Chapter 160: Myriad Sword Manor, Sword Distribution Conference

“Hurry, open the door! Open it~”

At night, Ye Meng banged thunderously on the main gate of Myriad Sword Manor. Soon, someone opened it. “Second Master, you’re back! How come you’re returning in the middle of the night and not at the old residence?”

“Get out of the way! I need to see Big Brother, it’s urgent!” Ye Meng rushed straight in, heading directly for the bedchamber of the Lord of Myriad Sword Manor.

The old servant who opened the door could only sigh inwardly. The Second Master of the Manor was a reckless rogue whose passions were drinking and forging. He used to enjoy swordsmanship too, but seemed to have neglected it considerably in recent years.

Fortunately, despite his wild ways, he had some sense and had chosen to live quietly at the Manor’s old residence. At least he never lacked food or drink.

Everyone knew, however, that this feckless Ye Meng was actually a Postnatal Warrior.

“Big Brother! Open up! Open up! Big trouble!” Ye Meng pounded furiously on his elder brother Ye Sheng’s bedroom door. If he hit any harder, he’d probably smash the door to pieces.

“Damn it, be gentler! I’m putting my clothes on!!!”

Inside the room, Ye Sheng couldn’t help but roar.

Didn’t his brother see what time it was? Even in a wuxia world without curfews, people still needed sleep! It was the middle of the night!

“Hurry up getting dressed, Second Master is waiting,” a woman’s voice urged.

“Ahem, Big Brother, hurry,” Ye Meng felt slightly awkward but his scoundrel nature compelled him to press regardless.

As long as he wasn’t embarrassed, others would be.

“What’s so urgent that you come pounding at my door in the middle of the night?” Ye Sheng frowned as he pushed the door open and glared at his younger brother. His brow furrowed deeply.

“The thing is… it’s kind of big. I… gave away stuff from the old residence.” Ye Meng said cautiously.

“That’s it? The old residence under your care is just a pile of junk! If you gave some scrap away, so what? Was that worth waking me up for?” Ye Sheng felt his brother was playing a prank on him.

What was left in the old residence? Ye Meng never took care of the place. He could give away swords, or even tables and chairs, for all Ye Sheng cared.

“Not exactly… the thing I gave is a bit special. Promise you won’t get mad if I tell you.” Ye Meng hedged, hoping for mercy.

Ye Sheng’s heart sank. “You didn’t… give away the old residence itself, did you?”

“No! No! I just… gave away the furnace inside the old residence. That’s all.”

Ye Sheng’s initial relief vanished. “If it wasn’t the house… how did you even give away the furnace? Wasn’t it bricked into the room? Wouldn’t it be easier to just hire a tiler to build him a new one?” What he thought was nothing suddenly sounded utterly nonsensical.

Ye Meng stammered, “I… I don’t know! I thought he was some fool. I joked that if he could move it, he could have it. Never thought he’d actually take it! Went out for a bite late tonight, saw it gone, panicked, and came straight here.”

Ye Sheng nearly choked. Over the years, Ye Meng had done plenty of ridiculous things, mostly within the realm of reason—like digging into his private stash when short on drinking money.

But this? This defied common sense. Who in the world carts off an old furnace? Who even wants one? Ye Sheng was now convinced Ye Meng was just drunk and bored, looking to annoy him.

“Whatever. Gone is gone. Build yourself a new one. I’ll come by tomorrow. If that furnace truly is gone, consider your drink ration cut for the next year. Now scram!” He started calmly, but irritation boiled as he decided Ye Meng truly was wasting his time, ending with a furious shout.

“Right! On it!” Ye Meng cowed instantly, recognizing his brother’s anger and turning to flee.

“Wait! Get back here, boy!” Ye Sheng roared, stopping him short. “This furnace nonsense nearly made me forget! Don’t bother heading back now. The Sword Distribution Conference is the day after tomorrow. Your absence would be embarrassing. Was planning to fetch you tomorrow anyway. Since you’re here, saves me the trip.”

The crucial detail suddenly surfaced, forcing Ye Sheng to recall his original purpose.

Ye Meng halted mid-step, hesitating. “That… might not be good. Considering what just happened…”

“Rubbish! You’re the Second Master of Myriad Sword Manor! How does it look if you skip the conference held once a decade? Go, get the servants to heat water, wash up, and get some proper sleep.” Ye Sheng cut him off flatly and retreated into his room to resume his interrupted rest.

Ye Meng lingered at the doorway, his hand raising several times as if to knock, to argue, to refuse this duty.

Each time, he let it fall. In the end, defeated, he turned to carry out his brother’s orders. The cushioned life he led—recklessly indulged by the Manor—meant he, the nominal second-in-command, had never bothered with any responsibility, only ever enjoyed the privileges. But this event? Boosting the Manor’s standing in the Jianghu? He had to attend. It concerned the Manor itself.

…

“The Sword Distribution Conference? Could the timing be any stranger?”

Early the next morning, as Chen Xiyi was preparing to leave Forged Sword City, news of this event reached his ears.

The gist: martial arts schools across the land sent their brightest disciples to Myriad Sword Manor for a competition. The victor would win the strongest sword.

Others would receive different swords based on their ranking.

Chen Xiyi saw it as marketing genius to elevate the Manor’s prestige.

Naturally, it also served as a networking mixer. With so many schools converging, it meant relationship-building, business deals, and a nice boost to Forged Sword City’s economy.

Participants were typically Body Forging Warriors, led by senior Postnatal Warriors.

Schools used the Manor’s arena to hone their younger generation’s skills and bolster their own reputations.

Essentially, it was a win-win spectacle.

“Should I stick around? Haven’t seen Martial Artists sparring in this world yet. Curious how they measure up to me.”

Chen Xiyi didn’t know an Innate Warrior’s strength, but he felt confident he could knock out a Postnatal Warrior with a single punch. Their power was surprisingly low, weaker even than a standard Jiangshi.

By his estimate, their striking force capped around 800 jin.

Body Forging Warriors were even less formidable, maybe 300 to 500 jin depending on their Internal Energy.

Even the most common Jiangshi could easily exert over a thousand jin.

Thinking about it, Jiangshi felt almost pathetically weak. A construction excavator would probably outmatch them.

Combined with his Innate Gang Qi and the boost from Mighty Elephant, Chen Xiyi could flatten them entirely.

“Probably just chickens pecking at each other,” Chen Xiyi mused. Perhaps just a look? The modules weren’t an immediate pressing matter. Such a significant Jianghu event—missing out would be a loss of potential amusement. A day without Qi Refiners had calmed him down, bringing clarity.

This world offered three things of value: Spirits, Modules, and martial arts.

He wasn’t rushing to collect martial arts. Without modules, he couldn’t utilize them anyway, unless he managed to integrate them into his Qi Refiner system.

Modules were farther south. He estimated several days’ ride, even with the alloy horse pushing non-stop. Now that the Spirit was secured, he felt less urgency.

Settling his bag, he took a seat in the inn’s common area. Unlike the previous two towns, most patrons here weren’t commoners. Practically everyone radiated Jianghu airs.

Most possessed two abilities: Body Forging Warrior plus some basic [Martial Art] Skill. A sweeping glance revealed nearly ninety percent of the Jianghu types sported swords—even those clearly skilled in palm or kick techniques.

Only disciples with clearly blade or spear-focused martial arts used other weapons.

‘As predicted, this world truly favors the sword.’ Chen Xiyi concluded. How else could Myriad Sword Manor, essentially a sword wholesaler, rise to prominence among the top ten schools?

Their strength, of course, wasn’t negligible either. Any weapon-crafting group lacking significant martial power would’ve long been swallowed by larger sects or the Great Yin Dynasty.

“Three jin of Jianghu Wine! Five jin of spiced beef! Hurry it up!” A broad-faced, imposing middle-aged man strode into the inn, booming his order at the waiter without ceremony.

Chen Xiyi couldn’t help a mental scoff. Boldly ordering beef in the open, yet no officials dragged him away? Truly, a classic Jianghu world.

“You got it! Wine and beef coming right up.” The waiter was swift, presenting the quintessential “hero’s platter” with practiced ease. Looking around, Chen Xiyi noticed this was the standard order. His own spread of modest dishes seemed quite out of place.

“Is that ‘South Ridge Bear Wrestling Hand’ Xiang Xu? Surprising he turned up for the Sword Distribution Conference!”

“Well, it is a blade from Myriad Sword Manor! Who wouldn’t be tempted?”

“Especially this year’s top prize for the conference—the Wandering Light Sword. Heard it can cleave through three layers of hide! Truly a divine weapon. Who wouldn’t covet it?”

The murmur spread as patrons recognized Xiang Xu. At the center of the chatter, the Bear Wrestling Hand himself feigned unawareness, steadily eating and drinking, though inwardly rather pleased.

Succeeding in the Jianghu was all about fame and profit. This instant recognition upon arrival attested to his renown. The profit part? That was often less openly discussed.

“Pity he’s just a freelance fighter. Had he joined a proper school, found a master… he’d probably be a Postnatal Warrior by now. What a waste.”

“Absolutely…”

Chen Xiyi listened, half-convinced these “fans” were Xiang Xu’s paid promoters. Otherwise, why such detail? Though, in fairness, he realized he might be judging them too cynically. It wasn’t uncommon in the martial world to deliberately know everyone’s business, often a survival tactic to avoid stepping on the wrong toes.

Jianghu life seemed romantic on the surface. To Chen Xiyi, these Jianghu types were essentially nomadic thugs living on borrowed time. Freelancers like this Xiang Xu? They could easily switch to banditry—don a mask under cover of night.

Their wall-running skills were impressive, enhanced by Internal Energy. Scaling city walls might be impossible, but bounding across rooftops presented no major obstacle. Stepping on tiles lightly and silently? Absolutely achievable.

Chen Xiyi knew this firsthand. Last night, lying in his inn bed, he’d counted at least ten distinct parties passing on the roof above, their skills ranging from subtle masters to clumsy novices, all beneath the notice of ordinary citizens.

Martial Artists were plentiful here. Yet non-combatant commoners formed the overwhelming majority. Without their labor providing necessities, those renowned heroes wouldn’t be gulping wine and gobbling meat.

Total martial cultivation was impossible. The axiom “The poor study letters, the rich cultivate martial arts” held universally. If everyone pursued martial arts, who would handle essential tasks? Everyone dreamed of attaining mastery to rise above the rest. But no one wanted others rising above them! That more people appeared trained was a timing and location illusion: Sword Distribution Conference season in Forged Sword City—headquarters of a top-ten school and the foremost weapon hub—naturally concentrated Jianghu denizens. Elsewhere, their numbers were much smaller.