The sword's body was thin and narrow, its edge razor-sharp, yet its hue was a heavy and solemn black. It did not emit a chilling gleam but bore an imposing presence. The blood groove was smooth, its curvature slightly concave, resembling an Eight-sided Han Sword rather than a standard Han Sword. Engraved on the blade were the characters: "A heart like Ruo Shang's mournful, yet its aftermath like peace restored."
Zhou Yitang gazed at it once more before sliding the sword back into its scabbard.
"Is this… the sword you've prepared for him?"
Yin Tingxue asked curiously.
Even she could discern that the origins of this sword were extraordinary. Its blade, so thin it resembled rice paper, was striking. Just looking at its body imparted a feeling of seeing its shadow without a gleam—an aura of mystique. She couldn't fathom how much effort and offerings Zhou Yitang had invested into crafting such a sword.
"Yes,"
Zhou Yitang replied softly, then added:
"You should return now."
