Chapter 29

Chapter 29

On the intensely red paper, two names were written clearly, the ink yet barely dry. One was “Chen Shu”. And the other, unmistakably—

“Han Guang”.

Chen Shu had chosen this name, cherished in her heart, for her sword before she had even forged it. Once she had the sword, she uttered it daily, never passing three sentences without mentioning it.

These two words seemed especially dear to her heart.

Yet, recalling all the days since they descended the mountain to seek the sword, these two words had never once passed her lips.

Yun Shen stared at the name for a long moment. Suddenly, he chuckled. Today, there were too many wish-makers. Chen Shu arrived late. Unable to get the usual streamers, after acting sweetly for a long while, she actually managed to wheedle a special kind out of the priest—the type intended for young men and women seeking relationships. Just look at the prayers inscribed: ‘like-minded hearts’, ‘bound together till white-haired age’—hardly suitable for seeking lost items! Having not only her own name but the sword’s on such a token. So absurd, it was obviously a wish that could never be granted.

Yet, this very crimson talisman was still hung upon the tree by her with such earnest solemnity, as if treating a dying horse like a living one—in desperate hope.

He must have understood this at last, laughing silently at his own excessive tension. He rolled up the red streamer, about to casually discard it, and lifted his head to notice that the courtyard had indeed emptied without his realizing it.

The vacant rear courtyard held only the great tree, and, standing at the entrance, a familiar figure.

“Finally found you! I told Brother He you’d surely be inside the temple—he actually didn’t believe me!” Chen Shu exclaimed, seemingly oblivious to Yun Shen taking half a step back as she herself advanced two steps toward him.

“What are you doing?”

—What are you doing?

Just six simple words. Striking Yun Shen’s chest like six heavy mallets, both numbing and bone-chilling. He instinctively retreated another half-step, lowered his head, drew his expression in.

This was the first time Yun Shen had shown tangible tension so plainly on his face in all these days—no, it could even be called outright panic.

The mountain wind stirred the trees, setting the red streamers fluttering by sections, like a mother’s hand gently brushing against their heads. Rays of twilight broke through the drifting crimson silk from the horizon, falling at their feet, spilling onto the hem of robes, and shining upon Chen Shu’s flushed face dotted with hot, beaded sweat.

She raised her hand to shield her eyes and, heedless, took two more steps forward. Only then did she notice the red streamer in Yun Shen’s hand. Delighted, she glanced from it back to Yun Shen, and, ever thoughtful, obligingly completed the story for him, donning an air of perfect understanding:

“Ah-ha! Gotcha secretly making a wish! What was that about ‘why chide them’? Sounded so lofty and otherworldly—a genuine immortal! Turns out even you need a token to soothe your heart sometimes!”

As she spoke, she turned her body sideways. However much her curiosity burned, her eyes no longer stole glances toward Yun Shen. Instead, she adopted a pose of utmost respect, yielding the path, her face turned fully away as if to signal that he should finish hanging quickly—she had no intention of snooping.

Yun Shen paused another moment. His fingers clutched the red streamer, knuckles whitening. Yet, he made not the slightest move to act.

In the courtyard’s sudden quiet, the “whisper-sh-sh” sound of the wind through the leaves became startlingly clear—soft, yet distinct. On this cool evening with its promise of dusk, it reminded one of the steady drizzle of an early spring night—a murmuring that wouldn’t cease.

She waited thus for some time. Since he didn’t act, naturally silence remained; only the tree branches continued swinging, stirred by the wind tugging at the streamers. She gazed out cheerfully for a while before turning her head back. Only then did she realize Yun Shen was staring at her, perfectly still.

With a smile, she complained, “Hey, what’re you doing not hanging it? I told you I’m not looking!” She added reassuringly, “Won’t tell a soul!”

“Truly?” Yun Shen asked softly, finally lifting his hand. Perhaps he used a little too much force; the crimson paper emitted a brittle snapping sound, incongruous in the quiet. It succeeded in luring Chen Shu’s gaze right back. Only after processing his question did she masterfully avert it again.

“Oh dear!” exclaimed Chen Shu, though it was unclear what exactly had startled her—Yun Shen’s rough handling of her red streamer, or his skeptical question. In any case, she instinctively lowered the hand shielding her eyes, and the two locked gazes once more. She continued, “How could you not believe me! Besides, even if I wanted to tell someone, who is there to tell?”

“Who says there’s no one?” Yun Shen replied, leisurely folding the red streamer in his hands as he spoke. “I see you’ve made plenty of friends—Brother He goes without saying; Ying Wei of Qin Xin Bluff still owes you a meal, doesn’t he? And Right Supervisor Shen’s pet tiger; what about that kid from Linbo Prefecture? Seemed to get along quite well with you just days ago.”

Chen Shu only processed the last part, immediately protesting, “I don’t get along with him at all! He’s a thief—I’m nothing like that shrewd, unscrupulous scoundrel!”

“True,” Yun Shen conceded, his eyes crinkling as if laughing. Yet, with so many practiced smiles masking his face, this sudden slip of genuine amusement proved hard to suppress once disarmed of his usual composure.

He finished folding the streamer and ceased conversation, turning resolutely toward the blinding sunset where it crowned the enormous tree.

Mountain ranges stretched across the horizon, their greenery melting seamlessly into the lapis-blue heavens. The brilliant twilight spilled across this vast canvas, illuminating the surging currents of the Yushui River and the jagged peaks, even dyeing the edges of the crimson streamers in luminous hues—dazzling, almost ethereal.

Only now did the sight reveal that the once-choking mist had long been pierced by the fading sunlight. No longer a formless white haze, it instead traced radiant beams like silk ribbons, weaving through the forest of red streamers as if spinning those very wishes alive.

Yun Shen looked up and selected a higher branch. With care, he tossed the ribbon bearing the inscription “Chen Shu and Han Guang: A Match Made in Heaven” over the limb, then meticulously knotted it secure. He gave it a final adjustment, ensuring it faced the western blaze, where it fluttered freely into the glow.

“You picked the perfect branch!” Chen Shu exclaimed admiringly. “I actually had my eye on this one too! Not like the lower branches—this is high up, unobstructed, no tangling with others’ ribbons. Such a pity it’s so tall,” she rambled in earnest disappointment. “With so many people below, I couldn’t possibly climb up there just for mine. So I had to settle for a different branch nearby—”

“This is your red ribbon,” Yun Shen interrupted her, glancing at the streamer for confirmation before turning back.

“—I even considered scrambling up, honestly— Huh?!” It took her a moment to comprehend. She blinked, looking between the tree and him. “That’s mine— Wait! How’d you even know which one it was?”

“I checked every one.” He met her gaze solemnly, though such earnestness paradoxically felt like mockery. “Over an hour of it. Hundreds? Thousands, maybe.”

Chen Shu seemed stunned by his nonchalant words. Her expression tightened as she flinched, avoiding his eyes. After a pause, she sniffled, mustering her courage before meeting his stare again.

“Still… it doesn’t make sense. Why go to such lengths just to find mine? Just to re-hang it? Tell me honestly—are you tricking me yet again?”

The final sliver of sun struck directly across the plain, casting Yun Shen’s shadow squarely over Chen Shu. He took two steps closer, his figure enveloping her gently in shade.

“You caught that?” Yun Shen burst out laughing abruptly. “Ha!—When did you become so sharp? Won’t be this fun fooling you anymore!”

He gave her shoulder a pat, took one last glance at the hanging ribbon, then guided a half-reluctant Chen Shu (who kept trying to look back) toward the front courtyard.

Alone, the red streamer rehung—secured, like any other, upon the tree. Yet in that breath bathed in sunset glow, rustled by autumn leaves, swept by the fierce wind, it felt unquestionably, defiantly free.

——

The following day, the Nine Minor Sects gathered for a second time upon the Sword Discussion Platforms. Crowds beneath the twelve towers had swelled, far exceeding the thinning numbers of previous days—even rivaling the audience of the opening matches. This was truly a sea of spectators.

Not only did the twenty-four fighters who reached this final bout include widely renowned heroes, but the previous day’s temple visit marked the commencement of the tournament’s disputed second round.

“First round” and “second round” implied sequence, yet the two held no inherent chronological precedence.

Meaning: victors from both “rounds” advanced jointly to the third, neither excluding the other. Should Chen Shu win today, for instance, she wouldn’t solely face the Nine Minor Sects. Once all bouts spanning both stages concluded, twelve fighters—including her—along with six major sects, four winning minor sects, and the exempted Cold Pine Glen would then draw lots for third-round pairings.

Typically, this “second round” and the “first round” thus ran concurrently—convenient scheduling for fighters and spectators alike, freeing time to journey toward Diancang Pass. Shorter contests, too, eased the administration’s burden. However, countless martial world figures competed; each match only eliminated one contestant. Even with twelve platforms active, five or six days often passed before the final twelve candidates emerged. Conversely, the contest among the Nine Minor Sects, despite its intensity, comprised just four bouts—concluded by noon.

Consequently, the so-called “first round” usually commenced well before the “second.”

Unaware of these mechanics, ordinary folk dubbed the open-entry tournament the “first round” and the minor sects’ contest the “second,” thus cementing this illogical order.

Strictly speaking, the sequence was inverted.

The Sword Discussion Tournament initially served as an exclusive contest between established sects. Only later did newly arisen bands or unattached warriors seek participation—a development the Diancang Pass officials gladly accommodated, opening the event indiscriminately to all, whether sect-affiliated or not. They thus built these twelve extra Sword Discussion Platforms and carved out this supplemental, bracket-style phase. Therefore, the “first round” was the true latecomer.

Twelve entrants seemed excessive initially: across all sects, only eleven combined slots existed for the third round. Many sects—particularly the foundational Nine Minor Sects, granted just five berths while roving warriors snatched twelve—loudly protested the inequality.

Yet when the revised format debuted, dissent vanished overnight. Diancang Pass’s magistrate read the moment perfectly: with the tournament’s fame now accessible to common martial figures for the first time, applications surged into the thousands. Selecting just twelve from this pool stood starkly opposed to “inequity.”

Chen Shu’s path felt effortless to her—a mere three matches contested. Yet each opponent vanquished had also proven victorious before her; each step placed her atop a pyramid of dozens, perhaps near a hundred, predecessors who’d fought to reach her current stage.

Surveying the twenty-four contenders assembled—tall, short, male, female—only she stood wholly unscathed. Others bore fresh wounds; one swordswoman among them limped badly, leaning heavily on her greatsword to keep balance.

In comparison, Zou Dai, opposite her, indeed appeared to be in better shape. At least superficially, aside from a few old scars on his neck, he hadn’t suffered any injuries in the recent matches.

Because of this, the bout on the Xuanzi Platform became the most eye-catching one among the twelve contests.

Today’s matches all took place on these two pavilions at the center of the Sword Discussion Platform. Unlike the earlier bouts, these final few fights were predictably much more thrilling. Therefore, the surrounding ten pavilions were filled with seats just like on the opening day, all allocated to the six major sects and other dignitaries.

Of the two pavilions serving as arenas, the northern one hosted four bouts of sect competitions, using a best-of-three victories format. The southern one hosted the twelve contests for martial world figures.

Chen Shu’s most anticipated match was scheduled for the afternoon, the time with the heaviest foot traffic.

As she followed the yamen runner step by step upward, the wooden stairs in the pavilion, usually so quiet they gathered dust, were faintly trembling. It wasn’t because of her climbing, nor because the building was old and poorly maintained, but rather because of the deafening hullabaloo, shrieks, and cheers booming from outside the pavilion.

When she finally reached the highest point at the center and looked around, the densely packed crowds on the ground stretched from below the Sword Discussion Platform to the horizon. The edges of the arena she hadn’t noted during previous matches—those streets, pavilions, kiosks, and even a few rooftops—were completely jammed and impassable.

Another wave of roaring cheers broke out, nearly making her ears ring. Chen Shu turned to look and right then saw Li Chou lowering his sword onto the monk’s shoulder, his white robe stained with large blotches of blood.

The bloodstains, whether fresh or long-dried, seemed coated with a golden-like sheen under the brilliant sunlight. She stared hard, feeling the crimson flowed sluggishly as if still alive; it was strikingly beautiful yet chilling.

The yamen runner’s announcement, nearly torn apart by effort, managed to reach the stage despite the thunderous applause.

“The second match, Cold Pine Glen versus Xu Tuo Temple, third round, victor, Li Chou!”

Chen Shu lifted her eyes and looked over. Amidst the overwhelming clamor, she noticed Li Chou remained silent, sword still drawn, as he tilted his head and directly locked gazes with her.

The din around blared on incessantly. Li Chou stayed mute for a good while before finally moving. The sword’s edge reflected the sunlight, making Chen Shu blink spontaneously.

In that fleeting instant, Chen Shu squinted. The light flowed in like water instead, blurring the vision before her eyes. She vaguely saw Li Chou open his mouth toward her and say—

“The Xuanzi Platform final, number one, Zou Dai, unaffiliated, adept at fist and foot techniques, versus number twenty-eight, Chen Shu, unaffiliated, adept at fist and foot techniques!”

Another burst of joyous cheers erupted below immediately afterward, but Chen Shu seemed to hear none of it. She widened her eyes abruptly, fixated only on Li Chou’s lip movements.

— I’m waiting for you.

Li Chou wore a cold expression, his gaze burning intensely, silently shaping the words. Then, without caring if she understood, he spun around and left the Sword Discussion Platform.

Leaving Chen Shu alone on the other stage, she blinked in confusion and scratched her head, filled with suspicion. Just then, the gong sound below suddenly rang out without warning.

With that gong strike, it signaled the start of the match!

She had been ambushed multiple times before and learned from it, not daring to be careless. She hastily turned around, only to find her opponent had been watching Li Chou earlier and hadn’t moved.

“Young lady, do you know the Young Valley Master of Biyang Valley?” Zou Dai said, examining her with keen interest, though his words carried a distinct undercurrent of malice. “Are you close to him?”

“Not close!” Chen Shu retorted curtly. Much like a small animal sensing danger, she rarely caught unspoken hints but did this time. “Why do you ask?”

Zou Dai grinned savagely. He was clad all in black, though not the noble shade of court robes Shen Jie once wore. This was more like an inky hue chosen deliberately to hide bloodstains. It was unclear what blood had soiled the fabric, but it looked murky at first glance, making his smile seem rather sinister even in broad daylight.

“Not close is good. I saw you two flirting. If you were close, I might accidentally cripple you—he’s so vengeful, it could be trouble later.”

“What do you mean by that?” Chen Shu asked warily. His statement was brazen, and even she picked up the malice in it. Anger flashed as she added, “You crippled so many people before with brutal force—could it all be intentional?”

Zou Dai laughed twice before replying sharply, “Come and try me—you’ll see if it’s intentional!”

“Alright!”

In a flash, right after the words ended—they hadn’t even hit the ground—Zou Dai didn’t respond verbally, but as if sensing each other, both leaped into action simultaneously!

One figure dashed straight from the arena’s edge to the center, so fast only a shadow remained—Chen Shu. The other skewed to one side, tracing a small arc around the space between the ring and the core, advancing with calculated steps—Zou Dai. Though slightly slower, anyone with sharp eyes could grasp the malice in that deliberate lag—

He was betting.

His first wager was that Chen Shu would charge him at full force.

Even the brief exchange they had just moments ago now seemed deliberate upon recollection. That biting taunt, even dragging Li Chou into it, was purely to provoke Chen Shu — though the outcome wasn’t exactly as he envisioned, clearly, he had succeeded.

His second gamble was that someone as straightforward as Chen Shu wouldn’t resort to feints; if she intended to strike, it would be a headlong, direct charge.

Just those two exchanges had laid bare Chen Shu’s temperament with stark clarity!

Thus, Zou Dai gambled easily and correctly. Not only did she charge straight toward the center of the dueling rink, she did so with every ounce of her strength, determined to settle the matter between them in one swift clash — swift as lightning!

Precisely because she was this fast, this fiercely focused and enraged, Zou Dai found it easy to flank her and then —

In the span of mere breaths, the two were upon each other. Chen Shu lunged forward, naturally meeting nothing but air. Zou Dai, however, surged horizontally from the side, cutting sharply toward her!

He’d wagered correctly on both points. If Chen Shu were merely a somewhat skilled young girl, panic would overwhelm her now. Not only would she be unable to rein in her momentum, but the most vulnerable part of her back — her waist — would be exposed to the full force of his heavy palm strike. In that instant, forget dodging; even raising an arm to block would be futile. From such a vicious angle, hidden from sight, unless she could wrench her arm to an impossible, distorted angle, she had absolutely no defense.

This was already a dead end.

Yet Zou Dai’s gamble on these two points wasn’t solely for a strike against Chen Shu’s back. Even if that strike were brutally powerful, at most it would shatter a few bones or make her cough up some blood. For fighters locked in a life-or-death duel on this arena, a mere few broken bones or a mouthful of blood wouldn’t decide victory.

Consider this: though this step of his paid off, had he miscalculated — had Chen Shu halted midway to dodge, or worse, charged head-on to meet him — given his own significantly slower momentum, facing Chen Shu directly, even if he managed to block, he’d be driven stumbling back to the very edge of the rink, almost plunging off.

Like a seasoned gambler who rarely stakes all, only doing so when he’s absolutely certain of an extraordinary prize.

Zou Dai, having risked it all on verbal baiting and a single, desperate gamble, must be seeking a reward far greater, far more conclusive — a single, lethal outcome.

But as Zou Dai’s palm surged relentlessly toward Chen Shu’s spine, the two drew devastatingly close. When Chen Shu turned her head, she could see strands of Zou Dai’s backlit hair lifting with his movement, ephemeral. Beyond that, Zou Dai’s half-body and his sneaking palm strike, silhouetted against the light, merged into a murky, ink-black shadow within the darkness.

Chen Shu couldn’t make it out clearly.

Neither could she discern it, nor — from such an angle — could any spectator watching the matches from below the rink or above the viewing platform.

But upon Zou Dai’s otherwise bare palm, two knuckle-dusters silently sprang out!

— Chen Shu moving this fast, this fiercely focused and enraged, made it effortless for Zou Dai to flank her and unleash this despicable trick from the shadows — utterly unforeseeable.

This knuckle-duster seemed unlike ordinary ones; even cloaked in shadow, a flash of cold steel gleamed, razor-sharp to the eye.

As Zou Dai’s hand descended, it barely made contact, yet tore through Chen Shu’s outer robe in an instant, slicing a gaping tear and biting deep into her flesh!

“Ah!”

Chen Shu gasped aloud.

Yet, contrary to what Zou Dai had imagined, that gasp held not a trace of pain, nor the slightest panic. Instead, it was more akin to surprise felt amid chilling calm. If one had to pin down a third emotion within it, it seemed closer to —

Deep, furious anger.

Such overwhelming ferocity was rarely seen upon the seemingly youthful, gentle face of a girl like Chen Shu.

Likely Zou Dai held the same assumption. His motion faltered for a split second, still puzzling out the undercurrent of her cry, too preoccupied to pay attention to the different feel beneath his own striking hand.

But in that fleeting breath, Chen Shu, though unable to see his moves herself, seemed as if she’d sprouted eyes on her back. She retreated half a step, perfectly disrupting Zou Dai’s advancing right leg. With a decisive hook, she sent him off balance as he accelerated his palm strike. His left leg buckled straight down into a kneeling position.

Meanwhile, Chen Shu’s own hands were not idle. Unable to block the knuckle-dusters embedded deep in her back, she struck instead toward Zou Dai’s forearm, seized it with a sharp grip, and twisted violently —

With a sharp crack, the pain hadn’t even registered when Zou Dai’s wrist was brutally ripped out of its socket by Chen Shu!

His hand instantly lost all strength, hanging limp. Chen Shu kept her crushing hold, using his dislocated hand as a pivot point as he knelt, raising it even higher above his head with a casual, forceful tug.

The knuckle-dusters gleamed unmistakably on his fingers, reflecting the chilling light.

It seemed most spectators watching the matches grasped the implications. The roar from the field below subsided; amidst the lingering din, several high platform patrons watching the matches sharply inhaled. Some even stood, straining to see the blinding flash of metal on the kneeling man’s hand.

One hand gruesomely dislocated, Zou Dai was naturally wracked with pain, near fainting. In that single blink of an eye, his forehead was already slick with a light sweat. He knelt half-collapsed beside Chen Shu’s feet, largely shaded by her figure. Gasping raggedly for air, he finally lost his voice when Chen Shu ruthlessly wrenched his arm higher. A cry of agony burst from his throat, followed by furious curses.

“You… stop pushing your advantage too far!”

The two knuckledusters clattered to the ground, spinning several times on the platform before finally coming to rest with a crisp sound.

The arena below fell even quieter. The Northern Platform’s match hadn’t begun yet, and even this faint clatter of the knuckledusters echoed across the twelve Sword Discussion Platforms.

“Who bullies whom?” Chen Shu asked him, bending low, then shouted toward the speechless audience below, “Who bullies whom?!”

“…Just… managed to take me down with one move…” Zou Dai gasped, his expression still defiant as he struggled to speak. “No need… to humiliate me…”

“Is this humiliation?” Chen Shu gave a cold laugh, wrenching open his hand. “Before the match, did the yamen runner ask you about your weapon?”

Zou Dai gritted his teeth and didn’t reply.

“Did you truthfully register this concealed weapon?”

“Have you ever used it to ambush and injure others?”

“—Did you win your last Xuanzi Platform title five years ago by dishonorable means?!”

Her anger had truly ignited. Eyes burning, brows furrowed, she hurled accusation after resounding accusation, leaving Zou Dai utterly speechless, chest heaving with rage. Unable to retaliate before the vast crowd, he could only glare at her with bitter hatred, wordless.

Chen Shu looked down at this petty, resentful man before her. The fury within her slowly burned itself out. She took a deep breath, glanced at Zou Dai’s resentful expression, unfazed, returning to calm. Holding the finger she had just wrenched, she spoke steadily, as much to the crowd below as to herself:

“In the first match, I sliced off part of that old woman’s ear—deliberately, yet unintentionally. That painted-face hag had rivers of blood on her hands, yet her ear itself was truly innocent. If it were up to me, I should have crushed her skull, not just a chunk of ear-flesh. Someone advised me not to anger myself over it. That seemed wise. The world holds too many troubles. One ought to manage them, but if you cannot manage, you needn’t torment yourself.” She paused, briefly glancing at Zou Dai’s rapidly paling face. “Today, clutching this hand that has injured countless, I will not overstep. I dare not act as Heaven’s executor. I only seek to repay kindness with kindness, eye for eye—

“You broke the match rules, attempted to assassinate and injure me with these two fingers. I will take them.”

“—AH!!”

The words had barely faded before she snapped her wrist. Amid Zou Dai’s agonized scream, she twisted and tore off his two fingers. With unsettling generosity, she tossed them back into his lap, wiped the blood from her hands onto the hem of his black robe, patted his shoulder as if discussing business, thanked him, then leisurely strolled down from the platform.

Whether from the pain or sheer terror, Zou Dai either fainted or didn’t dare make a sound. Throughout all this, not a peep escaped him.

Silence hung heavy below the stage for a long moment. The distinguished guests who’d risen for a closer look remained dumbstruck, forgetting even to sit. Then, as if someone finally remembered to react, isolated cheers began—sparse, hesitant—before:

“Xuanzi Platform… Xuanzi Platform final! Contestant One, Zou Dai, versus Contestant Twenty-Eight, Chen Shu. Winner: C-H-E-N S-H-U!”

The yamen runner announcing the results seemed to finally remember his duty, though his voice trembled slightly as he shouted the verdict.

Zou Dai hadn’t conceded, hadn’t been thrown off the platform, and certainly wasn’t dead. Yet no one below questioned the proclamation. Instead, those final syllables ignited the roaring sea of spectators. Before the call fully ended, screams and cheers drowned out the fading echo.

The uproar was immense, its roar seemingly eclipsing the acclaim Li Chou had received earlier.

Chen Shu walked through the pavilion. Descending the stairs to near silence, she suddenly heard the announcer’s shout, followed by confused cheers. Mistaking it for the start of the sect battle on a neighboring platform, she quickened her pace, hopping down the stairs with a clatter, shoving the door open.

Immediately, she was engulfed by an oncoming surge of bodies.

Never had she been so literally mobbed before. Momentarily flustered, jostled and unable to speak clearly, she let out several “Aiyos!” trapped within the throng before the officious yamen runner—perhaps seasoned by experience—forced the crowd back with authoritative waves. He collected Chen Shu’s wooden token, then promptly announced the next fighters.

Slotted in this peak popularity slot, the following bout was naturally highly anticipated. Soon, the spectators’ fervor ruthlessly shifted to the new combatants.

Seizing the moment, Chen Shu slipped out from the crowd. She fled with incredible speed, heedless of where she went—a near-panic flight. Bursting through layers of onlookers only to be met by another wall of people, she’d initially aimed for Yun Shen. But blindly weaving through the chaos, how long she wandered she couldn’t tell. She sensed she’d missed him despite him being right at the platform’s edge. Feeling lost, she was finally pulled toward someone by an arm around her.

The figure wore a grey robe, tall and slender, fingers long and strong.

She didn’t see the face at first, yet the touch felt familiar. Dragged away from the fighting grounds, within just a few steps they ducked into some alleyway. The cacophony beneath the Sword Discussion Platforms abruptly dampened, like bubbling water nearing the boil—visible steam but no real tumult.

The figure who’d led her escape still hadn’t removed their hood when they spoke first: “You didn’t even ask who I am?”

“Couldn’t be a villain. What kind of villain would be so foolish as to save me?” Chen Shu countered, pointing. “Besides, I see you’ve got tiger fur on your cloak.”

“Oh?” Shen Jie finally revealed her face, glanced where Chen Shu pointed, indeed spotted two pale golden strands. She flicked them off with a wry chuckle. “Talk about having no fear because you ‘rely’ on something! But Young Miss Chen, that speech of yours on the platform earlier—still so young? Truly earth-shattering. I have no doubt that within three days, tales of you will spread across the land.”

Chen Shu tilted her head indifferently. “I didn’t seek the fame. Having it or not makes no difference. Though I must thank the Master of the Right Supervisor for ‘rescuing’ me today.”

“Trivial matter,” said Shen Jie.

The alley remained windless, secluded and long forsaken. Each spoken syllable seemed to stir the dust blanketing the scattered debris on the ground, wafting it up and scattering it about.

Without any light to illuminate them, this dust descended with an uncanny slowness.

“And here I thought you’d seize this moment to propose some demand, set some condition,” Chen Shu pondered aloud. “Why haven’t you brought it up yet? What are you waiting for?”

Shen Jie let out a soft scoff, chuckling lightly. “What? I see you are usually sincere and trusting of people, just moments ago you believed me. How is it that moments later you ask such a question? Is it impossible that I am actually a decent person, acting out of pure kindness?”

“Of course you are a decent person,” Chen Shu replied. “But you are, firstly, a busy person. And secondly, you refused to show yourself just now. There must be some other reason.”

Shen Jie’s smile deepened by degrees. After listening and remaining silent for a long moment, she sighed almost admiringly. “Not bad! Quite perceptive. Pity you’re not a descendant of my lineage — I do indeed have business with you, and I am indeed waiting for something.”

As if on cue, no sooner had the words left her mouth than the silhouette of a figure appeared at the narrow entrance of the deserted alley. The person seemed wary; they peered inside cautiously. Only after confirming it was safe did they begin to step over the debris strewn across the ground to enter.

This person was none other than Yun Shen.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded the moment he arrived, immediately lifting her by the scruff and, under the dim light, closely inspecting the spot on her lower back where Zou Dai’s blade had torn her clothes. He examined the area with a stern, unsmiling intensity for what seemed a very long time. Finally, as if just noticing Shen Jie’s presence, he straightened up and clasped his hands in a formal salute. “Right Supervisor Shen.”

This sudden tugging sent Chen Shu’s heart skipping another beat. Shen Jie was still standing there, observing their little drama with utter composure! Moreover, Chen Shu had relied solely on her magical power to block Zou Dai’s move — she hadn’t sustained the slightest scratch. If Yun Shen scrutinized her closely now, wouldn’t the ruse be exposed?

Seizing the moment while the two exchanged their greetings, Chen Shu quickly gathered Shen Jie’s cloak tighter around her. Playacting shyness, she blushed crimson and shuffled back two steps, repeatedly exclaiming, “Nothing worth looking at there!”

Whether she fooled Yun Shen was unclear, but he did collect his expression and ceased to turn his gaze towards Chen Shu.

“You took your time arriving,” Shen Jie commented lightly.

This was clearly a pointed remark. Yet for once, Yun Shen seemed uncharacteristically slow on the uptake. He merely nodded. “After all, I possess no martial skills. My strength falls short of my intention. It truly took significant effort to push my way here through the crowd. I hope the Right Supervisor will forgive the delay.”

“Forgiven,” Shen Jie replied. Her eyes shifted from Chen Shu to Yun Shen and back again within the obscuring gloom. It was in this murky twilight that she finally voiced the question that, perhaps, she had intended to ask from the very moment she saw them.

“You two… do you know Yan Ji of Linbo Prefecture?”