Bombarding Cultivators with Cluster Artillery

After parting with An Siyan and Jin Lingfeng, Jiang Dingfei flew in the sky.

For a moment, his heart felt empty.

Since the first day he stepped into Qingfeng University hundreds of years ago, he had grown accustomed to the presence of Immortal Dinghai and Immortal Luling—whenever he encountered a problem, he would ask for advice, as naturally as breathing.

Late on, it was the same with Zhang Junsheng.

Now, these things that were once taken for granted had vanished in an instant.

”Will we still meet after thousands of years?”

Jiang Ding mused to himself.

At that time, his thoughts turned to the great expert of Xuanwu tiangong.

He had once speculated and then claimed that, after thousands of years, Grand Sun Immortal would die of old age and be buried beside the moss-covered tombstone of Mr. Guo Kui, his former high school homeroom teacher. The entire Adult Sword Dao Department would mourn, and the death would be broadcast on the Xianmen News Network with the utmost sorrow and honor.

”This must be the old man messing with my Dao heart!”

”If this old guy really could foresee, Xuanwu tiangong would not have fallen to its current state, from its peak to losing most of its territory, nearly meeting its own demise.”

”I guess his divination and deduction skills are just a bluff.”

Jiang Ding thought coldly.

”However, Mr. Guo Kui’s grave indeed needs cleaning; in this world, there are still those who haven’t forgotten him.”

”And Teacher Zhang Dingjun…”

With that thought, Jiang Ding sighed.

Teacher Zhang Dingjun had passed away.

He died in the initial wars of Xianmen expansion, never finding the Golden Pill Dao he sought, killed by a Nascent Soul Monk of Xuanwu tiangong, alongside many comrades of the Starry Sky Troops.

Decades had passed since then.

With Teacher Zhang Dingjun’s family no more, his ashes, mixed with those of his comrades, pieces of warships and fighters, and starry dust, were collected by Jiang Ding and placed inside a Storage Jade Pendant.

There are many such cultivators in Xianmen.

If no one claims them after a while, the remains of these martyrs are interred in the Martyrs’ Cemetery outside Xiandu, along with numerous fallen comrades.

Jiang Ding had received Teacher Zhang Dingjun’s last letter before he went to battle.

He had written that, should he fall in battle, he wished to be buried in his hometown Rongcheng City, beside his parents.

Jiang Ding tore through space and vanished.

...

Rongcheng City.

As always, just like hundreds of years ago, not a single thing had changed.

Chattering schoolchildren on the bus, weary office workers at the end of their shift, high school students with heavy backpacks, elderly people arriving at the kindergarten gates to pick up their grandchildren with orange-peel skin blossoming into smiles.

A modern urban life scene.

Jiang Ding was somewhat dazed.

In just over forty years, the impact of the Domain Wars had completely disappeared from the lives of ordinary people, without a trace, as if it were a very distant matter, a thing of the distant past.

He walked through this city, unfamiliar yet familiar, pausing now and then, his gaze distant, comparing many things in his memory with the present, looking for differences and similarities.

The differences were not significant.

The pattern of the whole city was almost the same as it had been hundreds of years ago, with no changes whatsoever.

Only, the people inside...

Jiang Ding felt dejected.

In this hometown, among the tens of thousands of residents—young and old, middle-aged, men, women—not a single one he recognized, nor did anyone recognize him.

No one remembered anymore that hundreds of years ago, there was a boy born here, who learned to speak and went to primary school, middle school, high school, then topped the Xianmen entrance exam, bringing honor to Rongcheng City, the pride of the entire city.

It had become a hometown of strangers.

```

Jiang Ding walked through the bustling streets.

All around, youngsters laughed and played, shy couples exchanged glances, grandfathers held grandsons in joyous embrace, and the noisy voices of the shops advertising their promotions filled the air.

All of this had nothing to do with him; he was like a ghost, wandering through the city of days gone by.

Following the instincts of his body, he unconsciously arrived at his family home in the residential area.

He no longer recognized any of the neighbors.

No matter how much he scrutinized or forced connections, he couldn’t find even a hint of his childhood playmates’ faces in them; they were completely different.

The local residents showed curiosity and wariness toward this young man in green, who suddenly appeared near their homes, instructing their children not to run around carelessly.

Many watched, prepared to call the police should this intruder in their neighborhood make any undesirable moves.

Then they saw this young man in green deftly pull out a key, enter the elevator, press the button for his floor, and close the elevator doors.

Everything happened so naturally and subconsciously; it seemed as if it should be just so.

Those who had lived in the area for a long time couldn’t help but be taken aback.

He unlocked the door to his home.

”Has it been one hundred years, or two hundred years since I came back?”

Jiang Ding sighed.

As expected, the moment the door opened, inches-thick dust flew everywhere, attacking and choking him with its sharp smell.

That was still the better scenario.

If it weren’t for the fact that his mother and sister had entered the Sleeping Hidden Realm one or two hundred years earlier and Jiang Ding sensed that he might not return for quite a long period, and had thus infused the entire residential complex with first and second-tier Heavenly Materials and Earthly Treasures to strengthen its durability, he feared his house might no longer exist, having been demolished long ago.

”It seems I’ve missed the chance to become a demolition relocator?”

Jiang Ding bantered.

Returning home, the melancholic thoughts in his heart eased somewhat; the place of one’s birth and upbringing always held a certain fondness.

”Taiqing, get to work.”

Jiang Ding commanded as if treading familiar ground.

Clang!

Whoosh!

The Taiqing Flying Sword flew out, surrounded by whirling Destruction Sword Qi that encased the bluegold blade, yet it did not tear through space or the floor. The sword qi swirled like a gentle tornado around the blade, traveling through the room, drawing in thick dust without damaging the furniture or appliances.

These pieces of furniture and appliances had been imbued with first and second-tier Heavenly Materials and Earthly Treasures many years ago, enhancing their sturdiness and resilience to ensure they wouldn’t crumble into dust over time.

No, that would be an exaggeration; such materials couldn’t achieve that effect.

To be exact, they should be able to last four or five hundred years without any changes.

”I remember, the Fourth Realm of the Sword Dao is called ’Undying,’ right?”

Jiang Ding sat and watched the Taiqing Flying Sword bustling about, cleaning the floors, the ceiling, washing dishes, and scrubbing pots and pans, without moving a muscle himself, his thoughts drifting freely.

”When I reach the Fourth Realm of the Sword Dao, I’ll imbue all these household items with the Undying Sword Qi Indestructible Will; even if they break, they’ll be able to restore themselves.”

”That way, as long as I’m alive, the sword qi won’t cease, and the furniture won’t break.”

”Even if I’m gone, the sword qi can exist independently for thousands of years, ensuring a long shelf life for the furniture.”

After a good while of bustling activity, the Taiqing Flying Sword had the house looking like new.

Then, she checked the kitchen and noted that the exhaust hood and the electromagnetic cooker had some minor issues; she promptly absorbed some sword qi, the flying sword shrunk to the size of a hair strand, and slipped through the ventilation gap to repair them from the inside.

Flashes of Spiritual Light sparked intermittently, just like electric welding.

Once everything was done, both the electromagnetic cooker and the exhaust hood were back to normal.

Whoosh!

The Taiqing Flying Sword opened a window for ventilation, then flew out toward the vegetable market, preparing to cook a meal.