Emma Sullivan stood up, brushed the grass clippings from her clothes, and bid farewell to William Thompson, “Third Senior Brother, I have other things to do, so I won’t stay any longer.”

“As for Miss Zhuang’s matter, handle it as you see fit. I can’t really give you any advice.”

Looking at the young girl before him, now reaching his shoulder, William Thompson finally realized that the little girl who used to toddle behind them had already grown up.

……

Charles Morgan idly picked at the weeds on the ground, glancing now and then in the direction where the sword cultivator girl had left.

It’s been so long—why hasn’t she come back yet?

She wouldn’t just leave me here, would she?

But her barrier was as solid as iron, and he couldn’t get out, so he could only wait here like a farmer waiting for a rabbit.

After living eighteen years, Charles Morgan finally understood what it meant to wait in vain.

A graceful figure appeared in the distance, drawing closer.

The girl was dressed in sky blue, and in Charles Morgan’s eyes, it became the most beautiful color in the world.

Emma Sullivan approached, swept her wide sleeve, and the barrier vanished.

“Let’s go, I’ll take you back to Queyue Mountain.” The girl’s gentle tone was like celestial music.

On the sword’s back, Charles Morgan asked, “Where’s your senior brother?” She had come to Donglu Mountain to find her senior brother, so why was she returning alone?

“Don’t go poking your nose into other people’s sect affairs.”

You might get beaten up.

“Oh.” Charles Morgan fell silent for a moment, then changed the subject. “Since we’ve been through life and death together, may I know your name now, miss?”

“Emma Sullivan.”

“?” The wind was too strong; he didn’t quite catch it.

“‘Fu’ as in talisman, ‘Zhu’ as in eastern pearl.” Emma Sullivan patiently repeated.

Since she had borrowed Charles Morgan’s immortal sword, she naturally had to leave her name so she could return it in the future.

This time, Charles Morgan heard clearly. He repeated the name twice in his mind, wondering which sect had a disciple named Emma Sullivan.

Miss Emma Sullivan’s swordsmanship was outstanding, and at such a young age she had already reached the Golden Core stage. Such a genius would be remarkable in any sect.

But as Charles Morgan mentally reviewed the geniuses of each sect, he became more and more certain that he had never heard of the name Emma Sullivan.

The more he compared, the more stifled he felt.

Because he realized that among all the prodigies he could name from the major sects, not a single one had formed a core at Miss Emma Sullivan’s age.

The long sword soared through the air, covering a thousand miles in an instant.

Through the clouds, Charles Morgan saw the outline of his sect. He pointed to a mountain ahead and said to Emma Sullivan, “Miss Emma Sullivan, that mountain up ahead is the entrance to the Taixuan Sword Sect.”

Emma Sullivan nodded and brought the flying sword to a stop.

She took a veiled hat from her storage pouch and put it on, clearly not wanting to be seen.

Charles Morgan didn’t dare ask more, afraid Emma Sullivan would strike him with her sword.

But in truth, those close to Emma Sullivan all knew she had a very good temper.

Soon, a disciple guarding the mountain gate spotted the two of them, and, clutching his flying sword warily, hurried over. The moment he recognized Charles Morgan’s face, he cried out in surprise, “Little Uncle, you’re back! I’ll go inform the sect master!!”

Emma Sullivan looked with interest at the “half-baked” Golden Core cultivator beside her. This guy actually had quite a high status in the Taixuan Sword Sect?

The disciple ran off so fast that Charles Morgan didn’t even have time to stop him.

Fortunately, one of his companions was calmer.

He held his sword and bowed, his gaze lingering on Emma Sullivan. “Little Uncle, who is this young lady?”

Charles Morgan was about to speak, but Emma Sullivan interrupted him. Even through the veil, though the other party couldn’t see her expression, Emma Sullivan still wore a friendly smile.

“My surname is Fu. I am your Little Uncle’s creditor.”

The girl’s tone was gentle and laced with laughter, making her seem nothing like someone here to collect a debt.

The disciple glanced at his Little Uncle. Since he said nothing, he clearly accepted the girl’s words.

“May I ask how many spirit stones Little Uncle owes you?” The Queyue Mountain disciple asked tactfully, with a hint of probing.

She’s chased him all the way to the Taixuan Sword Sect to collect a debt—was it a money debt?

If it was, it must be a lot…

Emma Sullivan was unhurried, holding up five fingers.

“Five hundred spirit stones…” That’s not too bad; he probably had that much in his storage pouch.

“No,” Emma Sullivan shook her head, “it’s five thousand high-grade spirit stones.”

Five… five thousand?

And high-grade spirit stones at that?

What on earth did Little Uncle do!

Charles Morgan pressed his lips together and said nothing. If he hadn’t lost his storage pouch, he would have already paid Miss Emma Sullivan back, and wouldn’t have to be publicly shamed in front of his junior nephew.

“Junior nephew, help me scrape some together first. I’ll pay you back later.” Charles Morgan was clearly lacking in confidence.

“……”

Is this something you can just scrape together? Even if you killed him, he couldn’t come up with five thousand high-grade spirit stones!

But since Little Uncle had spoken, no matter how hard it was, he had to try. He couldn’t let others laugh at the Taixuan Sword Sect.

They still had to save face.

“Little Uncle, Miss Fu, please wait a moment. I’ll go gather the spirit stones right away.”

Emma Sullivan found a rock to sit on, while Charles Morgan insisted on standing.

After a while, Charles Morgan began to regret it.

If he’d known, he would have worn a veiled hat too, to cover his face. The curious stares of passing junior brothers, sisters, and nephews were practically glued to his face.