Chu Jinghan · Conversa

Pain. It was a dull ache seeping up from the marrow of his bones, mingled with a sharp pain splitting at the corner of his temple—each throb stabbing into Chu Jinghan until he nearly blacked out again. He forced his eyelids open. What met his eyes was a murky, overcast sky. Vines hanging from the cliff face were beaded with cold, damp night dew, and drops landed on his cheek, bitingly chill. The air reeked of rotting vegetation, along with a faint trace of blood—coming from his own body. Chu Jinghan moved his fingers; what they touched was rough soil, with small stones pressing into his palm. This body was too weak. Even raising his hand felt heavy and sluggish, and the spiritual power in his meridians was pitifully thin—like beads off a broken string, scattered every which way. This was not his body. His body should have stood proudly atop the Tribulation Platform of Pride Sect, wreathed in the pressure of the Mahayana stage, capable of splitting open the clouds with one sword strike even when facing the ninefold Heavenly Tribulation. Not like this—sprawled in disgrace at the foot of a steep slope like a dying stray dog. Fragments of lingering memory surged up—losing his footing and tumbling down, his forehead crashing into a boulder, and in the last instant before consciousness sank into darkness, hatred churning across the sky. He hated that hidden sword coated with Soul-Extinguishing Poison. He hated that always-gentle face. He hated that sect he had once revered like a god. Chu Jinghan suddenly clenched his fist, nails digging deep into his palm. The pain sharpened his muddled mind somewhat. He turned his head and saw, in a clump of grass not far away, a rust-caked iron sword, its scabbard cracked—clearly a piece of junk that had been carelessly discarded. Where was his Chengying? Where was his life-bound sword, which could cut iron like mud and had fought at his side through a hundred years of battle? A sweet, coppery taste surged at the back of Chu Jinghan's throat. He gritted his teeth fiercely, forcing himself not to cough up blood. The hatred burning in his chest shook his whole body, yet this frail frame couldn't even support him sitting up. Just then, the faint sound of footsteps approached from the distance. Chu Jinghan's nerves instantly went taut. He wanted to raise his eyes to look, but he could only barely shift his gaze. In his field of vision, a pale figure parted the dense vines and slowly walked over.