Chapter 15

Three days later, the weather was clear and sunny.

It had been rare to see such fine weather since the start of autumn. The warm sunlight basked the courtyard, and Ye Fusheng simply closed his eyes, crossed one leg over the other, and lounged on the railing. He was spouting nonsense with a wide grin, spewing poetic blasphemy in the direction of Xie Li beside him.

“What a shame. Even under a sky so bright and vast, the mountains and rivers still cannot be cleansed. It only proves that man himself is the true cesspit of the world.”

Xie Li didn’t respond. One hand fidgeted with his wooden training sword, while the other gripped the front of his robe, fingers anxiously tracing the square outline hidden beneath.

He’d known long ago that today would be a decisive battle for Duanshui Manor’s survival. Sleep had evaded him all night, and just after the second watch, he had crept out to the backyard to practice his sword. What he didn’t expect was to find someone there even earlier.

Xie Wuyi stood in the courtyard, his outer robe gathered around him, speaking softly with Ye Fusheng. When they noticed Xie Li’s arrival, both fell silent in unison. Ye Fusheng yawned and drifted off toward the kitchen, while Xie Wuyi beckoned him over.

Xie Li’s heart inexplicably skipped a beat. Nervous, he ran over like a timid kitten and, before he could say a word, impulsively hugged Xie Wuyi’s leg, nuzzling against him.

Xie Wuyi had always been strict with him, especially in the past three years. He hadn’t even smiled once. So the moment Xie Li realized he had hugged him on impulse, he trembled, bracing for a scolding but instead, a cool hand gently patted his head.

Xie Wuyi said, “Your eleventh birthday is in seven days. So… this is yours now.”

Xie Li looked up to find a square piece of white jade now hanging around his neck. He touched it, delighted. “Father, what is this?”

Xie Wuyi looked at him deeply. “…It’s nothing. If you don’t like it, throw it away.”

Xie Li opened his mouth in shock. He had never heard anyone speak such weighty words in such a casual tone especially not from his fearsome father. He nodded quietly, his heart tangled in knots.

The sun now burned bright, and Ye Fusheng, eyes closed, was practically blind. Even his eyelids hurt under the glare, so he pulled a strip of black cloth from his sleeve and tied it over his eyes. It drew curious looks from the crowd.

Someone finally asked, “Brother, if you’re blind anyway, why bother-”

Ye Fusheng smirked, catching the implication: If you can’t see, why are you taking up a spot here?

The Blade-Seizing Tournament was a best-of-three format, held once again at Duanshui Manor’s Hidden Dragon Pavilion, located in the northern wing. It faced the central courtyard and backed onto the mountain spacious, but barely able to hold a hundred or so people.

“Our Duanshui Manor isn’t some filthy slum where stray cats and dogs can wander in at will!” sneered the head of the Xie family.

This biting remark spared neither ally nor enemy. Faces fell across both righteous and demonic factions alike. Most onlookers had to remain on the main street outside the manor, peeking over the walls, while only a select few were admitted inside and most of those were from the Palace of Soul Burial.

The Hidden Dragon Pavilion was built over water, with walkways on all four sides for standing or sitting. The center had been dug out to form a vast pool, now nearly barren of lotus blossoms with only a few withering leaves clinging to life. In the middle stood rows of unevenly spaced plum blossom stakes.

Around the pavilion, the sides were clearly divided: the Palace of Soul Burial to the west and south, led by Li Feng and Bu Xueyao; the righteous sects to the east; and in the middle, isolated and outnumbered, stood the people of Duanshui Manor.

Even Xie Zhongshan, silent for the past three years, had been brought out for this rare occasion. Cleaned and dressed, he sat in a wheelchair, mute and pressure-pointed, expressionless, his once-commanding presence now a ghost of the past.

“Long time no see. Lord Xie looks far more haggard these days,” came a soft, bookish voice. The speaker was Lu Mingyuan, a gentle-looking young man dressed like a scholar, holding a white paper fan seemingly harmless.

Yet this scholarly youth stood at the head of the righteous faction. Though many elders were present, none dared rebuke him.

He folded his fan and bowed. “Since youth, I’ve heard of Duanshui Manor’s fame from my teacher. Seeing the twin masters today, I find myself ashamed of my ignorance.”

Ye Fusheng wrinkled his nose at the syrupy flattery. Threefold Literary Institute, no doubt.

The Threefold Literary Institute, founded sixty years ago by the southern scholar Ruan Qingxing, was a place where martial and scholarly arts merged. Many of its students held no official master-disciple title, but bonds were as strong. Many had risen in the imperial exams or written books that lifted the poor to literacy. The Institute held sway in both court and jianghu.

Lu Mingyuan was likely one of its leading talents and perhaps even the next headmaster. So regardless of his age or tone, no one could afford to ignore the tree shading him.

Ye Fusheng mused as much and was about to ruffle Xie Li’s hair, only to get smacked by Xue Chanyi, who scolded, “Quit messing around. It’s about to start.”

Xie Wuyi loathed flashy formalities, and Li Feng was similarly direct. Despite Lu Mingyuan’s flowery language, there were no drums or red banners just a small altar table at the pavilion’s entrance, where Xie Wuyi, Li Feng, and Lu Mingyuan each offered incense. That was it.

Per the rules, Palace of Soul Burial would send their challengers first, with Duanshui Manor responding in turn. The battleground was the Hidden Dragon Pavilion; the platform, the plum blossom stakes; whoever fell into the water first would be the loser.

Li Feng’s face was cold and silent. Beside him, Bu Xueyao held a red-feather fan and smiled without speaking. Then a young girl in foreign dress stepped forward, light as a butterfly, leaping atop a stake. Her bare right foot landed gracefully; the golden bells at her ankle jingled.

Raising her snake-shaped sword, she spoke in a melodic voice: “Manzhu, Right Envoy of the Azure Dragon Hall of the Palace of Soul Burial, challenges you.”

Xue Chanyi snorted, stepping forward to land a stake-length away. She wore white today, except for a vivid red sash her Crimson Snow Whip, gifted by her master eight years ago, infused with celestial silkworm threads: fireproof, unbreakable, priceless. She rarely used it for violence.

Drawing the whip, her brows sharpened: “Xue Chanyi of Duanshui Manor accepts!”

Before her words faded, Manzhu’s sword lashed like a viper at her face. Xue Chanyi sidestepped, parried with a palm, both retreating.

Manzhu wasn’t steady mid-air when the whip lashed again. With nowhere to stand, she raised her bare arm to block the skin split open on contact.

Xue Chanyi, always a tempestuous fighter, was feared in Guyang City as a night demon. Her whip now twisted like a scarlet serpent, snapping with lethal grace.

Manzhu… smiled.

Four strings of golden bells jingled from her limbs. The wind stirred them into one piercing ring. Ye Fusheng frowned.

The sound burrowed into the ear like venomous worms. Xue Chanyi winced, her vision blurred. In that moment, Manzhu hooked the whip with her sword, pulled herself in, and struck Xue Chanyi’s chest.

Blood welled in her throat, but she gritted through it, releasing the whip to bind Manzhu’s neck, then kicked her knee to knock her off-balance, launched into the air, and used internal force to hoist her skyward, whip tightening with crushing strength.

Manzhu’s face flushed red from lack of air, yet she still smiled. A tremor shook her limbs bells rang again!

Xie Wuyi plucked a peanut between his fingers.

Xie Li blinked. “What’s wrong?”

Ye Fusheng grinned, leaning in to whisper, “Your Sister Xue is about to lose.”

He couldn’t see, but he heard everything.

Manzhu’s martial arts were slightly inferior, but her bell-based sound technique manipulated the senses. Coupled with Xue Chanyi’s odd distraction today, her early advantage was lost.

As the bells chimed again, Xue Chanyi faltered. In a flash, Manzhu twisted her arms around her, legs clamped her waist, and with a fierce heave, sent her crashing toward the water!

Xue Chanyi fell and Manzhu’s sword followed, aimed straight for her skull.

“Ding!”

Ye Fusheng’s peanut struck the blade, knocking it just aside. It sliced Xue Chanyi’s cheek instead of her head.

At the same time, Xie Wuyi lashed a palm and knocked Manzhu into the water. His voice was cold: “My disciple was outmatched, but the outcome was clear. To push for the kill don’t you think that’s too much?”

Xue Chanyi gasped back to awareness, eyes red as blood.

Manzhu leapt from the water, soaked and nearly bare, bowed sweetly. “Forgive my lack of restraint, Master Xie.”

With the first round lost, faces on the righteous side were grim. Xie Zhongshan was livid, but mute.

Bu Xueyao stepped forward, handed his fan to Manzhu, sleeves fluttering as he glided across the water, balancing on a lotus leaf before landing on the stake.

“That was just a warm-up. Surely we haven’t had our fill yet…”

He smiled demurely. “My darling Li is too shy, so allow this little lady to invite the next dance. Which hero from Duanshui Manor will oblige?”

His feminine demeanor had earned scorn but now, silence fell.

“‘Snow that is not snow, fate dancing on the dust.’” That was Bu Xueyao Vermilion Bird Lord, one of the four Hall Masters of the Palace of Soul Burial. Known as Flying Rakshasa, he was a terror.

Master of poison, master of illusion, and impossibly deadly in close combat.

If Xie Wuyi took the challenge, he could kill him but not save the manor in round three.

He gripped his sword

but someone moved first.

Ye Fusheng, holding Xie Li’s wooden practice sword, leapt down from the railing. With info he’d just gleaned from Xue Chanyi, he stepped lightly on the water, barely stirring a ripple, and landed perfectly on a stake.

“Ye Fusheng of Duanshui Manor, here to challenge this beauty whose voice already tells me how stunning she must be.”

He grinned and clasped his hands in greeting. The black cloth over his eyes fluttered in the breeze.

A blind man!

“Oh dear,” Bu Xueyao laughed, “I love sweet-talking pretty boys. Pity you’re blind and can’t admire my looks. How tragic.”

Ye Fusheng said sincerely, “Thank you for your mercy, fair maiden.”

Bu Xueyao giggled. Amidst his laughter, he floated forward like drifting willow fluff his hand already reaching for Ye Fusheng’s throat.