In the third year of the Xiangfu era, amidst the spring breeze and blooming peach blossoms, a middle-aged man rode an old donkey through the Sword Pass into Western Shu. He carried a peach branch with an air of pretense, eliciting knowing smiles from passersby, especially the young ones. “Ah, another admirer of the Sword God Deng Tai’a’s peerless elegance,” they thought. Yet, rumors had it that the Peach Blossom Sword God not only stood head and shoulders above all others in the current sword world but was also a man of striking handsomeness. As for this uncle’s appearance… well, it was rather unremarkable.
The unassuming man leisurely rode his donkey, taking in the scenery of Shu, stopping and going without haste. His reason for entering Shu was a letter from his disciple, received at a familiar tavern. The letter spoke of the disciple’s love for a woman, nearing the stage of marriage, and requested his master to act as a matchmaker. The disciple had repeatedly reminded him not to arrive in Western Shu looking shabby—not just to bolster his own reputation, but because the martial world believed that “like master, like disciple.” If the master was unimpressive, how could the disciple be any better? So, the master had to tidy himself up properly, lest the girl’s family hesitate to entrust her to him.
For once, the man took the matter seriously. He borrowed thirty taels of silver from the tavern keeper, bought two new sets of clothes, and traveled all the way from the distant southeastern Sword Province to Western Shu. The letter had been sent half a year prior, but knowing his master’s wandering ways, the disciple had set the meeting date far in advance, assuring him in the letter’s closing that even if he arrived late, it wouldn’t matter—the disciple would wait patiently.
This man, who had wielded and forged swords but never carried one, debated whether to buy a sword to hang at his waist. The disciple’s letter mentioned that the woman he fancied hailed from a prestigious martial family in Western Shu, where everyone from the sect leader to the lowest servant wielded a sword, each blade bearing a poetic name. The leader’s sword was called “Fire Candle,” the chief elder’s famed weapon was the “Mountain Demon,” listed in the Great Artifacts Registry, and even the outer disciples’ swords bore grand names. Most importantly, the sect leader’s beloved daughter—the object of his disciple’s affection—carried a sword named “Peach Blossom.” What a coincidence!
Arriving in Yizhou, the middle-aged man easily found the renowned Sword Rain Tower, a sect famed throughout Western Shu. It was said that during grand events, all three hundred swordsmen of the tower would ascend its six-story main building and simultaneously toss their swords outward, creating a rain of blades. Though the Sword Rain Tower lacked renown beyond Western Shu, overshadowed by the Spring Scroll Pavilion—home to the beauty Xie Xie from the Rouge Rankings—it was a top-tier sect in the region, with the saying “Western Shu’s swords emerge from the Rain Tower.” Legend had it that the Sword Emperor of Western Shu, who later died defending the city against the Xu family’s cavalry, had often climbed the tower to critique the disciples’ swordplay. The highest floor displayed portraits of legendary swordsmen from the sect’s history, inspiring disciples to hone their skills. These included ancient figures like the Great Feng Sword Immortal Ji Xinding, contemporary with Gao Shulu, and the infamous demon Liu Songtao from a century ago. More recent additions included the likes of Sword Nine Huang, Song Nianqing, Qi Jiajie, and Chai Qingshan. Of course, Li Chungang, the towering figure of the sword world, was especially revered, his portrait placed center stage alongside Lü Zu.
When the gatekeeper of Sword Rain Tower heard the visitor was seeking “that young man,” his disdain grew. To the old gatekeeper, the young man wasn’t bad—his swordsmanship was mediocre, but his insight was sharp, having bested several elders in theoretical debates. Yet, to aspire to marry the sect leader’s only daughter without illustrious lineage or formidable skill? Preposterous. It wasn’t that the leader was deliberately harsh—the entire martial world of Western Shu knew his stance: his daughter would only marry a man who had reached the first-rank realm.
Kind-hearted despite his misgivings, the gatekeeper, learning the man had traveled thousands of miles, laid out the truth and directed him to the young man’s rented courtyard nearby. The disciple had stubbornly lingered near the tower, even sweeping snow from the streets last winter—an act that nearly earned him a beating, as snow was a rare delight in Western Shu. The gatekeeper chuckled ruefully, admitting that if not for the young man’s earnest, unassuming demeanor, even he would have wanted to thrash him.
The middle-aged man listened, one hand leading his donkey, the other stroking his chin, a faint smile playing on his lips.
When the gatekeeper finally asked his relation to the “simpleton,” the man replied, “I’m his master.” The old man’s enthusiasm vanished, and he hastily shooed him away.
At sunset, the gatekeeper watched the man’s retreating figure, the lengthening shadow on the street. He found both master and disciple peculiar, though he couldn’t quite pinpoint why.
After navigating winding alleys, the man found the shabby courtyard. Standing at the gate, he felt a pang of guilt—his disciple had followed him all these years, asking for nothing and gaining little.
He knocked. A young man, no longer a boy, rushed out, overjoyed to see his master. But before the man could speak, the disciple bypassed him to hug the old donkey, leaving the master feeling slightly wounded.
Inside the courtyard, a plainly dressed girl with a wooden hairpin was watering a small tree. She smiled shyly at the newcomer, flustered.
After reuniting with the donkey, the disciple introduced her: “Master, this is A’cao, my neighbor. She planted this peach tree. Her parents run a porridge shop down the street. A’cao sells flowers in the market—peach blossoms, apricot blossoms, orchids… If you visit her home, you’ll smell the whole courtyard filled with fragrance…”
Listening to his disciple’s rambling, the man felt an unexpected warmth. No wonder he’d felt something missing this past year—it was the absence of his disciple’s chatter.
He studied the slender girl, her ears reddening as she turned away.
Smiling, he asked, “I’m here now. When do we visit her family?”
The disciple’s expression darkened. “Master, I’m sorry… this might be a wasted trip.”
Frowning, the man asked gently, “What happened?”
The disciple scratched his head awkwardly. “It’s… complicated. Best not to ask.”
“Did her parents, the leaders of the Listening Rain Tower, oppose the match? Looked down on you as a wanderer?”
To his surprise, the disciple shook his head. “The leader isn’t biased against me. He’s devoted to the sword, a righteous man respected throughout Western Shu. He simply believes only a second-rank master is worthy of his daughter. It’s her mother and brothers who… said harsh things, did worse… They don’t want me in the city anymore.”
The man smiled. “So you backed down?”
“Of course not! But… she fell for someone else. I couldn’t force her. I understand love must be mutual.”
The girl interjected bravely, “Those people once—”
The disciple cut her off. The man’s expression remained calm, but he suddenly gripped his disciple’s arm. “Your voice lacks strength. I thought it was the climate, but you’re injured. Four months ago, someone pierced your Danzhong, Juque, and Qihai acupoints with a sword. A masterful strike—superficially light, but damaging the core. Such a swordsman must be renowned in Western Shu. Tell me his name. Let your master reason with him.”
The disciple shook his head. “Forget it, Master. I planned to leave long ago, but… I stayed so you’d find me.”
The man’s face, previously calm, darkened as if touched on a raw nerve. His voice, usually light, sharpened slightly. “Did you not tell them your master’s name?!”
The disciple hesitated. “They came at me aggressively. In the heat of it… I forgot.”
The man snorted. “Or refused to say it?”
The disciple grinned sheepishly. “It’d be embarrassing—letting people know you have such a useless disciple. And even if I shamelessly dropped your name, who’d believe me?”
The man was stunned.
An orphan, he’d survived alone in the eerie Sword Mountain from a young age, enduring hardships beyond measure. After leaving the Wu Family Sword Vault, he’d adopted a detached stance toward the world—believing that in the martial world, life and death were fated, and grievances stemmed from one’s own inadequacies.
Thus, Wang Xianzhi of the Martial Emperor City had once remarked: “His sword heart is naively pure, perfectly attuned to the heavens. Whether he holds a sword or not is irrelevant.”
Memories flooded back—his disciple always chiding him for lacking the demeanor of a grandmaster, lamenting how others overshadowed his reputation, wishing the entire world knew his master was the undisputed number one.
Yet, the boy had never once thought to let the world know his master had a disciple—never considered ensuring the martial world knew that disciple’s name.
No one in the entire jianghu knew the name of the boy who led a donkey. No one even knew the surname of the Peach Blossom Sword God’s disciple.
Since taking this disciple, whenever they encountered injustice, he’d been compelled to act—dragged into it by his disciple.
Each time he saved someone and impatiently left, his disciple would linger, telling the rescued, “My master is the Peach Blossom Sword God Deng Tai’a. Don’t forget!”
Your master is the Peach Blossom Sword God Deng Tai’a.
Then who is Deng Tai’a’s disciple?
The man took a deep breath, gazing at the young face now bearing faint stubble, then turned to the flower-selling girl. “Young lady, I am Deng Tai’a. My disciple is named Li Huainian.”
The confused girl blushed. “Uncle Deng, I already knew Brother Li’s name.”
Deng Tai’a murmured to himself, sorrowfully, “But this damned jianghu doesn’t.”
That evening, Deng Tai’a and Li Huainian visited A’cao’s home. To his disciple’s astonishment, Deng even brought gifts—modest but respectable by commoners’ standards. The girl’s parents were delighted, especially upon learning this man was Li Huainian’s only family. The girl grew shyer; the disciple, slow to catch on, eventually realized his master’s intent and, reflecting on their months together, found it natural—no forced matchmaking here.
Rarely one to drink, Deng shared over two pounds of wine with A’cao’s father, laying things out plainly: his disciple was kind-hearted, only half a martial artist at best, with no grand ambitions—just a young man suited for a quiet life. The parents, their worries eased, were fully at peace.
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