Sixty-eight swords formed a sundial standing before him, constituting four layers of encircling swords.
The first three layers faced inward with their hilts and outward with their blades, nested layer by layer as if cast in the air; the first layer had four, the second twelve, and the third twenty-eight. The fourth layer consisted of twenty-four swords whose tips chased after their hilts, slowly revolving around the exterior of the three layers.
Pei Ye stared blankly at this scene, suddenly understanding where that familiar sense of perfection had originated.
The profound energy flowing within these swords was clearly from the formation map that the man had joyously created from months of waking early and retiring late, seventeen years ago.
Now, in the ice-cold night, Qu Zhu quietly lifted his head and, through the flowing swords before him, a soundless illumination penetrated the clouds and snowflakes, falling down around him.
Starlight.