The heavy rain poured down the narrow alley, the small gutter unable to drain the flood quickly enough. The cold spring rain soaked past the ankles, leaving a most uncomfortable chill. A graceful figure, seen through the eyes of Su Su, hesitated at the alley’s entrance. Puzzled, Su Su barely had time to wonder before hearing the words, “My apologies, Master Su,” followed by a sharp chop to his neck, and he collapsed into unconsciousness.
The blind female lute player supported Su Su’s limp body and led him toward the courtyard gate, where a tall, burly man stood silently at the threshold. He took Su Su from her arms. A young woman snapped shut an oil-paper umbrella, intending to hand it back to the taciturn man, but before she could, the courtyard door slammed shut with a loud crash, a clear refusal. Unfazed by the rebuff, she leaned the umbrella upright in a corner by the gate. The cloth satchel on her back was soaked through, revealing the outline of a guqin beneath.
As she bent down to place the umbrella quietly, her two fingers brushed the knot, gently sliding it off. The damp cloth satchel was removed, and with it came a small splash of rainwater.
At the same moment, three splashes of water erupted into the air within the alley, blooming like lotus blossoms before vanishing into the dark, rain-drenched night.
Three flying swords—Huang Tong, E Mei, and Tao Hua—were struck midair by an invisible force. They tumbled several times in the rain before being repelled, retreating into their respective sleeves and hidden sheaths.
Thus ended the first deadly probe, filled with lethal intent.
Though the rain poured just as heavily, the mood within the courtyard was vastly different. The old scholar, having finished moving several pots of orchids, entered the front room and gazed solemnly at the blacksmith who had carried Su Su back. Normally, the old man rarely lingered in the smithy, always passing quickly through. But today, he dragged a wooden stool to the doorway and sat. Without a word, the blacksmith kicked a chair over to the hearth, placed the unconscious Su Su on it, then crouched by the door, glancing back at the young man’s receding figure with a sigh.
Ever since Su Su could remember, the old scholar had been a respected teacher in the northern part of the city. Later, when a child was beaten and came home crying, a butcher, skilled with his cleaver, stormed into the scholar’s study the next day to teach him a lesson. But the old man was no match, beaten without a chance to defend himself. At the time, Su Su had been in the study, reciting the classics with fervor. His blood boiled, and he rushed forward to help, only to make things worse. The butcher ended up slashing the scholar’s arm, leaving a deep gash. He hadn’t intended to draw blood from the rigid old scholar and panicked, fleeing the scene. Later, Master Qi, the blacksmith, visited the butcher’s shop to demand justice and compensation, but all the onlookers said that when the butcher saw him, he slammed his cleaver onto the chopping block. Qi simply said, “I’m here to buy meat,” and left. Su Su, upon hearing this, wished he could dig a hole and hide forever.
In his youth, the two old bachelors in his household became the laughingstock of Liu Bazhi and his ruffians. Su Su knew he couldn’t fight them, so he resorted to watching the neighborhood quarrels between old hags, learning every sharp and vulgar word. Those lessons served him well over the years, and Liu Bazhi never once won a verbal spat without nearly bursting with rage. Yet Su Su knew that clever words were of little use—just like how the old scholar’s wisdom couldn’t match the brute force of a butcher. That’s why he loved the tales of wandering swordsmen, of heroes who cut down foes with a single strike in the snow. He longed to meet such a figure, even if it meant getting beaten himself—it would be worth it. In his mind, true heroes didn’t follow the rules. They stood atop city walls, or at the very least, on rooftops or mud walls when they made their appearances. But this town had a military camp nearby, and in over twenty years, he’d never seen a single flying swordsman. A few years ago, he finally heard of a duel between two martial artists on the Purple Sable Terrace. He rushed there at dawn, only to wait until noon, finishing an entire bag of sunflower seeds. When the fighters finally appeared—over twenty men with swords and blades—it seemed promising. But the two leaders stood at the top of the terrace, arguing for an hour before declaring they’d settle it another day. Su Su returned home, lying in bed, stunned and heartbroken. The brief spark of martial ambition he’d felt was extinguished like a candle in the rain. He and his peers stopped practicing stances by the dry riverbank, never speaking of it again.
What a pity, then, that he had missed a deadly clash happening right under his nose. Even greater was the tragedy that he might never know the truth—just as he never knew the true identities of the old scholar and the blacksmith.
In the front courtyard grew a cluster of banana plants, their height barely reaching the wall. Most banana plants preferred shade and warmth, but this particular variety—Huang Ji—was cold-resistant, one of the few that could survive in the harsh climate of Beiman. Still, the courtyard’s poor soil made them sparse and weak. It was only thanks to the young man’s abandonment of the old habit of plucking banana leaves for play that they had managed to survive at all.
The wind howled, the rain drummed against the banana leaves—a dull, monotonous sound.
The burly blacksmith muttered, “Only Li Yishan from Beiliang knows we’re here. The two outside—the woman with the lute at the gate, and the sword-wielding man at the alley’s end—aren’t ordinary. If it were just one of them, I could handle it.”
The old scholar, unmoved by the biting wind and rain, whispered, “Back when we fled to the cliff overlooking the Guanyin Temple in the South Sea, it was Li Yishan who led the pursuit. It was also he who secretly let us escape. He said only that Shu’s fate wasn’t sealed yet. Over these years, I’ve pondered Li Yishan’s motives. If he truly wanted to restore our dynasty, I find it hard to believe. But regardless of what plans this strategist—famed for his ruthless schemes—has in mind, the fact remains that he spared the royal bloodline. For that, I’ll serve Beiliang like an ox or a horse without complaint. But if he ever asks the prince to risk his life for some scheme to divert the Zhao family’s attention, I will not allow it.”
The blacksmith remained silent. He never understood the thoughts of scholars. They had lived here for over twenty years, and every time Su Su slept, he returned to his craft—forging swords. One sword had taken him over two decades to forge. He couldn’t think of a name for it, so the old scholar suggested, “Call it ‘Spring and Autumn.’”
The old scholar asked solemnly, “When will it be completed?”
The blacksmith grunted, “Whenever you want.”
The old scholar nodded. “The woman with the lute is likely the demonic master Xue Songguan. I heard she’s on the new assassin list, tied for second with a girl who killed Wang Mingyin. But the lute is meant to banish evil and guide the soul. Using it for murder is a grave mistake.”
The blacksmith, surnamed Qi, merely tugged at his lips and said nothing.
The old scholar chuckled bitterly. “I know what you’re thinking. The old saying—‘In peace, collect treasures; in chaos, hoard gold.’ I understand it too. War breeds legendary pipa songs, but not great lute compositions. Still, I can’t help but hold onto my scholar’s pride. My family has crafted lutes for generations, producing masters of the instrument. Our secret technique of eight-treasure lacquer and ash may die with me.”
The blacksmith sighed, glancing at the old man. He recalled that this scholar, Master Zhao, was once said to be unmatched in the world of lute for a hundred years—by the old turtle Huang Longshi himself. But who had the luxury of such sentiments now?
Outside the courtyard wall, in the alley.
The blind lute player sat cross-legged, the Jiao Wei guqin resting on her knees. Her left hand hovered in the air, while her right index finger plucked a single string.
A sharp clang pierced the storm.
The young swordsman under the umbrella at the alley’s corner finally stepped forward, breaking into a sprint.
The sound cleaved the gray sky in two. A faint silver line sliced through the rain like a knife through tofu, cutting straight toward him. Xu Fengnian flicked his foot, leaping over the line. The rain fell again, sealing the gap. The walls of the alley were not so lucky—deep, invisible gashes split their surfaces.
The distance between them shrank from a hundred paces to eighty.
The young woman, her round, youthful face serene, ignored the charging man and plucked again, this time with two fingers.
Xu Fengnian narrowed his eyes. He slid his hand down, gripping the umbrella handle. With a twist of his fingers, the simple oil-paper umbrella began to spin in the alley.
A sharp *chi* rang out as the umbrella was sliced in two by two silver threads, their qi as sharp as blades. Xu Fengnian instantly discerned their path, leaping to the right, planting his foot on the wall, tilting his body midair just in time to evade.
Seventy paces.
The woman performed a complex gesture— Dripping Stream.
The raindrops in the alley shattered like beans, exploding into countless tiny craters on the walls. The umbrella, still falling, was crushed into dust.
Xu Fengnian kept moving. He flicked his sleeve, channeling the *Duan Jiang* technique he’d perfected while facing a stampede of buffalo through a canyon. If it could sever a mighty river, it could sever rain and lute strings alike.
Two mighty qi currents collided like dragons and serpents in the storm. Xu Fengnian surged forward through the shattered rain, closing the gap to sixty paces.
The blind lute player’s right hand rolled and flicked.
A thick silver thread surged forward like a river dragon, twisting through the alley toward the relentless swordsman. A second, thinner thread arced behind her, slicing through the left wall with a deep central groove, then shot toward Xu Fengnian’s bent form. The *Chun Lei* leapt from its sheath, clashing with the smaller thread, sparks flying. Xu Fengnian then hooked his fingers, grasping the thick thread like a serpent. With a sudden twist, he snapped it in two. Rainwater sprayed across his chest like blooming flowers.
Xu Fengnian advanced, the storm following in his wake, drenching the blind lute player.
Fifty paces.
He flicked his finger, sending *Chun Lei* soaring into the sky, piercing the rain-laden heavens, before diving toward the woman’s head.
A golden sword, *Jin Lü*, emerged from her sleeve.
The woman, lying in wait tonight, remained calm. Her left hand finally moved, sliding and vibrating the strings with a fierce, resonant *yin nao*. Gone was the gentle melody—now it summoned thunder.
The *Chun Lei* and *Jin Lü* were severed from their qi links, but Xu Fengnian, summoning his strength, pulled them back. Still, he had lost the initiative. Forced to stop, he swept both sleeves forward, blocking the deadly threads of string qi from the woman’s hands.
Needles pierce a mirror.
The mirror was strong, but not against a thousand needles.
In the blink of an eye, the music ceased. Xu Fengnian looked down at his left shoulder, blood seeping through his robes, worsening by the second. Even with his newly attained *Great Diamond* cultivation, the wound would not stop.
He now understood why she was known as the one who slays *Diamond* with *Finger Mysticism*.
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage