Chapter 119: Chapter 119
“Cold Granary!”
Shen Xiuhan’s eyes blazed. His right hand closed around the hilt in a sharp, decisive grip.
CLANG!
A clear, ringing peal of steel echoed through the courtyard.
Shen Xiuhan raised the sword one-handed, holding the blue-edged blade level before his eyes. Two fingers pressed together, he drew them slowly along the gleaming edge.
Then he reversed the blade, point aimed straight up past his shoulder, the snow-white steel running alongside his neck. Frost-cold qi brushed his skin, and every fine hair stood on end.
“A fine Cold Granary!” Shen Xiuhan murmured in satisfaction.
A turn of the wrist — the blade traced a silver-white arc — and with a crisp CLICK, he sheathed it backhanded. Guard met scabbard-mouth without a hair’s breadth of gap.
Ji Zhong stroked his beard and smiled.
“With Cold Granary at your side, you’re sure to take the feast by storm and seize the top spot. The Pool awaits!”
Shen Xiuhan, however, wasn’t swept up in the flattery. He shook his head slightly and looked at Ji Zhong.
“Uncle Zhong, the materials in this sword are solid and the edge is superb. Fifty taels… probably didn’t cover it.”
“…The price did run a touch over, but please don’t stand on ceremony. The family spared no expense precisely so you could carry our Ji banner high!”
Ji Zhong waved it off, then his smile dimmed and his tone sharpened.
“As you’re aware, the Luo clan has been pressing harder every year. In particular, two of their younger generation — Luo Qiance and Luo Wancheng — have been openly provoking and belittling our Ji disciples at every opportunity. Cutting words, insufferable arrogance…”
Ji Zhong paused. A cold glint entered his eye.
“Both of them will be on the platform this time. If you happen to face them… a lesson would be appreciated. No need to cripple them — just enough to remind them that there’s always someone better.”
Shen Xiuhan understood at once.
Back at the retainer posting meeting, the Luo clan steward had mocked Ji Zhong to his face in front of everyone.
Clearly, the friction between the younger generations ran even hotter.
“…Understood.”
Shen Xiuhan gave a slight nod but made no promises.
Ji Zhong didn’t press. He smiled, clasped his fists, and took his leave.
“Then rest well. I won’t keep you.”
…
Once the Ji men were gone.
Shen Xiuhan barred the gate and stood alone in the moonlight, silver glow pooling on his shoulders.
His left hand rested lightly on Cold Granary. Without further hesitation, he murmured.
“Deduce.”
【Deducible martial art detected: Flowing Cloud Sword. Proceed with Deduction?】
“Yes!”
In the next heartbeat.
Intelligence points plummeted.
The world seemed to freeze.
Wind. Insects. The distant TAP of the night watchman’s clapper.
All of it — gone.
A golden phantom materialized from thin air, standing proud atop a cloud-peak, robes streaming, like a sword-immortal descended to the mortal world.
A flick of the wrist — a blossom of steel — and the phantom began to drill the Flowing Cloud Sword, again and again.
【You spent four years in bitter practice of the Flowing Cloud Sword. Thrust, cleave, parry, hook — every foundational stroke. Wrist blistered, tiger’s mouth calloused. The forms were burned into your sinew. The sword art reached Initial Mastery. But though your blade was fast, it lacked the true essence of lightness like wind, change like cloud. Form without spirit.】
【In the tenth year, you drew your sword atop mountain peaks and cut through cascading waterfalls. You ceased clinging to the manual’s dead forms and instead felt the continuity of flowing water and the gathering and dispersal of cloud and mist. One day, the sword art moved through you like flowing water and drifting cloud — seamless, unpredictable. Your Flowing Cloud Sword reached Full Mastery!】
【In the thirteenth year, you traveled to every county martial hall in the prefecture, calling at each door to test your blade against all comers. Through live combat your swordplay grew ever more fluid and elusive, and you grasped the art of breaking skill with power, tempering softness with hardness. Your Flowing Cloud Sword reached Perfection.】
【In the fifteenth year, you sat in solitary seclusion, seeking to penetrate the true marrow of the sword path. Day after day, forsaking food and drink, until at last — in a single flash of insight — you grasped the essence of sword gleam. Your sword cultivation leapt forward. The art’s killing power sharpened to a razor’s edge — every draw, a death-blow.】
ZHENG!
As the golden phantom slashed out a streak of sword-light like white silk across the sky —
A bone-chilling, razor-sharp sword-breath flooded into Shen Xiuhan’s body.
“Ngh!”
Shen Xiuhan grunted. Veins bulged at his temples. His jaw clenched.
The sword-breath forced its way down his right arm, scouring and compressing, until it poured into Cold Granary in his hand.
SWISH!
Cold Granary cleared its sheath.
The snow-white blade trembled — then blazed. From guard to tip, a layer of pure white radiance condensed into being — half an inch long, dense as solid matter.
Sword gleam!
The same sword gleam Ji Ning had wielded!
The gleam was pure white as untouched snow, radiating a heart-stopping sharpness — as though it could part anything in creation.
Shen Xiuhan gave the sword a slow, testing sweep. Where the gleam passed, one corner of the stone table slid free without a sound, severed clean as if through tofu.
His toe-tip flicked. He caught the falling chunk of stone, lifted it before his eyes, and studied the cross-section.
Smooth as a mirror.
Not a single rough edge, not a burr. The surface faintly reflected light.
“Hoo…”
Shen Xiuhan exhaled softly. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“The Longxiang Martial Feast, is it…”
…
Day forty since Chenjian Wu’s Ninth Chief Tu Xiaotian lost his eyes.
Dawn had barely broken.
Shen Xiuhan finished breakfast and set out for the outer city at a brisk pace.
The feast grounds were set along the shore of Yunshui Lake.
Three fighting platforms, each a full zhang in height, had risen from the earth.
Pine timbers for pillars, paulownia planks for the floor, raw hemp rope strung around the perimeter.
At each corner flew a banner of apricot-yellow, embroidered with the snarling head of a bixie beast.
The standard of the Longxiang Army!
The shallows along the shore were already packed with spectators.
Saber-carrying fighters, silk-draped gentry, gawking commoners, and food vendors whose cries never ceased.
“Steamed buns! Piping-hot steamed buns from Widow Niu on South Street!”
“Candied hawthorns — three coppers a stick!”
“Cool tea, right here — Old Chen’s secret-recipe thirst-quencher from the bridge!”
Shen Xiuhan had barely pressed into the crowd when his eyes found a cluster of a dozen or so Mei Hall disciples gathered on the high ground.
At their head — Zuo Guangshu and Jiang Qinghong. Xu Chuan, Xiang Yunting, Shen Huai, and the rest were all present.
“Junior Brother Shen — over here!”
Zuo Guangshu’s sharp eyes spotted him. He snapped his fan shut and waved it high.
Shen Xiuhan went over and offered his greetings. “Senior Brothers, Senior Sisters.”
After a round of pleasantries, Shen Xiuhan learned who from Mei Hall was entering the feast.
In the Hidden Strength bracket, Jiang Qinghong alone would take the stage.
On the Manifest Strength side, besides Shen Xiuhan and Xu Chuan, Xiang Yunting and Shen Huai had also signed up — though both were still hovering at the Bone Tempering barrier. Their faces showed a certain tension.
They held no illusions of making a splash. This was about seeing the world and tempering themselves through experience.
After a few exchanges, Shen Xiuhan glanced around.
“Is Master here?”
“She is.”
Jiang Qinghong pointed into the distance.
Shen Xiuhan followed her gesture.
Along the shore, beneath the broad canopies of several old locust trees, a spacious viewing platform had been erected.
Built from whole round timbers, its floor was spread with red felt. Vermilion-lacquered railings ringed the edges, and a blue canvas awning overhead blocked the blazing sun.
Around the platform, at intervals of every few paces, stood an armored Longxiang regular — spear in hand, back straight as a rod, eyes sweeping the crowd like a hawk’s. An ironclad perimeter that no commoner could approach.
The true movers and shakers of Changyun and Changshui counties — the great houses, the powers that be — were all seated up there.
By now, a fair number of figures had already taken their places.