I stood there, dazed. What a scene this was: drooping willow branches, a grave covered in lush grass, butterflies dancing in the fragrant air. The longsword thrust into the earth still shone with an incomparable luster. Binglan gently stroked the blade, sobbing softly.
On the headstone were carved the words: "Grave of my beloved mentor, Mingyu." Two butterflies fluttered up and down before the stone, circling the sword as if deeply attached and unable to bear the thought of leaving.
After a long time, Binglan slowly turned around. I met her gaze and was struck by a sudden jolt. That sorrow was strikingly similar to the look in Xinyu’s eyes back then. Binglan had lost the mentor she perhaps loved, but Xinyu had lost even more—so much that it was impossible to speak of.
Chapter 508