The Maple Forest Pavilion was half-collapsed, the ground strewn with the remnants of walls and windows.
The falling sunlight, filtered through the slowly returning thin clouds and the tall red maples, had become rather dim.
The dim light was constantly reflected by several thousand swords, not becoming any brighter, instead appearing like light reflected off a pool of water.
Chen Changsheng loosened his grip, allowing that short sword that had been hidden in the flower pot for several years to fly away and regroup with the rain of swords in the sky.
He stretched his hand into the air and plucked out a sword like he was plucking a fruit at the height of autumn.
It was similarly a very short sword, but this one was exceptionally bright and incomparably sharp. It was called Stainless.
The topknot had been split apart, the halved hairtie now somewhere amongst the debris.
The Vault Sheath had fallen at Shang Xingzhou's feet.
