The Way of the Sword Lies in Straightness.
These four words are not mere empty boasts from the Dongyue Sword Pool but a truth proven over centuries by generations of the Song lineage.
Many martial heroes and outlaws present couldn’t help but slam the table in approval.
He Shanxi spoke softly to the troublemaking youths, “Stand behind me first. No matter what happens next, do not act rashly.”
Just as the Li-named Ministry of Justice official was about to speak, a higher-ranking young man waved him off. “As long as they don’t leave this Qingmei Fang, let them be. Whether they call for reinforcements from your Sword Pool or rally the martial comrades of Fulu Town, this official will not interfere.”
Suppressing her fury and killing intent, He Shanxi asked, “Lord Liu, what exactly do you intend?! What must I, He Shanxi, do to turn hostility into harmony?”
The Dongyue Sword Pool now stood on the precipice of chaos, a storm brewing on the horizon.
Li Houzhong of the Great Snow Cottage, one of the Four Sages, would arrive tomorrow. Several sword masters from the Spring God Lake’s Anger Tower were also en route. Now, with scheming officials in the mix, who knew what other forces might seize the opportunity to fish in troubled waters?
He Shanxi was but a minor sword master—how could she dare act recklessly?
The young, high-ranking nobleman feigned deep thought before flashing a charming smile at He Shanxi, gesturing downward. “Why don’t we sit and talk first?”
Standing beside him was the little-known fast-sword master Huang Xiaohe, his expression solemn, keenly observing the female swordsman’s qi flow.
He Shanxi sat across from the young official. “Speak plainly, Lord Liu. If it’s within my power…”
Suddenly, an oppressive sword intent filled Qingmei Fang, as if a three-foot blade rested coldly against one’s shoulder.
He Shanxi’s Chisel Mountain Sword left its sheath by a foot.
Huang Xiaohe’s slender blade, however, had already cleared its scabbard by a foot and a half.
Yet neither sword was fully drawn.
Sensing the tension, Xu Baozao whispered, “What’s happening?”
Xu Fengnian lowered his voice, revealing the truth: “Under the table, that nobleman’s foot is pressing down on He Shanxi’s embroidered shoe.”
Xu Baozao was livid. “There’s someone even more shameless than you?!”
Xu Fengnian chuckled dryly. “Should I thank Lord Liu for that?”
Xu Baozao urged, “Why don’t you step in and right this wrong?”
Xu Fengnian, having finished his wine, sipped the plum soup instead. “Play the hero? That requires a true beauty. He Shanxi’s looks are worth seventy coins at best…”
The girl groaned. “Could you be any crasser? Have you no conscience? What a waste of your mediocre skills!”
Xu Fengnian ignored her.
Over at the table, the situation escalated. He Shanxi’s face darkened as she spat through gritted teeth, “Lord Liu! I advise you not to push your luck!”
The young official remained unperturbed, raising a cup of wine and draining it in one go. Smiling at the renowned swordswoman, he said, “Oh?”
In an instant, two streaks of sword light erupted like spring thunder.
The young official, enveloped by the blades, didn’t flinch. As he set his cup down, the faint clink echoed sharply in the silent hall.
He Shanxi remained seated rigidly, her Chisel Mountain Sword’s tip a mere inch from the official’s brow.
Yet Huang Xiaohe’s slender blade hovered above her left shoulder, its point already past her temple by an inch.
Huang Xiaohe warned coldly, “He Shanxi, think carefully! Third time’s the charm—next time you draw your sword, I won’t stop mine.”
He Shanxi’s expression was a storm of emotions—shame, sorrow, regret, guilt.
In that moment, she was no longer a martial master, just a woman.
This swordswoman, who might have reached the first-rank realm in her lifetime, now faced a fractured sword heart.
The onlookers felt a pang of sorrow.
How hard it is to climb the martial path, how easy to fall.
Song Tingquan wept like a fledgling bird shot from its perch into the mud.
Ye Geng trembled in fear.
The young official, unfazed by his brush with death, pushed the sword tip aside with two fingers. Under the table, his foot continued tracing her calf as he smirked, “Were you about to say, ‘A scholar would rather die than suffer humiliation’?”
Faced with her resignation, he lost interest, withdrawing his foot. “Pity you martial riffraff don’t qualify as scholars. You, He… what was it? Ah, He Shanxi. You may strut about the martial world, but that’s only because the court can’t be bothered with clowns like you. He Shanxi, Dongyue Sword Pool, minor master?”
He threw his head back in laughter before locking eyes with her. “Truth be told, it’s not just you I look down on.”
Lazily scanning the room, he declared, “It’s every so-called hero here—be you sect leaders, second-rank masters—you’re all worth less than a stray dog!”
Silence.
Finally, someone roared, “You damned official! Spout such nonsense, and you’ll lose your head in your sleep!”
The young nobleman toyed with a deer-antler pendant, not even bothering to turn. “I’d welcome someone trying. Will it be Li Yibai’s Dongyue Sword Pool? Kuai Xue Villa of Jing’an? Or the Golden Saber Manor of Nanzhao?”
No one answered.
After a long pause, a timid voice from a corner murmured, “Alliance Leader Xuanyuan would dare…”
The official blinked, then laughed. “Her? She truly would. But why would the Martial Alliance Leader trouble herself with me?”
Seeming to lose interest, he sighed. “Give me ten years. Fifteen at most.”
Rising slowly, he tsked. “So this is your martial world.”
His gaze drifted. “Where’s the famed ‘draw blades at a word’ spirit?”
Shifting focus, he mused, “I’ve heard of Deng Tai’a sailing to seek immortals, Xuanyuan Qingfeng proving longevity on a snowy Huishan night, Yu Xinlang of East Sea’s Martial Emperor City, that nameless sword fairy from the Wu Family Sword Tomb—where are they now?”
His eyes flicked past Xu Fengnian and Xu Baozao before settling on his wine cup. Sneering, he said, “What martial world? It’s smaller than this cup! What land immortals, sage scholars, sword saints, blade kings—just bottom-feeding trash. Especially this Dongyue Sword Pool, declining with each generation. Might as well shut down.”
Then came a thunderous roar, shaking the wine cups on every table: “Those who insult our Sword Pool shall die!”
“Audacious!”
“Stop!”
In a flash, Huang Xiaohe and He Shanxi moved simultaneously—one to kill the assassin, the other to intercept her fellow disciple.
Huang Xiaohe’s strike lived up to his “Fast Sword” title, swifter than his earlier interventions. His blade’s white qi shot forth like a post-rain rainbow, a horizontal tidal bore of the Guangling River.
Though He Shanxi’s sword tip met Huang Xiaohe’s blade, it was futile—his qi had already pierced the assassin’s heart.
The assailant was flung backward, landing several zhang away, dead.
He Shanxi, humiliated; a Sword Pool disciple, slain.
The Dongyue Sword Pool teetered on the edge.
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