About a hundred miles south of the bamboo forest courtyard.

On the bank of a turbulent river, under a tree, a figure suddenly appeared here, and the inky magic power that enveloped his body was slowly dissipating.

The figure of a wounded man appeared on the ground, his snow-white clothes soaked with blood, and covered with dust and bamboo leaves.

One of his sleeves was empty, and he fell to the ground, breathing weakly.

A sword fell beside him.

There was silence for a moment.

"Wake up, Zhao Rong!" Gui observed the situation and called out quickly...

Not long.

Zhao Rong, who was awakened by the sword spirit, turned over and fell on his back on the grass. He freed his only remaining left hand and grabbed a handful of elixirs to treat his injuries from the Sumeru object in his arms.

Many of them came from the Dali treasury.

The young scholar's face was covered in blood, his breath was weak, and his left hand was shaking as he poured bottles of pills onto the ground.

Then he fumbled around on the ground with his left hand, grabbed a handful of pills mixed with mud, sand and dust, and swallowed them down along with the blood...

The sword spirit anxiously felt the gradually stabilizing energy in his body and breathed a sigh of relief.

Zhao Rong initially felt a sense of pent-up energy and blood in his chest, and he was having difficulty breathing and was about to suffocate. But soon, as the effects of these priceless panaceas that melted in his mouth wore off, he finally breathed his last.

"Zhu Yourong still understands you."

Gui suddenly sighed.

At this time, the young scholar was gasping for breath, lying on his back on the grass, his eyes wide open with cracked corners, staring blankly at the gradually darkening sky.

He subconsciously stretched out his right hand, but found that his right hand was gone, so he grinned in self-mockery and stretched out his left hand to grab the Wen Jian on the ground to the right side of his body with difficulty.

Zhao Rong held the sword horizontally in front of his eyes, staring blankly at the place where Zhu Yourong quietly left a "stroke".

Zhu Yourong deceived him a little.

She only wrote two words.

One is “永” and the other is “正”.

But there are not ten strokes, but eleven.

There is nothing wrong with the correct character, but she deliberately wrote the character "永" with six strokes.

The horizontal stroke “フ” was written in two strokes, and even he was fooled by it, or he subconsciously overlooked it. At that time, he just thought she was naughty and didn’t write it seriously. Now thinking about it...

"Did you guess it at that time?"

Zhao Rong muttered to himself in a daze, staring at the sword, his eyes sore from the sunlight reflected from the sword.

However, this pain was nothing compared to the excruciating pain that was piercing through the broken arm.

Zhao Rong's lips turned pale, and he felt a severe phantom limb sensation in the right side of his broken arm, as if the hand was still there.

The flesh and blood on the broken arm seemed to be wrapped in hot magma, and every drop of blood was being boiled with burning pain. Bit by bit, they gathered into a boiling sea of ​​suffering, and then came in wave after wave like a tide.

He was numb from the pain.

If it weren't for the fact that the elixir in his body was slowly taking effect, and if it weren't for the fact that his powerful dragon body in the Fuyao realm was slowly absorbing spiritual energy and beginning to slowly recover, Zhao Rong would have probably already lost too much blood and fallen asleep.

While Zhao Rong was in a daze, Gui carefully observed the surroundings of the circle and couldn't help but sighed:

"Zhao Rong, looking at the situation, it seems that we didn't escape too far. The river beside us was flowing downstream, and we were teleported southward. On the contrary, Zhao Qian'er was sent northward upstream for a thousand miles, while we... only had one stroke... If there is no accident, that means it is only a hundred miles."

Zhao Rong was still lying on the grass, holding the sword horizontally with one arm, staring blankly at the sound of the sword without answering.

He was puzzled by one thing.

The sword spirit paused after he finished speaking, and then said in a tone of loss:

"Too close, too close. Your Qi must still be locked by that old beast. He is a Jindan cultivator. Even if he is using the strange method of swallowing external elixirs, he is still at the Jindan realm. Baili is too close. He will catch up with you immediately... and your injuries..."

It was silent and sighed dejectedly.

Zhao Rong, who was in a daze, suddenly asked, "Did she guess at that time that I, Zhao Ziyu, would one day... seek death?"

The sword spirit was slightly startled, and then said unhappily:

"Do I need to guess? You are so self-righteous and arbitrary, and you don't listen to others. To put it nicely, you are opinionated and responsible. To put it bluntly, you are a male chauvinist and stubborn. Zhu Yourong left you ten strokes, and you gave them all to that little girl, not caring whether she was willing or not..."

It nodded and praised:

"Well done, Master Zhao is honored, and the little girl was moved to tears, but apart from these, is there any other meaning? You patted your butt and left, but Concubine Zhao Ling and Zhao Qian'er became widows with honor, and it seems that there is also a little fox demon, who will be sad and blame herself for you for the rest of her life..."

Zhao Rong: “…”

The sword spirit sneered again, "You are spoiled by those women. Zhu Yourong is more mature and reliable. She knows your character and left a backup plan. Although it seems useless now, it is a dead end and cannot save the suicidal Mr. Zhao."

The young scholar looked at the shiny sword, gasped and blinked, forgetting the numbing pain for a moment.

He didn't expect the sword spirit's "combat power" to be so strong at this moment. He almost blushed and blamed himself for the sarcastic criticism.

The doubts in his heart were cleared up. Zhao Rong closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He wiped the blood off his face with the back of his sword-holding hand, then grinned and said:

"Are you done scolding me?"

"No!"

The sword spirit said without thinking, and continued with a sneer:

"Anyway, you will be found by that old beast soon and buried with Young Master Zhao. I have to scold you a few more times to vent my anger. Later, I will carefully appreciate the old beast's skills in pulling out tendons and skinning, and Young Master Zhao's heroic style of not blinking an eyebrow. Then I can barely die in peace. By the way, later on the road to the underworld, don't get close to me. Get away from me quickly, or I will beat you. Humph, I don't want to see you in the next life. Let's reincarnate separately and don't spread bad luck."

The sword spirit spoke in a proud tone.

Zhao Rong: “…”

He was speechless for a while, and finally shook his head without saying anything back.

Suddenly, Zhao Rong jumped up with a somersault, but unfortunately his body was still a little unstable. He staggered forward a few steps and used his sword to support himself on the ground before he could finally steady his steps.

But these are minor details. The young scholar looked up indifferently and took a serious look at the sky and the sun.

"Is it still the afternoon? What just happened feels like it took longer than ten thousand years..."

He covered his broken arm, muttered something, and immediately moved.

The sword spirit, who was about to lie down, felt something was wrong and said alertly:

"Hey, what are you doing?"

Zhao Rong quickly took out the white cloth for bandages, and with one hand and a pale mouth with split lips, he tore the bandages a few times, and then carefully bandaged the wound of the broken arm.

At this moment, he bit a piece of bandage with his teeth, jerked his head to the left, tightened the knot, then spat out the bandage from his mouth with a "Puh" sound, and replied calmly:

"What? Stay alive."

The sword spirit was stunned. "That's nonsense. You are either alive or dead. I am asking you why you are doing this."

Zhao Rong suddenly smiled, revealing his bloodshot white teeth, and repeated:

"Alive! Go back alive."

Gui was silent this time. In the eyes, tone and heart of this young Confucian scholar, there was something called "light".

The sword spirit was puzzled. He had just advised him not to die and to escape quickly, but he insisted on dying and leaving the chance to live to others.

As a result, it was in a desperate situation and was waiting to die. But for some reason, he regained his spirits and said firmly that he wanted to survive and go back alive...

Zhao Rong lowered his head and quickly picked up the elixirs scattered on the ground. He selected the beneficial ones from them, and then without even having time to wipe the dust off, he threw them directly into his mouth and swallowed them hard.

At this time, even the venomous sword spirit became abnormally quiet, and the young Confucian scholar seemed to have noticed something.

He was silent for a while, then lowered his head and put the sword engraved with the pattern of the black bird of destiny back on his waist.

Afterwards, by the turbulent river, a young Confucian scholar covered in blood held a sword with one arm.

A man was standing alone, facing north, that is, the direction of Duyou City, with a blazing gaze, and said in a sonorous voice:

"I want to go back alive and bring a bright moon to Qingjun... I can't let Xiaoqian'er blame herself... And I also want to marry a very weak and stupid little fox demon."

As he spoke, the corners of his mouth curled up on his miserable, injured face.

"You won't let me die? Well... I still have to have a serious conversation with a busty lady who wrote to me secretly without telling me..."

"You teach me how to do things?"

The young scholar looked straight ahead.

At this moment, his mind was clear and his knowledge and action were unified.

When the sword spirit heard some of his words, it was stunned.

"Big...big breasts..."

How dare you...how dare you shout so arrogantly? So brave...

The young scholar, whose life or death was uncertain but who was determined to go back, wiped his face again and waved his hand.

"What's wrong with calling her big breasts? I've been wanting to call her that for a long time. I've been holding it in for a long time. This Zhu Yourong humph..."

He raised his head slightly.

Return: “…”

At this time, the young scholar looked at the sky again, his expression suddenly changed, and he said:

“Did you hear that?”

Gui frowned, "What did you hear?"

Zhao Rong shouted: "The sound of a waterfall! The waterfall is not far downstream!"

Gui was confused at first, then woke up, "You mean..."

At this moment, the young Confucian scholar turned around suddenly and the sword spirit stopped talking.

In their field of vision, behind them to the north, in the vast jungle that stretched as far as the eye could see, every once in a while, at a distance of about ten miles, a group of birds would be startled and fly up from the jungle!

These places were vaguely connected into a straight line, extending rapidly towards where Zhao Rong was at this time.

This unknown movement will arrive here in less than five breaths!

Guixin was shocked and wanted to speak.

But in an instant, the young scholar holding the sword with one arm came to life, jumped up, and fell into the extremely turbulent water!

The figure disappeared in an instant.

Less than five breaths after Zhao Rong left, the hunched figure of a disfigured old scholar suddenly appeared under a tree by the river!

The old man held a gray pipe in his hand, and his eyes scanned the surrounding area as sharply as a vulture...

Immediately, he curled his lips indifferently, faced downstream, and his figure disappeared in a flash.

About ten breaths later.

Downstream, next to a green lake under a spectacular waterfall, there is a disfigured old scholar floating quietly above the lake, with the surging waterfall behind him.

In his hand he was holding a wet, torn, bloodstained white shirt.

It was just hanging among the branches on a small path next to Bitan Lake.

It seemed to have been left behind by someone while escaping into the woods.

But Qin Jianfu remained unmoved. He scanned the area around the waterfall with his sharp eyes. Finally, his gaze slowly stopped on the waterfall behind him that looked like an inverted Milky Way.

"childish."

He was calm and soft-spoken.

Although it was shielded and concealed by some strange and powerful formation restrictions.

However, with the help of the vast spiritual sense magnified by the gray pipe in his hand, he was still able to vaguely perceive something with great sharpness.

The vast divine consciousness told the old man that there was a huge and complex space behind the waterfall.

Moreover, the breath of that boy is faintly hidden in it!

…