65: The imitation of Ximen Chuxue - Ye Guhong!

Thirty li outside Taiyuan City, under the old locust tree beside the official road.

Lu Jiuyuan stood with his sword, his blue robe gently fluttering in the twilight.

"Ninth Master, Taiyuan City is fifty li ahead."

Old Yu led two horses over, a hint of fatigue on his face, "Should we sneak into the city tonight, or rest outside the city for a night first?"

Lu Jiuyuan did not answer immediately. His gaze fell on an inconspicuous stone by the official road.

A symbol was carved on the stone—three horizontal lines and one vertical line, like a casually drawn mark.

Old Yu followed his gaze: "Ninth Master, it's our signal. Please wait, I'll go check."

Old Yu circled the mark twice, then pulled out a bamboo tube, and from the tube, he took out a slip of paper.

After reading it, he put it back into the bamboo tube and returned it to its original place.

"Ninth Master, it's a message from three days ago. Dugu Mei appeared in Taiyuan City and is staying at Datong Inn.

It's been more than three days, so it's probably no longer accurate."

"You ride into the city first and gather information about him?" Lu Jiuyuan nodded.

"Don't worry about me, I can take care of myself."

"Ninth Master, please take care. There's an ancestral hall ahead where you can rest! This subordinate will go on ahead." Yu Qianhu left first.

Pushing open the door to the ancestral hall, he saw someone already inside—a person dressed in white, with a pale face, exuding a chilly Aura.

At first glance, one might have thought Ximen Chuixue had arrived, but upon closer inspection, one would realize this person was much younger than Ximen Chuixue.

Ximen Chuixue was over thirty, while this youth was only in his early twenties.

"Ye Guhong?"

"You know me?" Ye Guhong looked at Lu Jiuyuan, his expression showing a hint of surprise, then returning to his usual poker face.

"I've heard of you, a young Sword Cultivator who imitates Ximen Chuixue in everything.

You bear a seven-tenths resemblance to Ximen Chuixue!" Lu Jiuyuan said with a smile:

"You've met Ximen Chuixue?"

"I have!"

"Then have you seen his Sword?"

"I have!"

Whoosh! A cold light flashed as a figure instantly brushed past Lu Jiuyuan.

"His Sword, how does it compare to mine?" Sheathing his Sword, Ye Guhong stood at the entrance of the ancestral hall, saying arrogantly:

"Ye Guhong, a lay Disciple of Wudang, cousin of the Lord of Baiyun City, Ye Gucheng. It is said that Ye Gucheng guided your swordsmanship.

Now that I see it, your Sword also carries two-tenths of Ye Gucheng's Celestial Flight." Lu Jiuyuan said with a smile.

"You've also seen Celestial Flight?"

"I have!"

"Many people in this world have seen Ximen Chuixue's swordsmanship, and many have seen Ye Gucheng's swordsmanship.

But those who have seen both Ximen Chuixue's and Ye Gucheng's swordsmanship are few and far between.

Who exactly are you?" Ye Guhong's expression became serious as he stared fixedly at Lu Jiuyuan.

"Who am I?" Lu Jiuyuan slowly raised his right hand, gently stroking the cloth sheath of the Guhong Sword on his knee, his movements as soft as if caressing a woman's skin.

"Ximen Chuixue's Sword is the lonely coldness of seeking the Dao. Ye Gucheng's Sword is the etherealness of looking down on all living beings.

As for me..." Lu Jiuyuan's finger paused on the cloth sheath, slightly bent, as if the next moment he would grasp that strange Sword that had drunk countless blood.

"My Sword is only used to send people to see ghosts."

He raised his head, his eyes, which appeared somewhat deep in the dim light, directly meeting Ye Guhong's:

"So, they all call me..."

Lu Jiuyuan's voice paused for a moment. Inside the ancestral hall, it was so quiet that a pin drop could be heard; even the chirping of insects had ceased.

"...Sword Saint."

"Lu Jiuyuan."

"Sword Devil... Lu Jiuyuan..." Ye Guhong's voice was a bit dry and hoarse.

The meaning this name represented in the Jianghu was even more terrifying than Ximen Chuixue.

Ximen Chuixue was the Sword God, a symbol of aloofness, while the Sword Devil... was pure Death God, a synonym for mountains of corpses and seas of blood!

Under his Sword, there were rarely any survivors! He would often wipe out entire clans! Tianqin Sect, Tang Clan of Shu, and the Northern Black Tiger Hall were all victims.

"So it's you..." Ye Guhong took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the stormy waves in his heart: "No wonder you could see their Swords simultaneously and still live to comment."

"Sword Saint, how does my Sword compare to Ximen Chuixue's? Is his Sword faster or is mine faster?"

"How can a firefly compete with the bright moon!" Lu Jiuyuan shook his head: "You can imitate his appearance, his clothes and movements, his coldness, but you cannot imitate his Sword, much less his loneliness."

"Ximen Chuixue's Sword is the loneliness and desolation after all the splendor has faded. Ximen Chuixue kills out of solitude; what he blows is snow, not blood.

As for you, your imitation is clumsy; your eyes are filled with fanaticism and bloodlust. Your Sword kills out of fanaticism; what you blow is blood, not snow!"

These words were like a cold awl, piercing deeply into Ye Guhong's heart.

All his beliefs and efforts, which he had held dear, became so laughable and pathetic in the other party's words.

An indescribable mix of shame, indignation, and viciousness surged into his heart.

Every word struck at his core!

"Shut up! The Sword is the foundation, killing is the foundation!"

Bloodshot eyes appeared in Ye Guhong's eyes, and a violent Sword Qi uncontrollably burst forth from him, making his white robe flap loudly:

"My Dao of the Sword is not for you to criticize! What if you are the Sword Devil? Your Sword is named Guhong, and I am also named Guhong. Your Sword has a connection with me; it should be used by me.

Today, I shall see whose Sword is faster, yours or mine!"

Before his words finished, Ye Guhong's figure moved again!

This time, he held nothing back, pouring all the resentment and viciousness in his heart into his Sword!

The Sword light surged!

In an instant, several figures of Ye Guhong seemed to appear within the ancestral hall, white robes fluttering, Sword light like a silk ribbon, carrying a decisive killing intent, stabbing towards Lu Jiuyuan, who was sitting cross-legged on the ground!

Sword Qi crisscrossed, swirling up withered leaves and dust from the ground, forming a hazy smoke screen.

Facing these overwhelming and indistinguishable Sword shadows, Lu Jiuyuan's eyes still showed no ripple.

He didn't even stand up.

Just a split second before those fatal Sword shadows were about to pierce his body—

"Buzz!"

A low Sword hum, like a Dragon's roar, suddenly rang out!

The Guhong Sword on Lu Jiuyuan's knee, along with its cloth sheath, suddenly sprang upwards!

Lu Jiuyuan didn't even draw his Sword; he merely grasped the Sword sheath and thrust it forward.

There was no dazzling light, no howling wind.

Only a bone-chilling coldness and a killing intent that spoke of all things withering and life being extinguished, centered around Lu Jiuyuan, instantly permeated the entire ancestral hall.

Ye Guhong's proud Sword light, which had condensed all his resentment and viciousness, melted and dissipated silently, like residual snow cast into boiling water!

"Puff!"

Ye Guhong felt as if he had been struck by a heavy hammer; his chest was in excruciating pain, and a mouthful of fresh blood spurted out, staining his pure white robe.

All his condensed Aura, all his killing intent, all his Sword shadows, were fragile and vulnerable before that murderous Sword Intent.

He was thrown back like a kite with a broken string by that invisible immense force, crashing heavily against a rotten wooden pillar in the ancestral hall, making a dull thud.

Wood chips flew, and he slid to the ground, struggling to raise his head, but only felt as if all his bones were shattered. The Qi in his Dantian was in complete chaos, and he couldn't muster an ounce of strength.

The Sword in his hand clattered to the dusty ground.

One move!

It was merely a flick of his finger on the Sword, a simple thrust of his hand.

The fanaticism and viciousness in Ye Guhong's eyes were replaced by boundless horror and bewilderment.

His proud fast Sword, his countless times imitated aloof Sword Intent, was as ridiculous as a child's play before the true Sword Devil.

And how terrifying was the Sword God, who was his equal in fame?

That crushing disparity left him unable to even conceive of resistance, leaving only bone-deep coldness and despair.