The azure hue of the Azalea flower began to slowly fade. That fragile dream, too, gradually dissolved.

Finally, the Azalea withered. For this single blooming, the Azalea had prepared for so long, yet its wilting was but an instant.

As the Azalea fell, Lu Yuan suddenly shuddered. Just then, the sound of his Master's breath ceased.

Master Li Yuanbai had passed into immortality! Though a smile remained upon his face, it was a smile entirely without regret.

Lu Yuan could hold back no longer and burst into sobs, crying like a child. His life's principle was always to keep himself cheerful, whether on the mountains, on the earth, or underground.

Lu Yuan had always lived his days quite happily, utterly at ease—this was the benefit of a detached temperament, easily finding joy at any time. Lu Yuan always insisted he would live happily, but seeing his Master pass away finally broke him into unrestrained weeping.

It was the Master who had brought him into the Huashan Immortal Sect, into the world of cultivation. It was the Master who had elevated him from an ordinary child to one of the ten true disciples of Huashan's North Peak.

In Donglin Town, he knew few characters, and it was Shifu who taught him to read so many. It was the Master, hand-in-hand, who taught him swordsmanship.

Back then, he was no master swordsman, merely a child ignorant of the art; in his hands, the sword was no different from a wooden stick. His aptitude for Dharma arts was truly poor, yet the Master taught him patiently, never growing angry at his clumsiness.

If not for the Master, he probably couldn't even fully execute the ten most common spells now. He was somewhat mischievous in nature, often breaking things, but the Master never said a word about it.

And when he caused trouble outside, like breaking something, the Master shouldered the responsibility, though he would still deliver a few reprimands. Later, when he became lazy and unwilling to practice the sword due to his inherent nature, the Master did not rebuke him severely.

When he achieved success in swordsmanship and became slightly conceited, the Master never failed to remind him against arrogance. Master Li Yuanbai—one of the most significant people in his entire life.

And yet, he was gone like this. Though the saying goes that men should not weep, he couldn't help but cry out.

Enough, enough! What is this talk of men not weeping?

To cry when one must cry, to laugh when one must laugh—this is my true nature. Master...

he had left just like that. From now on, Changchun Residence would be his alone.

Although he still had a few friends, an inexplicable chill settled in, as if coldness seeped into his body from the surroundings. At this moment, several Wardens who had rushed over saw Li Yuanbai pass from afar, and Lu Yuan's great weeping continued unabated.

They were wise enough not to approach. Lu Yuan did not weep for long before beginning to fashion a coffin.

The Master was to be buried back in Huashan, alongside the tomb of Shiniang. Lu Yuan took wood from the surrounding maple trees to craft the coffin.

The maple leaves here were so beautiful; the Master had admired them several times on the road. Making the coffin from these maples, the Master should like it.

The coffin completed, he placed the Master's body inside, along with the Master's accompanying sword, the Twilight Spirit Sword. This had been the Master's lifelong blade; let it descend into the earth with him.

At this moment, the Twilight Spirit Sword had lost a shade of its luster. Normally, the Twilight Spirit Sword was dark and lusterless, but even then, though it lacked brilliance, it possessed spirit.

But now, the Twilight Spirit Sword had neither luster nor spirit. A sword can communicate with its master; this blade seemed to have understood its owner's passing.

Lu Yuan stood up, hoisting the coffin onto his shoulder: "Master, allow me to send you on your final journey." Bidding farewell to this incomparably beautiful place, bidding farewell to the withered Azalea, Lu Yuan flew straight toward Huashan carrying the coffin. The Huashan Immortal Sect soon spread the news.

Li Yuanbai, the Twilight Sword Immortal, one of the Six Sword Immortals of the North Peak, had achieved immortality. Li Yuanbai still had some retainers, like Uncle Song, and a mourning hall was quickly set up.

Lu Yuan didn't need to do much; his only task was to receive guests in the hall. The North Peak members no longer needed extensive hosting duties.

Representatives from Huashan's other four peaks arrived to pay respects, as did delegates from the other four great Immortal Sects. This funeral was modest, not what one would call a grand burial.

Most of Li Yuanbai's old friends from that time had perished in the battle at Qili Valley, leaving few behind. The rest were mostly fellow sect members coming to pay tribute.

However, Lu Yuan knew his Master didn't care for such things. The Master had departed with a smile before his death, having settled all grievances and resentments without regret.

Lu Yuan remained there, meeting guests from all quarters. A month had passed since Li Yuanbai’s burial.

Lu Yuan had returned to his usual demeanor. People shouldn't live trapped in sorrow; the Master surely wouldn't wish for him to live in sadness.

It was a deep twilight evening. Lu Yuan lay on a patch of grass—not at Changchun Residence, but simply a clearing on the North Peak.

In the past few days, Lu Yuan had resumed his old habits: either practicing his sword or drinking wine, living a life utterly leisurely. Remembering someone isn't about constantly speaking their name, but holding them in one's heart.

The outward formality was never important. Lu Yuan lay on the grass, his Nourishing Myriad Sword set aside.

What a truly beautiful twilight before his eyes. The sunset between the distant peaks gathered its last threads of light.

The distant mountains grew darker and more vast. The twilight seemed like sediment suspended in a flowing mixture, quietly sinking when still.

The sun descended, birds returned to their nests; the once-moving world grew still, the colors of the dusk settling, heavy ones sinking to the valley floor, between the peaks where darkness was absolute and lightless, while the lighter hues remained in the sky, almost serene and transparent. Lu Yuan lay quietly on the grass, watching the twilight before him.

Is this twilight? Rain has heavy rain, light rain, fast rain, fine rain; clouds have white clouds, dark clouds, chaotic clouds; wind has violent wind, strong wind, gentle breeze.

But twilight seems to have few variations. Dusk is simply dusk.

It is not as lively as rain, not as free as clouds, nor as unrestrained as wind. Twilight was never meant to be a color of freedom, otherwise, it wouldn't be called mu (dusk).

Unconsciously, he reached for the Nourishing Myriad Sword in his hand. He swung the sword gently, executing one sword stance after another.

This time, he was not using the One Hundred and Eight Swords of Wind and Cloud, nor his self-created Seventy-Two Forms of Falling Rain Sword Style, but the Twilight Sword Style taught by his Master. He executed the stances of the Twilight Sword Style one by one.

"Hazy Twilight," "Vast Gloom," "Hero's Sunset," "Years of Dusk"—one stance after another, one movement after another. Executing the Twilight Sword Style this time was far more exquisite than any previous attempt.

Moreover, Lu Yuan performed this set of sword techniques exceedingly slowly, contemplating as he moved. After repeating the Twilight Sword Style ten times over, he finally let out a long sigh.

Success. Yes, success.

In that moment, he comprehended the fourth Sword Intent: the Dusk Sword Intent. Given his free and easy nature, comprehending the Dusk Intent should have been extremely difficult, but the impact of his Master's passing led him to grasp it now.

His swordsmanship had advanced another step. He was still some distance from Grand-Uncle Yuan Yuan’s level, but Lu Yuan was confident that his current skill was definitely not lower than any of the other North Peak Six Sword Immortals besides him.

The Cloud Sword Intent could cloud his vision and nullify the opponent’s spiritual power. The Wind Sword Intent, formless and swift, was best suited for offense.

The Rain Sword Intent had two forms: the Torrential Rain Intent surpassed the Wind Intent in attack power, while the Fine Rain Intent could confuse one's sight. And the effect of the Dusk Sword Intent was to completely blind the opponent, rendering sight useless, while also slowing their movements.

The restraining effect of the Dusk Sword Intent was immense. Having comprehended the Dusk Sword Intent, Lu Yuan took a deep swig of wine—this mouthful was fiercely potent.

Exhilarating! As the saying goes, one should enjoy life to the fullest when one is successful.

Comprehending the Dusk Sword Intent was a great thing; he had advanced further in swordsmanship. In this moment of triumph, he should go eat something good.

Might as well head to an eatery, order a few savory side dishes, and enjoy a hearty meal and drink. It had been a long time since he savored fine food.

Right—this time, he must feast properly. Now, it was autumn.

Autumn was when crabs were best; there was no helping it, autumn crabs were the fattest, and he had to enjoy them thoroughly. Not far away, Ye Yangrong smiled faintly from within the darkness.

He had been sent by Senior Brother Yuan Yuan to check on Lu Yuan. Seeing Lu Yuan stride forward now, drinking with such unrestrained spirit, he couldn't help but smile.

This kid Lu, he really worried for nothing. Originally, Senior Brother Yuan Yuan and he had worried that this boy might become too dissolute following his Master’s death, but now it seemed their worries were unnecessary.

This boy was the type to find happiness quickly. He was sad when his Master passed, but afterward, he would quickly adjust his state of mind and resume living cheerfully.

Ye Yangrong nodded. Forever happy, utterly at ease—this was the true Lu Yuan he knew.

The North Peak needed Lu Yuan. Especially now.

The Sword Sect, Qi Sect, and Sword-Qi Sect were already on the verge of conflict due to doctrinal disagreements. Patriarch Yan was close to ascension.

With internal troubles and external threats, those two lads, Yun Yi and Yun Ping, would likely struggle to hold the line. Darkness, silent.