Fellow Daoist! That scoundrel has written a new book again.

She carried the black sword in her hand and walked forward, her eyes filled with increasing sarcasm.

This obstacle arose from within. Zhu Wuyao never imagined that he was such a coward.

He felt so guilty for not being able to save those people that he even had thoughts of backing down.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and listened to the scathing words whispered in her ear.

After hearing it so many times, it started to seem ridiculous.

The world is full of worries and troubles; even a thin hemp rope can break.

Are we to assume that all the suffering of the millions of people in distress is related to us and that we should extend a helping hand to them all? And if we help them in the wrong way, will we have to bear the consequences?

It's really... enough to make you hesitant to get involved.

"Guess whether I dare or not."

This question, though asked softly, is directed at others, at oneself, at Heaven, and at fate.

She was just doing what she wanted to do; if she could save people, she didn't expect anything in return.

So what if we can't save them?

If fate insists on pinning this life-threatening crime on her, then she will bear it.

What kind of enlightened person would stop moving forward because of empty fame and reputation for good and evil?

"Therefore, we still need to improve our strength. If someone comes looking for revenge, a fight is inevitable."

Ultimately, I'm neither a bad person nor a great benefactor; I just do what I want to do when I have the time and energy.

Good and evil are determined by people. She has her own set of principles for doing things, and she doesn't need any theories about destiny, nor should she fear the judgment of others.

Ultimately, it all boils down to one question—what kind of person do you want to be?

Zhu Wuyao hadn't figured out the answer yet, but it was enough for her to get out of this predicament.

I do what I want, regardless of cause and effect, fate, or what people say.

Holding the sword in both hands, her lips pressed tightly together, she cut the last rope that was holding her back.

She had already chopped and hacked countless times along the way.

Therefore, when he saw the figure standing and smiling in front of him, he almost lost his grip on the sword.

The blade of the sword was heavy, and the blacksmith had not forged it well, so after many swings, it became difficult to hold.

Zhu Wuyao looked up at the figure and heard her ask:

"what about me?"

Don't you feel any guilt towards me?

She stood gracefully in her light-colored dress, like a white plum blossom exuding a chill beneath the snow, her expression sorrowful, yet she still smiled as she looked at Zhu Wuyao.

She was asking—what about me?

As a result, Zhu Wuyao found it difficult to hold the sword.

You have lived up to Nanli, to the world, and to your own conscience, but what about me?

Zhu Wuyao gently raised his hand, wanting to grab her sleeve, but stopped when they were an inch apart.

She stood there for a long time.

I gazed at that figure in silence.

I dared not touch it, dared not make a sound, and even my breathing became much softer.

She stood there for a long time, so long that she reached the top floor of the Star-Picking Tower, where a soft sigh came from the window.

But she ultimately gripped the sword tightly in her hand—

The bladeless sword suddenly exuded a chilling aura, carrying a fierce, air-splitting force as it slashed towards the figure in front of it.

The illusion vanished.

May Wuyao sheath his sword.

"I think you've misunderstood. I didn't cut her off, it's just because... I miss her so much."

That voice, as light as willow catkins, drifted away with the wind.

As if whispering.

Zhu Wuyao stepped forward, crossed the pass, and passed through the mountain gate.

On the top floor of the Star-Picking Tower, Sect Leader Fang sighed softly, his thoughts swirling:

"Xiaobai, do you think she regrets it?"

Elder Xiaobai emphasized, "Don't call me Xiaobai." Then he said:

"If there is no regret, why linger? If there is regret, how can one pass through the mountain gate?"

Sect Leader Fang glanced at Elder Xiaobai with a complicated expression and said:

"If someone says something pointless..."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Zhu Wuyao followed the guidance of the disciples of Zhaixinglou to the main hall.

Several familiar faces.

She saw Hua Ying leaning against a pillar in the main hall, seemingly lost in thought, as if pondering something.

Seeing the pollen-allergic cultivator who had killed eleven notorious bandits sitting blankly on the ground, looking bewildered.

The fat man who had evaded the ticket was also inside the main hall, looking completely at ease, with a slick smile that greeted everyone he met.

I also saw Xiao Liu wiping away tears with his sleeve.

……

Everyone's circumstances are different, and the scenery they see is also different.

Those who can pass through that mountain gate are probably no ordinary people. I wonder how many people will be able to enter the Star-Picking Tower this time, and how many will part ways with it.

Zhu Wuyao observed the expressions on everyone's faces and pondered silently in his heart—

Even if they gather all the talented people in the world, in the end, the Star-Picking Tower will only want a few.

Compared to other sects, the number of people is far too small.

So, how did it become one of the four major sects on the continent of Mosang?

If Xiao Liuzi, with his mutated wind spirit root, were placed in another sect, he would definitely be given special attention and training, and there might even be elders vying to take him as their personal disciple.

Yet, in the Star-Picking Tower, one still has to stand on the same starting line as someone with mixed spiritual roots like oneself…

Come to think of it, I might have even stepped forward a few more times.

He used the celestial observation technique of the Star-Picking Tower to enter the Dao, and although he never grasped its true meaning, he had already become a diviner by a twist of fate.

Thinking of this, Zhu Wuyao suddenly remembered Ye Xiaozhou's words: "In the Star-Picking Tower, not a single person has even begun to cultivate."

Then what am I?

Has he/she entered the basics, or not?

Or is it that being able to use this technique to cultivate is one thing, but truly mastering it is another?

After waiting for about fifteen minutes, the checkpoint at the mountain gate was finally cleared. Some left, some stayed, and now there were only twenty or thirty people left in the main hall.

"Gentlemen, I will set the questions for the second challenge of the Star-Picking Tower."

An old man dressed in white linen robes drifted in. Unlike the immortal guarding the gate, his expression was slightly serious.

He took out a round bronze mirror from his sleeve, raised his sleeve and waved it. It instantly spun and hung in the air, gradually growing larger until it was almost as tall as a person.

Countless characters carved on the mirror surface emerged and began to rapidly converge around the mirror.

It vaguely resembles a magic seal.

The countless runes collided, and the mirror surface began to ripple, like water ripples, with a vortex appearing in the middle, its destination unknown.

Elder Xiaobai stood beside the water mirror, meticulously explaining:

"This is a realm within a realm, containing a small, illusory world."

"You can only do one thing: try your best to keep everyone alive. That's how you pass the test. Everyone has three chances to start over."

"Please enter in turn."

The people in the hall looked at this mysterious magic treasure. The bolder ones were the first to tentatively step inside. As soon as one leg went in, they were sucked into the mirror.

Zhu Wuyao stared at the vortex in the middle, lost in thought.

She had seen spirit-blocking talismans before, and the characters within them, which contained the imagery of [sealing], seemed to faintly appear on this mirror as well.

I'm not sure if I've misread it.

Although she could draw some talismans, she was far from proficient. She shook her head, feeling that she shouldn't let them influence her judgment.

Stepping into the mirror, a sudden sense of openness appeared before me.

Ordinary streets and alleys.

A little girl was playing Cuju (ancient Chinese football), and there seemed to be bruises on her arms. Zhu Wuyao frowned, looking at the words that appeared above her head—

[I am destined to have younger siblings.]