Chapter 78 The Flames of the Wutong Tree: A Soft Sword Lies in the Southern Wutong Tree...
In Nanwu there is a soft sword named Jinluo, which can be ignited by karmic fire.
It is clearly a long, slender sword, but its name is quite domineering.
That was a sword that Linglong asked Danfeng for on her behalf as a gift for her twentieth birthday. Danfeng said that the sword was the masterpiece of Yunyue, the number one swordsmith in Zhaoyao Continent. With the sword Jinluosheng, Yunyue was known to everyone in Zhaoyao.
Kong Ruye, the sect leader of Yichi Xue, and Yun Yue were sworn brothers; otherwise, this sword wouldn't have fallen into the hands of a mere demon like Nan Wu. Jinluo is a sword with extremely domineering spiritual power, and only someone with a resolute will like Nan Wu could subdue it.
But no matter how domineering it is, Jinluo is still a soft sword, and when Nanwu uses it, her figure is graceful and beautiful.
But today, when the wind and snow returned from the foot of the mountain, they found a huge fire outside the cave.
Linglong moved the cave to a place not far from the peach trees, within sight.
The fire started out strangely, but no one reacted.
Feng Xue's expression changed, and her heart sank to the ground. She ran over quickly, the surrounding scenery receding. In her peripheral vision, the cracked earth became the only color that contrasted with the firelight.
The wildfire was enormous, like a haystack on fire. The flames became a formidable barrier blocking the peach trees and the valley, preventing the wind and snow from getting through.
Just as she was about to call out to the green bamboo on the mountaintop, she saw Liu Mian rushing down from the mountaintop with a solemn expression, followed closely by the other little demons, who all gathered on both sides of the wildfire.
Liu Mian told her urgently, "The kingfisher is gone."
Feng Xue's heart skipped a beat, and she clenched the flower wreath she had woven for Linglong.
Those flowers were picked from a faraway place by a disciple of Wuliangsi Valley. He said they were called Weiyuan flowers, and their flower language was longing. In fact, they were useless and had no special meaning, but they were more beautiful and splendid than Weiyuan flowers, so they became the flowers of love for many people in the world.
She knew what the other person meant, and the people around her were also cheering. Actually, she didn't want to accept it, but the flower was really beautiful. Wuliangsi Valley mainly cultivated spiritual medicine, and she heard a healer whisper that the flower could repair the soul.
She didn't know if the person was making it up; there was no such magical flower in the world, with the power to repair a person's broken soul. But at that moment, Feng Xue was deeply moved. Whether it would work or not, she had to give it a try.
The other party was a young medical cultivator named Hua Que. He had just come of age and his face still had some childishness. His eyes were innocent and harmless, like a little deer. Feng Xue did not want to lie to him, so she told him the truth. Although she knew that he would complain about her, when she saw Hua Que's downcast and disappointed expression, Feng Xue could not help but feel a sense of pity.
The flowers are indeed beautiful; the woven wreaths look like a layer of soft gauze radiating vibrant colors.
Linglong likes flowers, as Zhaohua told them. He said that if he slept with his head resting on a bed of flowers, he might feel better.
She was in a good mood on her way home, but she never expected that she would encounter a deliberately caused accident just before she arrived.
That was Nanwu's self-sacrifice.
The Blazing Sword stood upright in the firelight, unmoving. The flames bursting from the sword swept across the entire foot of the mountain, the dazzling red and scorching light seemingly trying to burn through the entire Peach Blossom Valley and all evil thoughts.
The soft light emitted by the Ashfall Sword flickered and was very weak, not conspicuous in the raging fire. But that soft light was so special that it was like a unique diamond in the flames. It blocked the view in front of a small tree with sparse branches and leaves.
The tree wasn't tall; compared to the peach trees on the mountaintop, it looked like a small fry, barely out of its swaddling clothes. But its branches and leaves were incredibly lush and green, and in the red flames, they were imbued with a sharp, dazzling blue light.
Feng Xue's eyes widened in disbelief.
She didn't recognize the tree, but its scent was so familiar, as was the lifeless kingfisher nestled among the leaves amidst the intertwined branches.
The winds and clouds surged, and in the blink of an eye, the flames grew even larger, igniting the graceful sapling. A suppressed groan of pain emanated from the flames. Jinlu swayed for a moment, as if hesitating for a moment because of its master's suffering, but it could not disobey its master's command. That brief pause was its hesitation and reluctance.
The raging fire seemed to shatter the sky, and the sea of fire swept across every place with overwhelming force.
Bai Lian looked up at the top of the flames, the flickering red and blue light reflecting off the vast sky. She touched her aching neck and shed two lines of sorrowful tears.
Nanwu is a parasol tree, not yet a towering tree. Its branches are short and it is still young. Even its leaves are small. It never likes to talk. Even in the sea of fire, when its trunk is burned and cracks, making a creaking and mottled sound, it still doesn't say a word.
Parting is always silent, but this fire was not an accident. Yet Nanwu remained as cold as ever, not even offering a goodbye.
Tears cannot extinguish a towering fire.
The fire awakened the sleeping Zhaohua. The paulownia trees were burned to ashes, which became nutrients for the withered Peach Blossom Valley, all of which were given back to the peach trees.
When Zhaohua woke up, the fire was still burning. The desolate Peach Blossom Valley had lost even the last bit of green, leaving only a pile of ashes with small bulges emerging from it.
Qingzhu's eyes were filled with compassion. Her body was twisted in the flames, but she was not surprised, as if she had expected all of this.
According to legend, the kingfisher attempted to save the world, but it was a fool's dream. It had neither noble blood nor vast spiritual power, yet it dared to fight against heaven and man. In the end, it gained nothing but ridicule and contempt.
Although Nanwu is just a demon, she happens to be a phoenix tree demon. Phoenixes only perch on phoenix trees, and Linglong is not a phoenix, but she is willing to help him be reborn in the flames of karma.
It seems the ending was already written.
This is the best possible outcome.
The small bulge in the ashes stirred, and a clear bird song resounded throughout the heavens and earth, stirring the hearts of all the monsters present.
"Chirp, chirp—" The birdsong gradually grew louder, and the demons in the tribe seemed to be called by an invisible force, turning back into their original forms and echoing the birdsong towards the sky, one short and passionate note after another.
Zhao Hua, slender and thin, stood outside the embers. His eyelashes trembled, and as he listened to the birdsong, a faint smile slowly appeared on his face. A gust of wind blew from afar, and the flames flickered twice before finally disappearing in the gradually calming wind.
The air was filled with the fragrance of paulownia trees, as if the paulownia trees were still there, lingering reluctantly before the people.
The wind swept away a thin layer of ashes, which swirled and swirled until they reached Zhaohua's fingertips. He touched the swaying ashes gently, as if to say, "Take it easy," or as if to say, "It's been a long time."
"Chirp chirp." The short bird calls subsided, and the echoes from the surrounding animals gradually disappeared. A small bird emerged from the ashes, still small and cute, small enough to be held in one hand.
It is clearly the size of a kingfisher.
But all his yellow-green feathers were gone. He shook off the dusty fumes from his wings and spread them out with a whoosh.
The bird's bright red feathers were dazzling, shimmering with golden light, even more eye-catching than the flames that had just been burning.
He shook his head, tilted his head to look at the longsword that had fallen and shattered on the ground not far away. An inexplicable sorrow welled up in his heart. He walked forward heavily and pecked at the blade with his beak. A cracking sound rang out for a moment, and the karmic fire and its master turned to ashes and disappeared into the vast world.
The little bird paused for a moment, its round eyes shrouded in a warm, moist light, and a mournful cry rang out, as if singing a farewell song.
Shi Wenzhe clenched her fingers with extreme force, as if torturing herself. Her expression was dazed. She could no longer remember how many partings she had experienced or how much grief she had suffered in such a short period of time.
The wind in Peach Blossom Valley never ceases, the story continues to be written, the dead will still die, and farewells always come unexpectedly.
She suddenly didn't want to watch anymore; she wanted to go home.
She longs for any place with warmth; she wants to embrace warmth.
Shi Wenzhe fell into a deep sleep again. She didn't know how long she slept. When she woke up, she saw a light drizzle. The peach blossoms were yellow and withered, and they lay limply on the ground after being soaked by the rain. Peach Blossom Valley was very empty. She didn't see a single demon, and there wasn't even the sound of insects chirping.
She suddenly felt flustered, and a strange unease welled up in her heart.
The peach trees had never been so withered and yellow, as if they had lost their vitality and were old and frail. The tribe had never been so quiet, so quiet that it seemed as if all life had vanished, like a dead land.
The sky was gray, and the clouds were so heavy that it was hard to lift one's head.
Shi Wen, who had been lying inside the tree trunk, seemed to have lost her soul. She stood there for a while, her perception of the outside world becoming increasingly blurred, to the point that she could hardly distinguish between reality and illusion.
A rustling sound came from the foot of the mountain, like a small animal parting layers of grass to reveal its head, its round eyes staring at you, its feet twitching incessantly.
Shi Wenzhe felt a tightness in his chest and drifted wearily down the mountain.
In her mind, she still saw the little bird spreading its wings and the other little demons looking sad. Nanwu's departure was like a long, rainy autumn. The grief was continuous and lingering. The grief was like drops of water falling, which, when she woke up, smashed a big hole in her heart. Shi Wenzhe was worried and his steps were inevitably a little hurried. His expectations were also a little stronger.
She had walked the path down the mountain for thousands of years, and the scenery seemed different every time she walked it, but never before had the environment been so desolate, so desolate that it made her feel panicked and gradually heavy-hearted.
Deep down, she knew that Linglong's rebirth should be a devastating blow to Luo Yunsheng, and that the war between immortals and demons might be coming to an end soon, as would the dark days.
This was good news, but Shi Wenzhe couldn't be happy. Instead, he became increasingly anxious, and his frustration intensified.
She can no longer accept anyone leaving her.
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The author's note: A tree that has stood for a hundred years is still a baby in the Nanwu tree.
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