Su Muyu leaped upward, his sword cutting through the night sky, aimed directly at Jian Wudi’s throat.

But Jian Wudi’s sword had only left his hand for an instant. In the next moment, with a slight curl of his fingers, an incredibly powerful stream of true qi pulled the sword back to him.

It happened in the space of a single breath.

Yet in that brief moment, Su Muyu’s blade had reached Jian Wudi’s throat.

In the end, it left only a thin line of blood.

Jian Wudi’s speed was simply too great—the opening had vanished as quickly as it appeared, and his returning sword immediately struck Su Muyu down.

“Swallow’s Return!” Song Yanhui called out softly, his sword spinning around to follow Su Muyu’s strike.

This sword technique was utterly different from Song Yanhui’s previous moves. This strike…

Was beautiful.

Too beautiful to seem like something Song Yanhui would execute.

The jianghu had many romantic wanderers, but Song Yanhui was not one of them. Though his looks could be considered handsome, his brows always carried a trace of melancholy. His swordsmanship was steady, each move powerful but conventional, lacking both uniqueness and brilliance. As a person, he was extremely uninteresting—neither a passionate drinker like Bai Li Dongjun, nor refined and elegant like Xie Xuan. He had few friends in the jianghu.

Someone once said Song Yanhui was like fine jade, but the one who carved him was too cautious, shaping him too precisely, so precisely that he lost his inherent spirit and charm.

But this sword strike possessed a beauty that didn’t belong to Song Yanhui.

A red light flashed along the blade, carrying a bewitching beauty.

Even Jian Wudi’s eyes showed a trace of admiration. He blocked the strike with his sword, but the red light instantly overwhelmed his golden radiance, slicing through his front garment.

“Oh? Such a technique exists.” Su Changhe showed slight surprise.

“I once heard that Song Yanhui, City Lord of Wushuang City, had a romance with the Sunset Immortal of Snow Moon City,” Su Muyu said quietly.

“Unexpected, from someone who seems so unromantic,” Su Changhe mused.

“I too have a sword technique,” Su Muyu raised his sword and leaped. “Its name is Mountain Rain at Dusk.”

Su Changhe’s lips curved slightly: “After fresh rain on empty mountains, evening mountain rain in autumn.”

As Su Muyu rose with his sword, dark clouds suddenly gathered in the sky, with distant thunder rumbling. Standing beneath the clouds with a sword in hand, accompanied by thunder and wind, he appeared like a descending deity.

Below, Ge Xiu and the others were struck speechless with amazement.

This had transcended their understanding of mortal swordsmen.

In the distance, Li Hanyin and Xie Xuan, who had been traveling, turned to look. Li Hanyin adjusted her bamboo hat slightly: “His sword strike affects natural phenomena.”

“He’s approaching the level of Sword Immortal,” Xie Xuan said slowly. “Will the jianghu soon have six great Sword Immortals?”

Li Hanyin shook her head: “Even if he reaches that level, he’ll hide his true realm.”

“Oh? Why do you say that?” Xie Xuan asked, puzzled.

“Just a feeling,” Li Hanyin turned away. “To become a Sword Immortal requires moving freely through the world, maintaining only the heart of the sword, and most importantly, being selfish.”

“Am I selfish?” Xie Xuan smiled. “I’ve always thought of myself as quite generous.”

“To love everyone is to love no one. To hate no one is to care for no one,” Li Hanyin said slowly. “You bookworm, you’re the most selfish of all.”

“Hahaha!” Xie Xuan looked up at the sky. “Indeed, there’s nothing in this world I particularly care about, but I love all beautiful things in it.”

“What is beauty?” Li Hanyin asked.

“Look at that sword strike over there—that’s beauty.” Xie Xuan laughed heartily, then leaped to a nearby roof, raising his sword and singing beneath the moon.

“Riding my sword through the nine heavens, sharing years with wind and snow…”

Below, Lord Haoyue watched dumbfounded: “This…”

Li Hanyin shrugged: “You’ll get used to it. It’s his habit—when he’s happy, he sings and dances. Let’s wait for him to finish.”

Here under the moon, the Confucian Sword Immortal Xie Xuan sang with raised sword.

While there, Su Muyu and Song Yanhui’s swords joined forces.

This combined strike completely suppressed Jian Wudi.

Afterward, Su Muyu and Song Yanhui withdrew their swords and landed.

Jian Wudi stood on the eaves, sheathing his sword.

As if nothing had happened.

The clouds dispersed, and no rain had fallen.

Su Muyu gently wiped the moisture from his blade and sheathed it, speaking softly: “Though we couldn’t duel as planned, this battle has left me without regrets.”

“Hard to imagine the Dark River would have such a sword,” Song Yanhui said slowly.

“What of it? Everyone in the Dark River should be like me!” Su Changhe grabbed the golden axe from Dian Ye’s hands, purple qi surging as he crushed it to pieces. He smiled at Dian Ye, “This is where our game ends.”

Outside the courtyard, Su Zhe lazily smoked his pipe.

Before him, the Twenty-Six Riders appeared quite disheveled. Though neither side had suffered major casualties, for the Twenty-Six Riders, this was a great humiliation.

“Your specialty is charging across battlefields. In these narrow streets and alleys,” Su Zhe smiled, “I could kill you at any time.”

“Leave,” Su Changhe sighed. “Go tell your master what happened here. If he wants to find us again, we’ll be waiting.”

Dian Ye looked up at the eaves, where Jian Wudi still stood.

Only the golden light in his eyes was gradually fading.

“You’ll pay for this,” Dian Ye turned and left with Luo Yandie.

“The situation here…” Su Muyu said softly.

“We can’t contain it,” Su Changhe advised. “If they’re truly desperate, even if you detained Luo Yandie, half the people here would still die.”

Ge Xiu sighed, “Master Su, thank you for your kindness. The Gate of Changshou has carved this grudge in our hearts, and we will seek vengeance ourselves.”

“Let me handle the remaining dirty work,” Su Changhe leaped onto the eaves, facing Jian Wudi.

Jian Wudi raised his head to look at him.

“You’re obsessed with the sword, but a sword is a dead thing. Obsess over dead things and you’ll become a dead man,” Su Changhe said coldly.

Jian Wudi smiled bitterly: “Yet only the sword remains constantly by my side. Everything else has left me.”

“A pitiful man indeed.” Su Changhe raised his palm to strike.

But a sword blocked his way.

The blade trembled slightly, seeming ready to slip from its wielder’s grasp at any moment.

Su Changhe turned to see Song Yanhui.

“I will take him back to Wushuang City,” Song Yanhui said gravely.

Su Changhe looked down at Su Muyu, who nodded: “This wasn’t our affair to begin with.”