Wait, How Did My Digital Girlfriend Become a Sword Immortal?-Chapter 204.5: My Mother Likes the Sword Pavilion Patriarch
Chapter 204.5: My Mother Likes the Sword Pavilion Patriarch
Chen Huai’an’s two consecutive strikes didn’t just terrify Zhang Tinghai.
The surrounding sects that had gathered to watch the spectacle were also shaken.
For those like Lingxi Valley, the Pill Sect, and the Zen Sect—sects that had participated in the demon purge—they weren’t too surprised. They had already heard rumors of the Sword Pavilion’s newly returned ancestor, a man of unparalleled strength.
As for his actual cultivation realm? That was still up for debate.
Some claimed he was in the Fusion Realm, others said Fusion Perfection, and some even suspected the Void Refinement Stage. But one thing was certain—no one in their right mind believed this Sword Pavilion Patriarch was weaker than the Fusion Realm.
After all, he was merely an incarnation standing there.
If he chose to show his full strength, that would depend entirely on his mood.
"Patriarch, isn’t the Sword Pavilion being a little too aggressive? The Shaoyang Sect is still a major sect, yet they’re given no face at all—it’s just a Dao Inquiry Platform…"
Daoist Qingxuan trailed off mid-sentence.
Because he saw his mother gazing at the Sword Pavilion’s war chariot.
Through the layers of clouds, her longing gaze practically radiated from the pavilion.
A bad feeling welled up in his heart.
Thinking back to her recent odd behavior…
He arrived at a ridiculous conclusion.
—His mother had fallen for the Sword Pavilion Patriarch?!
"Qingxuan, what did you just say?"
Daoist Qingxuan swallowed hard, glancing at his mother before forcing out, "N-Nothing… I was just saying that the Shaoyang Sect has no shame for stealing the Sword Pavilion’s platform."
"Indeed." Rong Qingyun let out a cold snort. "From now on, our sect will not sell them any pills or magical tools. No disciples of Qingyun Sect are permitted to associate with the Shaoyang Sect. If I find anyone disobeying, they will be expelled!"
Daoist Qingxuan: "…"
It was over.
This all but confirmed it.
His mother was smitten.
He clenched his fists as he stared at Chen Huai’an’s back, filled with resentment and helplessness.
He had imagined countless reasons for his mother’s sudden change in attitude toward the Sword Pavilion—but never in his wildest dreams had he considered… that his own family had been stolen!
Meanwhile, on the Qingyun Sect’s flying vessel—
Lu Changtian’s gaze locked onto the ethereal figure beside the Sword Pavilion Patriarch.
He wasn’t the only one watching.
The disciples of Chixiao Peak were also staring.
"That’s Junior Sister Qingran?" Lu Changtian murmured.
She had changed.
So much so that even he found her unfamiliar.
It was as if a delicate ink painting had been cut from old parchment—only to be suddenly filled with color.
The girl who once stood at the end of the corridor, lowering her head to adjust her skirt—
Had now become a lively young doe, adorned with golden bells, stepping lightly through the spring breeze.
He remembered how Li Qingran used to smile—her gaze always carrying a hint of hesitance, like the reflection of moonlight trembling over thin ice in early spring.
Serving tea to Daoist Qingxuan, she would force a polite smile.
Being scolded by the elders, she would bow her head in helplessness.
Even when seeking him out for sword guidance, she had been cautious, always carrying a touch of unease.
But now?
The girl standing beside the Sword Pavilion Patriarch smiled gently, her brows dusted with the glow of dusk.
Even her eyelashes shimmered in the honeyed light.
The hem of her pale moon-colored dress revealed lotus-embroidered shoes adorned with silver bells, chiming merrily with every step.
The once pallid wrist that had always been hidden beneath faded sleeves—
Now bore delicate golden-threaded bangles, shimmering as she wiped down the Blackscale Sword’s scabbard.
The red silk cords wrapped around her wrists and ankles—symbols of longing for love.
Had she really started wearing these things?
And for whom?
Lu Changtian’s gaze instinctively fell on Chen Huai’an.
That was the Sword Pavilion Patriarch… It couldn’t be him, could it?
But this Sword Pavilion Patriarch had somehow maintained a youthful appearance. His sharp, dignified features made Lu Changtian suddenly feel like Qingyun Sect’s so-called "most handsome disciple" was a complete joke.
Not to mention, the other men from the Sword Pavilion—Xu An, Duan Feng—they were all striking in their own way.
The more Lu Changtian thought about it, the more his mind spun.
Beside him, a few junior disciples whispered in confusion.
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Xiao Yifeng shook his head. "Li Qingran seems to be living quite well in the Sword Pavilion… Weren’t we told the Sword Pavilion was struggling?"
"Tch, she’s just obsessed with dressing up now. Not focusing on cultivation," Yun Zimo scoffed, gripping his sword hilt tightly, his tone laced with bitterness.
Zhang Hanxiao rubbed his eyes in disbelief. "She looks… She looks even prettier than Junior Sister Mu Baishuang…"
"Shut your mouths!"
Lu Changtian’s gaze sharpened as he turned toward them.
"Enough of this gossiping! She is no longer a disciple of Qingyun Sect, let alone Chixiao Peak! She belongs to the Sword Pavilion now!"
"Zhang Hanxiao, comparing her to Junior Sister Baishuang? That’s an insult! How do you think Junior Sister Baishuang would feel if she heard that?"
"Senior Brother is right." Zhang Hanxiao shrank back, forcing an awkward smile.
Lately, Mu Baishuang had been distant.
At first, they tried to approach her, but after being ignored enough times, they eventually lost interest.
"Speaking of which, where is Junior Sister?" Yun Zimo scanned the area but found no sign of Mu Baishuang. He turned to ask Daoist Qingxuan.
Daoist Qingxuan, still brooding over his stolen mother, was in no mood for their nonsense.
Irritated, he snapped, "The secret realm’s gate is about to open, and the three great holy lands are about to appear—yet you’re still fussing about your ‘Junior Sister’ nonsense? Have some damn ambition!"
"Mu Baishuang’s a grown woman. She’s not a lost child. She’s not entering the secret realm anyway, so she probably went off to some mortal city to pass the time. You can look for her after you come out of the secret realm."
Lu Changtian and the others didn’t dare argue and kept their concerns to themselves, waiting for the secret realm to open.
Meanwhile, on the Sword Pavilion’s war chariot—
After losing his arm, Zhang Tinghai no longer had the courage to provoke the Sword Pavilion.
Not a chance.
That old monster from the Sword Pavilion hadn’t even drawn his sword and had already severed his limb.
If he actually unsheathed that blade, wouldn’t he just cleave him in half?!
With no choice but to endure the humiliation, Zhang Tinghai slinked away, leading his disciples deep into the Ten Thousand Mountains.
But the dark glances he kept throwing toward the Sword Pavilion’s war chariot…
Clearly, he wasn’t letting this grudge go.
Deep within the Ten Thousand Mountains—
Inside a hidden formation.
Mu Baishuang placed a tombstone before the cave where the Demon Heir used to cultivate.
She knelt among the shattered rocks, her fingers tracing the blood-red inscription—"Grave of the Demon Heir."
Tears splashed onto the still-wet bloodstains.
"You always said that blood should only be spilled on the battlefield to restore the Demon Sect’s glory."
A cold, hollow laugh escaped her lips.
Her bloodstained nails dug into her palms, crimson seeping into the carved name.
"But my blood—"
"Will soak the entire Sword Pavilion!"
A cursed talisman in her sleeve smoldered, its edges curling with dark flames.
Nine Nether Demonic Qi coiled around the silver bells in her hair.
As the last strands of her severed hair drifted to the tombstone, the cave behind her echoed with the wails of ten thousand ghosts.
Slowly, she turned.
Bowing deeply, she addressed the elderly nun standing behind her.
"Senior… please, perform the ritual."
Lingpo, the old nun, gazed at the overwhelming hatred in Mu Baishuang’s eyes—
And beneath it, an untraceable flicker of delight gleamed in her own.
"You understand that by using this technique, you will be offering your soul to the Nine Hells? There will be no turning back. Certain death awaits you."
"It matters not."
"The Heir is dead… so I shall die too."
"Very well." The old nun’s voice was steady.
"But remember—"
"That Sword Pavilion Patriarch is a formidable foe. And he is merely an incarnation. I advise you to strike when the secret realm is closing—when the chaos may grant you a chance."
"Yes. I will remember."
