Lin Mu did not know how long he had been walking.
At some point—long after the sharp winds had ceased and long after his flesh had grown numb to the pain—his mind entered a state beyond awareness.
A strange trance enveloped him.
No thoughts. No distractions. No future. No past.
There was only intent.
One step.
Then another.
His body moved not because he willed it, but because it must. The same way rivers flow down a mountain or stars course across the heavens. It was not a decision. It was nature. It was truth.
His sword intent, which had earlier formed a barrier around his body like a second skin, had begun a subtle transformation. It no longer rested upon him as a protective shell. Instead, it began sinking into him—merging, soaking into his flesh, his muscles, his meridians.
The integration was gradual, almost imperceptible.
