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A few days later.
Li Yuan arrived in Silkfloss Province. He stood at the base of a desolate mountain, gazing at a lonely cenotaph, an empty tomb erected in memory of someone lost.
Etched into the cliff above were the words—
“Here lies Zhang Xiu.”
He stood in silence.
Memories welled up. That was the time when he’d still believed in righteousness. Still walked the road of justice, blade in hand.
But that chapter of his life had ended when he buried himself right alongside the ideals he once carried.
“So,” he murmured, “do I really want to keep living that way?”
He had seen too much darkness on this road. And now he understood something clearly. A blade alone couldn’t fix the world.
He could kill a man, two, a hundred, a thousand. But he couldn’t slay all evil.
And the men he’d killed…were they all truly deserving? Each had a family. Each had a child, a wife, someone who waited...
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