Chapter 20

Chapter 20

“Who’s throwing a petty tantrum?” A voice sounded from behind her, neither cold nor warm. Who else could it be but Yun Shen?

Chen Shu swiftly turned around and saw that Yun Shen was indeed standing silently behind her, holding a wooden token in his hand with its small cord half unraveled, plainly about to hand it to her. She gave a dry chuckle twice and carefully studied his expression but only saw him lightly composed, without any trace of anger, yet lacking his earlier liveliness.

“Why have your ears become so sharp?” Chen Shu asked awkwardly, reaching to take the token back.

Though her hand landed on the token to retrieve it, she soon sensed a small force where Yun Shen was holding it. Yun Shen’s strength wasn’t great to begin with, and logically she could have easily wrenched it away with a slight effort. But inexplicably she stopped then and opened her rounded eyes to look at Yun Shen again.

“Young lady, when you spoke, you didn’t care if others could overhear,” Yun Shen said gently. “If you’d said earlier ‘Brother Yun, don’t listen to this bit,’ I certainly wouldn’t have.”

“Oh, I was just…” Chen Shu jumped about in vexation. “I was having a little tantrum myself! Aren’t you supposed to be ‘my family elder’? Why do you always mock me with your words!”

After she spoke, she worried she might anger Yun Shen—after all, he still held the “hostage”—and was about to add something, but saw Yun Shen lower his gaze with a smile and say: “You’re right.” Then he simply let go and allowed her to snatch the token away.

“Be careful during the match,” he also cautioned Chen Shu.

Chen Shu grasped the token and instantly perked up, glancing left and right before cheerfully waving to the announcer. She tossed a casual response over her shoulder at Yun Shen: “Why would anything happen to me? Stop fretting.”

“I mean be careful not to kill anyone,” Yun Shen murmured.

Over there, Chen Shu went happily up the tower, whether she heeded those words or not uncertain. On this side, Yun Shen watched silently for a while, his thoughts unspoken. After a pause, he took two steps toward He Yu and stood steadily beside him.

He Yu smiled at his approach and said: “Little Shu is inherently pure-hearted. Why concern yourself with her?”

“Brother He is correct,” Yun Shen replied with a self-mocking smile. “After all, we’re all strangers in passing; we’ve only journeyed together for a spell and will eventually part with her.”

“Listen to yourself,” He Yu turned his head back and said gently. “In what you just said, it’s clear you’re still stewing about it.”

For the first match, Chen Shu was the later one to ascend the platform. When she sprinted to the top of the tower, she saw the opponent already awaiting her. Propped on a crutch, head full of silver hair, eyes clouded, cheeks gaunt, draped in plain robes with several patches. It was an old woman who looked decades older than her own master, seated at the far end of the platform.

She stood in surprise, wanting to ask if this was the wrong person, when she heard a booming gong sound from below, followed by a distant yet resonant announcement.

“Xuanzi Platform, first match, Number twenty-eight, Chen Shu, no sect affiliation, adept in fists and feet, versus Number forty-seven, Granny Painted Face, Pingtuan Gang, adept with stick and staff!”

Chen Shu immediately yelled down: “I have a sect! I’m skilled in swordsmanship!”

But the voice below remained unmoved and pressed on: “—This duel assumes individual responsibility for life or death until one party surrenders, falls off the platform, or perishes! Commencement signaled by this gong! Begin the contest!”

Right after, another gong rang out.

Standing high on the platform away from the throng, the vast mountains behind Diancang Pass, the rolling waves of the great river, and the whipping river winds stirring her hair tips felt both distant and immediate. The gong sounded as pure and awakening as a temple bell before a tranquil hall, directly clearing one’s troubled thoughts.

Then Chen Shu declared earnestly: “Old granny, I won’t show mercy.”

The old woman chortled weirdly and gave no answer, but faint shouts filtered up from beneath the tower. As Chen Shu leaned down to listen, Granny abruptly stood, raised her crutch, stepped without pausing—so swiftly only a blur remained—and within the blink of an eye rushed before Chen Shu to strike at her.

Chen Shu remained rooted in place, unflinching, expression relaxed. She fixed her eyes intently on the Granny, not on the crutch about to crash down on her head, but on Granny’s face—close now, she could see the old woman’s withered features were indeed sketched crookedly stroke by stroke: ink smeared at the mouth corners, blood-red smudges beneath the eyes, forcibly transforming a human visage into a disquietingly eerie mask that chilled the soul. This was the painted face!

She could not help but sigh. Just at that moment, the cane came down heavily, sweeping past Chen Shu’s shoulder before striking the ground. The entire platform resonated with a bone-shaking, thunderous rumble, like a giant brass gong, that echoed for a long time without stopping.

“Old woman, what’s wrong with your face?” Chen Shu leaned down to get a closer look, trying to examine it carefully once more.

The old woman still did not answer, merely grinning to reveal sharp, eerie fangs like those of a canine or wolf, her eyes darting around. Then she suddenly snatched up the cane and, without warning, swept it toward Chen Shu’s shin.

The move was vile and cunning, clearly aimed at shattering her leg bone, leaving Chen Shu no room to dodge. Seeing the impending success of the sneak attack, the old woman’s eyes glinted with excitement, her smile growing more sly and triumphant, as if victory was certain.

But Chen Shu gently raised her hand, not to block the cane striking her leg, but to open her palm and grasp the old woman’s bony, skin-and-bones wrist.

With a light push, the swift attack was resolved.

“You wretched old hag, others ask you kindly enough, and you resort to a sneak attack—fine—but why not even answer? That’s terribly impolite!” Chen Shu glared at her, voicing her anger angrily.

“What do you want me to answer?” the old woman finally spoke up, her voice hoarse, after her attack failed. “You little girl are even more amusing, utterly lacking perception. I’m known as the Floral Face—can’t you tell what’s painted on my face?”

“Who knows what nonsense you’ve smeared on your face, or why you did it,” Chen Shu said, “and besides, you’ve made it look neither human nor ghost-like!”

The old woman snorted coldly and said, “Very well. Considering your youth and how you’re about to fall to me today, I’ll give you one more chance. Come closer and take a good look!”

As she spoke, the old woman widened her eyes to the size of brass bells and leaned forward, moving straight toward Chen Shu’s face. They were at such close range that Chen Shu finally saw the cracked skin with its smeared colors—black, red, and dry—yet a familiar, fishy scent faintly drifted into her nose.

Chen Shu was startled, and even she couldn’t help but gasp, saying, “Could it be…”

She had smelled that odor before. At the foot of Tianyu Mountain, by overgrown grass, injured travelers who had died bled from their wounds, pooling blood beneath them that later solidified, attracting insects and wild beasts to become a feast for the mountains.

Seeing that she had recognized it, the old woman let out a hoarse, unpleasant cackle and harshly declared, “Rather than asking about my face, why not ask about yourself!”

“Ask about myself wha—” Chen Shu stepped back, narrowly avoiding the old woman’s cane once more, retreating several steps in a row before angrily shouting, “Why are you sneak-attacking again?”

The old woman concentrated fiercely, striking several times in swift succession. For the last blow, she even pulled the cane back, gripped it with both hands, then swung it with all her might, screeching loudly, “Ask about the blood on your own body! Ask if it’s red or black, if it’s vivid enough, if it’s worthy of being painted on my face!”

After that relentless assault, Chen Shu had been forced to the edge of the platform, her heel already dangling off the stage. Her plain-colored robe billowed violently in the wind, along with her flying long hair, teetering, almost falling.

There was no retreat left, and in front of her, the ferocious cane was striking directly at her, truly a critical, life-or-death moment!

Not just the two onstage, but the crowd below widened their eyes. Even spectators watching other matches were inevitably distracted by the Xuanzi Platform, murmuring among themselves. After all, Chen Shu looked like a simple, easy-to-bully young girl—petite, with a long braid, seemingly pitiable. Many shouted toward her, and with enough noise, a few phrases became faintly audible from the stage.

“Admit defeat, girl! Surrender and this match will be over! You don’t need to keep fighting!”

“Why even continue? Losing this badly—is this girl foolish?”

Amidst the chaotic shouting, one voice pierced through the din and reached Chen Shu’s ears. “She’s going to fall off—”

This phrase was like that final spark. Even at such a tense moment, it made Chen Shu couldn’t help but be distracted. She turned her head back and looked displeased down at the spectators, shouting angrily, “I haven’t fallen off yet!”

Unexpectedly, this distraction left her back exposed to the old woman. The wooden cane descending on her face silently shifted direction. Instead of striking head-on as before, it retracted slightly to chest height, then gave a gentle nudge toward the direction Chen Shu was dodging.

Like the striking stick in a deep mountain temple at dawn, as the sun just rose, banging against the bell, the cane was propelled straight toward Chen Shu’s back.

Truly unprepared, Chen Shu took the full blow right from behind. With her foot half off the platform already, the collision made her foot slip, and she tumbled along with that cane straight off the platform.

Her sleeves fluttered, her robe hem caught the wind and whipped upward, and seen from a distance, she fell like a paper crane descending from the stage.

The spectators below, watching the matches, naturally exclaimed loudly; some even shut their eyes in sympathy. But Chen Shu only felt it was strange and new, as if she were back leaping down from steep mountain cliffs once more, fingers gripping the wind, feeling incredibly comfortable. Her eyes took in the various faces below, and even the fall stretched out slowly. Among the many expressions—some gloating, others genuinely uneasy—one was calm and steady.

Her gaze met Yun Shen’s from afar, and she couldn’t grasp at all what emotions lay in those eyes. Why wasn’t he worried for her?

Why not gape like He Yu beside her, pupils constricting, futily but desperately stretching out a hand?

These thoughts flashed through Chen Shu’s mind. She blinked deliberately, turned her gaze away, and pivoted amidst the announcer’s cry from below the stage: “First match! The winner is—”

In one swift motion, stepping onto the crutch she had dropped alongside her as it fell through the air.