Chapter 22

Chapter 22

“I know what you were thinking just now.”

Chen Shu lifted her eyes to look at him.

Surrounded by all unfamiliar faces, He Yu had walked off earlier, and in the blink of an eye, even his retreating figure had vanished from sight. Beneath the bustling Sword Discussion Platforms, the air was thick with the sounds of others chatting and gasping aloud. Yet amid this seemingly never-ending clamor, Chen Shu and Yun Shen locked eyes as if stepping away from the surrounding commotions, like an ink wash painting where only Yun Shen’s gaze—gentle yet detached—seemed to bloom with a faint touch of color.

That familiar yet unexplainable sensation in her chest swelled once more, almost bursting loose.

“I know I’m easy to read,” Chen Shu said, patting her own head. “You all always know what I’m thinking.”

Yun Shen also looked at her, and for a moment she almost thought he too might reach out to pat her head. But Yun Shen did nothing of the sort. Instead, he lowered his eyelids.

“You truly wish to kill that Granny Painted Face.”

“Yes,” Chen Shu admitted instantly. “Why shouldn’t I? She’s a vile, guilt-laden woman who proudly trumpets her crimes. Who wouldn’t want her executed on the spot?”

At that, Yun Shen seemed to let out a faint laugh, though the sound was elusive. By the time Chen Shu turned to look, his expression remained light, and he no longer met her eyes as he asked, “Then I’ll ask you this: earlier, atop the platform, you could have struck the final blow. Why didn’t you?”

Chen Shu stared back at him, looking almost pensive, then suddenly pouted and retorted, “Wait, I was the one questioning you! Why are you interrogating me now?”

“Because deep down, you yourself know why,” Yun Shen replied. “Unless you plan to brush me off with some excuse like ‘I just couldn’t bear to part with those five taels of silver.'”

“That’s right!” Chen Shu blurted. “I do know! But I don’t want to tell you!”

“Is it that you don’t want to say it? Or don’t want to acknowledge it?” Yun Sheng responded, slowly raising his gaze back to Chen Shu. His deep eyes gleamed, as if laying bare the feelings beneath her heart. “Are you regretting not having executed that old woman on the spot?”

“Of course not.”

“Then you must regret saying you wished to kill her.”

“No again,” Chen Shu replied directly, countering, “Why do you think I’d regret anything? My wish to kill her, and my choice not to—all came from my heart. I feel no regret, nothing that ought to cause remorse, nothing I’d hesitate to confess!”

For another small stretch of silence, Yun Shen watched her, as if truly examining her expression.

“Then why do you seem unhappy?” he asked.

This time his voice was exceptionally soft. Amid the roaring clamor of the midday, it felt like the dewdrops still clinging to a leaf, hanging unshed even though they shouldn’t exist—delicate and overlooked, as if they too would soon dissipate in the sea of human noise.

But Chen Shu heard him. She didn’t answer, but she’d heard him. Suddenly, understanding seemed to dawn. She rose slightly on her tiptoes and moved closer to him, peering intently as if some curious beast was sniffing out its prey.

Yun Shen didn’t shy away. He held her gaze as she scanned him with that odd fascination. Only when she reached out to trace her fingers along his jawline did his expression falter. He swiftly clasped her wrist tight, his voice low and tense.

“What are you doing now?”

“I’m checking if you’re my master in disguise!” Chen Shu wriggled her hand free from his cool fingers and made to tug at his face. Pulling down, she found nothing amiss—only succeeded in tightening his scowl. Finally, as Yun Shen jerked his head aside, barely hiding his restrained fury, she announced, “Just as mouthy and bossy as him! I thought it must be him, otherwise why would someone like him come rushing down the mountain to drag me back!”

“…This doesn’t count as me bossing you around!” Yun Shen bristled.

“Do you really think that?” Chen Shu challenged. “You already know I’m upset, yet you keep pushing. You’re so sharp-tongued. Do you even know how to show concern?”

Yun Shen seemed momentarily lost for words. An outright ‘yes’ or ‘no’ would only land him wrong. Deepening his inhale, he was on the verge of rebutting when Chen Shu seized his hand and tugged him into the thick of the crowd, cutting him off without a thought. Pressing against his back, she exclaimed:

“Let’s go! If we don’t hurry, we’ll lose Brother He!”

——

He Yu had truly been gone for quite some time—far longer than just being “almost late.” They were fully behind now. Dragging Yun Shen along as she meandered, Chen Shu seemed disoriented by the sun’s glare or the vastness of the twelve Sword Discussion Platforms. Despite touring, she couldn’t find the very “lottery draw” location Shen Jie had mentioned.

Along their wandering trail, it wasn’t just He Yu they sought. As she strolled, Chen Shu distractedly watched bouts on each Sword Discussion Platform—pausing briefly, then lingering again and again.

After all, these were serious tournaments. Unlike the first dazzling display of the day—skillful and rehearsed—these fights unfolded in real time. Watching them offered a sense of novelty, though it wasn’t the moves themselves that were innovative. Most martial arts forms they used—from fist to staff—had been passed down for over a thousand years. Many were no longer complete, which in Chen Shu’s eyes meant each strike lacked genuine killer intent, every technique had a glaring gap.

But this was precisely the charm in clashes among martial artists with imperfect skills.

Tianyu Mountain taught only disciplined and righteous styles. When her master, senior brother, or senior sister sparred with her each strike implied three steps. Within a single exchange, both foes could guess nearly all fifteen moves about to emerge. This wasn’t from predictability in their limited repertoire but because at the pinnacle of sword mastery, the most complex techniques distilled into an instinctive simplicity. Their thrusts and swings were honed through relentless repetition—each one forged uniquely.

Thus, whether to block with a forward foot, grip a blade for a hilt strike, or sidestep an arrow with a simple twist—just as Chen Shu handled Granny Painted Face’s straightforward earlier strikes—it was something each of them understood down to the core.

For Chen Shu, it was the bumbling duels on these platforms that she truly yearned to pause and savor. First, upon the Tianzi Platform, someone swung a sword against a saber with such force that the latter splintered apart; then, on the Huangzi Platform, a spearman lunged, only to miss his opponent entirely and jam his spearhead into the ground, staggering backward and nearly toppling off the stage himself. The spectacle left Chen Shu in fits of raucous laughter.

As her attention flitted distractedly across the scenes, Yun Shen, seizing the opportunity, made inquiries of nearby spectators. Amidst the clamor, fragments of his conversation drifted through—polite greetings, smooth responses, and cordial questions.

Likely deeming Chen Shu unreliable for questioning, or perhaps worried she would clumsily offend the targets, Yun Shen pressed on alone. The passersby, charmed by his pleasant demeanor and courteous speech, answered earnestly enough. Unfortunately, none knew the whereabouts of the second lot drawing. After all, this drawing for the second round was a matter strictly internal to the Nine Minor Sects. They carried it out that day merely because the participants were gathered. It wasn’t some grand public event. Furthermore, considering the huge number of competitors and spectators on this first day, revealing the location of the sect drawing room would surely send hordes scrambling to crowd the tiny space, desperate for a glimpse of the esteemed sects’ proceedings.

The Nine Minor Sects, though inscribed and spoken of as “minor,” had stood over a century. While outshone by the very top, they far surpassed countless others beneath them.

Naturally, Cold Pine Glen could be considered an exception.

Yun Shen’s efforts yielded no useful information, merely subjecting him to the blunt personalities and thick regional accents of various martial artists. He glanced back several times, seemingly on the verge of suggesting to Chen Shu that it might be wiser to wait for Brother He’s return at the Xuanzi Platform. Yet, one look from Chen Shu, her big dark eyes wide with an imploring pout, silenced him. He swallowed his words. Nevertheless, he kept a firm grip on her. Regardless of her pleas to watch just a little longer, he resolutely, almost coldly, pulled her onward through the throng, still searching.

Halfway through their trek, Chen Shu suddenly rooted herself to the spot. Yun Shen turned, his patience visibly frayed, poised to speak. But then he saw where her transfixed gaze had led: not to any Sword Discussion Platform, nor to an entrance, but fixed on a person.

This man, Hero Li—Li Chou, Yun Shen did recognize. Biyang Valley wasn’t just one of The Nine Minor Sects; for decades, it had been unofficially first among them. Yet here was the esteemed senior brother of Biyang Valley himself, Li Chou, absent from the drawing ceremony—an act of either supreme confidence or pure arrogance. Dressed with elaborate grandeur rivaling Shen Jie’s attire (she who had slipped out of the ceremony), his layered robes, reminiscent of a phoenix’s radiant tail feathers, shimmered conspicuously under the sun amidst the crowd. No wonder Chen Shu, even while being pulled along, had spotted him instantly.

Before Yun Shen could intervene, he watched helplessly as Chen Shu waved exuberantly at Li Chou. Despite Li Chou’s habitual aloofness and haughty demeanor, he actually acknowledged her wave. Cutting disdainfully through the onlookers, he approached them.

“You didn’t go to the drawing?” Chen Shu blurted. “Isn’t Biyang Valley terribly strong? Surely you weren’t kicked out by the other eight minor sects ganging up?”

Li Chou, surprisingly, didn’t flare up. He glanced at Yun Shen first, perhaps expecting mediation. Seeing none forthcoming from the impassive man, he let out a light scoff. “Only those leaders whose sects clutch at the hope of drawing a bye bother attending.”

“So… you do know where they’re drawing the lots?” Chen Shu pressed.

“I know,” Li Chou replied, finally raising his eyes to meet theirs directly, his gaze sharp. “What of it? Need directions? You two have no sect affiliation. Only the uninitiated, lacking any decorum, would itch to intrude on such proceedings.”

A passerby who overheard looked over sharply, startled by the rudeness. Recognizing Li Chou, the bystander instantly turned away, attempting to conceal themselves. Yun Shen undoubtedly caught the venom in the remark; a rare, cold smirk touched his lips. Only Chen Shu seemed oblivious to the intended insult, serenely accepting the label.

“We’re looking for Brother He, but you’re absolutely right!” she agreed enthusiastically. “A little broadening of horizons is always good! Thank you! Rather than just telling us, why not lead the way yourself?”

Li Chou spluttered at her audacity. “…Why should I guide you two?”

“Didn’t you rescue your junior brother? That probably makes you a sort-of decent person, right?” Chen Shu reasoned. She waved a hand at Yun Shen as if recalling something vital. “Ah, we almost forgot! Do you have that jade? It seems Hero Li Chou is a bit… absent-minded. Quick, take it out and show him!”

Yun Shen made no move. Li Chou offered no protest either. His eyes narrowed, locking onto Chen Shu with an intensity that seemed to hiss from his throat.

“You… accepted my jade ornament… and then gave it to him?”