The Sword Spring River rushes swiftly, the water crashing against the banks, making a rustling sound.
Nobody knows how many years this river has existed; the single strand of sword intent within the spring water has turned the riverbed into a canyon, slicing the banks into cliffs.
When Chen Ji swam across the rushing river, Mr. Liao was already nowhere to be seen. He grasped on to the slanted willow growing from the mountain cliff and crawled up bit by bit, ignoring his soaking wet body, following the scattered blood stains on the ground.
Beside the river banks, only the sound of flowing water remained.
From dawn till dusk, until the clattering of hooves was heard, a white horse slowly approached the river bank. The rider wore a white dragon pattern mask and was cloaked in an unchanging white robe.
