Footsteps echoed through the empty pavilion, growing fainter floor by floor.
Lü Beisheng set down his teacup, turning his gaze back toward the Eastern Sea.
He listened as Lu Yang's footsteps drifted farther away until not a single sound remained.
Quiet returned to the pavilion.
There was only the soft creak of the sea breeze rattling the window lattice, accompanied by the timeless rhythm of the Eastern Sea's distant tides crashing against the reefs.
He turned around, walked over to the low table, and looked down at the sword casket.
The surface of the casket reflected the faint blue sword lamp hanging from the pavilion's ceiling, its flame swaying back and forth across the wood grain.
He reached out, his slender fingers pressing lightly against the sword casket.
When his fingertips touched the cinnabar writing of the three sword-sealing talismans, the runes upon the talisman paper glowed silently for an instant before dimming once more.
Three sword-sealing talismans, undoable unless opened personally by the sword's master.
He was the sword's master.
Yet he did not undo those three talismans.
He merely kept his hand resting on the surface of the casket, standing in silence for a long time.
“This sword isn't bad. It can be considered worthy of you.”
Suddenly, a voice rang out.
The newcomer wore a green robe and appeared no more than thirty-something years old, with brows like distant mountains and eyes bright as clear stars.
He stood in the doorway with effortless grace.
Lü Beisheng had never met this person.
Yet he knew who had arrived.
To appear soundlessly in the doorway before the number two under Heaven without stirring even the slightest ripple of qi.
In all the world, there was only one such person.
Shen Xingzhi.
The one known to the world as Sword Immortal Shen, a sword immortal of a generation.
Lü Beisheng stood up from his chair.
If Lu Yang had seen this action, he likely would have dropped his teapot to the ground in shock.
Lü Beisheng had sat inside Wangchao Pavilion for twenty years. Whether it was imperial envoys from the capital, grandmasters of the martial world, or sect masters from major sects, he had received every single one of them sitting down.
For twenty years, not a single person had made him rise from that old chair.
Yet at this moment, he stood up.
Not only did he stand, but he also drew his hands from his sleeves, letting them hang at his sides, his fingers spreading slightly before slowly curling back.
In those eyes that were usually as calm as an ancient well, an exceedingly complex light now surged.
Shen Xingzhi was sizing him up as well.
Two men standing at the pinnacle of the Way of the Sword.
Separated by the open eastern window on the ninth floor of Wangchao Pavilion.
Separated by twenty years of their respective ups and downs, standing truly face-to-face for the very first time.
The sea breeze swept through the hall, rustling the oiled paper of the half-eaten braised beef on the low table.
Lü Beisheng's gaze shifted downward from Shen Xingzhi's face, inch by inch.
Passing over the finely tailored green robe, passing over the warm white jade ring at his waist.
And finally coming to rest on his completely empty hands.
“Since Sword Immortal Shen cherishes this sword, why don't I gift it to you?”
Shen Xingzhi glanced down at the sword casket sealed with three talismans on the low table, the smile at the corner of his mouth deepening a bit.
“This sword is more than worthy of you.”
He lifted his eyes, meeting Lü Beisheng's gaze head-on.
“It is simply not worthy of me, Shen Xingzhi.”
As soon as these words were uttered, the air on the ninth floor of Wangchao Pavilion abruptly froze.
The sea breeze continued to pour in through the eastern window.
Yet three feet before the two men, it seemed to hit an invisible wall.
Silently parting and flowing around both sides.
The faint blue sword lamp at the top of the pavilion jumped violently.
The flame suddenly contracted inward, then abruptly flared outward, bursting into a fine circle of lamp flowers.
The sword lamp had burned for twenty years, but never before had it shown such an anomaly.
Lü Beisheng narrowed his eyes.
Twenty years.
Twenty years ago, when he first stepped into the Earthly Immortal Realm, riding high on youthful vigor and high spirits, he had thought that the very first thing he would do was seek out Shen Xingzhi for a fight.
Not for fame or profit, nor for the hollow title of number one under Heaven, but merely to see just how far his own sword could go.
Yet that roll of bright yellow imperial decree and the ground strewn with the shattered remains of “Changgeng” had pinned his footsteps firmly inside this Wangchao Pavilion.
For twenty years, he had faced the Eastern Sea, watching the tides rise and fall day after day, observing seabirds come and go.
Others assumed his heart was as still as stagnant water, devoid of desire or ambition.
Only he knew that what he felt was not stillness, but loneliness.
The loneliness of standing atop a ten-thousand-zhang solitary peak, looking around and finding no one.
Now Shen Xingzhi stood right before him.
The name that had overshadowed him for most of his life, the figure whose back all swordsmen under Heaven could only look up to.
“Senior Shen.”
Lü Beisheng spoke suddenly, a faint trace of a smile in his voice.
The twenty years of time had left pitifully few marks on this sword god in his fifties.
Smiling at this moment, he even bore some resemblance to the youth who once wielded his sword across the martial world.
“You have come from afar; would you like to rest for a few days?”
Hearing this, the tips of Shen Xingzhi's brows finally twitched slightly.
Looking at this junior who had been trapped inside the pavilion for twenty years, he suddenly laughed.
“It seems you truly hold no regard for me as your senior.”
He took a step forward.
When that step came down, the pavilion's floorboards did not make the slightest sound.
Yet at that exact instant, the bronze bells hanging from every eave of Wangchao Pavilion rang out in unison.
It was not caused by the sea breeze, but by a deeper force surging from the depths of this nine-story pavilion's foundation, spreading along every beam, pillar, brick, and stone, vibrating the bronze bells that had hung beneath the eaves for a hundred years.
“No day is better than today. Everyone under Heaven is waiting to see the outcome of our duel. Let us not keep the world waiting any longer.”
With that, he gave a flick of his wide sleeves, and his entire body drifted out the window like a green leaf caught in the wind.
His figure traced a faint arc through the air, coming to rest two zhang above the surface of the distant Eastern Sea, where he hung stably suspended in place.
The ten thousand leagues of surging waves of the Eastern Sea churned ceaselessly beneath his feet, yet not a single drop of spray could splash against the hem of his robe.
Lü Beisheng watched that figure suspended above the sea outside the window, unable to suppress the curve of his lips no matter how hard he tried.
He looked down at the sword casket in his hands, tightening his five fingers.
Click.
The sword casket sprang open on its own.
Inside the casket, “Sheiru” let out a crisp and prolonged sword hum.
Before the blade had even fully emerged from the casket, sword light had already illuminated the entire ninth floor of Wangchao Pavilion as bright as day.
A sword in hand, tides rise across the four seas.
Sword in hand, Lü Beisheng stepped through the window he had not crossed in twenty years.
Behind him.
The faint blue sword lamp atop Wangchao Pavilion abruptly went out the moment he stepped through the window.
It was not blown out by the wind.
Rather, the purpose for that lamp's existence had reached its end.
The lamp remained as long as the man remained.
When the lamp went out, the man would not necessarily perish.
Lü Beisheng and Shen Xingzhi stood facing each other from afar above the surface of the sea.
Though he had long been prepared, he had never imagined this moment would arrive so abruptly.
Shen Xingzhi looked down at his empty hands, then looked up across from him at “Sheiru” in Lü Beisheng's hand, its blade shimmering with cold light.
He suddenly let out a laugh.
“It is somewhat laughable.”
He clasped his hands behind his back, his green robe snapping wildly in the sea breeze.
“Two Earthly Sword Immortals, and neither of us has a sword of our own in hand.”
He paused, his voice abruptly rising, rattling the ten thousand leagues of waves so fiercely they exploded simultaneously.
“May after this battle, every swordsman under Heaven be able to hold a steel blade and roam the martial world!”
Hearing this, Lü Beisheng's grip on the sword tightened abruptly.
He slowly leveled “Sheiru”, pointing the sword tip straight at Shen Xingzhi.
Then, with utter solemnity, he cupped his fist in salute toward the sword immortal who was number one under Heaven a hundred zhang away.
“May everything Senior spoke of come true.”
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