Chapter Fifty-Six: Journey Across the World with a Severed Arm

By the time Zhou Yu realized what had happened, Liu Yueming’s right arm—and the icy sword clutched in his hand—had already fallen to the ground.

Zhou Yu stared in shock at the scene before him, unable to believe his eyes.

With nothing but a single gaze, Liu Wujian had severed Liu Yueming’s right arm.

Even a tigress will not eat her cubs. Though Liu Wujian’s role in the extermination of the Sword Sect had become all but certain, Zhou Yu had always felt there was more to the story. From the way Liu Wujian had just let him and Liu Yueming go, Zhou Yu’s belief only deepened. Yet now, that arm lying on the earth, tainted with dust, reminded him that Liu Wujian had spoken the truth: the reason he did not kill was purely because he did not wish to.

For someone who wielded a sword with his right hand, that hand was more precious than life itself. A swordsman unable to grasp the hilt is a swordsman no longer. Liu Wujian, who had ascended to the pinnacle of the martial world on the path of the sword, understood this better than anyone. Yet he had shown no mercy in cutting off his own son’s right arm—an act tantamount to killing Liu Yueming, perhaps even more cruel.

Zhou Yu looked again at Liu Wujian. The man’s expressionless face was terrifying in its coldness. What sort of person was he, to be so utterly devoid of feeling? Was there truly no trace of emotion in his heart?

Liu Yueming stared dumbly at his severed arm lying on the ground, as if he felt nothing at the site of the wound—because the pain in his heart was deeper, so deep he forgot time, place, and everything around him.

A thin layer of frost had formed over the wound, staunching the flow of blood—likely the work of the sacred qilin’s power.

Liu Wujian had already turned away, closing his eyes, his face still blank and unreadable. He sat motionless upon the grasslands, as if he had existed there since time immemorial.

Zhou Yu was at a loss, overwhelmed by powerlessness in the face of such reality. He was simply too weak—he could not help Liu Yueming, could not even intervene. He bowed his head in shame. But when his gaze landed on the severed arm, he snapped back to himself and rushed to Liu Yueming’s side, examining the wound carefully while keeping a wary eye on Liu Wujian.

One look at the wound, and Zhou Yu gasped. The arm had been cut nearly at the shoulder. Though it was sealed by ice, the veins, blood vessels, and muscles were all laid bare, a ghastly sight that made Zhou Yu’s stomach turn.

At that moment, Liu Yueming finally crumpled, unable to withstand the blow to body and spirit. His eyes rolled back, and he fainted.

Zhou Yu freed one arm to catch Liu Yueming before he fell.

A cold wind swept through the grass, bowing the wild blades. Somewhere on the plain a figure was hurrying toward them, but the distance was still too great. Zhou Yu, unaware that anyone was coming, knew he had to face Liu Wujian on his own.

He gently set the unconscious Liu Yueming and the boy Abuli side by side on the ground, took a moment to compose himself, forced down his fear, then hoisted Abuli onto his back and cradled Liu Yueming in one arm as he began to retreat, step by careful step, facing Liu Wujian all the while.

He was terrified, but could not allow himself the slightest lapse. Liu Wujian was so powerful that Zhou Yu felt he could scarcely breathe in his presence; his life was utterly at the man’s mercy. A single glance from Liu Wujian could mean instant death.

As he retreated, Zhou Yu’s mind raced. His feet slid silently through the grass, pushing aside the tall blades with his heels, terrified even the slightest sound would draw Liu Wujian’s attention. Yet fate is ever capricious: after covering quite some distance, his eyes fixed on Liu Wujian, Zhou Yu misstepped and his foot found a hidden pit.

Though the pit was small, it held water, and when Zhou Yu stepped into it, a soft squelch sounded. He wobbled but managed to regain his balance, his back already drenched in cold sweat. Abuli remained limp on his back. Zhou Yu hitched him higher, then looked up.

He did not know when Liu Wujian had opened his eyes, but the man was now staring straight at him. The moment their eyes met, Zhou Yu felt a burst of blinding white light; he could not see, and a vast, crushing force bore down on him. He tried to close his eyes, but his body no longer obeyed his will.

It was as though something had pierced his very soul. Zhou Yu’s brow furrowed tightly as he collapsed to the ground and lost consciousness.

In the endless void of darkness, images flickered and flashed—elderly parents, childhood friends, moments of struggle and joy or sorrow, the old man whose sleeve fluttered in the wind and who could never finish his wine, Liu Yueming’s cold face saying, “You’ll always be my friend,” Du Niang’s ever-changing uniforms, Abuli’s innocent smile...

In the void, distant lights flickered and vanished in an instant, while indistinct voices drifted close and then faded away.

Zhou Yu wandered lost in the darkness—where was the end? Where was the way out? He walked for what felt like ages, but the darkness grew only deeper. Looking around, then down at himself, he realized he had no body—only a sliver of consciousness drifting through the void. Fear crept in; this world was beyond his understanding, and things that defy reason are always terrifying to humans. But fear solved nothing. Zhou Yu forced himself to search his memories, desperate to understand what was happening.

Back on the plain, Zhou Yu lay on the ground, eyes closed and brow deeply furrowed, with Abuli collapsed at his side. Liu Yueming, however, had already risen.

He gazed at the severed arm lying amid the grass and earth, silent for a long while. Then, raising his left hand, he pointed at it. A fine, icy white sword-qi shot from his fingertip and struck the arm.

A gust of wind swept the boundless plain, bending the sea of grass, the sound of their stems rustling together. As calm returned, a sudden “crack” rang out—the severed arm shattered into icy shards, scattering across the ground.

Liu Yueming looked back at Zhou Yu, who lay unconscious with knitted brows. For a moment, the cold mask on his face softened. He glanced at the nearby pit, at the man who now sat cross-legged within it, hands limp at his sides, hair tangled and hanging over his chest.

He withdrew his gaze, lingering again on Zhou Yu, and let out a deep, reluctant sigh, then turned to leave.

In the vast sea of humanity, in this boundless world, loneliness is ever-present. Though once the heir of the greatest sect under heaven, the son of the world’s strongest man—honor seemed his by birthright—when had he ever known true happiness?

His clan annihilated; his father, the chief culprit—who had even cut off his own son’s arm.

The happiness he sought had never come, and now would never come again.

And yet, atop snowy peaks, along every road, within the spirit realm, Zhou Yu’s banter and antics lingered in his memory.

There are those who can sense your sorrow and joy, who always strive to make you happy. Such a person is called a friend—a brother.

He looked back again. The young man in the grass no longer wore a frown; a faint smile touched his lips, as if he dreamed of happier times. Suddenly, tears spilled uncontrollably down Liu Yueming’s cheeks. He bit his lip and clenched his teeth, then turned away...

“Though our time together was brief, from this day forth, we shall never meet again...”

“Thank you for always safeguarding my dignity, for trying so hard to cheer me up.”

“Thank you for not leaving me behind to walk alone.”

“Farewell...my friend, my brother.”

Beneath the setting sun, amid the lush grass of the plain, the one-armed youth walked alone.

His elongated shadow fell in patches across the thick wild grass. Suddenly, a snow-white little beast leapt out from within him, perching on his shoulder.

The little creature’s black, lively eyes full of innocent spirit darted about the youth, finally settling on the place where his arm had been severed. It jumped from his left to his right shoulder and began gently licking the wound with its tiny pink tongue.

Seated cross-legged, hair disheveled, hands limp at his sides, Hua Queyue slowly raised his head. He looked to where Zhou Yu still lay unconscious, and a faint green glow of life essence streamed ceaselessly from his body, drifting through the air toward Zhou Yu.

His hands were stained with blood, his once-crippled but now restored left arm even more grievously injured—its meridians and even its bones shattered.

When Hua Queyue sensed the sacred qilin’s presence, he had rushed here at once. But when he arrived, he saw only Liu Wujian seated on the grass, Zhou Yu and Abuli unconscious, and Liu Yueming missing an arm.

No words were spoken. The two men, once fellow disciples and among the world’s greatest, exchanged a long silence—then attacked as one.

Watching the steady stream of green life force flow into Zhou Yu, Hua Queyue smiled faintly.

Through these years, Liu Wujian had indeed grown stronger. The left arm Hua Queyue once thought could match him now hung uselessly at his side.

Though Tianxing and Jin Buhuan’s timely arrival had saved him, it was now clear he could never catch up to Liu Wujian. The thought brought a slight stiffness to his expression, a hint of desolation to his face.

He gazed into the distance, unsure what outcome awaited Tianxing and Jin Buhuan as they pursued Liu Wujian together.

He looked once more in the direction Liu Yueming had gone, sighed softly, and murmured, “Yueming, you have suffered enough.”

In his unconscious state, Zhou Yu remained trapped in endless darkness.

But he no longer wandered—for finally, in that darkness, he had found something else.

And that something was—a sword!

P.S.: At least two chapters a day! Though it’s exhausting, I feel ever more invigorated! Prepare for an outburst of chapters soon. If you have recommendations, don’t hold back—shower me with them, even if my body is as fragile as a flower...