Chapter 35
Chapter 35
“…Cold Pine Glen, He Yu!”
Chen Shu heard it and was still pleased, waving excitedly at He Yu in the crowd, her expression so eager it seemed she might call him over right then.
But when singled out like this, under the gazes of the onlookers and Xuan Qin’s quiet encouragement, He Yu had no choice but to step forward. He knew Chen Shu’s prowess well—not just knew of it, but had witnessed it firsthand, from the burning of the Mounted Bandits in Zhanglin Village to her effortless defeat of the previous victor at Diancang Pass. He remembered it all.
At that time, He Yu had not foreseen the current predicament, so he’d been both relieved and awed, sincerely delighted for Chen Shu. Of course, he still felt joy and admiration now—yet tinged with a trace of fear.
He was well aware of Chen Shu’s formidable strength, and he had a fair idea of her tendency to act without restraint.
Yet with Chen Shu beckoning him so warmly and guilelessly, He Yu could only nod back, quickening his pace. Unlike Chen Shu’s small stature, pushing through the seated crowd took considerable effort. All the while, Chen Shu waited obediently, watching him, her cheeks sun-flushed and radiating warmth.
Unconsciously, He Yu’s expression softened into a wry smile. After responding to Chen Shu and walking onto the Sword Discussion Platform alongside her, he murmured, “…Why do you look so excited?”
“Wouldn’t you be excited to compete together?” Chen Shu retorted, tilting her head. “Doesn’t this mean Brother He and I are fated?”
He Yu was momentarily stunned, even pondering her earnest question before shaking his head with a helpless laugh. “Destiny has its shades. This is a Sword Discussion Tournament, not some casual affair. A ‘fate’ that pits us against each other in life-or-death combat on the platform hardly seems… ideal.”
“Aiya!” Chen Shu exclaimed. “Are you like Yun Shen, not believing I have restraint? I’m gentle-hearted—I’ve never killed anyone! At worst, just a few missing limbs. Don’t worry!”
This only made He Yu shake his head again, though now in pure resignation. “Fine, fine,” he chuckled. “I trust our Little Shu knows best.”
Their exchange ended here, for while the platform was vast, they walked only a brief distance before parting. He Yu ascended the Northern Platform while Chen Shu followed a man named Cui Feng onto the Southern Platform.
Chen Shu had advanced from the initial matches for her place on this platform; the other contestant, representing the Jade Cauldron Peak from the six major sects, was Cui Feng. Unprompted and oblivious to the sect’s ranking, Chen Shu simply bowed broadly to him and assumed a stance.
Cui Feng, however, showed no urgency. Seemingly confident Chen Shu was naive enough to avoid sudden strikes, he returned the bow leisurely and gestured leisurely toward He Yu, who had just ascended the Northern Platform.
“I saw you whispering below,” Cui Feng declared loudly. “Aren’t you two conspiring to gang up on me?”
Mistaking this challenge as genuine courtesy, Chen Shu answered politely: “Not at all! Brother He and I are acquainted, but we only chatted idly—never planned collaboration.”
She replied in earnest, unaware Cui Feng didn’t seek her answer. His amplified voice was meant for the audience, coercing Chen Shu and constraining He Yu. Clearly dismissing her as a threat—likely having missed her fights and judged solely by He Yu’s sect affiliation—Cui Feng’s worry lay not in “both attacking,” but in “He Yu assisting.”
Chen Shu’s innocence masked the implication, but He Yu understood perfectly.
Hearing Chen Shu’s naive justification, Cui Feng remained unsatisfied. Staring across at He Yu, his piercing gaze tightened like hooks—so overt it forced a cold laugh from the usually composed He Yu. He neither refuted the remark nor spoke further. Instead, he drew his mechanisms as the gong sounded, immediately engaging his own opponent.
Meanwhile, the Northern Platform had already exchanged several bouts while on the Southern Platform, Chen Shu waited, posture fixed, staring dumbly at Cui Feng. Even after He Yu’s affirmation, the man moved with infuriating slowness: smoothing his whip, checking the northern fight, and finally smiling at Chen Shu.
“Since you’ve proven yourself principled, little girl, I’ll grant the first move. How’s that?”
“Why bother letting me move?” Chen Shu demanded. “Can we just start now? I’ve been waiting!”
Cui Feng chuckled, convinced he’d shown great elegance. With another deliberately unhurried bow, he declared, “As you wish,” followed by a sharp crack of his whip against the platform.
Chen Shu, however, moved like lightning. This time, she wasted no preamble—just launched herself at Cui Feng. Both occupied opposite ends of the massive platform, ten paces apart, and yet she closed the gap in two barely-there steps, turning into a shadow under the blazing noon sun.
Her speed eclipsed even the mountain wind. As Cui Feng’s whip snapped upward from its fall, she was upon him. Time seemed to freeze; the clamoring audience, like insects or birds masked by forests, faded into isolation.
Chen Shu’s fierce frame reflected in Cui Feng’s horror-widened eyes—a vivid, visceral terror.
But before this dread could fully register, before his whip touched ground again, Chen Shu already swung a hand out to seize his shoulder.
To his credit, Cui Feng did manage to block—stumbling back with the whip’s leverage—before steadying himself. Raising his whip solemnly, he finally adopted a true defensive stance.
Chen Shu recognized the shift. Thrilled, she cried, “Excellent! Excellent!” and settled into focused combat.
Instantly, the whip snaked through the air—sometimes lashing at Chen Shu’s form, sometimes whipping elegant, crescent-moon arcs above the platform!
Cui Feng’s agility proved formidable; shadows from his weapon washed across the stage like spilled ink. Their movements blurred until onlookers struggled to tell combatants apart—a flurry of strikes, then a retreat.
After the exchange, Cui Feng’s face paled as if facing a formidable enemy. Yet it only deepened Chen Shu’s delight. “Again!” she called eagerly. As they closed in once more, she even stole a glance at the fight raging on the Northern Platform.
Chen Shu gave a quick glance and was shocked inside.
On the Northern Platform, after initial probing blows, perhaps because one wielded a mace and the other relied on hidden weapons, He Yu—despite his tall and robust appearance—displayed an indecisive nature. From Chen Shu’s perspective, the fight was entirely one-sided. He Yu was being chased relentlessly, scurrying around the platform to evade that golden mace. Only occasionally did he find a chance to counterattack, but he couldn’t land any real hits. To onlookers, he looked utterly disheveled.
Though perceptive enough to see He Yu’s steady footwork and lingering strength—proof he wasn’t as frantic as he seemed—Chen Shu’s own impetuous nature took over. After just one look, she blurted out urgently:
“You should draw your sword and fight!”
This outburst, if nothing else, truly disrupted He Yu’s rhythm. Distracted, he barely had time to tilt backward, dodging his opponent’s mace sweep!
When the strike missed, his adversary pressed on without pause. Cornered and unable to evade the follow-up blow, He Yu reacted swiftly. He triggered a hidden dart from the wooden mechanism at his waist, sending it clanging against the golden mace. The sharp chime echoed. Though the small dart didn’t crack the hefty mace, it deflected its trajectory. Thanks to this diversion, He Yu finally broke free, staggering back several steps to catch his breath before turning to answer Chen Shu.
“What nonsense!” he shouted. “I’ve no sword! Even if I had, I’m a carpenter—I wouldn’t know how to use it!”
“Huh?” Chen Shu numbly replied, ignoring the stinging pain in her hands as Cui Feng’s whip tightened still more. Persistently, she pressed on, “Brother He, do you truly not have your sword?”
“I’ve not brought a sword,” He Yu dodged another swing as his opponent closed in, steadying himself before yelling back, “I’ve never used one in my life!”
“Then… then my sword!” Chen Shu started, but suddenly her ropes yanked fiercely, dragging her half a step back. Impatient, she spun around and tugged back sharply, straining Cui Feng’s grip. His whip tore free from his bloodied hand, scattering droplets like red rain. Crimson splashes flew through the air, landing in spatters on the ground beside Li Chou’s pool of vomited blood—one freshly bright, the other darkened; one splattered, the other pooled. Viewed from above, across the Sword Discussion Platforms, the splashes formed a vivid, ghastly plum blossom of blood!
Cui Feng recoiled, clutching his lacerated wrist while moaning in pain. Staggering back two steps, his earlier ease vanished; his body swayed perilously. But Chen Shu noticed none of it—nor the ongoing matches. She just turned urgently back:
“So the sword I lost… it isn’t with you either?”
“What? You lost your sword? We’ve fought—how many bouts? Why haven’t—”
He Yu stood dumbfounded, clearly unawares, and questioned in confusion, when suddenly Chen Shu’s shout cut him off—
“—Careful!”
Too late. The mace-wielder had stalked up silently behind He Yu, then leapt suddenly, roaring as he raised that hefty golden mace high, aimed straight at smashing He Yu’s skull to pieces!