's over... It's really over.”
Only now did they dazedly realize that the greatest sword fight in the world had come to an end.
At the same time, another realization dawned on them.
Their eyes all fell upon the figure standing at the base of the city wall.
“Wind-Riding Realm...”
A middle-aged martial artist murmured, his voice filled with near-reverent awe.
“A Wind-Riding Realm Grandmaster barely in his twenties... and a Spear Grandmaster at that.”
The Way of the Spear had been in decline for centuries.
For hundreds of years, spear wielders in the martial world grew increasingly rare, and spear techniques withered day by day.
The occasional skilled spearman who emerged achieved nothing more than small-time local fame; none could truly raise the banner of the Way of the Spear.
Yet today, right beneath their eyes, a young man barely in his twenties had become a Martial Arts Grandmaster of his generation!
“We have witnessed history.”
A white-haired old scholar spoke tremulously, his eyes red and his voice trembling as if he were drunk.
“I have lived for over seventy years. I thought the greatest sight of my life would be watching Sword Immortal Shen’s swordplay.
“Never did I imagine that at the end of my days, I would witness the birth of a young Grandmaster with my own eyes.
“It was worth it... my whole life was worth it!”
The clamor of discussion on the city walls grew louder and louder.
On the ninth floor of Wangchao Pavilion, Lü Beisheng stood before the window, the casement behind him already closed.
He looked down at the young man on the reef beach below, a faint smile curling the corner of his lips.
“A Wind-Riding Realm Spear Grandmaster in his early twenties... this martial world will be worth watching in the days to come.”
On the reef beach...
Chen Zui suddenly felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.
“Young Hero Chen, thank you for stepping in just now to save the people of this city.”
He paused, then cupped his hands and bowed deeply to Chen Zui with solemn gravity.
Feeling embarrassed by the deep bow, Chen Zui hastily reached out to support him.
“Senior Lu, please don't do this.”
Lu Yang straightened up.
“Alright, no more formalities then. If you ever need my help in the future, just say the word.”
He patted Chen Zui’s shoulder, his grip lighter than before.
Then he picked up his wrought iron staff and strode toward the city gate.
“Disperse, everyone!”
Lu Yang climbed onto the city wall and channeled his qi into his chest, his voice ringing out like a resonant bell across the entire rampart.
“Both Sword Immortals have departed, and everything worth seeing has ended.
“If you wish to stay in Jinyang City for a few more days, the inns and taverns are open to you.
“If you have business elsewhere, the city gates are now open—feel free to leave!”
Hearing this, the crowd finally snapped back from their earlier shock.
Some began packing their bags to leave, others remained cross-legged on the spot, unwilling to break their comprehension, while even more gathered in small groups to eagerly dissect every detail of the duel.
Their mingled voices buzzed like a boiling cauldron.
Lu Yang dispatched several soldiers to repair the battlements cracked by the shockwaves, then sent people to fetch doctors from the city to treat the martial artists who had suffered qi deviation from watching the duel.
Each task was arranged methodically with practiced calm and experience.
The crowd watching atop the city wall gradually began to disperse.
Chen Zui stood on the reef beach, looking around.
Earlier, he had been fully focused on countering Qingyangzi's Burning the Ruler technique and hadn't paid any attention to his surroundings.
Looking now, he saw that the reef beach had been blasted beyond recognition.
Centered around his feet, the reefs within a radius of dozens of zhang had been shaved down an entire level. The rock at the bottom of the crater was smooth as a mirror, as if polished by something.
Faint purple marks lingered on the walls of the crater—the indelible traces left by Qingyangzi’s Burning the Ruler technique.
As the sea breeze blew, stone dust rustled down from the walls, raising a hazy grey mist in the twilight.
Chen Zui stared into the deep crater, remaining silent for a moment.
Until his death, Qingyangzi was executing Zhao Li’s orders.
Though the old Daoist had picked the wrong side and followed the wrong master,
his final act before dying—sending the Third Prince out of harm's way—had been clean and decisive, without the slightest hesitation.
“Brother Chen!”
A crisp, clear voice interrupted his thoughts.
Chen Zui looked up and saw the group from Furnace-Listening Pavilion hurrying down the stairs from the city gate.
A-Tong ran at the very front, his short legs moving as fast as they could go. The small bundle on his back bounced up and down, and his youthful face was a complex mix of excitement and worry.
He dashed up to Chen Zui and slammed on the brakes, nearly tripping over the loose gravel underfoot.
Chen Zui reached out to steady him.
“Brother Chen, are you alright? That old Daoist suddenly exploded earlier—you scared me to death!
“I almost thought you were going to get blown away by him!
“Thank goodness you're fine, thank goodness...”
As A-Tong spoke, he circled Chen Zui, looking him up and down thoroughly. Once he confirmed that Chen Zui hadn't lost any arms or legs, he finally let out a long breath of relief.
“Your clothes are completely ruined! I'll find you a new set later.
“Oh, right, right—are you a Wind-Riding Realm Grandmaster now?
“Can I brag to people in the future that a Wind-Riding Realm Grandmaster held me?”
A-Tong looked up at him, his eyes sparkling with light. The pride in his tone made him sound even happier than if he had broken through a realm himself.
Amused by the boy's behavior, the corner of Chen Zui’s mouth curled slightly, and he gave A-Tong a gentle pat on the head.
“Alright, stop cheeking.”
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