Chapter 36

Chapter 36

“—Careful!”

Chen Shu’s outcry startled He Yu, who spun around. But facing that descending golden mace, now dangerously close—its surface scarred where his dart had scratched it—he froze in terror, unmoving, feet rooted to the Sword Discussion Platform as if nailed there.

Had that mace struck true before all these witnesses, three feet of blood would surely have stained the Northern Platform crimson!

The warning cry faded, yet He Yu remained dazed, motionless. Realizing the peril, Chen Shu cast aside thoughts of her missing sword and the ropes still binding part of her hand. Abandoning her half-formed spell gesture, she prepared to vault to the Northern Platform.

The gap between the Southern and Northern Platforms was indeed sizable—though Li Chou had jumped across earlier. This Sword Discussion Tournament pitted four competitors across two platforms to crown one victor. Organizers presumed countless participants, narrowing down to survivors of the third round, surely possessed skill enough to bridge such heights easily.

But it was high. Scanning down, Chen Shu glimpsed the layered tiers of spectators below. Their faces—some horrified, some gleeful—all packed densely together, every pair of eyes brighter than daylight as they crowded and stared raptly at the Sword Discussion Platforms.

Among those countless eyes, there must be one pair—familiar in that cold and mild way—gazing upward. In moments like this, would they also show concern… like during Chen Shu’s fight against Xuan Qin onstage just earlier?

Suddenly, Yun Shen’s words echoed again in her mind:

“True cultivators are rare today. Your abilities make you like a child bearing gold through the marketplace, inviting envy. Under ordinary circumstances, your gifts shouldn’t be revealed…”

Even Li Chou in disguise—deliberately clad as a commoner—likely couldn’t cross such distance beneath these layers of piercing gazes in an instant.

Yet He Yu was directly before her. Against the glow of the sun, the mace’s reflection stabbed blindingly into Chen Shu’s eyes, making it almost impossible to blink.

Under the cloudless sky, the mountain silhouettes at the horizon shimmered with pale gold radiance; all ten Sword Discussion Platforms; the encircling masses of spectators—all seemed awaiting this inevitable strike. As if history itself held its breath for the final stroke on its page.

In that instant, Chen Shu glanced sideways at the discarded whip still speckled with fresh blood. Resolving herself, she grabbed it back and hurled one end toward the ground of the Southern Platform. Clutching the other end, she leapt toward the Northern Platform without looking back.

Midway through the jump, Chen Shu realized it wasn’t the gentle autumn wind: rather, these twelve Sword Discussion Platforms and the towering spectator stands blocked the fierce gales entirely. Passing between the two platforms now, she felt the harsh winds scraping her skin painfully.

She soared out over the arena. The whip landed behind her where she’d hurled it onto the Southern Platform. While unseen by most in the audience below, Cui Feng onstage saw it clearly, his face slack with astonishment—

Chen Shu’s fierce throw was aimed not elsewhere, but precisely at the fissure that Li Chou had carved into the Southern Platform during an earlier exchange!

Bearing traces of blood, the tip of the long whip snaked through the crack with precision and lodged itself firmly within it. As Chen Shu herself was suspended midair, barely a step away from the Northern Platform and already beginning to plummet downward, she gave the whip a seamless tug. Leveraging this motion, she steadied herself, pivoted on the edge of the Sword Discussion Platform, and with another effortless leap, landed gracefully onto the Northern Platform.

This entire sequence unfolded in the span of a mere blink!

Neither of the two fighters on the Northern Platform—one wholly assaulting, the other momentarily transfixed—had glimpsed this. But the audience below was no less than vigilant. Even those who couldn’t perceive Chen Shu’s flurry of movement could still observe her silhouette vanishing from the Southern Platform and reappearing on the Northern Platform in an instant. A cascade of astonished gasps rippled through the crowd, mingled with fervent clapping. Even the gong player, momentarily stupefied, unconsciously relaxed his grip, allowing the twin brass discs to collide in one clear, resonant toll that sang out just as Chen Shu touched ground!

Precisely as the toll rose then faded, Chen Shu surged two steps forward—yet still too late. Her heart sank. She could not halt the strike of He Yu’s opponent. With gritted teeth and the whip still in her grasp, she drew her arm back, iron in its resolve.

Cui Feng, tracking her movements, could no longer spare thought for the wounds on his palm. His hand shot out as he cried, “No!”

But it was too late—nor would such a mere plea have swayed Chen Shu even had it come in time.

Chen Shu’s forceful motion did not injure her like Cui Feng’s prior struggle. Yet, as she swung, something strained audibly in the air—a tearing, minute as silk shredding—then the whip abruptly snapped in her grip!

No matter Cuī Feng’s inward lament, the severed section of whip coiled under Chen Shu’s will and shot toward the golden mace without pause. Just as it would’ve collided with He Yu’s brow, the fractured whip struck the weapon. Nimble as a serpent, it wrapped tight around the shaft twice in a spiral.

Two simple rings. A slender whip, tip frayed at its point of rupture. Yet it bound the golden mace completely, halting even its thunderous descent with jarring finality. Held fast, it froze grotesquely mere breaths away from He Yu’s forehead, unable to advance.

Only then did a cold sweat break out through He Yu: at this escape from the jaws of death. Strength surged back into legs that had felt nailed to the platform. He seized the moment, twisting clear. Instantly, Chen Shu loosened her hold, allowing the golden mace to plummet unimpeded, hammering the platform below.

Luckily, this combatant lacked extraordinary arm strength—no Li Chou, to rend the platform asunder with each blow. The impact yielded merely a dull thud, shuddering faintly through the whole structure.

His blow thwarted, his prey escaped—and all the while Chen Shu stood unyielding, righteous in bearing. He burned. Fury surged anew. “Not moments ago you swore neither meant to ally!” he roared.

“I did say that,” Chen Shu snapped back, her own ire stoked. She pointed the whip at him, bristling. “But sneaking a killing blow while someone’s back is turned? Alliance? This is rescue!”

“A killing blow?” he denied instantly. “He’s standing here whole! How dare you slander me!”

“You—” Chen Shu sputtered. She was unaccustomed to such shamelessness, unskilled in argument. She stumbled, choking out multiple “You— you—” unable to find words but the crudest insults. Her face flushed scarlet.

Seeing even the slimest victory in the war of words, the man swelled. With a cold snort, he prepared another assault… only to be preempted by He Yu who had finally reclaimed his voice. Clearing his throat, He Yu overrode him:

“It was no alliance. I yield defeat—and since I yield, how could this be conspiracized? Your duel merely tests the victor between the two platforms. One-to-one. No ‘allying’ required.”

“You!” Speechlessness seized the man instead. He flared his nostrils, spat out a furious grunt. “Hah! I thought Cold Pine Glen, as one of the Nine Minor Sects, might breed men of spine! Yet first you evade facing me, now you bow out in surrender? Truly a man without gall!”

“In my view,” He Yu said, pausing as he gathered strength to stand steadily once more, “gall matters little. Victory in this fight matters less. Even the so-called honor of my sect holds no significance. Yet what must be vindicated is truth—justice. We neither sought alliance nor engaged in subterfuge. Our posture is upright; our shadows do not tremble.”

His words carried conviction. Logic layered clear on principle. Long after he finished, silence stretched. His opponent found no breach from which to strike. He could only fix his futile glare, hot with venom, upon Chen Shu and He Yu together.

This silence spilled into the crowd, momentarily silenced too by He Yu’s dignity—until one voice tore open the quiet: “Hear, hear!” Applause followed, hesitant then rolling: a swelling surf of sound punctuated by cries of “This is a true gentleman!” and “Cold Pine Glen has always stood just!” It continued unabated until the yamen runner below, forced to restore order, struck the bell once more.

Even after its lingering hum faded, the opponent remained stewing silently… but then another voice declared:

“I yield willingly as well!” Cui Feng shouted from the platform.

With his whip in tatters—rendered useless for combat by Chen Shu—his yield was inevitable. Yet his timing lent it the weight of sacrifice: as if for honor’s sake he surrendered victory, unbroken even in defeat—a stance which likewise drew appreciative cheers from below.

For Chen Shu and He Yu, Cui Feng’s surrender brought no detriment. But with He Yu already withdrawing and Cui Feng following… their opponent felt suddenly isolated atop burning coals. All others were graceful in their losses… all except him?

Chen Shu, oblivious, only cocked her head at him, asking plainly, “Then you? Still fighting?”

Still fighting? Putting aside how refusing now might earn him the scorn of all, branding him ungracious forever… there was Chen Shu herself: that leap, that rending strength, that flicking speed—all branded vividly onto every witness’s memory. Should he fight now—dared he refuse to yield—his very life might hang in jeopardy. Would regret not sear him then?

And never mind the prize: making the third round promised rich rewards regardless of rank.

He glared hatefully at Chen Shu for interminable moments. Finally, resignation hardened in his posture: recognition of inevitable defeat. Another wave erupted—loud, approving applause. It might yet stand as the most baffling duel of the entire Sword Discussion Tournament: scarcely begun, only a few blows traded… three combatants surrendering willingly… and the spectators still cheered, faces ablaze with delight.

Chen Shu and He Yu descended from the Northern Platform. As they walked out of the building, none other than Yun Shen—who had worked hard to squeeze to the front of the door early—greeted them. The three met, and immediately, Yun Shen frowned, picked up Chen Shu’s hand, and carefully felt it as he asked, “Are you unhurt?”

“What’s this? Shouldn’t you ask about me first?” He Yu grinned, scratching his head.

“I trust that Brother He knows what he’s doing,” Yun Shen replied. Even as he spoke, he continued gently massaging the rope marks on Chen Shu’s palm.

“So you don’t trust me!” Chen Shu retorted, allowing him to finish his examination very unwillingly before swiftly pulling her hand back from Yun Shen’s grasp. She rubbed her own palm and said, “Brother He is the unreliable one! He knew someone was ambushing him, yet he didn’t even dodge!”

“I was too flustered at the time and missed the chance,” said He Yu. He seemed to recall something and asked,

“Earlier on the platform, what did you say about your sword?”

At these words, Yun Shen silently withdrew his hand into his sleeve.