Chen Changsheng passed his fingers over his eyes. A faint light flickered in his pupils.

He looked at the Yuqing Sword before him. A wispy, indistinct Spiritual Energy seemed to surge within the sword.

Moreover, Chen Changsheng saw a faint glimmer at the sword’s old broken edge – the lingering trace of his own Magical Power, once carried in a strand of his hair. It now felt separate from the Spiritual Energy, like they couldn’t blend.

That mass of energy had to be the Sword Spirit dwelling within the blade.

Chen Changsheng frowned slightly. The faint light in his eyes slowly dimmed.

Holding the Yuqing Sword, he still couldn’t see anything particularly special about it right now.

When the sword had first fallen beneath West Bridge, and even after he’d brought it back to the Taoist Temple, he hadn’t noticed anything wrong.

A broken sword, patched with hair strands, could never truly be whole again. Even his miraculous hair couldn’t make the sword fully new, any more than one could truly bring the dead back to life. Once the Wandering Spirit scatters in the world, there is no return.

So, this Sword Spirit…

Where could it have come from?

Frowning, Chen Changsheng lifted his hand and tried to calculate once more. Yet again, he found no clues.

It baffled him completely.

“Where exactly did you come from?”

Chen Changsheng raised the sword before him, staring at the spirit within.

The Yuqing Sword remained utterly unresponsive, just lifeless metal, as before.

Suddenly, Chen Changsheng froze.

He slid his grip up the hilt by half an inch.

Looking again.

At the very end of the hilt was a small, raised bump.

He paused, then raised a hand. His finger brushed over a bead embedded there.

Whatever covered it was wiped away. A brilliant emerald glow shone into his eyes.

“Clang! Clang! Clang!”

The Yuqing Sword suddenly trembled violently, as if resisting him.

Ding.

Chen Changsheng flicked his finger against the sword’s body, two feet and one inch from the tip. The Yuqing Sword went abruptly still, as if cowed.

Chen Changsheng stared at the bead hidden in the hilt. Emerald, shot through with threads of bluish aura, it was set into the handle.

But the bead wasn’t clear. Inside, a murky greyness swirled… it looked almost like…

A seed!

Chen Changsheng’s gaze snapped back to the sword. The Spiritual Energy hiding within the blade was now flowing towards the hilt.

In the blink of an eye, the mass of energy hid itself inside the emerald bead. The murky greyness within the bead was completely filled and replaced by it.

“So that’s where you hide.”

Chen Changsheng arched an eyebrow, reaching out to try and remove the bead. But then he hesitated and pulled his hand back.

Now that he thought about it, this extra Sword Spirit within the Yuqing Sword hadn’t done anything bad. Over the years, it had stayed quietly in the temple, well-behaved. Chen Changsheng just wanted to understand where it came from.

The Sword Spirit hadn’t emerged from the broken sword. Instead, it came from the bead in the hilt. It was like both a seed… and a hiding place.

Chen Changsheng pondered. Suddenly, an answer struck him.

He looked at the bead. “You were sealed in here.”

The Spiritual Energy swirling around the bead abruptly stopped dead, as if he’d hit the mark.

“It seems I was right.”

Chen Changsheng said, “The original Sword Spirit of the Yuqing Sword existed solely to suppress you. The true purpose of this sword was simply to be your sealed container.”

The energy within the bead seemed to stare at Chen Changsheng, utterly still, just silently swirling at the bead’s core.

“To require such elaborate sealing… it seems your origins are far from simple.”

Chen Changsheng thought for a moment. He raised a hand, drew out a wisp of his Magical Power, and channeled it into the sword.

He placed a Seal (Restriction Spell) layer around the bead.

It stopped the spirit inside from escaping again.

Until Chen Changsheng figured out what this bead truly was, he wouldn’t remove the seal.

“Listening to Rain.”

Chen Changsheng called out.

The Rain-Listening Sword shimmered into visibility beside him, awaiting its master’s command.

“From now on, you will watch over this sword,” Chen Changsheng instructed.

The Rain-Listening Sword swayed gently, like a nod.

Chen Changsheng lifted his hand. The Yuqing Sword rose to hover behind the Rain-Listening Sword.

The Rain-Listening Sword circled the Yuqing Sword once, looking curious. It seemed happy enough with this new task. Since they rarely fought anymore while traveling with its master, having something to do was welcome.

The two swords vanished into his side again. Chen Changsheng instinctively felt for the Wine Gourd at his waist, only to remember… it was completely empty.

“Without wine…” he murmured.

After a moment of thought, he walked towards the Side Room of the Taoist Temple.

Inside lay a stash of wine, cases of the finest Spiritual Wine.

“Ahem, ahem…”

Dust rose in clouds as he entered the room. Chen Changsheng waved a hand, calling a gentle breeze to sweep all the dust away.

He selected a small jug, broke the wax seal, and trickled a stream of wine into his mouth with a flick of his finger.

He took a small sip, then muttered, “The wine from the Old Dragon King really is good. Just a pity…”

It still felt like it was missing something.

He grabbed another jar, hefted both, and walked out the door.

“I’m heading down the mountain to refill,” announced Chen Changsheng. “If I’m late returning, don’t wait for me.”

Carrying the two jars, he walked towards the temple gate.

Tong Zhihuan and Miss Tao’er exchanged a look.

Tong Zhihuan called out, “Could Miss Tao’er and I go with you, sir?”

Chen Changsheng paused, considering. “If you wish to come, then come.”

The young man and the tree spirit both grinned. Their master usually went down the mountain alone. Getting to accompany him was an unexpected delight.

The group descended.

Tong Zhihuan and Tao’er walked just behind Chen Changsheng, chatting quietly.

They entered Autumn Moon Market and headed straight for West Bridge.

Seeing the tall, restored bridge standing firm, Chen Changsheng paused. “It’s been rebuilt…”

“It was fixed years ago,” Tong Zhihuan nodded.

Chen Changsheng said softly, “A shame it’s not like before.”

Tong Zhihuan paused at those words, looking at his master.

Chen Changsheng only shook his head slightly, offering no explanation.

He stepped forward and walked onto the bridge.

The Wine Tavern by the bridge still looked just as when he had last left. People came and went; just standing at the door, you could feel the noise and bustle inside.

After these many years, stepping back inside this Wine Tavern, Chen Changsheng felt a deeper sense of age compared to before.

Six years inevitably changes things.

The “Xiao’er” (Waiter) spotted the newcomers at the entrance: two men and a woman. His eyes landed on Tong Zhihuan first. “Master Tong? The healer?”

Tong Zhihuan looked surprised, then gave a small, polite smile in acknowledgment. He often came into the market to treat patients; over the past year or two, he’d become quite recognized.

“Please, please, right this way!”

The Xiao’er ushered them inside and to a table.

Chen Changsheng looked at the waiter before him. A thought struck him: ‘Even the waiter has changed…’

He lifted his gaze to a spot on the wall. Once, a piece of calligraphy had hung there. Now…

There was nothing.

Chen Changsheng paused. It seemed like he suddenly recalled something.