Chapter 34
Chapter 34
“I pitied that fine sword of his!”
Her words echoed loudly, carrying clear as day throughout the competitors’ seating area. Someone immediately laughed at her.
“The competition is between the men! Who cares about swords!”
“‘Pity’ is a marvelously chosen word. The little girl probably hasn’t studied—doesn’t have a drop of ink in her belly, does she?”
Their laughter died down quickly, for the situation on the platform was shifting rapidly. The echoes of their taunts hadn’t faded when Mo Yong landed another blow, knocking Li Chou to the ground. Struggling to his feet with his sword’s support, Li Chou bellowed “Again!” So the mockers looked back up, focusing intently on the fight once more.
Only the tall, soft-spoken young man standing before Chen Shu turned around again. In unhurried tones, he agreed, “You’re quite right. This Young Valley Master of Biyang Valley—though possessing remarkable swordsmanship—drives his sword with such violence. It not only hurts others but damages the sword itself. If this continues, I fear it will eventually harm him too.”
“Ah! Are you also a sword practitioner?” Chen Shu blinked. Instead of confronting the others, she tilted her head back towards the tall youth, delighted. “I can see you’re as tall and straight as a jade tree, handsome and elegant, learned and courteous, discerning the micro to know the whole! You must be a Sword Cultivator—” As she spoke, she peered closer and indeed spotted two bulky bundles strapped to his back, wrapped plainly in cloth. Yet, their long, narrow form was discernible, one end marked by a flaring, vessel-shaped protrusion—precisely the outline of two slender swords.
Such effusive praise made the young man’s face flush. He seemed shy, stammering for a good while after finally parting his lips to speak, only to be cut off by someone beside him.
“Sword Cultivator? What’s to cultivate with an iron weapon? Cultivation of the Dao is just cultivation, sword training is just sword training. Where did all this nonsense come from?”
“Rubbish! You’re the one spouting rubbish!” Chen Shu spun around and snapped back, her temper flaring. “Sword Cultivation! It cultivates both the Sword and all things between Heaven and Earth! The profound mysteries of this world reside entirely within every single stance and strike! You’re ignorant yourself, incapable of grasping their wonder, yet you dare project your own limitations onto others? You’re disgusting! Completely disgusting! Especially disgusting—”
As she stepped forward aggressively, the tall youth stayed put and ended up behind her, almost as if she was sheltering behind him. After listening for a while, he gathered his courage and softly concurred, “…Exactly so.”
The rude man snorted coldly, about to sneer another few words. But his gaze flickered over Chen Shu’s shoulder to the tall swordsman behind her, and his expression altered abruptly. He managed only a stubborn mutter, “I’ve no time to argue with fools like you!” before he turned and slipped away towards the edge of the seating area.
“Why did he leave?” Chen Shu wondered aloud, feeling puzzled yet triumphant. She turned back to He Yu and grinned. “Did my scolding sting? Did the nasty words scare him off?”
He Yu, however, wore an awkward expression, seemingly wanting to intervene but powerless. He glanced first at the tall swordsman’s face before trying to settle the matter peacefully. “Yes, yes, that person went too far. Since he’s gone, there’s no need to dwell on it. We might as well focus on the match.”
Just as he spoke, the battle between Li Chou and Mo Yong escalated fiercely on the platform. Li Chou had clearly recovered. Though he’d spat blood several times, the darkening specks staining his robe were already dry. Still, he pressed forward, sword aloft, trading blows with Mo Yong—and fighting with increasing ferocity. His movements, once sluggish from injury, gradually accelerated with each exchange of blows. So much so that the damaged sword managed to leave behind stark streaks of blade afterimages in moments.
Mo Yong lacked Li Chou’s profound strength in the first place. He had relied solely on that opportunistic earlier strike to claim a slight advantage. Now, with Li Chou regaining his footing and launching sword attacks against him—and given that sword technique intrinsically countered barehanded combat—how could Mo Yong possibly withstand it? He struggled desperately to block, yet his momentum waned steadily. Crashing down under another furious roar from Li Chou, he was pierced through the shoulder bone. Pain almost drove him to his knees. After a moment’s struggle, he clenched his teeth and uttered the words.
“I… concede.”
The yamen runner announced in timely fashion:
“Third round, first match! Combattants: Platform Tian, Platform Hong—Carefree Palace, Biyang Valley. Winner: Li Chou of Biyang Valley!”
Then, almost before ‘Li Chou’ had fully faded, came the heavy beat of the drum reverberating throughout the forum, swiftly followed by the cacophonous eruption of gongs, woodwind instruments, and other festive clamor. For a moment, the music swelled ceaselessly—grand yet tinged with absurdity. Yet Li Chou likely didn’t find it ridiculous at all. Quite the opposite; he looked exceedingly satisfied, even his notorious temper vanished amid the cheers. He pulled his sword back with a flourish, flicking Mo Yong’s blood from the tip straight onto the platform. Letting out a laugh, he leapt down directly from the Sword-Discussion Platform.
The leap elicited sharp shrieks of wild excitement from spectators across the stands, and even a few floral hairpins were thrown towards him in admiration.
For a moment, chaos reigned. Cries and shouts surged in waves. After quite a while, finally, a deep bell tolled out. Its resonant hum washed over the central area of the Sword-Discussion Platform, startling many revelers into silence. Immediately after, the yamen runner produced several more lottery slips with practiced ease and proclaimed loudly:
“Sword Discussion Tournament, third round, second match! Southern Platform Duo—Platform Tian: Zhu Shao, Qin Xin Bluff: Xuan Qin! Northern Platform…”
At these words, the named competitors began making their way toward the front of the seating area. Chen Shu watched as a middle-aged woman shouldering a long spear emerged from the crowd, followed by the tall youth standing right before her now, who also stepped forward in that direction.
“So, you’re Zhu Shao?” Chen Shu inquired curiously.
“…No,” the young man halted his step. He shot her a look filled with melancholy, then hesitated. “My name… is Xuan Qin.”
“Oh!” responded Chen Shu. Then, remembering something, she added in a friendly tone, “I’m a Sword Cultivator too—Chen Shu from Tianyu Mountain!”
“…I know.”
Xuan Qin’s voice was soft. Chen Shu caught it only vaguely, paid it little mind, and plunged ahead: “—Your insight seems excellent; your sword arts must be polished. Against opponents full of flaws like these, you’re sure to win!”
Xuan Qin stared at her, momentarily lost in thought, evidently noticing she hadn’t truly registered his earlier words. Yet he remained silent, letting Chen Shu expend her entire outburst. Then, he nodded faintly, raising his volume to say, “Alright… thank you, Little Shu.”
Chen Shu beamed, patting his arm smugly, believing she’d perfectly feigned maturity and composure as she watched him stride with the others toward the Sword Discussion Platform.
This round drew a crowd even more fervent than the last. Cheers persisted as the four took the stage, with spectators occasionally shouting “Qin Xin Bluff”—forcing the yamen runner to pound the bell hard before the clamor faded.
He Yu, standing nearby, had caught every word of Chen Shu and Xuan Qin’s exchange. His expression shifted restlessly, hesitating until Xuan Qin ascended the platform before voicing carefully: “Little Shu… do you truly not recall who Xuan Qin is?”
“Eh?” Chen Shu, who’d been craning her neck toward the unfolding match, turned around. “Who? I haven’t the faintest memory… Have I met him before?”
“Not met exactly…”
“I suppose,” Chen Shu mused, “that Qin Xin Bluff does sound vaguely familiar. Could it be because I clambered over that Vermilion Wall once?”
He Yu fell silent again. Unable to abide her puzzled scrunching of eyebrows—or perhaps holding back too long—he blurted out: “Not the Vermilion Wall—
“Remember that day in town? When you bumped into that child and Swordswoman? You snapped outraged insults…”
An image flickered in her mind—a figure bearing two slim swords. It merged seamlessly with Xuan Qin’s departing back, down to the matching twin blades strapped identically across his spine.
The battle had already begun atop the stage. Tall and fluid, Xuan Qin moved like flowing water, even his hair sweeping gracefully—
“—Ah!” Chen Shu jolted at He Yu’s cue. Recalling her earlier words at the Vermilion Wall, her face instantly flushed crimson. She clamped her hands over her head, hopping in agitation, “Whydidn’tyou tell me sooner?!”
—
The fighters upon the Sword Discussion Platform knew nothing of the small drama below. Perhaps sensing slim chances themselves, this battle proceeded strictly by the rules. Observers saw Xuan Qin halt his blade the instant its sheath brushed his opponent’s shoulder—his victory won without even unwrapping his swords.
Such was the quintessence of triumphed strategy without bloodshed.
His temperament stood worlds apart from Li Chou’s. The moment the others conceded, celebratory music roared below, awkwardly making him seem the loser. Tall and ill-at-ease, he looked ready to vanish if the ground gaped open to swallow him.
Descending the platform, threading through cheers back to his previous place, Chen Shu too felt paralyzed. She forced a stiff smile toward him before scuttling like a scalded cat behind He Yu.
Just then, the yamen runner struck the bell again, dutifully drawing four new slips. His voice echoed: “Third round of this Sword Discussion Tournament: Match three! Southern Platform two—Xuanzi Platform, Chen Shu!”
At “Xuan,” Chen Shu exhaled with silent relief. Seizing this lifeline, she darted through the throng toward the Sword Discussion Platform.
Nearing noon, sunlight streamed straight down. Dark heads crowded the iron bridges surrounding the platform; the glow upon its surface seemed to intensify, blurring the outline into a lucid gleam.
Running ahead, Chen Shu tilted her face toward this radiance—and instantly spotted Yun Shen, pressed amid the masses, watching her intently.
For an instant, she remembered locking eyes days earlier: also in this arena; also across a distance.
Yet this time, the bright sky allowed her to discern his expression clearly—not calm or unruffled as before, but touched with the grime of worldly concern—brows lightly knit, gaze shadowed by unease, hands visibly restless in his lap.
Yun Shen seemed concerned for her.
The thought flashed through her mind only fleetingly. Closer to the platform, the din refilled her senses, blocking all reflection. Compelled, she looked to the yamen runner as his level voice completed the lineup:
“…Cold Pine Glen, He Yu!”