Chapter 42:

When Yan Zhi saw Xue Ying, she noticed her face was bruised and swollen, and couldn’t help but ask, “Who hit you?”

Xue Ying coldly wiped the blood from her nose, muttering under her breath. Upon closer listening, it was all censored content.

“F*ck your mother, stealing my Bailu, rushing to get buried in peace, huh? I’ll visit your grave next Qingming Festival.”

Yan Zhi caught the gist—Xue Ying had been beaten, and the perpetrator was likely a formidable opponent. Filtering through possible candidates in her mind, only one remained:

Xue Ying’s elder, Cen Wuwang.

Wow, the men of your Taixuan Sect are truly something—fists to flesh, fighting to the death.

As the saying goes, “Even an honest official can’t settle family disputes.” Yan Zhi couldn’t intervene in the feud between two sword cultivators. With her physique, she’d walk in upright and be carried out horizontally.

She could only tactfully ask, “Is Senior Cen here to take the Female Marquis away?”

Xue Ying hummed and sat cross-legged. “She said she wanted to meet the Female Marquis.”

This required Yan Zhi to lead the way. She glanced at Xue Ying, who was studying an ancient sword in her hands with no intention of moving. Yan Zhi didn’t press further, sending someone to relay the message to Cen Wuwang. Then she asked Xue Ying, “Why is Senior Cen participating in the selection?”

Truth be told, this event appeared on the surface to be the Dragon Princess’s reckless whim, but Yan Zhi had tacitly approved her idea—selecting a high-profile candidate to tour the Daoist realm and see which sects could be swayed.

Even if Ao Fugui lacked ambition, facing the Phoenix Clan would jolt him from his deathbed, fighting tooth and nail to destroy them. Yan Zhi planned to split their forces after this: most elites would head to the demon realm, while a smaller group would accompany the Crown Princess to the Daoist realm.

Provided the Crown Princess wasn’t Cen Wuwang.

Xue Ying paused, resting her chin on her hand in thought. With the Phoenix Clan infiltrating the East Sea, Cen Wuwang intended to deal with them and, after hearing Xue Ying’s suggestion, continued participating in the selection.

Xue Ying clapped her hands together cheerfully. “This is great! The Dragon Clan and Taixuan Sect joining in matrimony.”

Ao Fugui, the Dragon Crown Prince, would never marry into Taixuan Sect. Likewise, Taixuan wouldn’t just hand over a Sword Immortal. If Cen Wuwang left, the title of Sword Immortal would naturally fall to Xue Ying.

Cen Wuwang stole her Bailu? Then she’d take Cen Wuwang’s Sword Immortal title.

A fair exchange—no one owed anyone.

Yan Zhi’s eye twitched as she recalled Cen Wuwang’s drunken antics. If Cen Wuwang married into the Dragon Clan… she tactfully remarked, “Senior Cen seems… flat-chested…”

Not only would Ao Fugui dislike it, she wasn’t too fond of the idea either.

Worst-case scenario, if Ao Fugui and Cen Wuwang argued later, what if he couldn’t win a fight?

Xue Ying was enthusiastic. “Girls change a lot by eighteen. Marriage might change things. Besides, among the selection candidates, who’s better than Sister Cen? Noble lineage, peerless swordsmanship, and stunning looks.”

The “noble lineage” part struck a chord with Yan Zhi. The Crown Princess was meant to forge ties with the Daoist realm, and Cen Wuwang—a top-tier expert from that realm—fit the bill perfectly.

So Yan Zhi rubbed her hands awkwardly. “Does the Daoist know Senior Cen’s preferences?”

She planned to have Ao Fugui shower Cen Wuwang with flowers, cars, jewelry—or at least money. The Dragon Clan had plenty of the latter.

Xue Ying had her own agenda. “Sister Cen likes swords.”

Hurry up and gift her more swords, so Cen Wuwang would grow tired of Bailu and return it.

Yan Zhi sighed, unsurprised. Cen Wuwang was the epitome of a sword cultivator—loving swords was expected. But…

“I’ve heard a sword cultivator only wields one sword in their lifetime. Would gifting swords offend Senior Cen?”

Xue Ying: “Not at all. Men want three wives and four concubines; women want five or six backups. What’s wrong with a sword cultivator having extra swords?”

Yan Zhi found this reasoning sound and ordered her subordinates to raid the treasury for top-tier equipment—not just high quality, but also showcasing the Dragon Palace’s wealth and taste.

Ao Fugui’s personal sword would be ideal, even allowing for a matching set.

Meanwhile, Yan Zhi connected with Cen Wuwang and smoothly arranged a backdoor meeting with the Female Marquis. Seizing the opportunity, she meticulously selected swords, aiming for love at first sight.

Whatever Cen Wuwang and the Female Marquis discussed, when Cen Wuwang emerged, Yan Zhi peeked inside to see the Female Marquis waving. “Safe travels, Daoist.”

The Female Marquis was strikingly beautiful, her smile radiant—enough to explain Ao Fugui’s infatuation. Then Yan Zhi looked back at Cen Wuwang…

Plain as boiled water, sword intent radiating off her, flat-chested, and sluggish—practically ready to sip tea and retire.

If not for that scandalous gossip, Cen Wuwang might not have even made the top 64.

But if Cen Wuwang lost, she couldn’t become Crown Princess, and collaboration with Taixuan would be moot. Yan Zhi’s thoughts drifted to rigging the selection.

Cen Wuwang was indeed drawn to the swords behind Yan Zhi, who eagerly explained, “Discard whichever Senior dislikes—we’ll pack the rest.”

She clarified, fearing misunderstanding: “Taichu Sect gifted the Five-Colored Divine Feather. The Dragon Clan is overwhelmed and can only offer worldly treasures in return. We hope Senior accepts.”

Cen Wuwang inspected a few before asking, “What’s their value?”

Yan Zhi straightened proudly, feigning humility. “Dragon Palace treasures, naturally. They won’t embarrass Senior.”

After a round of nods, Cen Wuwang agreed. “Acceptable.”

Overjoyed, Yan Zhi later reported to Xue Ying: “Senior accepted.”

Xue Ying was thrilled, playing the dutiful disciple to butter up Cen Wuwang, hoping she’d discard Bailu soon. She even sweet-talked: “Sister Cen.”

Cen Wuwang, munching candied hawthorn, handed Xue Ying the gifted swords. “Sell them when you get a chance.”

Taixuan disciples received standard-issue swords from Taichu Sect, with higher-tier options like the Twenty-Four Divine Swords. Dragon Palace blades didn’t impress Cen Wuwang—better to sell them for household funds.

Xue Ying stared at the legendary weapons on the table, then at Bailu beside Cen Wuwang, and calmly said, “My swordsmanship has improved lately. May I ask for Sister Cen’s guidance?”

Cen Wuwang was pleased. The young should persevere. Swallowing the hawthorn, she said, “Draw your sword.”

After being beaten from one end of the courtyard to the other, a battered Xue Ying climbed up, her mind clearer than ever.

If force failed, cunning would suffice.

She obediently took the Qiankun pouch as Cen Wuwang advised, “Rarity drives value. Sell them in Yunmengze for higher profit. Anything else?”

Xue Ying smiled sweeter. “Nothing.”

Days later, the selection resumed. Last time, Cen Wuwang advanced with a tearjerker love story. This round, she couldn’t rely on storytelling.

Yan Zhi approached Cen Wuwang with strategies and profiles of dragon princes and princesses, suggesting targeted approaches tailored to their preferences.

For example, the eldest princess loved dance, while a certain prince adored music. Cen Wuwang could sing and dance, killing two birds with one stone.

Yan Zhi tentatively asked, “Can Senior perform sword dancing?”

Most sword cultivators mastered this skill to woo their partners—”you play the zither, I dance with swords,” the epitome of immortal romance. The request wasn’t unreasonable.

Cen Wuwang flipped through judge profiles, her expression unreadable.

Yan Zhi had duties and couldn’t linger. After a few words, she left. Xue Ying, playing the devoted disciple, suggested, “Sister Cen, single-sword dances are common. Let’s innovate—dual swords!”

She even demonstrated, albeit clumsily, earning corrections from Cen Wuwang.

“Raise your arms higher.”

Cen Wuwang took up two swords for a demonstration. Soon, Xue Ying offered musical accompaniment—though her zither skills were lacking. After a while, Cen Wuwang coldly said, “Move.”

She’d do it herself.

Xue Ying obediently stepped aside, her eyes fixed on… Bailu strapped to Cen Wuwang’s back.

Her plan: once Cen Wuwang took the stage, she’d sneak Bailu back to Taixuan. With the sect leader and elders shielding her, Cen Wuwang couldn’t retaliate.

Endure briefly, gain eternal freedom. Hold on, Bailu!

Cen Wuwang was rusty too—skills learned centuries ago had faded. Her playing was halting, yet Xue Ying lavished praise.

“This is the first time I’ve heard such divine music! Is this the legendary ‘harmony of the heavens’?”

One played terribly, the other praised earnestly—neither noticed Feng Yuemian watching outside.

His subordinate studied Feng Yuemian’s expression before later asking, “My King, this Cen Wuwang is no pushover.”

Feng Yuemian sneered. “What trash.”

Phoenixes were born singers and dancers. To him, Cen Wuwang’s skills were funeral-worthy at best. Only that Sword Immortal’s disciple, blinded by love, would hype it as peerless.

Disgusting. He’d write to Taixuan, denouncing their shamelessness.

But—Cen Wuwang planned to perform sword dancing?

Feng Yuemian smirked. “Fetch my twin swords.”

On performance day, Feng Yuemian went first, his sword dance earning thunderous applause. He deliberately taunted Cen Wuwang from the stage: *I stole your act.*

Xue Ying fumed, vowing to pluck his feathers later. She clenched her fists, encouraging Cen Wuwang: “Don’t worry, Sister Cen. The crowd knows quality when they see it.”

*Just take off Bailu already!*

But Cen Wuwang said, “Unnecessary.”

Alone, she took the stage with Bailu. Yan Zhi asked awkwardly, “What’s your performance?”

She’d heard about the sword dance. Now, after Feng Yuemian’s dazzling display—charismatic, radiant—Cen Wuwang paled in comparison.

Cen Wuwang spoke slowly. “I have a story.”

The crowd perked up. Here it comes—the drama!

By the end, applause erupted. The Dragon Princess wiped tears. “So moving!”

Another high score. Backstage, Feng Yuemian was stunned.

*That’s it?*

Are you dragons here for gossip or to pick a Crown Princess?

Equally dumbfounded, Xue Ying watched Cen Wuwang approach and say, “Your recent filial piety—was it for Bailu?”

Xue Ying nodded numbly.

Cen Wuwang replied, “Keep dreaming.”

That night, Yan Zhi’s room hosted a drunkard hugging a wine jar, sobbing till dawn.

Burdened with paperwork, Yan Zhi snapped, “It’s just a sword! I’ll give you ten, twenty!”

Xue Ying hiccuped through tears. “No… Bailu is different.”

Yan Zhi pondered. “Since Senior Cen has it now… is it dirty?”

Xue Ying: “Shut up!”