What lesson can be taken from Hong Min's story this time?
Every choice carries a different consequence.
Once you decide to make a choice,
you must also be prepared to bear the consequences of that choice.
Just like Hong Min, who already had a home,
yet chose a wider world instead.
Was Hong Min wrong?
Of course not!
It was his choice.
There is nothing wrong with someone's choice.
But what was the consequence of Hong Min's decision?
He had to leave his home
for a world filled with uncertainty.
Yet Hong Min remained steadfast in his choice.
He understood the consequence of what he chose.
"Every choice carries consequences."
"So, Elder Wendao," Mo Zhaoyuan asked again,
"Do you wish to remain trapped here and die miserably, forgotten by the world,
or do you want to try choosing a different path—
one that is not arranged by the world itself?"
Elder Wendao fell into a long silence.
The mountain wind blew softly,
rustling the pine leaves outside the pavilion.
The Go board before him had long since stopped moving;
black and white stones were frozen in positions he no longer cared about.
Mo Zhaoyuan's words continued to echo in his mind.
Every choice carries consequences.
Slowly, Elder Wendao clenched his fingers.
The wrinkled skin of his hands trembled,
as if he were trying to grasp something long lost.
"Hong Min left his home…" Elder Wendao murmured softly.
"A safe world…
for a world that might not even exist."
He let out a long breath,
one that felt heavier than his centuries of age.
"Was that the right choice?" he asked,
not knowing whether he was asking Mo Zhaoyuan
or himself.
Mo Zhaoyuan did not answer immediately.
He stood calmly,
as if time itself held no meaning to him.
His gaze fell upon the Go board,
upon the stones sacrificed
for a position that was never truly achieved.
"There is no wrong choice, Elder," he finally said.
"There are only people who are not prepared to accept the consequences."
Elder Wendao was startled.
The sentence was simple—too simple.
And precisely because of that,
it felt cruel.
He closed his eyes.
Images of the past surfaced:
youthful ambition,
promises made to himself,
the sword he once held with absolute conviction.
All of it stopped…
halfway.
"If I had chosen a different path back then…"
His voice trembled.
"Would I be different now?"
Mo Zhaoyuan took a step closer.
"What is the true purpose of a sword, Elder?" he asked softly.
"For revenge? For protection? To wound? Or to kill?"
Elder Wendao opened his eyes.
Mo Zhaoyuan continued without waiting for an answer.
"If someone draws a sword for revenge,
they will fall into an endless abyss."
"If they use it to protect,
they must be prepared to face enemies without end."
"If they use it to wound others,
they must be prepared to be wounded themselves."
"And if they use it to kill…
they must be prepared to be killed."
The words were spoken without emotion.
Yet it was precisely that calmness
that made them unbearably heavy.
"A sword is merely a lump of metal," Mo Zhaoyuan continued.
"What makes it special
is the purpose of the person who wields it."
He looked straight into Elder Wendao's eyes.
"Without purpose, a sword is nothing but dull iron.
And a cultivator without purpose…
is no different from a corpse that still breathes."
Elder Wendao's chest tightened.
It felt as though someone had just torn open
an old wound he had sealed for decades.
For the first time,
he did not refute the words.
Instead, he asked in a voice lower than before,
"Who are you, really?"
"I am merely a supporting character in this vast world,"
Mo Zhaoyuan replied calmly.
"My name is Mo Zhaoyuan."
Elder Wendao nodded slowly,
then looked at him more deeply.
"And what is your ultimate goal?"
Without the slightest hesitation,
Mo Zhaoyuan answered,
"Immortality."
The room froze.
Elder Wendao was shaken.
His eyes widened,
his breath stopped for a moment.
Immortality.
Not power.
Not glory.
Not revenge.
A goal he no longer dared to think about
after his failure.
"Why…
would you choose such an impossible goal?"
Elder Wendao asked,
almost whispering.
Mo Zhaoyuan did not smile.
Instead, he returned the gaze
with eyes sharp yet calm,
like someone who had already accepted
the possibility of failure from the beginning.
"What goal is worthy for a human?" he asked in return.
"Wealth? Honor? Power?"
He slowly shook his head.
"What use is wealth if you die and cannot take it with you?"
"What use is honor if your body is eaten by earthworms?"
"And what use is power,
if upon death you cannot even resist the worms gnawing at your corpse?"
Each word struck harder than a sword.
"Only eternal life is worthy of pursuit," Mo Zhaoyuan continued.
"If I pursue immortality,
then wealth, honor, and power
are merely consequences."
He looked toward the sky beyond the pavilion,
as if seeing something far beyond the mountains.
"Even if I fail," he said softly,
"I am not truly defeated."
"Because I may fail to reach my goal…
yet I will still achieve
what others spend their entire lives chasing."
Elder Wendao fell silent.
"People say to dream as high as the sky," Mo Zhaoyuan continued.
"But if your dream is only as high as the sky,
then when you fall, your body will shatter."
He looked back at Elder Wendao.
"So I choose to dream as high as the Sun."
"If I fail,
I will not fall in disgrace to the earth…"
"I will float among the stars."
A long silence enveloped the pavilion.
Elder Wendao closed his eyes.
For the first time in hundreds of years,
he felt…
not defeated.
But undecided.
He felt that he was only one step away from enlightenment,
yet it was as if an invisible wall
was blocking him from reaching it.
Mo Zhaoyuan spoke again.
"You are bound by what you currently possess.
Release your shackles,
and you will find what you are searching for."
The words struck like thunder in broad daylight.
They struck Elder Wendao directly,
and at that moment,
he finally understood
what wall was blocking him.
Qi Flow…
For hundreds of years,
Elder Wendao's Qi had flowed steadily—
calm, obedient, controlled.
Like an ancient river held firmly by dams,
never overflowing,
never rebelling.
But this time was different.
As Mo Zhaoyuan's words echoed in his mind—
"You are bound by what you currently possess."
The Qi in his dantian trembled.
At first, it was only a small ripple,
barely noticeable.
Then the ripple turned into a vortex.
Elder Wendao shuddered.
"This…" he murmured.
He felt something he had suppressed for a very long time—
buried ambition,
fear of failure,
attachment to name, status,
and the Northern Sword Clan.
All of it…
were shackles.
Didn't I stay for the clan?
Didn't I sacrifice my path for stability?
His thoughts churned.
Then, for the first time,
he let out a soft laugh.
A bitter laugh.
"I was wrong…"
The Qi in his body began to rebel.
Not from madness.
But from liberation.
He took a deep breath.
With a single decision,
he let everything go.
The title of Elder.
The status of Clan Pillar.
The fear of loss.
The regrets of the past.
If the world wants me to stop here…
then I refuse.
BOOM—!
The Qi flow that had once been a river
collapsed into a storm.
Pure Qi surged from his dantian,
piercing through long-stagnant meridians.
His bones creaked,
his blood boiled,
yet his expression was calm.
The expression of a man
who had finally chosen.
The sky above the Silent Pavilion changed abruptly.
Clouds spiraled,
wind howled,
and a silver-white pillar of Qi shot forth
from Elder Wendao's body—
piercing the pavilion,
piercing the mountain peak,
piercing the heavens.
Like a colossal sword stabbing into the sky.
Throughout the Northern Sword Clan,
disciples and elders looked up in unison.
"This aura…!"
"Enlightenment?!"
"Elder Wendao… has broken through?!"
Heaven and earth Qi trembled,
as if acknowledging
the rebirth of a true cultivator.
Inside the pavilion—
Elder Wendao's body changed.
Wrinkles faded from his face,
his back straightened.
He now looked like a man in his sixties—
mature, calm, dignified.
Yet his hair remained white.
White not from age,
but from the price paid.
The Qi pillar slowly subsided.
Silence returned.
Elder Wendao opened his eyes.
That gaze…
was different.
No longer an elder bound by responsibility,
but a cultivator who had found a new purpose.
"I understand now," he said softly.
"I did not lose my path…
I merely stopped walking."
He turned to Mo Zhaoyuan.
"Thank you."
Mo Zhaoyuan nodded lightly,
as if all of this were only a natural result.
Then he asked,
casually yet dangerously,
"If one day I destroy the Northern Sword Clan…
what would you think?"
Elder Wendao was not surprised.
He chuckled softly.
"I do not care."
The answer was firm.
"If that is your goal,
I can even help you."
"And besides…"
He looked deeply at Mo Zhaoyuan.
"I owe you one favor—
outside the matters of the clan."
Mo Zhaoyuan smiled faintly.
He turned to leave.
But Elder Wendao suddenly said,
"It's a pity.
I would like to talk longer."
Mo Zhaoyuan paused.
"If I stay," he said quietly,
"the pests will soon arrive."
"Pests?" Elder Wendao raised an eyebrow.
"Ah… them," he realized.
"Yes," Mo Zhaoyuan replied flatly.
"Those who come with congratulations,
smiles on their faces,
and the intent to flatter."
"I dislike them."
Elder Wendao laughed heartily.
Then he clapped his hands.
"Escort this guest through the rear mountain path,"
he ordered a servant.
"Ensure no one knows."
The servant was startled,
but immediately bowed.
"Understood."
Mo Zhaoyuan departed,
his figure gradually disappearing into the mountain mist.
Elder Wendao stared in that direction for a long time.
For the first time in hundreds of years,
the world felt…
vast again.
And he—
felt young again.
The pillar of light that pierced the heavens slowly faded,
yet the remaining Qi waves still shook the air around the mountain peak.
Not long after—
Footsteps echoed from the front mountain path.
The first group to arrive
was the First Young Master, Lin Yixue,
known as the Northern Beauty.
Indeed, her face was stunning,
her skin white as snow.
She wore a silver-white robe,
her posture upright and cold.
Her expression remained calm,
yet her eyes carried a sharpness difficult to deceive.
Behind her stood Elder Murong Qingshan,
his aura stable and heavy,
like an ancient mountain that had endured countless storms.
When they saw Elder Wendao—
Their steps halted.
The hunched old man they once knew…
was gone.
Standing before them
was a man who appeared to be around sixty years old.
His back was straight,
his aura deep and vast.
His hair was still white,
yet his face looked far more vibrant,
as if time had retreated by decades.
"Congratulations to Elder Wendao on your breakthrough,"
Lin Yixue said clearly,
bowing lightly.
Elder Murong Qingshan also bowed.
"This breakthrough will be recorded
in the history of the Northern Sword Clan."
Not long after,
the second group arrived.
The Second Young Master, Lin Wenhao,
stepped forward with a warm smile
and polite demeanor.
His robe was simple
yet clearly expensive,
revealing his wealthy background.
At his side walked Elder Yao Wenlu,
his gaze swift and calculating,
clearly assessing the change in Elder Wendao's aura.
"Congratulations, Elder Wendao,"
Lin Wenhao said kindly.
"May your lifespan be long
and your cultivation path ever broader."
Elder Yao Wenlu echoed the sentiment.
Soon after,
the third group arrived almost simultaneously.
The Third Young Master, Lin Ziyu,
arrived with a serious expression.
His posture was firm and formal,
carrying the authority of an imperial official.
Behind him stood Elder Yan Zhenhou,
his aura sharp and filled with suppressive force.
"Elder Wendao's breakthrough
is an honor for the clan,"
Lin Ziyu said solemnly.
"May Elder continue to gain enlightenment
on the path of the sword."
The three young masters stood together,
each with different expressions and intentions,
yet all showing respect
before the newly advanced Elder Wendao.
Not long after—
A deeper, more majestic aura enveloped the area.
The Clan Leader of the Northern Sword Clan arrived.
He wore a black robe embroidered with golden threads,
his steps steady,
his eyes radiating the authority of a ruler.
Upon seeing Elder Wendao,
his expression shifted
to genuine astonishment,
followed by a broad smile.
"Hahaha! Excellent! Truly excellent!"
"Congratulations, Elder Wendao.
The clan has finally witnessed the day
when old shackles are broken."
He raised his hand,
and a servant stepped forward
carrying a black wooden box.
"This is a gift from the clan," he said.
"A thousand-year ginseng,
and one Foundation-Stabilizing Pill.
May it aid you in consolidating your realm."
Elder Wendao accepted it calmly
and nodded.
"Thank you, Clan Leader."
Then it was the young masters' turn.
Lin Yixue presented a small box
containing pure Qi essence sword stones.
Essence stones were used to replenish Qi in battle—
rare items,
and pure Qi essence stones were even rarer.
"A personal gift.
I hope Elder will accept it."
Lin Wenhao followed,
offering a defensive artifact,
his tone polite and measured.
Lin Ziyu, without hesitation,
produced a Soul-Strengthening Pill—
clearly not a cheap item.
Elder Wendao accepted them all
without many words.
One by one,
after the necessary pleasantries,
the groups began to depart.
No one noticed
that Mo Zhaoyuan had already left
the pavilion long ago.
As the sun slanted westward
and the mountain returned to calm,
Elder Wendao stood alone
before the Go board,
which now felt unfamiliar.
He looked at the single black stone
remaining in the corner.
He had clearly lost the game—
due to the many sacrifices he made.
Meanwhile,
Mo Zhaoyuan's moves
were efficient,
without unnecessary sacrifice.
Elder Wendao smiled faintly.
"Strange child…" he murmured softly.
"Well, perhaps we will meet again tomorrow…
I would like to talk longer."
The mountain wind blew gently.
And along the rear mountain path,
far from the eyes of the clan—
Mo Zhaoyuan's figure had long vanished,
leaving the Northern Sword Clan
with a new pillar…
and the seeds of change
that no one fully realized.