The snow was falling steadily, blanketing everything like the dust that covered history.
Dugu Wushuang woke up. It was very quiet, so quiet that he thought he was in hell. He moved a little, and his body touched the chopped wood. There was a noise.
"Huh? I can move already?" He froze for a moment, then looked at his body. The gash that ran from his shoulder to his lower back had completely healed. "What?! A fatal wound such as that had healed overnight?!"
Dugu Wushuang's heart raced. He looked around and found that he was in a woodshed. "Some expert must have saved me! Only an immortal would have the ability to heal such an injury overnight!" he murmured.
He stood up. His breath and energy were still not stable, but he did not care. He picked up the Wushuang Sword that was thrown on the ground. It was his lifeblood, his price as a Sword God. He stroked the sword and sighed.
