Chapter 28
Chapter 28
“Is there really a Martial World Alliance in this martial world?” Chen Shu asked, tilting her head.
The question left He Yu speechless. He lowered his head and chuckled, saying, “What did you expect? Weren’t you the one who saw the Leader of the Martial Arts Alliance just the other day? That person must have been an official in the Martial World Alliance who notified the tournament side in advance. That’s why when they drew you and him, the yamen runner skipped directly to the next bout.”
“Ah, no wonder!” Chen Shu clapped her hands and said. “Then I ought to thank him. If he hadn’t notified them, and if I had been drawn in the earlier bouts, wouldn’t I have risked missing this round?”
“You’d better go up front and confirm right now,” He Yu joked with a laugh. “Don’t waste time talking now and end up being late; you’d regret it to death!”
Chen Shu smacked her forehead and quickly agreed. The path the burly man had cleared earlier was still empty, making it convenient for her. She squeezed left and right and soon reached the small table.
He Yu and Yun Shen just watched from the crowd as she finished registering, then smiled and bowed to the burly man.
“You said you saw him—where exactly did you see him?” Yun Shen spoke first this time, with hands behind his back and an unusual hint of interest. “Are members of the Martial World Alliance really allowed to participate in this Sword Discussion Tournament?”
“It was probably during some past business interaction, by chance,” He Yu said. “The Martial World Alliance is actually nothing but a real ‘alliance’; it’s formed by martial artists who resist imperial control to argue with officials, usually handling mediation. There’s no direct link between the Alliance and the Sword Discussion Tournament, and officially their duties don’t overlap, so they don’t restrict Alliance members from entering the competition.” He paused as he weighed Yun Shen’s words, perhaps sensing something amiss, and added, “Are you implying…”
“This Sword Discussion Tournament is so grand. Even with any public duties, he should have scheduled free time in advance? Besides, nothing else happening in the martial world now should outweigh the tournament’s importance,” Yun Shen said slowly. “Making him busy early in the morning and still getting leniency—it could only be urgent business—
“—urgent business at Diancang Pass.”
Chen Shu knew nothing about this exchange that had happened after she left. She went to the small table and argued a bit with the yamen runner, still failing to persuade him to change her “no sect affiliation” back to “Tianyu Mountain.”
In the middle of their argument, the match above reached its conclusion. The winner grabbed the loser and walked out of the Sword Discussion Platform, threw him down, and said, “The next bout is probably tomorrow,” then waited for the yamen runner’s nod before strutting away haughtily.
Chen Shu was stunned for a moment. Meng Xu, however, acted as if used to such scenes, stepping forward to help pull the person up. He even quickly reset the leg bone of the loser who couldn’t stand and beckoned Chen Shu, saying, “Let’s go.”
“Oh… oh!” Chen Shu answered twice verbally and followed him into the building, still unable to resist turning her head to stare at the departing winner.
Actually, it wasn’t just Meng Xu who seemed accustomed to it. The yamen runners and the nearby spectators all did too. As Chen Shu looked back, dozens of eyes were fixed solely on the Sword Discussion Platform, solely on her.
The large gate slowly started to close. Chen Shu was still muttering to herself when she heard a voice from ahead: “You’ve come to challenge at the Xuanzi Platform, yet you don’t recognize the tournament champion here?”
“Is that person from earlier our champion?” Chen Shu suddenly understood.
“That man’s name is Zhou Dai,” Meng Xu said as he walked ahead and stopped to wait for her, half-turned toward her. “He studied fist techniques. His razor-sharp palms were like iron, ruthless and brutal, often breaking people’s legs or hands. Today he likely held back—otherwise, the Xuanzi Platform wouldn’t have so few contestants signed up.”
Chen Shu hurriedly took two quick steps forward. She felt a bit contemptuous of that man but knew not to show it. Scratching her head, she said, “I really had no idea. But after beating someone so badly, why didn’t he even apologize?”
Inside the building, only a few slivers of light remained. Meng Xu stood over her, blocking that light entirely. With two loud laughs, he said, “I heard you sliced off half of that painted-face freak’s ear yesterday—did you ever apologize?”
“That’s different! That old monster begged me to hit her; she got what she deserved,” Chen Shu said. She moved to stand directly in front of Meng Xu and added, “I think you’re decent. If I hurt you, I’d definitely apologize.”
“What candor!” Meng Xu couldn’t help but exclaim. “In that case, if I injure you, miss, I’ll certainly apologize too!”
That agreement between them was weightless and unheard by the yamen runner, yet it carried immense force. Once they mounted the platform, the sound of a gong rang out. The yamen runner shouted, and the match officially began.
Meng Xu naturally wielded his Great Axe, swinging it fiercely with a howling gust straight down from overhead at Chen Shu. The massive axe shaft was so huge it nearly obscured the sky’s light, whistling past so close it made the spectators’ hairs stand on end.
As Chen Shu dodged, her eyes brightened involuntarily.
“Great axe!” she gasped in surprise, seeming tempted to touch it. “This must be a fine axe forged with countless strokes—so sharp yet not brittle, so pretty—just slightly worse than my sword—”
“Haha, girl, no distractions,” Meng Xu said, launching another slash. “I don’t want to have to apologize to you after this!”
The giant axe crashed down, but Chen Shu sidestepped again smoothly. With a laugh, she said, “I won’t give you the chance!”
With that, she took two quick steps, darting like a fish flicking its tail past Meng Xu’s broad back and sturdy waist to circle his flank. Then she leaned back—already shorter than him—bending almost like a bridge to slip into the gap between Meng Xu’s arms and the ground. At the bridge’s front end, her face pointed straight forward—
She peered carefully through the gaps between Meng Xu’s fingers as he gripped his axe, and in that brief instant, she seemed to catch a glimpse of a small seal representing the weapon’s forger. Just as she tried to see it clearly, Meng Xu swiftly pulled back the axe, stepping two paces backward as he regarded her warily.
“Your skill is truly impressive.”
“Heh heh.” Chen Shu scratched her head, feeling somewhat bashful again. “Are you admitting defeat now?”
Meng Xu laughed scornfully. “Even if my skills were feeble, I wouldn’t retreat without a fight.” With that, he sprang forward once more, swinging his huge Great Axe straight at Chen Shu.
This time, however, it wasn’t aimed squarely at her. Instead, it veered subtly off course—an adjustment invisible in mid-air but clear at striking height, leaving Chen Shu half a body’s length off-target. Had she dodged as before, she would’ve stumbled right into its path—
And would have been caught squarely by that razor-sharp Great Axe.
Even if not split in half, she’d have at least left the Sword Discussion Platform drenched in blood!
But this time, Chen Shu didn’t evade. She charged head-on, not with the finesse she’d used against Granny Painted Face to strike her hands, but boldly raising both arms to meet the blow.
Meng Xu shuddered.
He seemed to regret it, unwilling to sever the delicate hands of such a fair maiden. Mid-swing, he pulled back his strength, but Chen Shu moved faster still.
Not just faster—more ferociously.
Her jade-like hands shot upward in that electric instant, catching the Great Axe dead on!
As their forces collided headlong, the world seemed to freeze. Not only was Chen Shu unharmed, she stood rooted in place, locking eyes with Meng Xu. Then came the real shock—two breaths later, it was Meng Xu who cried out in pain and released his grip.
That burly man crashed onto the platform, as disgracefully as a landslide.
And his axe? Truly caught and held steady by Chen Shu, its blade gleaming, utterly unscathed.
“…I admit defeat.”
——
These two battles—the first bout on the Xuanzi Platform against the notorious Granny Painted Face, and one of the last matches on the second day against a seasoned warrior of the Martial World Alliance, both fought when the most spectators were gathered—spread her fame like wildfire.
On the third day, her opponent conceded immediately without contest. For her fourth match that afternoon, perhaps following that precedent, the opponent Chen Shu drew likewise surrendered upon hearing the call and walked away.
The retreat was so hasty one might have thought a moment’s delay would see Chen Shu chase them down and slice off an ear.
The fifth opponent though, proved more interesting. A girl who seemed scarcely older than herself gritted her teeth and refused to yield, wielding an iron fan with swift, vicious sweeps, its hidden projectiles striking without warning.
Pity that she faced Chen Shu—who’d endured two consecutive forfeits and now brimmed with pent-up energy she’d nowhere to release.
Unlike Meng Xu’s Great Axe, the fan fared poorly. Chen Shu showed not a shred of mercy. Learning she wouldn’t have to compensate for wrecked weapons after all, she smashed it to splinters with one fist.
Just like that, two days passed. The seventh day was reserved for the finals of each platform.
Only once every stage crowned its last two contenders would the Sword Discussion Tournament’s decisive matches begin. On the evening of the sixth day, the major sects joined twenty-four independent fighters in visiting the Red Cliff Temple, built atop sheer cliffs at mountain’s edge, for prayer-blessings.
He Yu, knowing the reason, told Chen Shu beforehand that this was mainly to help the temple earn more silver. The tournament lasted mere weeks; it couldn’t truly revitalize all Diancang Pass—so these rituals were the trick. One day of free attendance seemed a loss, but once these martial artists spread the temple’s fame across the realms, superstitious merchants and travelers would pour in silver aplenty.
But did Chen Shu grasp this? Barely awake, she lagged behind the procession, nearly shoved out the gate by crowding spectators. Fuming, she tugged at Yun Shen to complain.
“The temple must be potent with spirits, drawing such crowds,” Yun Shen offered after listening awhile.
“Spirits or not, this isn’t commerce! If incense doesn’t work, can you punch your way past the clouds and quarrel with those ‘celestials’?”
Yun Shen shook his head, smiling. “Lower your voice! These people just seek peace of mind—why begrudge them that? Haven’t you sought peace of mind before?”
He’d said it idly, but as the words left him—perhaps he too sensed the weight—he looked thoughtfully down at Chen Shu.
Chen Shu spared him no glance, instead looking into the temple. As if muttering to herself, she whispered Yun Shen’s final line again, before nimbly squeezing through the crowd to join the throng.
What Chen Shu could be wishing for—didn’t he already know?
Yun Shen, trapped in the crowd and unable to push his way out, could only watch helplessly as Chen Shu lined up, chatted amicably with the Taoist priest for a while, received a red cloth resembling a banner or silk streamer, and then merrily headed toward the rear courtyard.
Once Yun Shen finally struggled through the crowds and into the Daoist temple’s rear courtyard, all he saw was the towering sacred tree. Its immense trunk, thick with flourishing branches and leaves, stretched east to west, covering the entire rear courtyard. Some branches even reached over the walls, draped with countless fluttering red streamers—truly a grand spectacle.
Not only was Chen Shu herself nowhere to be seen, but even the red streamer she had just hung on the tree was lost within this sea of dazzling crimson.
Naturally, Yun Shen had never believed in ghosts or gods. But in this moment, atop the mountain peak, shrouded in mist, jostled by the crowd, the fervor seemed to drench his reason. Silently, he began turning over streamer after streamer. If it wasn’t the one, he moved to the next. For branches too high for Chen Shu to have reached, he painstakingly checked each streamer hanging at her height, one by one.
How long passed? No one knew. The sky darkened, and the clamor around him gradually faded.
Finally, on a crimson streamer that had brushed against his head, he spotted the character “澍” (shù). He stopped breathing, hastily untied it.
On the intensely red paper, two names were written clearly, the ink yet barely dry. One was “Chen Shu”. And the other, unmistakably—