Inside the stone box was a wooden box.
The wood was ordinary, made of common elm, unlacquered and devoid of any ornamentation.
The corners of the wooden box had been worn smooth and shiny by the passage of time.
Qi Tianchen’s fingers began to tremble uncontrollably.
He reached out, lifted the wooden box, placed it on his lap, and then slowly opened the lid.
Moonlight spilled onto the object inside the box, clearly outlining its rough yet gentle contours.
It was a saber scabbard.
The scabbard was dark all over, yet unevenly colored.
In some places, the hue was as dark as concentrated ink, while in others, it was tinged with faint gray.
The forging patterns along the scabbard were rough and clumsy, each hammer mark varying in depth.
In some spots, there were even obvious flaws left by misplaced hammer strikes, leaving crooked dents across the scabbard’s surface.
The design of the scabbard was also very simple.
There were no gold rings, no silver ornaments, and no embedded gems.
Only two small characters were engraved near the opening of the scabbard.
“Fengri.”
The handwriting was elegant and upright, cut from the very same cloth as the four characters reading “Mirror Water Villa” on the mountain gate’s archway.
At this moment, Qi Tianchen’s breath completely hitched.
Stretching out his trembling fingers, he unclasped the long saber named Suiyue from his waist and slowly slid the blade into the scabbard.
A seamless fit.
The inner lining of the scabbard aligned perfectly with the curvature of the blade; every bend, every inch of width and breadth matched down to the finest detail.
As the blade sank into the scabbard, it let out an extremely faint, soft friction sound.
Suiyue.
Fengri.
He looked down at the saber and scabbard in his hands, tempestuous waves surging within those turbid eyes.
“This is...”
His voice was hoarse to the point of being nearly toneless, every word sounding as though it were being ripped forcefully from deep within his throat.
Murong Qingnü’s voice came from behind him, cold as a winter stream.
“This is the scabbard Martial Aunt Xie forged for you with her own hands before rushing to the battlefield.
She named it ‘Fengri.’”
Qi Tianchen abruptly lifted his head, his lips twitching several times before he squeezed out a few words.
“Why... why didn’t she hand it to me herself?”
Murong Qingnü fell silent for a long time.
Bamboo shadows swayed across her face, splintering her aloof visage into alternating fragments of light and dark.
“Because before rushing off to the battlefield, she was already stricken with a grave illness.
She never did step into the Earthly Immortal Realm after all; birth, old age, sickness, and death were inevitable.”
She turned around, those amber eyes stabbing straight toward Qi Tianchen.
“She made everyone keep it a secret all along, refusing to let anyone tell you for fear of hindering your martial path.
During those days, she grew thinner and thinner, her complexion worsening by the day.
Every time you came to Mirror Water Villa to look for her, she would use her internal energy the night before to forcefully suppress the signs of illness.
All just to smile before you.”
Qi Tianchen’s body began to tremble violently.
The long saber named Suiyue in his hands let out a low hum.
“She once carried this scabbard to your Furnace-Listening Pavilion.
She wanted to hand it to you in person, wanting to see what it looked like when you sheathed Suiyue inside it.
Yet what were you doing that day?
You were immersed in martial comprehension during closed-door cultivation.
She waited for a very long time, but in the end, she chose not to disturb you.”
Murong Qingnü took a step forward.
“Qi Tianchen, you have no idea what she looked like when she left Furnace-Listening Pavilion that day.
She stood outside the mountain gate for the duration of a whole incense stick.
She looked back three times.
Three times, and you never appeared.
She entrusted the scabbard to me, saying she would hand it to you herself once she returned from the battlefield.
Though she was still smiling when she said that,
I knew that in her heart, she already knew the answer.”
Her voice grew hoarse to the point of cracking.
“Before she set out, she told me that if she did not return alive, I should deliver this to you.
She also said that she had no regrets in this life.
To be able to do something for you...
made her very happy.”
The bamboo grove grew so quiet that only the sound of the night wind rustling through the bamboo leaves remained.
Qi Tianchen knelt before Xie Qingyi’s grave, holding the scabbard in both hands, his entire body trembling violently.
He did not weep aloud, but turbid tears slipped from the corners of his eyes, streaming silently down the crisscrossing furrows of his face and dripping onto the rough surface of the scabbard.
He lowered his head, gazing down at the scabbard in his hands.
In the eyes of a master smith like him, the craftsmanship of this scabbard was simply clumsy beyond looking at.
The hammer marks varied in depth, the curvature was crooked, and the tempering heat had been handled haphazardly.
In some places, there were even several noticeable cracks.
Yet it was precisely this clumsy scabbard.
In every hammer strike, every chisel stroke, and every mark, the final days of a woman were etched into it.
He suddenly recalled many things.
He remembered the scene when he first learned how to forge a saber.
Before the casting forge, the furnace fire burned red-hot.
His master stood behind him, holding his hands, teaching him strike by strike to hammer the glowing red iron block.
The first saber he forged was as crooked as a fire poker.
Yet his master had said, “Not bad, it’s starting to take shape.”
He had been overjoyed back then, hanging that crooked saber from his waist, reluctant to take it off wherever he went.
Later, he gradually gained fame in the martial world.
The sabers he forged grew better and better.
One day, a young woman sought him out, saying she wanted him to forge a sword.
She wore a moon-white long dress with a green-scabbarded longsword hanging at her waist. When she smiled, her eyes curved like the newly thawed spring waters in the mountains.
“I hear you’re the best bladesmith among the younger generation of Furnace-Listening Pavilion. I would like to ask you to cast a sword for me.”
“I do not cast swords, I only forge sabers.”
She tilted her head, looked at him, and curved the corners of her mouth.
“Then I want a saber!”
That was Xie Qingyi.
From then on, they traveled through countless mountains and rivers together.
Her swordplay grew increasingly formidable, and his Way of the Saber deepened more and more.
Everyone in the martial world said they were a match made in heaven.
The world’s greatest bladesmith and the world’s greatest female swordswoman.
What a perfect pair.
He believed it, and he thought such days would go on forever.
But later, his martial path hit a bottleneck.
At the Boundless Realm peak, he was only one step away from stepping into the Earthly Immortal Realm.
It was that very step that he spent many years trying to take, always falling short by a thread.
He became increasingly restless, increasingly taciturn.
The firelight before the forging furnace trapped him within night after night, until everything on the outside turned blurry.
During those days, Xie Qingyi still brought him meals every day, tidied his shop for him, and fended off the martial world wanderers who came seeking his fame.
Smiling, she said, “Comprehend with peace of mind. Leave the outside matters to me.”
And so, he truly put his mind at ease, entrusting everything to her.
He plunged headlong into his own world of martial arts.
Once, she stood at the doorway with moonlight shining upon her and suddenly asked him a question.
“Qi Tianchen, if one day I am no longer around, what will you do?”
At the time, he did not even lift his head.
“How could you not be around?”
She remained silent for a long time, then let out a soft chuckle.
“That’s right, how could I not be around?
How could Xie Qingyi ever not be by Qi Tianchen’s side?”
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