Chapter 19
Chapter 19
Not everyone shared Chen Shu’s excitement.
He Yu sat high in the viewing pavilion. Though autumn days weren’t typically scorching, beads of sweat streamed down his forehead like snapped threads. The blazing sun above contributed partly, but the true cause was the company he kept.
The towering height itself hadn’t troubled him in past years. The problem lay with the four or five figures robed in luxurious Daoist garb beside him, each waist adorned with blood-red jade pendants—identical to the one Li Chou had once given Chen Shu.
They were all members of Biyang Valley.
Two or three, Li Chou among them, had even faced He Yu on this very arena in previous tournaments.
He Yu had participated in several Sword Discussion Tournaments. By tradition, major sects jointly observed the opening matches—a grand spectacle with fifteen factions gathered. Yet no past event, however arranged, had been so tactless as to seat Cold Pine Glen alongside Biyang Valley.
With twelve arenas nearby, eleven remained unoccupied save the active one, but fate had seated him here.
While laughter and chatter filled other viewing stands, this one lay silent. Of course, feuds or centuries-old grudges were inevitable among sects bracing for competition.
Regrettably, He Yu was steeped in the latter.
It must be said—though the outermost stands buzzed with cheer—one pavilion sat apart, directly opposite the arena and just as quiet: Shen Jie’s.
Shen Jie seemed naturally disinclined to socialize. Lounging alone amid her retinue, she lazily watched the duel while occasionally sipping tea. Her companions—including the swordswoman who’d captured Ying Wei—sat just as quietly. Were it not for their rare murmurs, their stand would have rivaled He Yu’s in stillness.
Chen Shu observed it all.
Witnessing such concealed tension for the first time, she found it far more riveting than the duel. Shen Jie’s exalted status granted her the right to ignore pleasantries. Yet these Members of the Wulin Community, stationed in heavily-guarded Diancang Pass under imperial oversight, still moved with such autonomy.
Unlike the rivalry between Biyang Valley and Cold Pine Glen, the source of this friction remained unclear. What mattered was their confidence to dismiss one another—confidence He Yu wouldn’t dare display were he seated near Shen Jie.
Chen Shu watched, captivated, until the match ended. She nearly forgot her own task, saved only by Yun Shen nudging her onward.
After the opening duel, each contender approached the twelve Sword Discussion Platforms to claim a wooden token—a personal pass granting entry to matches, loss or damage borne solely by the bearer. Having endured years of contestants decrying unfair seeding, the tournament now let entrants choose their arena autonomously. Only the previous year’s top twelve retained permanent placement as defending champions; others signed up freely after the opening match.
Choosing wisely, then, was crucial to advancing.
None possessed Chen Shu’s mix of ignorance and fearlessness. Hungry for substantial third-round rewards—for even early elimination paid handsomely—these entrants gambled fiercely. Investing five taels for prizes was, quite simply, shrewd business.
Only the last person standing on each Sword Discussion Platform proceeded. Competitors might be unknowns, but the twelve defenders’ reputations hung bright on every roster.
Moreover, though billed as prior top champions, the five-year gap between tournaments had wearied them all: some maimed, others lost to the jianghu. Arenas with such weakened champions became like mosquito nets riddled with holes, inviting swarms through every breach.
Yet oblivious Chen Shu watched fighters swarm specific platforms and scoffed at their folly, smugly steering Yun Shen toward an emptier queue.
Yun Shen glanced at the packed lines and sighed. For once he didn’t puncture her pride, indulging her as she led him toward the deserted arena.
Within moments, Chen Shu reached the registrar.
Head lowered, the official scribbled furiously, swift strokes transfixing Chen Shu until their voice roused her—the line had vanished.
“Name?”
“Chen Shu. ‘Chen’ as in east of ear, ‘Shu’ as in rain’s grace.”
“Your weapon?”
“Sword.” Chen Shu answered swiftly. “I wield a sword!”
“Where’s the sword?” The person finally raised his head and asked, “Bring it out for registration.”
Chen Shu blinked.
“My sword is lost.”
“Then you prefer fists? Or kicks?”
“Neither!” Chen Shu’s tone grew increasingly aggrieved. “I specialize in swords!”
“…Which sect?”
“Sword Sect of Tianyu Mountain!”
“Tian… Tian Yu…” Flipping through his register for a long while, the man lifted his head irritably. “Is your sect registered here?”
“N-no.”
“Hmph.” Snapping the register shut, the man slashed a harsh mark on the paper and finally said, “Draw your lot.”
Chen Shu drew one thin paper strip from the bamboo tube before him, scarcely managing a glance before the registrar snatched it back.
“Xuanzi Platform, Fist Technique, No Sect Allegiance, Number Twenty-Eight— Take this. You’re her guardian, aren’t you? This is her token. Present it to compete. Don’t lose it, else it’s gone.” He prattled as he picked out the token, ignoring Chen Shu entirely as he handed it to Yun Shen beside her.
Chen Shu was momentarily speechless, tracking the outstretched hand before turning to stare at Yun Shen. Only after a dazed moment of eye contact did she recover herself. “I’m not— Hold on! He’s not either—”
“Understood. Thank you,” Yun Shen replied smoothly, accepting the token. Not only did he take it, but then he tugged Chen Shu—who glared at him furiously, words choked with indignation—right out of the queue.
Somewhat mollified, the registrar nodded and yelled, “Xuanzi Platform, next!”
“Wait… That’s not right!” Chen Shu stumbled along, protesting twice before realizing Yun Shen ignored her. She finally shook off his grip and halted, complaining, “He registered me incorrectly! How could you just accept it?”
“Aren’t you here to search for your sword?” Yun Shen stopped and countered. “First you’ll apprehend Mount Bandits, now you’re determined to fight in the Tournament—without even finding your sword, you’ve piled tasks onto yourself. Must you fuss now over a few clerical errors?”
“Naturally, I must fuss!” Chen Shu answered gravely. “Of course I’ll find my sword. But I also intend to compete earnestly. Whether it’s with Brother He or not makes no difference. I’ve registered to duel; honoring my opponent honors myself.”
After a pause, Yun Shen queried, “Truly, have you never considered—if your sword isn’t with He Yu? The world is vast indeed. Where then would you begin searching?”
“I have,” Chen Shu responded solemnly.
“…Oh?”
“Should Brother He not possess it, my guess is off. No calamity. Even offering aid with the Tournament stands regardless. Had he never held it, I’d cherish no regret for that choice. The world may be vast—rivers, mountains, birds, fishes—yet to traverse it step by step, one gains a hundred years at most. Beyond this, I bear Dao arts, far more fortune than mortals know. What hardship then lies within this simple act of searching?”
Passersby brushed past intermittently, all abuzz with registering, collecting tokens, competing—noise gnawing at one’s temples. Yet Chen Shu’s words, soft as they lay, struck like an anchor’s weight, echoing through the commotion to drown all worldly clamor.
Yun Shen studied her closely. She remained unaltered since that descent from the mountain: wholly artless, brows unknit, brimming with zeal. Though not unchanged; deep inside her eyes lay a fortitude steadfast as bedrock, new-born or iceberg-peak alike.
Such resolve assured she’d never cease till her sword was found.
“Fine,” Yun Shen yielded. “You’ve your mind set. I oughtn’t meddle.”
“Nor succeeded if you’d tried!” Chen Shu tipped her chin up, grinning and tinged with impish pride. “Speak all you wish; I heed none of it. Matters not.”
“…”
Yun Shen swiveled and strode off.
“Hey, don’t flee in shame! We still must reckon how you falsely claimed kinship!” Chen Shu stayed put, calling across the crowd. “Petty man!”
——
In the end, fewer than a hundred signed up for Xuanzi Platform.
When the pairing lottery was taking place, Chen Shu was still trying to steal some leisure time wandering at the Sword Discussion Platform with He Yu, recognizing that one legendary swordsman who had eloped with a fellow female disciple and had his leg broken, and that scholar whose martial skills weren’t formidable but was extremely adept at scolding, having once enraged an opponent to death.
When they circled back to the Xuanzi Platform, the yamen runners squatting beside the gate had started calling out numbers one after another.
The two of them were still whispering about these Jianghu anecdotes, just discussing which master didn’t teach or nurture disciples but spent all day brandishing signboards to trick them into hard labor. Above them, a loud “Number twenty-eight, first match!” immediately caught her off guard, and she spun around to head for the Sword Discussion Platform.
“Where’s your wooden token?” He Yu grabbed her and asked.
“Wasn’t my wooden token hanging here—” Chen Shu felt around, her heart dropping as she thought inwardly, and a light sweat broke out. “My wooden token is with Brother Yun!”
“Don’t worry, where’s Yun Shen?”
“He ran off in a petty tantrum!”