Chapter 66: The Gods Should Grant You a Sword, Brother, You Look Very Bad...

The rustling sounds in the forest grew clearer, mixed with hurried footsteps and suppressed breathing. In a split second, two figures tumbled out from the corner of the mountain path, their faces shattered, their clothes covered in rips and dirt, their faces etched with terrified fear.

The two men were startled at first when they saw someone near the fire. One of them pointed in the direction they had come from and shouted incoherently, "Ghost...Ghost! There's a ghost on the snowy mountain!"

The other man was a bit calmer, but his face was also pale. He grabbed his companion and said in a trembling voice, "It's not a ghost... It's, it's the sword immortal in white... No, it's the sword demon!"

Qing Guiyu frowned, took a half step forward, and cast a calm gaze on the two men. "You two were so panicked that you had no choice but to come from the former site of the Snow Mountain Sect?"

The one who was originally calmer first saw the stern expression on Shen Juansheng's face, and then recognized the black clothes with gold thread on him. His legs went weak again and he almost fell to the ground.

"Jin... Young Master Jin Sheng?!"

These two were disciples of a sword sect who had come to explore the area. They hadn't expected to find any treasure before they encountered a murderous demon. Having escaped, they were suddenly snared by another demon. Their faces were filled with fear, mingled with despair, and they couldn't even speak coherently.

Qing Guiyu's heart suddenly jumped.

"Talk nicely," she snapped. "Then you can go."

Hearing her say this, Shen Juansheng turned his eyes away indifferently.

The man finally calmed down, gesturing in shock as he spoke, "A dozen of our sect's best warriors were heading out to explore the secret treasures of the Snow Mountain. Who knew we'd run into him the moment we reached the Sword Tomb? He didn't give us any time to speak, he just drew his sword and killed us. His swordsmanship... his swordsmanship was bizarre! One strike and one kill, blood flowing like a river!"

He became more and more terrified as he spoke, his teeth chattering, "We...we only managed to escape by luck!"

"Sword Tomb?" Qing Guiyu felt annoyed. He touched his throat and felt that his voice had become shrill when he said this.

Chen Juansheng withdrew his gaze, the stern murderous aura subsided, and he returned to a gentle and calm state. He lowered his head to look at her and said to her,

"The Snow Mountain is the home of a sword sect. It's the burial place of masters from past generations. When a disciple dies, their sword, if there's no successor, will break and be buried here with its master. This is the Sword Tomb."

He paused, his voice was particularly clear in the cold air.

"It is said that later on, many elders in the sect who had no inheritance would, knowing that their time was nearing, choose a location in advance and carve their life's sword techniques on the stone in front of their tomb, waiting for future generations to pass them on."

Qing Guiyu's heart moved, and he seemed to be thinking about something.

"The secret treasure of the Snow Mountain passed down by the Tianji Pavilion has reached the ears of swordsmen from various factions and must have become a peerless sword technique. These people are looking for the sword manual." Chen Juansheng sighed softly, "Greedy, they only see the word 'sword', but forget that the word 'tomb' means the burial place of bones."

Before he finished speaking, from the distant valley, a clear sword sound pierced the clouds and split the rocks, followed by several shrill screams, and then everything returned to silence.

She didn't ask any more questions, but simply said to the two people, "Thank you for telling me. Please go ahead."

The two men were as if they had been pardoned. How could they dare to stay? They crawled and disappeared around the corner of the mountain path.

Qing Guiyu remained silent, used the Listening to the Rain Step, turned around and rushed in the direction the two men were fleeing.

Shen Juansheng lowered his head, and the dark figure followed her silently like a wisp of light smoke.

The two followed the fugitive's shabby footprints, skirting the mountain stream and heading deeper into the snow-capped mountains. The further they went, the chill in the air grew more intense. It wasn't simply the cold of the day, but a bleak, time-honored aura of a sword.

After walking about a mile, the view suddenly opened up.

It was a vast, flat land, littered with broken swords of varying lengths and shapes, with stone tablets dotted among them. Some were tall and majestic, with clear and vigorous writing, while others were short and crude, long since blurred by the erosion of wind and snow.

The wind and snow passed through this forest of steles and sea of ​​swords, making a whimpering sound.

This is the sword tomb of the Snow Mountain Sect.

At this moment, this supposedly peaceful land of the dead was packed with hundreds of charismatic figures, gathered in groups of three or five, surrounding the clearing in the center of the sword tomb. Their attire was diverse, their weapons were clamorous, and the pristine white snow was ablaze with color and noise.

Qing Guiyu immediately spotted a familiar figure in the crowd—the Shan Daoist from the Dian Cang Sect. He remained stocky, but he wasn't arguing with anyone. Instead, he stood on a high stone tomb, cradling his sword, his brow furrowed, his expression solemn as he gazed at the scene.

There was a dead atmosphere in the sword tomb.

Qing Guiyu and Shen Juansheng chose a broken stele and quietly hid themselves. The black fox fur coat she was wearing was discolored by the snow, providing a perfect cover.

On the field, there was a brutal siege.

Seven or eight skilled fighters, armed with various weapons, were surrounding a young man in white.

The young man had picturesque features and was extremely handsome, yet his entire body exuded an inhuman, jade-like coldness. In his hand, he held a long sword as thin as autumn water, its light flickering and emitting, as if to repel all human auras.

Wuwang Sword.

Qing Guiyu took just one look and his heart sank suddenly. The blood in his body seemed to be frozen by the cold air of the snowy mountain.

It’s my junior brother.

But this is not the swordsmanship of Junior Brother.

She was very familiar with the swordsmanship of her junior brother. It was swift and graceful, like the bright moon and flowing springs, with a sense of transcendence like sword dancing.

But the sword of the man in front of him was so cold that it didn't even have a trace of life in it.

The sword moves are scattered and seem to have no rules, but they are like snowflakes flying all over the sky, sometimes coming together and sometimes separating, with ethereal touches. Each sword seems to be understated, but it blocks all the ways in, leaving no trace.

She was in a state of panic, the situation on the field changing rapidly. A man wielding a double hook found an opening and attacked with both hooks.

The young man in white seemed to foresee the future. Without moving a muscle, he flicked his wrist, and the sword light scattered like a handful of crushed snow. It transformed into thousands of tiny dots, like a blanket of snowflakes. For a moment, it was impossible to tell where the sword was pointing.

The man felt a flash before his eyes, and the sky was filled with cold sword shadows, unable to distinguish real from fake, and could not tell where they came from. He was terrified and hurriedly withdrew his attack to protect himself, but it was too late.

A cold star seemed to appear out of thin air in the wind and snow, and landed lightly on his brow.

Without a sound, the look of horror on the man's face froze, and his body fell limply to the ground. A bright red spot between his eyebrows was particularly glaring on the snow.

This sword was ethereal and elusive, just like an antelope hanging on a horn, leaving no trace.

The sword light was not fast, but it was like snowflakes flying in the sky, each one was empty and powerless, yet everywhere.

The masters of siege are all strong in martial arts, with sharp swords and whistling palms.

But the young man in white just strolled leisurely in the siege, and the tip of his sword lightly tapped like leaping water beads or picking up white snow.

At each point, one person would fall to the ground, with a spot of bright red oozing from the center of the eyebrows or throat, and a look of astonishment and confusion on his face, as if he didn't know how he died.

Qing Guiyu was so frightened that she couldn't help but tightly grasp the sleeve of Chen Juansheng beside her. Chen Juansheng didn't say anything, but just gently held her hand with his backhand.

It’s not that I’m worried that he will be at a disadvantage.

"This...what kind of weird sword technique is this!" someone in the crowd exclaimed in horror.

Every time the young man in white thrust his sword, a few strands of silver would inexplicably appear in his jet-black hair. At first, they were just a few strands, barely noticeable in the wind, but as his sword moves became more and more unrestrained, the silvery-white color spread like ink in water.

The wind and snow blew past, lifting a few strands of hair in front of his forehead, now all the color of frost and snow.

The faster he killed, the faster he got white.

White clothes, white hair, white sword light, it is no longer the black hair dyed with snow, but the frosty white that grows from the bones and carries the breath of withering life.

In just half a cup of tea, all eight people who besieged him were dead.

The sword light faded, and the man put away his sword and stood up. His body swayed slightly in the wind, and his snow-white sleeves and hair as white as fresh snow intertwined and fluttered in the wind.

He slowly raised his head and glanced at the silent wanderers around him. His usually cold eyes were now as still as stagnant water, without a trace of life in them.

The cold wind blew through his white hair, and the white clothes he was wearing looked a shocking white against the backdrop of the snow-capped mountains.

The mountain Taoist priest standing on a high stone tomb, holding a sword, stared at the scene with his small eyes, his brows twisted into a knot, and his short and fat face was full of solemnity and awe.

"The swordsmanship of the Snow Mountain School..."

"Who are you?" An old man holding an iron staff stepped out from the crowd and shouted in a voice as loud as a bell, "Why are you killing innocent people here?"

The young man in white turned his head, his face as cold as white jade, his white hair fluttering in the sword energy and suddenly stopped.

He was silent for a moment, and finally said,

"Snow Mountain Sect, Lu Guiyan."

The Taoist priest, sword in hand, leaped down from the stone tomb with a thud, his short, stout figure leaving two deep pits in the snow. He stepped forward and squinted the young man in white. "The Snow Mountain Sect? They were wiped out eight hundred years ago! Junior, stop playing tricks here!"

"It's not a trick,"

The young man in white, no, Lu Guiyan's gaze fell on him, and he said calmly, "My name is Lu Guiyan. I have been weak and sickly since childhood. My father sent me to Yaowang Valley for foster care, and that's how I luckily avoided the disaster of annihilation of my family."

He looked around, a hint of deep sadness in his voice.

"Ever since then, I've carried a deep blood feud. For the past twenty-three years, I've worn white clothes every day, not to be elegant and distinguished, but to mourn for the 371 wronged souls of my Snow Mountain Sect."

When these words were spoken, all the heroes looked at each other in surprise and confusion.

Who in the martial arts world doesn't know the fame of the White-Robed Swordsman Lu Guiyan? Everyone says young people love the elegance of white clothing, but few could have guessed that behind it lay such a heavy blood feud.

He glanced at the crowd.

"The place you stand on is the burial place of our Snow Mountain Sect's ancestors. They wielded swords in life and sought peace in death. You, for your own selfish desires, have come here to dig up graves and search for treasure, disturbing their peace..."

Lu Guiyan slowly turned around, holding the Wuwang sword in his hand, which was as thin as autumn water, with the tip of the sword pointing obliquely at the ground. A drop of fresh snow happened to fall on the sword edge and melted quietly.

"Should he be killed?"

No one dared to respond. The chilling sword force, mixed with the biting cold wind, made it hard to breathe.

"Master Lu... Master Lu," a brave swordsman said in a trembling voice, "We... We believed the rumor that the Snow Mountain Sect's peerless sword manual is here, so..."

Without even looking at the others, Shan Daoist interrupted the man and bowed to Lu Guiyan, saying in a sinister voice, "Mr. Lu, although Shan Daoist is not a good person, he does respect a truly good sword. Your swordsmanship has a dead aura, not a life force, is that right?"

"In that case, why not let these blind men see clearly?" The Taoist monk slammed his sword to the ground with a dull thud. "Because they won't disturb the peace of your ancestors and tarnish the reputation of my generation of swordsmen!"

Lu Guiyan remained silent, raised his sword, and pointed it at the stone tablets and broken swords scattered all over the ground.

Everyone looked in the direction his sword pointed, and saw that the stone tablets of varying sizes were indeed engraved with words. However, those words were not about exquisite sword techniques, but scattered lines of poetry.

The Taoist priest hurried forward, looked around, frowned, and asked curiously, "What kind of sword technique is this? It looks like the health-preserving formula of our old Taoist priest."

Lu Guiyan recited each word, emphasizing the importance of reading, while walking slowly, with the tip of his sword slashing across the broken monuments one by one.

Only then did everyone realize that the verses were not just in one place, but were scattered on tombstones everywhere, as if an ancestor had scribbled them down after getting drunk, or as if he had some feelings before dying and carved them everywhere.

"--Although the snow is white, it is light."

Lu Guiyan paused, his eyes sweeping over the crowd. "The key to the Snow Mountain Sword Technique lies in the word 'light' and the word 'emptiness'. The sword's power is like snow, pure and empty, yet it can reach everywhere. You have all seen it just now."

Shan Daoren was shocked, as if he had figured something out, but he fell into deeper confusion.

Lu Guiyan's sword continued to turn.

“——Though white, jade is peaceful in its emptiness.”

"To perform such a sword move, one must have a clear mind and not be stuck on anything. But how can one empty one's mind? Only..." He laughed at himself.

"...Only by slaying all desires and slashing the lifespan of this life can one find a moment of peace."

Qing Guiyu felt as if his heart was hit by a huge rock, and he had to subconsciously cover his mouth to prevent himself from making any sound.

"Rising and falling like the wind, drifting at will." Lu Guiyan's voice was cold and lonely. "Once the sword's will is complete, the person will be like the flying snow, drifting without any foundation."

With his white hair floating in the air, he turned his wrist and finally pointed to an inscription. The words there were engraved very deeply, as if the engraver had used up his last bit of strength.

"With my hair turning white, what worries do I have?"

This is not some exquisite sword technique at all, it is clearly a dirge.

"A senior from my Snow Mountain Sect, in order to create this sword intent, forcibly practiced the Ice Stream Cleansing Meridians Technique. His hair turned white overnight, and his lifespan was extinguished. Before his death, he was filled with regret and inscribed his lifelong regret here, solely to warn future generations of disciples not to repeat his mistakes."

He sighed, his white hair and white clothes made him look detached from the world, and his ethereal and traceless swordsmanship seemed to be floating in the wind.

"The Ice Creek Meridian Cleansing Technique, located at the critical acupoints, shortens lifespan by three years each time it is used. I have used it many times, and this is the clearest evidence of this today."

"This, I'm afraid, is the 'Secret Treasure of the Snow Mountain' you're looking for."

Lu Guiyan retracted his sword, looked around at everyone, and a hint of compassion appeared in his cold voice.

"Do you guys still want something?"

With a wave of his hand, the Wuwang sword made a clear and sharp sound.

"If you are willing to exchange your life for it, you can come up and take it."

He turned the sword upside down, with the hilt facing forward, and handed it to everyone. For a moment, he was filled with murderous intent, and said coldly,

"Heroes of the world, if you have any wishes, please speak to this Wuwang Sword."

Those heroes of the martial arts world who were shouting and clamoring just now, now looked at the white-haired young man, looked at his sword that was as thin as a cicada's wing but had killed countless people, looked at the broken weapons all over the ground, and felt a chill rushing up from the soles of their feet.

In exchange for your life?

Whose life is more precious than your own?

The short and fat Taoist Dian Cang sighed deeply and bowed deeply in the direction of Lu Guiyan.

"I have always loved swords, but today I know that swords can communicate with gods and ghosts."

After saying that, he actually hugged the sword and turned away without looking back.

After he did so, the other jianghu disciples also reacted, faces filled with shame or fear. They clasped their fists and bowed, then scattered like birds and beasts, not daring to look at the place again. But in just a moment, the noisy sword tomb returned to its natural silence.

All that was left were broken swords scattered all over the ground, silent stone tablets, and a lonely figure in white clothes and white hair.

Qing Guiyu, hiding behind the broken monument, felt cold all over, his hands and feet seemed frozen. He had to bite his lower lip tightly to prevent himself from making any sound.

It turned out that this was her junior brother.

The talk of betrayal and precious treasures were all lies carefully crafted by the Tianji Pavilion. Junior Brother... he just went home.

She turned away from the stone tablet, took a step forward, and was about to step forward, but her arm was grabbed by someone next to her.

So he had to turn his head anxiously and look at Chen Juansheng beside him.

But he happened to meet the gaze of those beautiful eyes. The young man in black clothes had never watched the fight in the sword tomb from beginning to end.

This kind of gaze has always been on her face.

Watch her shocked by another man and heartbroken for another man.

"Miss Qing," he said, grabbing her arm and taking a step back, his voice trembling, "Your senior brother looks very unwell."

"Am I... just fine?"