Chapter 131: Chapter 131
Luo Changming’s brow furrowed.
Beside him, the other three Transforming Strength grandmasters’ expressions shifted as well.
All four turned as one, following the sound.
On the platform.
Ji Ning’s black sword had cleared its sheath.
And along the blade, a condensed gleam of frost-white flickered in and out of being.
His opponent was a scion of a wealthy house from Changshui County.
Surname Zhang, given name Lingxiao.
The man’s cultivation was profound, and despite his youth, he had been accepted as a disciple of the prefectural city’s Zhenhai Marquis House.
Marquis Zhenhai — Cui Daoran — was a frontier official planted by the Great Qi imperial house in Cangzhou, charged specifically with reining in the Southern Sea sects.
His position was lofty, his power immense. The Sea-Patrol Guard he commanded was famed across the region, stratified by cultivation into first, second, and third class — a strict hierarchy.
Zhang Lingxiao was a second-class Sea-Patrol Guard.
His cultivation stood at early Hidden Strength, two of nine apertures open. He wielded a silver spear with consummate skill — spear-wind howling like a flood-dragon breaching the sea.
Relying on his one-tier edge in cultivation, he had handled the bout against Ji Ning with apparent ease.
But the instant he glimpsed that moonlight-white gleam on Ji Ning’s sword…
“That’s—”
Zhang Lingxiao’s pupils quaked. Cold sweat instantly soaked his back. He cried out in horror.
“Sword gleam?! You’ve cultivated sword gleam!”
Ji Ning’s face was cold as ice. Without a word, the black sword in his hand — trailing that frost-white gleam — cleaved down.
Frigid.
Razor-keen.
Killing intent absolute.
Where the edge passed, the air screamed with a sharp detonation, as though it would sever everything in creation.
Zhang Lingxiao couldn’t dodge in time. He could only clench his teeth, raise the great spear crosswise in both hands, and pour every ounce of strength into blocking the strike, hoping to counter.
But while he had heard of sword gleam, he had never witnessed it. In the end, he had underestimated its destructive power.
CRACK!
A crisp sound of breaking.
The lower-tier treasure weapon that had served him for years — the Sky-Splitting Spear — snapped clean in two, brittle as tofu.
The break was smooth as a mirror. The silver spearhead clattered to the ground.
The gleam’s momentum unspent, it kept falling toward the crown of Zhang Lingxiao’s skull.
Zhang Lingxiao’s gall nearly burst. His soul fled to the heavens.
Between life and death, the Hidden Strength force in his Taichong and Guanyuan apertures detonated. His body shot backward in a blur, fast as lightning.
But quick as his reaction was, he was still half a breath too slow.
SHRRK!
The sword-tip skimmed down his face.
Along the Shenting point, the wing of his nose, his lips, his jaw — down and down…
The frost-white gleam plowed a straight, bloody furrow across his chest and abdomen. Skin and flesh curled back. Blood gushed.
“AGH!”
Zhang Lingxiao let out a piercing scream and instinctively looked down.
Blood welled from his face, his chest, his belly — soaking his robe-front crimson.
“You vicious—!”
Agony and terror together stripped away any concern for face. Without another word, he flipped backward off the platform and conceded in disgrace.
Up on the viewing platform.
Luo Changming rose to his full height, his old eyes locked on Ji Ning, brimming with disbelief.
‘Sword gleam…’
‘This Ji boy — he’s comprehended sword gleam!’
In that instant, the killing intent Luo Changming had reserved for Shen Xiuhan swung toward Ji Ning.
…
“Sword gleam…”
Shen Xiuhan watched the scene, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.
Up close, he could feel it.
His own sword gleam seemed to differ from Ji Ning’s.
Shen Xiuhan’s gleam was elusive and nimble, unfurling like drifting cloud — an air of ethereal detachment.
Ji Ning’s gleam, by contrast, was endless edge, brimming with killing intent — like an ice-blade splitting air, overbearing and fierce.
‘Could it be…’
‘A fighter’s temperament differs, and so the sword gleam each one nurtures through his own swordplay differs as well?’
Shen Xiuhan turned the thought over, and his understanding of the sword path deepened by another layer.
And with Ji Ning’s victory, the storm-stirring Longxiang Martial Feast had finally drawn to a close.
The Manifest Strength top three were Shen Xiuhan, Luo Tangyin, and Lin Sheng of Changshui County’s Stone-Breaking Martial Hall.
The Hidden Strength top three were Xiao Wu, Ji Ning, and Wang Xuanyang.
The clamor gradually subsided.
Up on the viewing platform.
Wang Zhidao — white-robed, lean-faced, his bearing deep and immovable as a still abyss — rose slowly to his feet. His voice rang like a great bronze bell, carrying across the entire lakeshore.
“Esteemed guests!”
Wang Zhidao swept his gaze around and offered a clasped-fist salute with a smile.
“For these days of the Longxiang Martial Feast, I, Wang, owe my thanks to every fellow traveler of the rivers and lakes, and to all our neighbors, for your generous support.”
He paused, then swept a broad sleeve, exuding open-handed largesse.
“The martial path is a contest of qi-blood — but it is also a matter of fellowship.”
“Today, the finest young talents of our two counties have been decided. To celebrate this grand occasion, I have ordered a three-day open feast laid out along the shores of Yunshui Lake and across the four main streets of the city!”
“Anyone who came to watch the bouts — wandering swordsman or common townsfolk alike — is welcome to a seat. Consider it the Wang family’s thanks for your witness and your good company!”
The words landed, and after a beat of stunned silence, the entire lakeshore erupted in cheers that pierced the sky.
“Excellent — the Wang family head is generous indeed!”
“Not only thrilling bouts, but free food and drink to boot!”
“Ha ha, hurry — let’s grab good seats! Wine and meat from a house like this, you don’t get every day!”
Countless commoners and low-rung fighters lit up with delight, voices raised in approval.
The blood and brutality of the platform were washed away in an instant.
…
At the platform’s edge, the crowd buzzed, chattering about the open banquet.
“Master Shen.”
A Wang family steward in blue work-clothes sidled up, bowing with clasped fists, his manner respectful.
“The household head and the Colonel request the honor of your presence at the estate.”
The real show, at last…
Shen Xiuhan drew a deep breath. He was curious, too — just what sort of place this Dragon Blood Essence Pool might be.
He turned and clasped his fists in farewell to Jiang Qinghong, Xu Chuan, and the other disciples.
“Senior Brothers, Senior Sisters — I’ll take my leave first.”
“Go on, Junior Brother. Leave things here to us.”
Jiang Qinghong’s face was a little pale. The earlier bout had drained too much of her qi-blood; even her voice had softened.
Xu Chuan clapped Shen Xiuhan hard on the shoulder. Though a trace of envy showed in his eyes, his words were all goodwill.
“Junior Brother, go see what this Dragon Blood Essence Pool is really like. When you come back, you’d better tell us every detail.”
“Count on it!”
Shen Xiuhan nodded, his gaze sweeping across his fellow disciples.
Then he turned to the Wang steward and gestured.
“Lead the way, if you would.”
The steward gave an obsequious chuckle, his posture deeply humble.
“You honor me, Master Shen — it’s only my duty… This way, please.”
Watching the figure recede into the distance, Xu Chuan stood dazed for a moment, then let out a long sigh, his voice tinged with complicated feeling.
“Junior Brother’s progress is too fast… a few months, and he’s left us all far behind.”
“Second Senior Brother, don’t dwell on it.”
Xiang Yunting shook his head. His martial heart had always been steady, and a look of firm resolve settled on his face, his eyes blazing.
“Junior Brother has his fortunes, and we have ours. With the Longxiang Martial Feast over… it won’t be long before the Zhenyue Colonel returns to camp!”
Xu Chuan perked up at once, anticipation lighting his features.
He, Xiang Yunting, and Shen Huai had already met privately with Senior Sister Ding Ning.
She had agreed to pull strings and bring the three of them into the Longxiang Army, to seek their fortunes there.
Only — poor Shen Huai…
His grave injuries had left his sinews and bones still unhealed. Whether he could go at all remained to be seen.
Beside them, Jiang Qinghong listened in silence, saying nothing.
But gazing in the direction Shen Xiuhan had vanished, a fire kindled deep in her eyes.
‘I have to work harder — or before long, my little junior brother will overtake me!’