The Place Where the Sword is Buried

To their surprise, in the face of such an urgent matter, their family's revered ancestor, Qin Lan, burst into laughter.

"Ancestor, why are you laughing?" Qin Zhiyu asked anxiously, even with a hint of reproach. "We were trapped in grave danger, and Eldest Brother risked his life to save us. How can you remain so calm and even laugh at a time like this?"

It was no wonder Qin Zhiyu was so frantic. Inside the Four Directions Sealing Box, they had been counting every second. Moreover, since Qin Lan had helped them break the seal, they believed Qin Nan was most likely in mortal peril.

"Hahaha!"

Seeing Qin Zhiyu's distress, Qin Lan laughed even louder before saying, "There's no need to worry about your elder brother. He's perfectly fine."

"What?" Qin Zhiyu exclaimed in shock and delight. "Ancestor, are you serious? Eldest Brother is truly unharmed?"

"Not just unharmed—that boy is about to become a Saint!" Qin Lan's voice carried a tinge of envy. "And not just any Saint—one whose celestial phenomena surpass even mine."

"What? A Saint?"

"Ancestor, you can't be mistaken, can you?"

Qin Zhiyu and the others wore expressions of utter disbelief. They couldn't fathom how Qin Nan had not only survived but was now ascending to Sainthood.

"Because the young man surnamed Yi you encountered was none other than the benefactor of our Qin family—the very one who led our clan to its glory!" Qin Lan solemnly explained.

"What?"

This revelation struck like a thunderbolt, reverberating through their minds.

In their memories, the image of that carefree white-robed youth leisurely riding a snail resurfaced.

"He... he was that senior?!"

Qin Zhiyu's delicate face froze in astonishment. Never had she imagined that Yi Feng was the very person they had been searching for.

Qin Lan then recounted everything that had transpired afterward, and only then did they understand how Qin Nan had achieved Sainthood.

"Zhiyu."

At this moment, Qin Lan's pupils contracted slightly as he suddenly asked, "Do you resent your elder brother?"

"You must realize that had he not sealed you inside the Four Directions Box, you might have been the one to break through to Sainthood!"

"Ancestor, you jest."

Qin Zhiyu quickly replied with reverence, "Eldest Brother sealed us inside to protect our lives. Moreover, he didn’t know Senior Yi Feng’s identity at the time. How could I possibly blame him?"

"Eldest Brother is safe and has become a Saint—he deserves it all. I could only be happy for him."

"What a fine child of the Qin family."

Qin Lan's face softened with pride as he affectionately patted Qin Zhiyu’s head. "Rest assured, after your brother ascends, all his excess resources will be allocated to you. The family will spare no effort in nurturing you, so that one day, you may catch up to him."

"Thank you, Ancestor."

Qin Zhiyu immediately knelt in gratitude.

"Good child, rise. You’ve all been through much." After helping her up, Qin Lan clasped his hands behind his back and addressed the crowd. "All of you shall be richly rewarded. For those who perished, their families—whether Qin bloodline or not—shall receive our clan’s eternal protection!"

"Thank you, Ancestor!"

The crowd knelt in unison.

...

While the Qin family reveled in joy, Yi Feng, weighed down by melancholy, prepared to depart for the Sword Valley.

Just then—

The long-dormant jade slip in his possession suddenly flickered with light.

A wave of his hand, and the message flowed into his mind.

It was from Piaomiao Hong.

"Greetings, Sir."

"I hope your endeavors on Heavenly Poison Island have gone smoothly. There have been new developments regarding the Nine Realms Saint. Celestial phenomena have been frequent, accompanied by tribulation clouds—clear signs that the Saint has awakened. According to our intelligence, the Saint is a woman known as the White Emperor, a native of the Nine Realms, likely within the current Nine Realms Alliance."

"If your mission on Heavenly Poison Island is complete, well and good. If not, you may proceed directly to the Nine Realms."

"Additionally, my curse has reached its final stage. After sending this message, I shall enter the Sword Valley’s Burial Grounds to await my end. There is no need for you to seek me there."

"If, in the future, you master your divine arts, I beg you to remember Hong’er and lend the Sword Valley your aid. For this, I would be eternally grateful."

"Honger wishes you swift victory."

"Farewell, Sir."

After reading the message, Yi Feng’s emotions grew complicated.

A sigh escaped him.

Fate was indeed cruel—those who wished to die could not, while those who shouldn’t were bound by curses.

Though he had not perished on his journey, Yi Feng had to admit that Piaomiao Hong had helped him immensely, at least sparing him from wandering blindly.

"Miss Hong’s kindness is remembered. No matter what, if the Sword Valley ever faces trouble, Yi Feng will not stand idly by."

"Also, Miss Hong, please don’t give up. Stay calm and believe in yourself. You will be alright."

Yi Feng wrote these words into the jade slip with a heavy heart.

But he didn’t know what else to say—this was the only comfort he could offer.

He had considered visiting Piaomiao Hong at Sword Valley again, but upon further thought, he realized his presence would only burden the valley without being of any real help.

Putting away the jade slip, Yi Feng sighed deeply and turned toward the teleportation island, preparing to return to the Nine Realms.

Meanwhile, within Sword Valley...

Tens of thousands of Sword Valley disciples sat cross-legged in the plaza, their expressions solemn and silent.

Above them stood a woman in white.

Barefoot, with flowing hair and flawless features, she radiated an ethereal glow, untouched by worldly impurities—like an immortal descended from the heavens.

Behind her lay the Sword Burial Grounds, where countless blades were interred, and where the Piao family’s remains were laid to rest.

Every descendant of the Piao family would eventually return here.

Beside her stood a middle-aged man.

Though only middle-aged, his hair was snow-white, his eyes rimmed red with grief.

He was the current master of Sword Valley, Piaomiao Hong’s uncle, and the eldest and most senior figure in the valley.

The reason he had lived so long was simple: he was not of the Piao family’s direct bloodline but a branch descendant, and thus the curse’s grip on him was far weaker.

"Offer the sword!" he bellowed.

The longsword placed on the altar before Piaomiao Hong seemed to resonate with spirit, trembling with a mournful hum, as if protesting its fate.

Piaomiao Hong caressed it reluctantly.

This was her lifelong companion, the sword her father had passed down to her as her birthright.

By Sword Valley’s tradition, when a master neared their end, their blade would be sealed away with them, never to see the light again.

"Go," she whispered at last.

With a flick of her jade-like hand, the trembling sword soared into the air, circling the vast plaza before plunging into the Sword Burial Grounds, where it stood upright among the countless others.

"Farewell, everyone. Take care."

Piaomiao Hong clasped her hands in salute to the crowd.

Below, tens of thousands of disciples rose in unison, returning the gesture. Many had tears glistening in their eyes.

"Uncle Zheng, take care."

She turned to the middle-aged man beside her and bowed respectfully.

Piao Zheng’s eyes reddened further. Unable to hold back, he wiped away his tears in secret.

Years ago, he had watched Piaomiao Hong’s grandfather walk alone into the Sword Burial Grounds.

Later, he had bid farewell to her father and mother here.

And now, he could only stand by as she, too, entered that final resting place.

Why was heaven so unjust?

When would the Piao family ever break free from this curse?

Piao Zheng’s heart burned with grief and fury, filled with unbearable resentment.

All could only watch as Piaomiao Hong walked alone toward the Sword Burial Grounds.

A lone bird cried overhead.

Withered leaves swirled in the wind.

At the entrance, she retrieved a hidden jade slip and read its message. A faint smile touched her lips.

With her final thoughts settled, the slip crumbled to dust in her hand.

One last glance behind her—a final moment of remembrance—and she stepped inside.

Within the Sword Burial Grounds, skeletal remains lay scattered among countless upright swords, each marking the resting place of a Piao ancestor.

As Piaomiao Hong approached, ten thousand blades trembled in unison, their mournful hums echoing the sorrow of yet another Piao descendant’s passing.

She walked steadily to her own sword and sat cross-legged beside it, closing her eyes...

A long, long silence followed.

At last, the Sword Burial Grounds returned to stillness.