Quick Transmigration: Only You Are the Desire of My Heart

Shen Guanlan stopped five steps away from the two. This distance allowed him to advance or retreat as needed. Even though Ye Wujiu was crippled, he remained cautious.

His gaze swept over Hua Qianqian's deathly pale face, and he shook his head, seemingly with regret and mockery: "Junior Nephew Hua is indeed fierce, what a pity for such a beautiful face. If she were more obedient, she could come back to the Heavenly Sword Sect with me and become a sword-serving maid, at least she could save her life."

Ye Wujiu seemed not to hear, still keeping his head down, intently picking at the dried scabs on Hua Qianqian's collar with his fingernails, humming an off-key tune, a lullaby used to lull children to sleep in the water towns of Jiangnan.

Shen Guanlan frowned slightly, feeling somewhat displeased at being ignored. He flicked his wrist, and the longsword emitted a clear, melodious dragon's roar, its tip pointing directly at Ye Wujiu's nape.

"Alright, stop with the drama of life and death. I'm sick of it."

Shen Guanlan's eyes suddenly turned cold, and the aura of a grandmaster was released without reservation, making the surrounding air seem thick and heavy.

"Since you are so reluctant to part with her, then I will do you a good deed and send you down to keep her company."

Before the words were even finished, the sword flashed.

Shen Guanlan didn't use any fancy moves with this sword strike; it was just a simple, unremarkable thrust. But with the infusion of internal energy, this simple sword strike was as fast as lightning, accompanied by a shrill whistling sound as it tore through the air, heading straight for Ye Wujiu's throat.

Logically speaking, even in a desperate struggle, Ye Wujiu should have dodged or raised his weapon to block.

But he didn't.

The instant the sword touched his skin, Ye Wujiu even slightly raised his head, stretched his neck forward, and actively met the cold blade.

His face showed no fear, no anger, not even his signature ruthlessness. Instead, there was an eerie, almost liberated calm. His expression was like that of a weary traveler who had finally found an inn to rest at.

puff.

The sound of the sharp blade entering the flesh can be clearly heard.

The longsword sliced ​​through the flesh without resistance, severing the throat. Blood didn't gush out, but rather gushed out along the scabbard like a broken spring.

Ye Wujiu swayed, but did not fall. He remained kneeling, his hands tightly gripping Hua Qianqian in his arms, his chin resting on her forehead.

He was laughing, making a "hoarse" sound coming from his throat.

Cruel yet tender, with a chilling sense of satisfaction.

"Shallow...shallow..."

Because his vocal cords had been severed, his voice was muffled, but he still tried his best to move his lips and speak in a voice that only he could hear:

"I've come...to be with you..."

"In my next life... I will never do anything to make you angry again..."

"Qianqian...please forgive me...please..."

The last tear slid down his cheek, mingling with the blood flowing down his neck, indistinguishable between bitter and sweet.

His head slowly drooped, striking Hua Qianqian's shoulder heavily. Their blood mingled, becoming one.

Shen Guanlan flicked his wrist, and the longsword was pulled from Ye Wujiu's neck, leaving a trail of blood droplets.

The bodies lay limply to one side, yet remained tightly intertwined. Even in death, their posture resembled some ancient totem, exuding a resolute determination to fight to the death.

“Really…” Shen Guanlan frowned, flicked the blood off his sword, and took out a clean cloth from his pocket to wipe it. “…A madman.”

He sheathed his sword, feeling no satisfaction at avenging a great grudge, but rather a sense of utter boredom. Killing such an opponent brought no sense of accomplishment, only the exhaustion of dealing with trash.

He took out the book from his pocket. The old animal hide cover was stained with some mud. Shen Guanlan carefully flicked it off with his fingers, rubbing the rough texture with his fingertips, feeling the secret contained within that was enough to drive the entire martial arts world crazy.

"Twenty years."

Shen Guanlan muttered to himself, a hint of barely suppressed fervor finally surfacing in his voice. He looked up at the sky.

At this moment, the once silent night sky suddenly churned with inky clouds. The heavy, dark clouds seemed to press down on the treetops overhead, and deep within the clouds, faint purple lightning bolts flickered.

Boom——!

A thunderous roar erupted, causing the ground beneath their feet to tremble slightly.

Immediately afterwards, large raindrops pelted down, as if a huge hole had been torn in the sky, instantly enveloping the forest full of corpses in a misty haze.

The rain washed away the bloodstains on the ground, diluting the originally thick red into a light pink, which gathered into winding streams that flowed down to the low-lying grass.

Shen Guanlan stood in the rain, the icy rainwater streaming down his cheeks and soaking his robes, but it gradually calmed his heart, which had been agitated by killing.

"It's all settled."

He looked around.

All those who knew his true nature became corpses on this ground.

From then on, he remained the highly respected and revered leader of the righteous path, Shen Guanlan, the sect master of the Tianque Sword Sect. The story of the Huanhua Sword Sect's collusion with the Demonic Sect and its eventual annihilation by the Demonic Sect would become just another topic of conversation in the martial arts world. As for the truth, who would care?

History is always written by the victors.

"Ha ha ha ha--!"

Shen Guanlan suddenly threw his head back and burst into laughter. The laughter pierced through the rain and mingled with the rumbling thunder, sounding particularly manic and unrestrained.

"The martial arts world under heaven will ultimately belong to me!"

He suddenly flicked his sleeve, unleashing a surge of internal energy that shattered the surrounding rainwater, turning it into rings of white mist that spread outwards.

He turned away, no longer looking at the two entangled corpses on the ground, and strode down the mountain.

Behind him, the Dragon-Slaying Stone was tightly sealed, encapsulating all grudges and affections within the dark and sunless Sword Tomb.

The rain grew heavier and heavier, as if trying to wash away all the bloodshed and sin on Huanhua Mountain.