The Mohist school was his only belief, and he grew up in the Mohist family; it was his home.

"The Mohist school is a belief that will not decline because of my departure; it exists in the heart of every Mohist."

Lu Li was deeply moved. The Mohist school of thought had been passed down for two thousand years. Although later generations were dominated by Confucianism, there were still many people who liked the Mohist school.

"Yes, with a hundred schools of thought contending, who can truly have the last laugh?"

"The great river flows eastward, its waves sweeping away countless heroes of the past," Lu Li murmured.

Upon hearing this, Yun Qingshu laughed heartily, then waved his hand and said, "Brother Lu, your writing is excellent. Please escort me for the rest of the journey!"

“Brother Yun…” Lu Li opened his mouth, but saw that Yun Qingshu had already turned around and closed his eyes.

He sighed inwardly, watching Yun Qingshu's retreating figure, and after a long silence, slowly drew the Tianwen Sword from his hand.

As the sound rang out, Yun Qingshu's chest was pierced, blood splattered all over the ground, he opened his eyes, revealed a slight smile, and slowly fell down.

Suddenly, Lu Li felt someone drape a cloak over his shoulders. He turned around and saw Little Deer.

"Brother Lu, it's getting cold."

Thirty years have passed since he transmigrated to the Warring States period, and he will soon be fifty years old, yet his appearance has never changed.

Even Little Deer is now over forty years old, and wrinkles have started to appear on her face.

Lu Li took a deep breath, picked up the teapot on the table, poured a cup of tea, and said in a low voice, "Brother Yun, let's have tea instead of wine, have a safe journey!"

Thus ended the life of a great master of the Mohist school.