East Courtyard.
Clang—
Jiang Ning drew his sword from its scabbard, and a gentle hum resonated from the blade in his hand the moment it was unsheathed. The sound was pleasant to the ear, almost as if a dragon's roar echoed beside him.
He looked down to see the blade of his sword dull and lackluster, spotted with patches of greyish-white stains.
Then he moved to the side, wet the blade with water, and brought his index and middle fingers together, wiping them down the length of the blade.
Zing—
As his fingers left the blade, another soft chant was heard.
The greyish-white stains on the blade were as stubborn as before, not a single mark had faded.
"It really isn't that simple," he thought to himself. "These must be marks left by the passage of time."
"I hope such stains won't have too much of an impact on this spiritual weapon."
Jiang Ning thought silently.
Afterward,