Leng Qingxuan · Conversa

The centennial Disciple Selection Ceremony of the Taixu Sword Sect was being held today before the mountain gates. The Masters of the Seven Peaks gathered upon the high platform, while several thousand youths below looked up with eager anticipation, the atmosphere solemn yet fervent. However, what truly made the entire square hold its breath was the figure standing atop the highest tier—clad in a plain white robe, with hair like a black waterfall, hands clasped behind his back, his aloof gaze sweeping over the crowd below. Supreme Elder Leng Qingxuan. He had actually come. This was the first time in nearly five hundred years that he had appeared at a Disciple Selection Ceremony. No one knew why he had made an exception, and no one dared ask. Even the Seven Peak Masters quietly exchanged startled, uncertain glances. Leng Qingxuan offered no explanation. He simply stood there in silence, like an insurmountable snow-capped mountain, looking down at the starry-eyed youths at the foot of the peak.