Chapter 118: Chapter 118
Time flew like a white colt past a crack in the wall. Seven or eight days slipped by in the blink of an eye.
Throughout this stretch, Shen Xiuhan shut himself away at home in relentless cultivation.
Then, two days ago, the long calm over Changyun County was torn apart by a sudden thunder of hoofbeats.
The Longxiang Army envoy had arrived!
At the head of the column rode none other than Zhenyue Colonel Zhao Zheng.
He had brought a full fifty Longxiang regulars in battle array — weapons glinting like a forest of steel, formation cold and immaculate.
Most striking of all —
Every last one of these regulars was a Manifest Strength martial artist.
Such military might set all of Changyun County buzzing.
Hundreds of young fighters swarmed to the gates of the Wang estate, craning their necks for a glimpse of the Longxiang Army’s fabled bearing.
And then Zhao Zheng, together with the Wang family head, made the announcement.
The Longxiang Martial Feast would open in a fortnight — with a blood oath to consecrate the ring!
The feast would comprise two brackets: Manifest Strength and Hidden Strength.
Any martial artist under thirty years of bone-age — regardless of birth or sect — was eligible to fight.
The top three finishers in each bracket would gain entry to the Dragon Blood Essence Pool.
That hallowed ground’s qi-blood was immense. For Manifest Strength and Hidden Strength fighters attempting a breakthrough, its value was beyond measure.
A single day inside the Pool was worth half a year of bitter training!
The news hit like a thunderbolt. The county erupted.
Within a day, the great families of Changshui County received word and dispatched their carefully nurtured young fighters. Carriages and riders streamed in without end.
The smaller clans and martial halls, slower on the uptake, caught the wind and converged with their disciples in tow.
In no time, every inn and restaurant in Changyun was packed to bursting — even the woodsheds had been cleared out for lodging.
The streets teemed with saber-wearing, sword-carrying fighters — sharp-eyed and arrogant — some in packs, some lone wolves, every one of them radiating a cutting edge.
The entire county hummed with excitement. Even Shen Family Eatery saw a boom in business, tables full from dawn to dusk.
But the outside clamor might as well have not existed for Shen Xiuhan.
The feast registration and vetting had been handled by the Ji clan on his behalf. He needn’t spare it a thought.
He simply stilled his mind, cast off distractions, and trained.
One Sinew-Transforming Pill every seven days. He let the medicinal fire scorch through his meridians, then sank into stance-work and fist-drills until qi-blood steamed from his body like mist and sweat soaked through his clothes.
Day after day, without pause.
Until at last —
Day thirty-nine since Chenjian Wu’s Ninth Chief Tu Xiaotian lost his eyes.
Evening.
A cool breeze stirred.
Shen Xiuhan stood bare-chested in the courtyard, his sculpted torso radiating heat like a furnace, great plumes of white vapor rising from his skin.
Eyes half-closed, feet planted steady as mountains — each step sending a muffled thud through the ground.
Arms swept outward like a roc spreading its wings, flowing through the Golden Vulture Soaring Wind Art stance by stance.
Every sink of the waist, every burst of force trailed a sharp, keening whistle — the cry of a raptor diving on its prey.
Inside, qi-blood raged like a broken dam, crashing through the meridians.
FLASH!
In one sudden instant —
Shen Xiuhan’s eyes snapped open. A piercing gleam blazed through.
Muscles knotted and surged. He channeled qi-blood along the great dragon of his spine and drove it in a thunderous charge at the Conception and Governor sinews.
CRACK-CRACK-CRACK…
A rapid-fire string of pops erupted — like beans roasting in a wok — crisp and dense.
The Conception and Governor sinews, under the onslaught, blew wide open.
Qi-blood poured through like a rampaging dragon, flooding into new channels and surging onward.
“Hoo…”
Shen Xiuhan’s chest heaved. Of the five major sinews — Surge, Belt, Conception, Governor, and Yang Heel — the Conception and Governor pair had now been opened.
Only the last — the Yang Heel Vessel — remained between him and Hidden Strength.
CRACK-POP…
Shen Xiuhan rolled his joints and stretched. A note of regret colored his voice.
“The feast starts tomorrow. This is as far as I can go for now… but it’s enough.”
He felt the qi-blood inside him — dense and heavy as molten lead — and a measure of satisfaction settled in.
With cultivation approaching Manifest Strength Perfection, plus his arsenal of combat arts, he was confident: within the Manifest Strength bracket, he had no rival.
“Still…”
“A feast of this magnitude — who knows what trump cards others might be hiding. If I want to lock down the win and eliminate all variables, I need one more card of my own.”
With that thought, Shen Xiuhan walked to the stone table in the courtyard. His fingers brushed the cover of a brand-new booklet lying there.
The Flowing Cloud Sword!
The Ji estate had sent the hand-copied manual the day after his visit.
But Shen Xiuhan had been short on intelligence points and lacked a proper blade, so he had shelved the sword art and left it untouched.
Now, he had accumulated enough points. And he had entrusted the Ji clan with fifty taels of silver to procure a good sword.
A mid-tier treasure weapon would be ideal.
Though… unrealistic.
In a backwater like Changyun County, no weapons forge could reliably produce mid-tier treasure weapons.
Even the lower-tier pieces were hit-or-miss, their quality depending entirely on the smith’s luck that day.
So Shen Xiuhan had resigned himself to a serviceable lower-tier treasure sword.
And if even that fell through…
A hundred-fold refined long sword would have to do.
Only — days had passed, and the Ji estate hadn’t sent word.
TAP TAP TAP!
Just then, a knock sounded at the courtyard gate.
Shen Xiuhan threw a short jacket over his shoulders and went to the door.
Outside.
Two Ji clan men stood holding wind-lanterns. At their head — Ji Zhong.
“Master Shen… forgive the late-night intrusion.”
Ji Zhong greeted Shen Xiuhan with a warm smile and clasped fists.
Shen Xiuhan stepped aside and gestured courteously. “Uncle Zhong, please — come in for tea.”
“No, no — wouldn’t want to wake the household.”
Ji Zhong waved him off with a smile, then straightened, his voice dropping.
“Master Shen, I come bearing the household head’s orders. Tomorrow at dawn, the feast opens with a blood-oath ceremony to consecrate the ring!”
As he spoke, Ji Zhong produced a black wooden token and handed it over.
The token was palm-sized. On its face, vermilion characters spelled out Shen Xiuhan’s name and his bracket assignment number.
“The family drew your lot for you. Your first bout is the morning after tomorrow. Rest well these two days — conserve your energy and settle your spirit.”
Once Shen Xiuhan pocketed the token, Ji Zhong turned and gestured.
The attendant behind him unslung a long wooden case from his back and presented it with both hands.
Shen Xiuhan’s eyes lit up.
“This is…?”
Ji Zhong stroked his beard and smiled.
“To find you a proper sword, the family spent the past half-month turning every arms shop in Changyun and Changshui counties inside out!”
“But with every clan and hall going mad buying up weapons for the feast, forget mid-tier treasure weapons — even the lower-tier ones were snapped up. Not a blade to be had.”
“When the household head learned of this, she immediately dispatched a fast boat overnight to the prefectural city’s Qizhen Pavilion to purchase this sword for you…”
Shen Xiuhan’s pulse quickened. He took the long case and lifted the lid.
In an instant —
A slash of cold, bone-chilling silver light poured out like autumn water, illuminating half his face.
Inside the case.
A slender, blue-edged sword lay in perfect stillness.
Ji Zhong offered the introduction.
“This sword measures three feet, nine inches, and three-tenths. It weighs sixty-three jin and eight liang. Forged from Cold Iron Refined Gold, the spine runs true and straight, the edge shimmers like flowing water. When drawn, the chill bites to the bone — clean as white frost. Among mid-tier sword weapons, it stands a cut above the rest.”
“Its name…”
Ji Zhong paused, enunciating each syllable.
“Cold Granary.”