Tens of thousands of ant-like characters circulated above, with occasional lines of golden text flashing briefly, like flying fish leaping out of the water only to be submerged back into the sea of characters.
In particular, at the spot where a "purple streak" lingered, in front of a certain part of the third floor, an ancient Confucian Classic had suddenly appeared, as if blown over by a gentle breeze, rapidly flipping through its pages, pouring out countless ink characters like a stream of sesame seeds, filling and solidifying the point of collision.
The straight ’purple streak’ had now abruptly stopped in front of the spontaneously flipping Confucian Classic.
Zhao Rong’s eyes narrowed.
What he saw... was a purple Flying Sword.
On closer inspection, an extremely fine, incredibly thin purple Flying Sword.
Or perhaps, it was more appropriate to call it a tiny needle.
The Flying Sword was pocket-sized, radiant with purple, and as slender as a needle, resembling a stalk of wheat.
It must be the smallest, finest Flying Sword Zhao Rong had ever seen.
Yet it was this ’delicate little thing’ that had just, like an ant trying to shake a tree, presumptuously collided with the towering building.
What was even more astonishing was that the grand commotion that had just occurred, and the sudden appearance of the flipping Confucian Classic, all proved... it had indeed caused a disturbance.
At this moment, the floating slender Purple Sword seemed to have a sense of spirit, shaking slightly, confronting both the book emitting cascading characters and the nine-layered library obstructing its path.
The slender Purple Sword let out a long cry, its sword body like a purple thread, suddenly surged with rolling Purple Energy.
The next moment, Purple Energy exploded like a bull blowing out steam.
Zhao Rong clenched his fists in front of his stomach, his eyebrows slightly furrowed.
He felt the Sword Qi, or rather, the transformed Jiao-Chi Snake within him felt the Sword Qi, churning incessantly.
However, Zhao Rong was quite certain, it wasn’t because of this unknown-grade Flying Sword, as there seemed to be no connection to the Innate Primordial Qi within him.
Ever since he drank that strange Zhengguan Spring Water, the half-Jiao half-snake within him seemed to be especially sensitive to Sword Qi.
Just like at this moment...
Yu Huaijin, unbeknownst to him, had already come to stand by his side.
She held her hands, similarly furrowing her brows as she watched the Purple Sword that was challenging the bull, suddenly saying, "Too sharp and exposed."
It was unclear if she was referring to the sword or to its unknown owner.
She seemed to know something.
Zhao Rong’s brows were still knitted with confusion, unresolved, as he turned his head, about to speak.
Suddenly, a hearty scolding sound echoed to the ears of the quiet crowd outside the library, breaking the silence of the scene.
Zhao Rong closed his mouth and turned his head along with Yu Huaijin to look.
Where the library’s doors were busy with people coming and going, a space had now been cleared, and an old man in black with white eyebrows, looking to be in his eighties, was standing with his hands behind his back.
At this moment, the white-browed elder glanced at the flustered Li Xueyou and the silent Sima Duyi, who had his eyelids lowered.
He turned his head, his gaze settling on the ’little fellow’ who dared to collide with the library in broad daylight, disrupting his reading.
The slender Purple Sword seemed to be sentient, rotating in the air with a defiant attitude, as if eagerly challenging the peacefully word-spewing Confucian Classic.
At that moment, it was as if the white-browed elder’s words were taken as a provocation.
In an instant, Purple Energy surged, and Sword Qi soared to the sky, first making a sudden sharp turn to gather momentum, drawing a circle in mid-air, then aiming to crash into the library.
Thus, in the sight of everyone outside the library, a purple light circle began to appear, growing in speed while its sound became increasingly faint.
The purple circle grew larger, gradually silent.
Purple mist lingered, its brilliance blazing.
It was like a purple sun rising under the nine layers of the library, and then suddenly, the purple sun disappeared, leaving only a straight purple line in the air, as if the grand purple sun had been stretched into a sliver of hair, already... thrusting forth from a bowstring.
The crowd at the scene held their breath.
PS: Uh, guys, believe me, Zhao Rong won’t write that kind of plot...
Alright, I know just saying it won’t convince everyone, so let Zhao Rong’s actions speak for themselves.
Zhao Rong’s current goal is to write Sword Lady earnestly and seriously, without any tricks; to wrap up what needs to be concluded, and to try to fill any gaps that should be filled...
Whew, just thinking about it feels very comforting, charge on!