M49S Vol 1 Chapter 57. Dai Xiaoshan

When Dai Xiaoshan stepped forward to request the match, the reactions from the various sects were mixed.

Wang Ziqian, who had been helped aside, swallowed a healing pill with a sip of water. But he had no time to meditate or refine it. His eyes flicked back and forth between Dai Xiaoshan and Meng Qiqi, trying to read their expressions.

He sifted through everything he could recall about Dai Xiaoshan, analyzing it in detail, but he still could not understand. Why Dai Xiaoshan, and not Mu Guinian?

Mu Guinian’s performance on the first day had been solid and undeniable. He had just fought Wang Zi’an to a draw. In contrast, Dai Xiaoshan had been entirely unremarkable, joking and idling about with his fellow disciples from start to finish, showing no sign of anything exceptional.

How gifted could a butcher’s son possibly be? Wang Ziqian remembered hearing that Dai Xiaoshan had become a cultivator just to avoid being forced into marriage. Gushan Sword had accepted him because his father delivered meat to the sect. Wang Ziqian truly couldn’t understand Gushan’s thinking. A prestigious orthodox sword sect, consorting with meat-sellers?

Yet, Meng Qiqi sent Dai Xiaoshan up without so much as a question.

Dai Xiaoshan drew his sword. The aura of a cultivator at second realm minor perfection spread out from him, drawing a ripple of surprise from the crowd. Someone even remembered that on the first day of the competition, he had still been at the early stage of the second realm.

But no matter when he had made the breakthrough, the fact remained that it was recent. With cultivation only at minor perfection, he surely could not defeat Wang Ning, who stood at full perfection.

Wang Ning held himself with the poise of a gentleman. He lowered the tip of his sword and said politely, “Please.”

Dai Xiaoshan didn’t bother with pretense. He charged forward with light, rapid footwork, his longsword flashing with a gleam of clear light as he struck at Wang Ning.

Wang Ning met the blow with a horizontal parry. Both men moved swiftly, and in the blink of an eye, they had crossed beyond the terrace and landed atop Mochou Lake.

The lake stirred beneath their sword pressure, green waves rising and falling in response. In the distance, a few white birds circled in the reflected sky and drifting clouds. They dared not draw close, yet lingered as if reluctant to leave.

Dai Xiaoshan’s sword was fast, but not fast enough.

Wang Ning’s cultivation was higher. If he could not be faster, then speed would mean nothing. Dai Xiaoshan seemed to realize this as well. His pace surged, and one intricate move after another from the Gushan sword manual spilled from his blade. He might not have executed each technique with refined precision, but his flow was smooth and unbroken, carrying a kind of indescribable grace.

Gradually, the lake surged higher. Drops of water split open under the gleam of his blade, then shattered into mist. From afar, it looked like the drifting mountain fog that never left Gushan’s peaks, veiling the scene from view.

It was a beautiful sight, but back on the terrace, someone could not help sighing.
“The one from Gushan Sword is likely going to lose.”

“His cultivation is a full minor stage lower. That kind of gap isn’t easy to cross. Still, at least he has courage.”

“He’s going to lose. No question.”

On Gushan Sword’s side, the atmosphere was equally tense.

Meng Qiqi asked Tu Youqiong about Dai Xiaoshan’s true strength, but Tu Youqiong only replied, “Senior Brother is really strong.” When pressed for details, though, he grew evasive.

He tilted his head in thought. “Senior Brother Xiaoshan has a special move, but he doesn’t usually use it.”

“Why not?” Meng Qiqi asked, intrigued.

“Because… it doesn’t work very well,” Tu Youqiong said, unsure how to explain. Sometimes Senior Brother Xiaoshan was impressive, other times not at all. The real reason, he figured, only Dai Xiaoshan himself could explain.

At that moment, Dai Xiaoshan still hadn’t used the technique Tu Youqiong was referring to. He had demonstrated the strength expected of a disciple from Gushan Sword, but against someone like Wang Ning, it simply wasn’t enough.

“That Wang Ning is really strong, Master,” said Xiao Yu’er, who had just finished meditating to recover from his injuries.

Meng Qiqi nodded. Anyone Wang Changlin kept in reserve as his trump card was clearly no ordinary cultivator.

After another fierce exchange, Dai Xiaoshan was sent flying backward. The tips of his toes skimmed across the lake, dragging a thin line of water as he struggled to steady himself.

He looked at Wang Ning, breath ragged, expression solemn and grim.

Wang Ning remained composed, graceful as ever. He did not press the advantage, nor did he mock with words. His bearing reflected the cultivated tradition of the Wang clan.

Murmurs of praise rippled through the crowd, but Wang Ning showed no trace of pride. Compared to him, Dai Xiaoshan, with nothing but his good looks to rely on, did appear somewhat lacking.

Just as water slid down the blade and struck the surface of the lake, Wang Ning advanced again, his sword cutting forward.

“Pardon me.”

Seeing that the outcome was already decided, Wang Ziqian quietly slipped out of the crowd. A Wang clan attendant stepped forward to meet him and whispered at his ear, “The patriach asks you to come.”

Wang Ziqian nodded. Gu Shutong was still inside the tower. He had to give it one more try. This was an opportunity he could not afford to miss.

He turned and hurried toward the tower.

Meng Qiqi watched his retreating figure thoughtfully. Elsewhere in the city, far from the dueling ground at the lake, the Wang clan’s Grand Elder, Wang Jing, who had not shown himself all day, now appeared in a teahouse.

“How is it? Any response from their side?” Wang Jing wore a hooded cloak that concealed his face, and his voice was deliberately lowered.

The man across from him wore plain hemp clothing, his appearance unremarkable, though his eyes glinted faintly with a hidden sharpness. “They’ve refused to take further action. They said we’ll have to handle it ourselves.”

Wang Jing slammed the table in fury. “Short-sighted fools. If they’ve already acted, they should eliminate the threat completely. How can they stop now and leave such a danger behind? They have no idea how terrifying Zhou Ziheng is, and how difficult he is to deal with. They have no idea!”

The man kept his head lowered respectfully, not daring to respond.

Wang Jing exhaled slowly, pushing back the agitation building in his chest.“If Guiluo refuses to act, then we’ll do it ourselves. I am still the Grand Elder of the Wang clan. Once the competition ends, even if Wang Changlin doesn’t want to get involved, he’ll have no choice. Make the arrangements. We will…”

Their conversation faded gradually into the background.

Elsewhere, on the street outside the teahouse, a young nobleman around eighteen strolled leisurely into a rouge shop. His delicate fingers brushed over boxes of rouge scented faintly with petals, and a gold bell at his wrist chimed softly with each movement, clear and pleasant.

He looked like he had stepped straight out of a painting.

This young noble was none other than Guiluoluo. After selecting a few boxes of rouge, he cheerfully packed them into a pearl-inlaid case, then made his way to the shore of Mochou Lake to rent a boat.

But his boat had barely pulled away from the dock when several others moved in to block his path. Today, no boats were allowed on Mochou Lake. Large or small, it made no difference.

Guiluoluo raised an eyebrow, his gaze sweeping across the decorated barges on the lake. “Then why are they allowed?”

The leader, a thick-browed young man, replied, “Those are Wang clan vessels. Of course they’re allowed. You should head back. You can go boating some other day. Don’t bring trouble on yourself.”

“This lake wasn’t dug by the Wang clan. Who gave them the right?”

The young man hadn’t expected Guiluoluo to be so defiant. Seeing the pearl-inlaid case in his arms, he assumed this was yet another spoiled son of some aristocrat sneaking out to play, too clueless to understand how things worked.

“Whose family are you from? I’ll warn you one last time. Go back where you came from. Has your father never taught you not to trespass on Wang clan territory…” He spoke with what he thought was friendly advice, his tone full of reverence for the Wang clan and a smug arrogance he could not conceal.

But before he could finish, a shadow flickered past. A heavy object struck his forehead hard, sending a sharp jolt of pain through his skull.

“Ah!” he screamed. Blood began streaming from a small puncture just above his brow, spilling quickly down one side of his face. He reached up with trembling hands and stared in shock at his bloodied fingers. A wave of dizziness hit him, and before he could say another word, he collapsed in a heap.

As he fell, the young man caught a glimpse of Guiluoluo’s black brocade boots embroidered with cloud patterns. A single drop of blood slipped from the corner of the pearl-inlaid case in Guiluoluo’s hand and landed on the toe of his boot, disappearing into the black.

Splash!

The youth toppled straight into Mochou Lake, his blood blooming red beneath the water.

A choking silence seized the crowd. For a moment, not a sound was heard, until a sudden burst of wings sent the lakeside birds shrieking into the air.

“Someone’s dead! Someone’s been killed!”

The spell was broken. The crowd scattered in panic. The fallen youth’s companions stared at Guiluoluo in terror, torn between fury and fear—yet none of them dared to make a move.

Guiluoluo’s lips curled into a cruel smile that sent a chill through everyone watching. He stepped forward slowly and said, “My parents died long ago. I hate it when people bring them up. Were you planning to talk about them too?”

At that very moment, cries of alarm erupted once again from the dueling platform at the center of the lake.

“Someone’s dead! Jiang Xie from Beidou is dead!”

A junior steward from the Wang clan came stumbling out of the tower, panic all over his face. His voice rang out clearly across the entire lakeside.

“What? Jiang Xie is dead?!”

“How can that be? Wasn’t he just unconscious a moment ago?”

“Heavens…”

Gasps and cries rang out one after another. All eyes shifted instinctively away from Dai Xiaoshan and Wang Ning. Even Meng Qiqi frowned and looked toward the tower.

He had just checked with his spiritual sense. Jiang Xie had sustained moderate internal injuries, nothing life-threatening. How could he have suddenly died within the time it took to burn one stick of incense?

It was too fast, too abrupt. Something was definitely wrong.

“Out of the way!” Yu Yao’s figure streaked down from the seventh floor like the wind, his composure completely gone. He had just seen Jiang Xie moments ago. He had been perfectly fine when he left. How could he be dead now?

“Wait—what is that?!”
Another startled cry yanked everyone’s attention back to the lake.

Countless heads turned. On Dai Xiaoshan’s sword, a burst of radiant light surged forth. Nearly transparent sword afterimages spun around him in a circle. From within that ring, his sword tore through the air toward Wang Ning.

The force of the strike was immense, so immense that the cultivators on the terrace could feel the wind gusting in their faces.

They stood frozen in shock, eyes wide, unable to believe what they were seeing.

That strike clearly held the power of second realm full perfection, and it did not come from the Gushan sword manual. It was the Langya Sword Technique of the Wang clan.

“What is going on?” The crowd stared at one another, stunned into silence. No one could explain.

Wang Ning was stunned. The technique had clearly been the one he had just used against Dai Xiaoshan, so why was it now coming back at him? How could Dai Xiaoshan possibly know the Langya Sword Technique? It was impossible.

And yet the reality was right in front of him. Wang Ning took a deep breath, pushing aside his doubts for now and throwing himself fully into defense.

As the Little Martial Uncle of Gushan Sword, Meng Qiqi quickly saw through it. The technique was Mirror Flowers, Water Moon.

It was an extremely cunning move. It looked like an overwhelming frontal attack, but in truth, it was a classic form of counterattack through defense. It created an invisible barrier in front of the user, capable of reflecting the opponent’s own technique back at them in its original form.

But this technique was not part of the Gushan sword manual. It was one of Zhou Ziheng’s original creations, rarely used and thus unfamiliar to most.

Despite its name, Mirror Flowers, Water Moon was anything but simple to execute.

First, it was notoriously difficult to learn. It required a rare combination of perception, talent, and painstaking practice.

Second, the cultivator’s strength had to be close to that of their opponent. If the gap was too wide, not only would the technique fail to reflect the move, it could rebound and injure the user instead.

Dai Xiaoshan had kept a low profile until now. Only at this moment had he unleashed the technique, and even then, he likely had no full confidence in it. But he had succeeded. The reflected move carried ninety percent of the original force Wang Ning had unleashed.

The first step was always the hardest. But now that Dai Xiaoshan had pulled it off once, a second success was within reach. Mirror Flowers, Water Moon was a technique that relied, more than anything, on timing and instinct.

Gradually, people on the terrace began to catch on.

“I don’t know what strange technique Dai Xiaoshan is using, but looking at this now… isn’t Wang Ning just hitting himself?”

“Yeah, it really does look that way…”

“How is anyone supposed to fight against that?”

The tide turned in an instant. The cultivators around the lake were abuzz with speculation, Jiang Xie already forgotten.

But not by Yu Yao, and not by Meng Qiqi.

Meng Qiqi reached out and pulled Xiao Yu’er behind him. “Keep an eye on your senior brothers and sisters. If fighting breaks out, get clear of the area.”

“Yes, Master.” Xiao Yu’er took the instruction to heart and tugged Tu Youqiong back with him.

In that very moment, the second-story window of the tower burst open under a palm strike. Yu Yao, clad in dark robes, shot out like a shadow.

“Meng Qiqi! You owe me my disciple’s life!”