Chapter 121: The First Slash

At the reed marsh, the two ends were worlds apart. At one end, a fierce battle raged, with different factions entangled like interlocking teeth; at the other, calm and serenity reigned. An old man sipped homemade rice wine he had begged from a local farmer. Nearby, a group of children whispered conspiratorially, occasionally casting curious glances at the elder. To the children raised amidst the reeds, this old man looked every bit like the erudite old scholars who often visited to admire the scenery from the distant Xiangfan city. But unlike those scholars who usually brought their own delicacies and fine wines while touring with their families, this old man had little regard for such luxuries.

With a warm smile, the old man beckoned the young girl from the straw-thatched hut nearby. She approached timidly. Weighing his worn and gray money purse thoughtfully, he poured out a dozen copper coins and handed them all to the girl, instructing her to ask her parents to cook a fresh fish caught by their trained cormorants. Watching her skip away, the old man murmured softly, “Innocence and joy in the eyes of children.”

Since ancient times, Qingzhou had been known as a land of clouds and water, and in the reed marsh, every household raised cormorants and ate yellow croaker for every meal. The old man particularly cherished the simple flavors of the steamed yellow croaker. In contrast, those Xiangfan elites, far removed from such simplicity, longed for exotic seafood, spending extravagantly for it, even going so far as transporting it on ice. Yet in the old man’s eyes, that only robbed it of its essence and charm, branding them as the basest of diners, unworthy of the title gastronomes.

Glancing at the girl standing beside a black water jar outside her home, the old man eventually chose the largest yellow croaker in the jar, handing it over to her mother to be steamed. He chuckled and said, “Only children possess the purest of hearts. Adults can only steal a glimpse of it.” Then he turned his gaze to the bamboo table, where dozens of smoothly rounded stones lay seemingly carelessly scattered. Varying in size and spacing, as the time passed and the fish was prepared, the old man had already removed some smaller stones and edged a few larger ones closer toward the denser cluster.

When the girl returned with the wooden tray bearing the steamed fish, it was generously topped with chopped scallions and slices of ginger, enhanced by the fragrant notes of fermented rice wine and delicate strands of ham. The old man took the chopsticks first, unconcerned about whether the fish was perfectly steamed according to traditional technique. For in such a modest meal, it was the heart behind it that mattered most. Placing the dish at the empty corner of the stony table, the old man devoured the fish swiftly. The little girl watched him eat with delight, gradually losing her shyness and broke into a radiant smile, asking curiously, “Grandpa, are you from Xiangfan city?”

The old man paused mid-bite, shook his head slightly, and remained silent with a smile. Disappointed, the little girl thought to herself. In the village, the other children would always flaunt their visits to Xiangfan, boasting about how grand and opulent the city was, how extravagantly the wealthy lived. She had never been to Xiangfan herself and was filled with longing and admiration. She had even heard that the girls there were as enchanting as fairies, and she wished she could be merely half as pretty as them when she grew up. Finishing the fish, the old man handed the tray and chopsticks back to the girl, whispering with a gentle smile, “Once I’m gone, tell your parents that today, you must leave the reeds for the Guanyin Temple of the Carp ten miles away, to burn incense there. Once you do, you may ask Guanyin for some silver coins. Just smash the stone carp in her hand—that’s where the coins lie. But remember, don’t rush home after taking the coins. Don’t return until nightfall.”

The little girl stared in bewilderment, thinking she must be lost in some fairy tale. The old man, unfazed, smiled and said, “Just assume I’m the local deity of this land.”

Overjoyed, the child exclaimed, “Grandpa, are you really a deity?”

He neither confirmed nor denied it. Instead, he affectionately patted her head, brought a finger to his lips, and silently warned her to keep it a secret. The girl nodded enthusiastically. He then turned his attention back to the scattered stones on the table, as if engrossed in a long contemplation akin to a chess match. The little girl tiptoed away.

But how could this elderly man, clearly not a resident of Xiangfan, be the guardian deity of the land? Of course, he was not a divine figure; however, to a child’s innocent heart, such distinctions were beyond her understanding. But though not a deity by name, in truth, he was no ordinary man. From the chaos of the Nine Kingdoms’ wars to the countless unnatural omens across the land—rising Azure Dragons, self-emerging sacred steles, and roosters turning into hens—each and every strange phenomenon bore his hand.

Beyond the great political machinations and imperial schemes, even in the art of Go alone, his influence was profound. In the old Western Chu dynasty, when scholars indulged in elegant debates and the passion for Go flourished, it was he who conceived the famed nine ranks of Go mastery—terms like ‘Entry into Sanctity,’ ‘Penetrating the Subtle,’ ‘Balanced Strength’ and so on. Today, the Go circles are dominated by three major schools, and the imperial court maintains a Go Advisor Bureau with six renowned masters, Wang Jixin and Song Shutong among them. More than four hundred Go masters have been certified under their appraisal. Yet this old man claimed boldly that even if all four hundred united against him, he would still emerge victorious with ease. Such an outlandish declaration has only ever been made by him, yet even Wang Jixin and the others dared not accept a challenge, whether alone or in a group. His Go prowess truly bordered on the supernatural. Yet for reasons unknown later on, the old eccentric declared he would never again engage in a match against any human.

Staring at the table, he chuckled softly, “Five hundred years past and present, none have rivaled me. Is that an idle boast? Xu Wei of the Xu family? He still has a long way to go before rivaling me.”

Back when this old master first arrived at the Shangyin Academy, he took the name Sanjia, his swordplay as fluid as a dragon moving through a storm. On a muddy lakeside path after a heavy rain, he completed the “Record of the Pillar,” beginning with the famous lines: “To establish a heart for Heaven and Earth, to secure fate for the people, to continue the lost learning of ancient sages, and to attain peace for all generations.”

For years, he roamed all corners of the world, and in his idle moments trained Lu Xu to root himself in reality, taught Li Bai the secrets of voice and charm, composed a ghost-written ‘Biographies of Exemplary Women’ on behalf of a concubine, incited the Prince of Guangling to kill his second son, misled the naïve scholars of the Astronomical Bureau, and more. If he willed it, who was not merely a pawn of his? Next, he intended to teach a young swordsman named Wen, who carried a wooden sword, the art of swordplay. The ancient premier of Western Chu, after his kingdom crumbled, bore a grudge against the merciless Xu Xiao but still wept bitterly over the deaths of 3 million men wrought by this old man’s tongue — indeed, the man responsible for such carnage was none other than the old fellow himself. Yet all these upheavals and the collapse of kingdoms became nothing but fixed patterns on a Go board, left for future generations to ponder.

Picking up a smoothly rounded stone at the center of the table, the old man murmured, “This fellow surnamed Zhao placed his stone at tengen, bold yet presumptuous.”

He then shifted his gaze to the largest stone in the densest cluster and muttered, “The eleventh, Wang Mingyin. Charging forward recklessly, can he survive this peril?”

His gaze gently shifting, he continued, “Wang’s daughter holds the momentary blade, to sever or to seal?”

As he continued his quiet mutterings, he noticed a circling qilin, and clicked his tongue, “Trouble arises everywhere. Chaos, real chaos. Yet amidst all the chaos, there is order.”

Finally, the old man habitually stroked his temples with two fingers, frowned, and pondered aloud, “Could today be the day Su Wang challenges the ‘Dragon Finch’ of Da Liang? Allow me to contemplate.”

Rather than looking at the Go board’s complex positions, he engaged in a longer contemplation. He intended to divine the patterns with his fingers, but as he closed his eyes, he drifted straight into a nap, ignoring the board. Smacking his lips, he murmured faintly, “That fish was truly delicious.”

Can this gluttonous old man, so lazy and indifferent, truly be the one whom the grand master of the Shangyin Academy both praised and criticized as “Transcendently divine, utterly devoid of mundane qualities; indeed, not quite human!”—the unrivaled Go master of the past five hundred years?

※※※

Just as this seemingly ordinary old scholar began to doze off, the other end erupted with an earth-shattering roar.

And it did not stop.

“Wu’s younger generation, are you truly seeking death? Until when will Su Wang remain unsheathed?”

What does it mean for a sword immortal to have sword energy in his very name?

Behold, Li Chungan’s sword suddenly flared up, its green glow intensifying with each heartbeat. Even Pei Nanwei could clearly see the three-foot cold sword, resembling a coiled green snake. Before, it had merely been a thin trail of energy, hard to discern. Now, the green energy surged like an arm’s width, completely overwhelming the sword itself. With a single upswing, Li Chungan completely reduced the bamboo rod in Wu Liuding’s hand to dust, and that was not the end. Wu had always been composed, but now he finally showed signs of distress. His sleeve was slashed off by the piercing sword energy. Determined not to give Wu Liuding any chance to unsheathe Su Wang, Li Chungan burst into laughter, relentlessly attacking, having already figured out that the youngster had chosen an unconventional path of aggressive swordsmanship. You want to be aggressive? As a swordsman, in all my years of duels, who could possibly rival the Overwhelming Might of my Two-Sleeve Green Snake technique?

One strike of my sword simply rises and falls.

Witnessing the eastern grand tides of Guangling, leaping atop the crashing waves, crossing the river; looking north at thousands upon thousands of wild oxen stampeding, stepping over their backs as if on flat ground; heading south toward the vast ocean as waves slammed overhead, cleaving rivers and seas with a sword strike; journeying west to Lantuo Mountain, challenging the Buddha himself with sword in hand, slaying twenty-three Arhats.

Li Chungan’s sword energy surged even stronger!

Was there no end to it?

Could it be that he was about to re-enter the realm of a land-based sword immortal?

Wu Liuding, now completely weaponless, had already passed by the gates of hell several times.

The once flat road was now scarred with countless gashes and trenches.

Behind Wu Liuding, the sword servant from the present-day Sword Tomb, nearly unmatched among her peers, slowly opened her eyes. The Su Wang sword on her back quivered slightly, emitting a sound like cicadas.

But she deeply understood the precise timing for drawing this great sword and handing it to Wu Liuding. One little mistake, and it would not save him—it would kill him.

Listening to the thunderous clashes outside the carriage, Jiang Ni could no longer contain her curiosity and cautiously drew back the curtain. Seeing Li Chungan’s unrivaled sword energy in the distance, she murmured softly, “Those are beautiful characters.”

Fish Youwei sat in a corner of the carriage, cradling the frightened white cat Wu Meiniang, with two young kuai crouched inside the carriage letting out low growls. Upon hearing Jiang Ni’s words and glancing at the sandalwood sword case at her feet, she offered a bitter smile.

Qingniao asked, “Master, will the Sword Crown of the Wu family perish?”

Xu Fengnian, his eyes fixed intently on the battle, did not turn around but shook his head. “He’ll surely lose. The problem is that Wu Liuding is too arrogant. If he had drawn the Su Wang sword right at the beginning, things would not have come to this. As for whether he’ll die or not, it’s hard to say. Wu Liuding is the most outstanding sword genius of the current generation in the Sword Tomb—there must be some hidden techniques he’s kept up his sleeve. The question is whether he’ll manage to draw Su Wang before his schemes run out. I can still see that much. Back when Xu Xiao forbade me from wielding a blade for ten years, I was still young and hotheaded, so I gave up everything in a fit of anger. If that hadn’t happened, I would’ve long thought to arrange my mansion’s experts in duels to steal their hidden techniques. This journey of mine, no matter what methods I have to use, I must at least reach the threshold of the Diamond Realm before I return. Otherwise, I simply won’t have the face to go back to Beiliang.”

Qingniao smiled softly and said, “That won’t be hard.”

Xu Fengnian’s mood lightened a little, and he chuckled, saying, “May your words bring me good fortune.”

Pei Nanwei could not fathom the relationship between the heir of Beiliang and his handmaiden Qingniao. In Jing’an Mansion, how could there possibly be such a genuinely affectionate master-servant bond?

Xu Fengnian suddenly turned to look at Pei Wangfei and asked, “You heard all that?”

The Princess of Jing’an instinctively nodded, then shook her head. Since being struck in the stomach with the scabbard of Xiudong, she had become genuinely fearful.

His original intention had been to intimidate Pei Wangfei, but he accidentally caught sight of Qingniao and the crimson spear in her hand, its tassel missing, and for a moment, he was lost in thought.

That crimson spear was famed as the sole ancient weapon recorded among the Nine Divine Weapons of the World. Its tip was not sharp, but blunt, curving into a strange arc. Yet it was precisely this dull spear that had soaked itself in the blood of countless masters under the hand of Grandmaster Wang Xiu. Wang Xiu singlehandedly leapt into the martial world, reigning for twenty years at his peak, gaining a reputation for ruthless and decisive combat, leaving behind countless souls. Whether skilled or humble, rich or poor, he’d draw his spear at the slightest provocation, killing mercilessly. Among the Four Grand Masters, none were as bloodthirsty or warlike as he, always growing stronger by engaging in deadly battles. His most infamous feat was a two-thousand-mile bloodbath as he went north to Dunhuang, impaling each enemy’s head on his spear. In the first martial appraisal, he was thirty, standing at the peak of his martial prowess, his spear techniques described as brilliant, with swift attacks and retreats, immovable as a mountain when still, striking with the thunderous force of lightning. His aura of combativeness was unmatched. In the second appraisal, at forty, Wang Xiu was deemed to have returned to the fundamental essence of the spear, achieving mastery so profound that he transcended the form of the weapon itself. He thus founded his own school of spear techniques. In the third appraisal, he was hailed as having mastered every known spear technique in the world, to the point of forgetting both the weapon and his own hands. He had become the Sage of the Spear.

At that very moment, seeing Qingniao holding the legendary spear, Xu Fengnian truly understood for the first time her role as a deadly assassin.

Cold as death itself.

As Xu Fengnian stood in a daze after witnessing that spear thrust, a figure shot out from the reeds and shouted, “Master, beware the earth armor beneath your feet!”

Almost simultaneously with that warning, the earth beneath Xu Fengnian’s feet exploded, and a massive creature surged upward to emerge.

Qingniao’s face turned deathly pale, and she thrust the spear directly at the ambush puppet attempting to strike the young master.

Would she reach in time?

Her eyes lit up brilliantly.

For some reason, instead of being struck down immediately, Xu Fengnian, seemingly by chance, hastily drew Xiudong and executed a breathtaking, masterful stroke.

One sword, making Immortal Kneel!

On the rain-soaked path, Li Chungan had once used an umbrella as a blade to shatter the water armor of the Red Armor Warriors.

At a crucial life-or-death moment, Xu Fengnian finally channeled the essence of that stroke, long studied but never mastered.

Pei Nanwei saw nothing but the young nobleman’s luxurious robes billowing like a perfect sphere around him as he slashed the blade down with a single hand, a move so naturally executed it seemed heaven-sent.

The assassin was impaled and driven straight back underground!