The child of the White Snake finally grew up into a youth.
In the distance, birds chirped through the night, and as the ancient bell on Sword Mountain pealed, the young Tianxi Heir received his sword and gained fame that shocked the world.
That day, at the sect's gate, throngs of people gathered like waves, all converging and lowering their swords.
Among that subservient crowd, Fang Geyu saw a few familiar faces.
Those were the renowned Tianxi Thirteen Swords.
Yun Rong was also among them.
Only that the Thirteenth Sword was now one short. Jin Sheng was no longer among them.
Ancient music played by a hundred instruments commenced, and atop the high platform, clad in a night Qilin uniform with black and crimson, the Master of Tianxi's face remained obscure.
He held a ceremonial Dao Sword, its tip lightly touched the kneeling youth's shoulder before retracting the sword. The sword tip pierced the heavens, and the fierce, unrivaled Sword Qi pointed north.
