Chapter 1102:

Liu Yu raised his hands and exhaled, his expression nonchalant as he said, “That gentleman who just ‘highly praised’ your Dongyue Sword Pool is the newly appointed deputy general of Bozhou. In these times, never underestimate a deputy general—though it sounds a bit convoluted, you get the idea. As for the elder I addressed as ‘Uncle,’ I won’t reveal his identity.”

Liu Yu curled his lips. “So, in this town of Fulu, we have martial arts grandmasters with bronze fish pouches issued by the Ministry of Justice, elites handpicked from various offices by the governor’s mansion, elite guards from the general’s residence, and perhaps even… assassins and spies.”

Finally, Liu Yu pointed at himself with a finger. “Further south in Guangling Dao, there’s Deputy Military Commissioner Song Li, a man whose only passion in life is beautiful women—even the old King of Yanchi gifted him peerless beauties to reward his military merits. As for me, Liu Yu, I’m known as the ‘Little Song Li of Liaodong.’ And I heard that Sir Nalan once had five stunningly beautiful maidservants with particularly peculiar and brilliant names. So, when I left my hometown in Jinzhou, Liaodong, I racked my brains and came up with six names. Now, in my mansion in the capital, I’ve already gathered four maids named Bozhu, Pengbi, Tilong, and Juzhu. With you two, the set will finally be complete.”

He laughed. “Understand?”

He pointed at He Shanxi. “You—Jiu Jiu (Poisoned Wine).”

Then he slightly turned his finger toward Mu Xin. “And you—Qing Zhang (Green Staff).”

Liu Yu chuckled to himself. “From now on, we’re family.”

The young man suddenly remembered something and glanced at the man standing beside the dark-skinned maidservant. When his gaze swept over the maid, Liu Yu’s eyes first flashed with admiration, then regret—no matter how graceful her figure, an unattractive face was a dealbreaker.

Liu Yu let one arm hang loosely, his thumb lightly stroking a deer-antler pendant. “I was going to teach you a lesson—that playing the hero isn’t easy. But you’re lucky. I’m in an excellent mood today, so I’ll let you off.”

Then he quickly added with a smirk, “But according to the rules of your martial world, you must drink a penalty cup. If you can down it, we’ll consider this a case of ‘no discord, no concord,’ and maybe even share a toast later. But if you refuse, then we’ll just say fate hasn’t brought us together—and you can’t blame anyone for that.”

Xu Baozao gritted her teeth. “This guy really deserves a beating.”

Xu Fengnian, surprisingly, nodded in agreement. “For once, I can’t disagree.”

The girl sighed. “Then should we run? Civilians shouldn’t provoke officials.”

She couldn’t help it—once bitten, twice shy. She was utterly terrified of the imperial court and its officials. Song Li loomed like a mountain over her heart, suffocating her at the mere thought. So when Liu Yu, this “petty fifth-rank official,” styled himself as the “Little Song Li of Liaodong,” she felt her scalp prickle with dread.

Xu Fengnian shook his head but said nothing.

Liu Yu turned to one of his armed attendants and ordered, “Liu Rui, as a martial artist yourself, spar with this chivalrous gentleman. Remember to hold back—no broken limbs. We don’t want unnecessary trouble.”

The attendant, well aware of his master’s temper, understood that this meant beating the man half to death with internal injuries. He stepped forward with a grim nod and strode toward the unfortunate martial artist.

Seeing this, Han Yanping, a minor official from Yicheng County in Bozhou, who had just stepped onto the street outside Qingmei Fang, was about to speak when his wife desperately tugged his sleeve. He turned to see her tear-streaked face, her eyes pleading—begging him not to act rashly. She wasn’t afraid to die with him, but what about their children?

Han Yanping, known in local official circles as the “Stubborn Rock of the Latrine,” felt his heart turn to ash as he stared blankly at the scene. Finally, he lifted his head to the sky and muttered, “What a bright and just world! A golden age like no other!”

Liu Yu, with sharp ears, chuckled. “Magistrate Han, mind your words. Let’s not complicate things further.”

Han Yanping was dragged away by his weeping wife, their two children stumbling in panic—a family in utter disarray.

As the armored soldier drew his blade and advanced, Mu Xin wordlessly stepped in front of Xu Fengnian, raising her sword in defiance.

Liu Yu, though no martial artist himself, had seen enough of the world to know that a military brute stood no chance against a skilled fighter like Mu Xin. Suppressing his irritation, he turned not to her but to He Shanxi of the Dongyue Sword Pool. Frowning, he said, “Does the Song Family of the Sword Pool truly intend to oppose me?”

Clearly, Liu Yu had subtly shifted from “young master” to “this official,” dropping two heavy labels on her—the Dongyue Sword Pool and the Song Family.

Such was the art of official rhetoric.

He Shanxi, her face ashen, stood beside Mu Xin and hissed through clenched teeth, “Mu Xin, I’m giving you one last chance—sheathe your sword! Do you believe I can execute you on the spot using sect rules and family law? Do you have any idea what kind of peril you’re dragging our entire sect of thousands into with your stubbornness?”

Mu Xin smiled bitterly. “Second Senior Sister, I’ve never been the brightest with the sword, nor as adept at dealing with people as you. So I truly don’t know—where did I go wrong?”

Liu Yu, now genuinely furious, barked, “Huang Xiaohe, seize He Shanxi and Mu Xin!”

Huang Xiaohe stepped forward expressionlessly, though no one noticed that the swordmaster’s attention wasn’t on the two women at all.

Outside Qingmei Fang, He Shanxi took a sudden step forward and struck Mu Xin across the face with a resounding slap. “Mu Xin, I order you to lower your sword!”

Mu Xin didn’t dodge. A trickle of blood seeped from her lips as she smiled. “Senior Sister, and after I lower it? Should I prepare to serve in his bed next?”

She shook her head. “I, Mu Xin, cannot do that.”

He Shanxi struck her again, her face twisted in fury. “I never thought you’d be so selfish! Have you no gratitude for the sect’s nurturing? Do you realize the centuries-old legacy of the Song Family could be destroyed because of you?!”

Mu Xin still made no move to defend herself. “I have no regrets.”

He Shanxi raised her hand once more.

But the next moment, she found herself frozen. Her heart lurched as she met the gaze of an unremarkable-faced man gripping her wrist.

“Enough,” he said flatly.

He Shanxi struggled but couldn’t break free. “Let go!” she spat.

The man who had playfully called Mu Xin “Fairy Sister” earlier now smiled at her. “The Dongyue Sword Pool—home to Song Nianqing and Chai Qingshan—since when does it grovel like this? Song Nianqing, on his last journey through the martial world, nearly killed that man named Xu Fengnian. And Chai Qingshan, before he died beyond the Northern Liang passes, was respectfully invited by the emperor himself to the capital to fend off Cao Changqing’s assault.”

He released her wrist and said gravely, “Let me tell you—the Dongyue Sword Pool may fall to many, but never to a swordsman like Mu Xin. Whether it’s Song Nianqing, Chai Qingshan, Wu Xiaoping of Wudang, or even Li Chun’gang if he were alive—none would look at Mu Xin and say her sword is unworthy or her path incorrect.”

He Shanxi sneered. “And who are you to spout such grand nonsense?”

The man smirked. “You ask if I’m qualified? Fair. Without status or reputation, how dare I lecture someone like you, He Shanxi, right?”

Before she could retort, he casually backhanded her, sending her spinning through the air before she crashed to the ground six or seven zhang away.

The blow was calculated—painful but not enough to knock her unconscious.

Then, with his hands behind his back, he turned to the swordmaster Huang Xiaohe, whose famed blade “Willow Waist” hung at his hip.

“Do you dare draw your sword?” he asked, smiling.

In that instant, the battle-hardened Huang Xiaohe froze.

Sweat drenched his back. His face turned deathly pale.

Even his sword hand trembled.

To him, this man was like an ant gazing upon a towering serpent.

To onlookers, the esteemed swordmaster Huang Xiaohe bit his lip until it bled, his arm shaking as he attempted—agonizingly slowly—to draw his blade.

But in the end, he couldn’t unsheathe it even an inch.

At that moment, He Shanxi felt her guts twist in terror.

Because she knew—Swordmaster Huang Xiaohe’s sword heart had shattered completely.