Fox Spirit: One Sword Sweeps the World

Page 24

He laughed heartily to himself, all the frustration he had felt earlier due to the stagnation of the Dao Alliance vanished.

"I'll have to take better care of my health when I get back," he silently resolved.

"I must witness with my own eyes the full unfolding of humanity's golden age in their generation!"

Sunlight pierced through the clouds, filling the entire courtyard and dispelling the gloom of days of rain.

"Hehe, little Qinghan..."

"Hahaha, Brother Qinghan..."

"Little Qinghan, why don't you come to my house for a visit..."

"Little Qinghan..."

Chapter 31 As You Wish

"Oh dear, I think three years of confinement is unnecessary. So many family heads are quite poor."

The Shepherd God, his face contorted with anger, kicked at a pebble beneath his feet, his tone full of bewilderment.

"Hey, after all, you haven't grown up yet. Some things have to be done step by step. At least things have started to change, haven't they?"

Old Man Mu smiled slightly, gently rubbing Mu Shenqi's head with his calloused hands, his gaze fixed on the direction of the confinement courtyard, his tone steady.

"Moreover, Xiao Qinghan's strength has fluctuated too much recently, and his state of mind has changed a lot. It's as if he is overturning old knowledge and rebuilding a new order."

“He is establishing his own path, which cannot be rushed. He needs to refine and perfect this path little by little on his own. Three years is just the right time for him to calm down and figure it out.”

"Is...is that so?"

Mu Shenqi lowered his eyes, pondering his father's words, and nodded as if he understood, "Alright then, I hope Qinghan can figure it out soon."

In the room of the confinement ward, sunlight streamed through the wooden windows, casting dappled shadows on the floor.

Mu Qinghan sat on a wooden chair, his white robes making his complexion appear even more translucent.

There was a yellowed old book lying on the table, the edges of the pages curled up, but his gaze went beyond the pages and landed straight out the window.

The old locust tree in the corner of the courtyard has sprouted new branches, and its tender green leaves sway gently in the wind.

But his gaze was unfocused, as if he were looking at the scenery, or as if he were looking through the scenery to a place even further away.

In reality, his mind was completely blank. All the surging magical power and chaotic thoughts vanished into nothingness at this moment, with only the sound of the wind clearly audible in his ears.

The first year passed slowly in this quiet atmosphere.

Mu Qinghan lived a simple and regular life. Most of the time, he would sit by the window in a daze. Occasionally, he would reach out and flip through the ancient books on the table, his eyes sweeping over the words that recorded cultivation methods, but he didn't take them to heart.

In the past, his life consisted only of sword practice. He would practice his sword at dawn and not stop until dusk.

But that year, his sword was placed on the sword rack, and a thin layer of dust settled on the patterns on the scabbard.

He never touched it.

During this time, many young boys and girls would often go around to the outside of the courtyard wall and chat with him through the wooden door.

Someone was squatting at the door, chattering about the latest happenings in the outside world.

Some people, feeling aggrieved, poured out their frustrations about the bottlenecks they encountered in their spiritual practice.

Some people even brought their homemade snacks and carefully slipped them through the crack in the door.

Mu Qinghan always listened patiently, leaning against the door, her voice clear and calm. Occasionally she would respond with a few words or offer a few key insights into cultivation. Her simple words always enlightened the person outside the door.

"Little Qinghan, you're so clever..."

"Little Qinghan, how does this pastry taste?"

“Delicious…”

"Little Qinghan..."

One afternoon, the sun was particularly warm. Mu Qinghan was reading a book on the table when he couldn't resist the drowsiness and fell into a deep sleep.

His breathing was light, and wisps of hair fell down his forehead, obscuring his eyebrows and eyes.

After some time, a gentle breeze slipped in through the window, stirring up the ancient books on the table. The pages rustled as they turned, finally stopping on a particular page.

Mu Qinghan slowly woke up, rubbed his somewhat heavy temples, and his gaze fell on the pages of the book that had been fixed in place by the wind, his pupils suddenly contracting.

The title of that page was "Tushan Fox Demon," accompanied by a small illustration.

The woman in the painting is dressed in red and stands under a lush ancient tree with gentle eyes and brows.

The text next to the illustration records information about Tushan, mentioning the ancient tree called the "Bitter Love Tree," saying that humans and demons would make wishes under the tree, using love as a guide to form a contract.

He stared at the words for a very long time.

The calm that had settled in her eyes was broken, and tiny ripples appeared.

Humans and transvestites... are fundamentally different...

"From this day forward, we have nothing to do with each other..."

The wind blew again, and the pages of the book trembled slightly, but he seemed to be frozen in place, remaining motionless for a long time.

Spring has returned, and the old locust tree in the closed courtyard is now lush and leafy, but the atmosphere inside the courtyard is completely different from last year.

Before dawn, the clear sound of swords rang out in the courtyard.

Mu Qinghan held the sword, the tassel of which flew wildly with each swing, and the thin layer of ash on the scabbard had long been washed away by sweat.

He shed his usual composure, his magical power surging like a tidal wave. Each sword strike was accompanied by the sound of wind breaking, and the bluestone slabs on the ground were cut with fine lines by the sword energy.

From dawn to dusk, from sunset to starrise, he was like a tireless machine, his sword drawing cold, silver arcs in the air.

The sword hilt spun rapidly in his palm before settling back into place.

He repeatedly disassembled and reassembled the previously complicated sword moves, discarding all the flashy and impractical techniques, leaving each move that directly targets the vital points, refined as if it were a masterpiece.

Some clansmen passing by peeked through the cracks in the courtyard wall and saw a white-clad figure moving so fast that only a blur remained. His swordsmanship was so fierce that no one dared to look directly at him, and they all marveled that his swordsmanship had reached its peak.

Mu Qinghan himself became increasingly agitated. His fingertips trembled slightly as he sheathed his sword. He stared at his reflection in the blade, his brows furrowed.

His swordsmanship was impeccable, and his magical power was becoming increasingly profound, but he always felt that the sword lacked a "soul," like a lone boat without a direction. No matter how fast or sharp it was, it could not strike the true core.

This feeling of emptiness lingered day and night, making it difficult for him to eat or sleep.

Frustrated, so frustrated…

When the first snow of the year fell, Mu Qinghan finally put down his sword.

He sat back down by the window, changing the ancient books on the table one after another, but barely turning a few pages.

Most of the time, he would just sit quietly, gazing intently at the snowflakes falling outside the window, a question swirling in his mind.

What am I missing?

He fell into deep thought, often going an entire day without eating or drinking. His already thin frame became even more frail, and his face turned pale.

Grandma Mu was worried and would bring him food every few days. But every time she opened the door, the food was still on the table, and her son just sat there motionless, his eyes vacant, which was heartbreaking.

Finally, one day, Mu Qinghan, who had not eaten for many days, suddenly felt dizzy and collapsed when she got up.

Hearing the commotion, Grandma Mu rushed over and hugged him. Looking at his chapped lips and sunken eyes, the worry that had been building up for days instantly turned into tears. She wiped away her tears while sobbing and cursing.

"Silly child! You can't risk your life like this! If anything happens to you, how will your father and I live?"

This was the first time she had scolded Mu Qinghan, her obedient and sensible youngest son.

Warm tears fell on Mu Qinghan's cheeks. He slowly opened his eyes and looked at his mother's red eyes and trembling shoulders. His heart clenched.

The bitterness was clearer than ever before. He opened his mouth, but found his throat too dry to make a sound. He could only gently pat his mother's hand, his heart filled with guilt.

From then on, although he was still struggling with his thoughts, he would eat the meals his mother brought on time, but the worry between his brows remained.

On the last day of the three-year confinement, the setting sun dyed the sky golden red.

Mu Qinghan stood alone in the courtyard, gazing at the sword that had been with him for three years, and suddenly smiled.

Images from the past flashed through my mind: the dedication I showed while practicing swordsmanship, the warmth I felt when listening to others confide in me, the dazed feeling upon seeing the "bitter love tree," and the heartache I felt when my mother shed tears...

These fragments gradually pieced together to form a complete outline, and he finally understood that what he lacked was "sword heart"—the belief that supported his sword skills and the goal for living in the world.

He slowly picked up the sword, his fingertips lightly tracing the blade, and asked himself in a low voice, "Mu Qinghan, what exactly do you want to do?"

Mu Qinghan... what exactly do you want to do?

"The thing I want to do..."

May my family enjoy good health and longevity, and may my dear friends accompany me on my ascent to the summit.

I wish to break the injustices of the world and drive away the shadows of darkness from the universe.

Seeking enlightenment in my heart, I dare to make everything go as I wish!

I want everything to go my way!

The evening breeze blew by, stirring his robes and dispelling the last trace of confusion.

His gaze suddenly hardened; his swordsmanship was beginning to take shape, and his path was becoming clear.

As the gates of the confinement facility slowly opened, the crowd waiting outside instantly fell silent.

Mu Qinghan walked out slowly, dressed in white, his aura seemingly calm and even, yet concealing unfathomable and powerful magic. The faint sword aura around him was so sharp that the surrounding air seemed to freeze.

“This is…” Old Man Mu’s pupils suddenly contracted.

The Great Demon King... at his peak!

Thirteen years old... at the peak of the Great Demon King!

"Little Qinghan, you..."

"So strong, so strong! Hahaha, Qinghan!"

"Unrivaled in this world, truly unrivaled in this world!"

The news spread like wildfire, quickly reaching both the human and demon realms.

The boy underwent an astonishing transformation during his three years of confinement.

The title of "Number One Genius of the Human Race" suddenly appeared, and both human cultivators and the major forces of the demon race were shocked by this sudden breakthrough.

Mu Qinghan's name became the most frequently mentioned existence among all living beings, and the four words "unrivaled in this world" were the best explanation for his three years of accumulation.