Cang Xuan finally raised his head, his gaze firm, and looked at his grandfather:
"Grandfather, I'm not going to the Spiritual Ability Academy."
He put down his bowl and chopsticks, tightly gripping the Iron Sword beside him, his tone calm yet resolute:
"I want to stay, inherit the martial arts school, and make the 'Cang' Sword Dao flourish."
"Nonsense!" The old man raised his voice, filled with the pain of a bitter disappointment:
"Flourish? With what? Look at it now, who wants to learn something so thankless and difficult? Outside is the world, the future, and you're holding onto an abandoned city and a broken wooden sword. What's the point?"
Cang Xuan pursed his lips, stubbornly silent.
Seeing his grandson like this, the old man's entire fury eventually turned into a powerless sigh.
He collapsed back into his chair, gazing out the window at the distant night sky interwoven with dreamlike brilliance, muttering:
