Yu Qifeng's residence nestled beneath Feifang Mountain, where Green Water Creek began its journey. The estate sprawled across twenty li—neither ostentatious nor modest, but perfectly balanced like a blade's edge. Within its boundaries stood elegant pavilions and winding towers, where flowers bloomed in symphonic harmony and birds sang melodies that would shame the finest musicians. Fish glided through crystalline ponds while insects hummed their ancient songs, no different from any wealthy family's manor.
Yet in the rear courtyard of this sword manor, something unusual had taken root.
A patch of white four-petaled flowers carpeted the earth, each bloom shaped precisely like a butterfly frozen mid-flight. Their delicate beauty seemed almost unnatural, as if they might truly take wing at any moment. The servants whispered their name with reverence: White Butterflies.
The one who planted these ethereal flowers was a newly arrived youth whose snow-white hair gleamed like moonlight on fresh powder. The servants spoke in hushed tones of his tragedy—how he had lost his mother in childhood and wept so bitterly that his hair turned white in a single night, never to darken again. Every soul who heard this tale felt their heart clench with pity. Such a striking young man, blessed with a face that could topple cities, yet cursed with that crown of premature winter.
Fortunately, he bore no shame about his unusual appearance. With looks like his, finding a wife would prove simple as breathing. The true tragedy lay elsewhere—this dashing, handsome youth claimed complete illiteracy, insisting he possessed no skill beyond tending flowers.
The evening sun painted everything gold as the white flowers swayed in the breeze, their butterfly shapes seeming ready to scatter into the crimson sky. Birdsong filled the air with peaceful melody. Amidst this tranquil scene stood the young man holding his flower hoe, calling himself "Snow Lord" and maintaining his fiction of ignorance.
This was, naturally, Xue Xianzi.
Far from illiterate, Xue Xianzi not only read with voracious appetite but wrote calligraphy so beautiful that scholars wept upon viewing it. He simply couldn't be bothered with the tedious formality of signing and sealing a contract of servitude. Such mundane paperwork held no interest for a man of his particular... talents.
Xue Xianzi possessed two defining traits that governed his entire existence: an earth-shattering laziness that would shame a hibernating bear, and an all-consuming passion for exactly two things—flowers and beautiful women.
These White Butterflies carpeting the ground were indeed a rare variety that bloomed magnificently under his expert care. Yet he was not their original planter.
The flowers had been planted by a woman of approximately eighteen years, always dressed in flowing white robes that seemed woven from clouds themselves. She dwelt in a tower within Yu Qifeng's rear courtyard, rarely emerging into the world beyond her sanctuary. In his half-month tenure tending these flowers, Xue Xianzi had glimpsed her only twice. During one encounter, a light veil concealed her face, though her devastating beauty still pierced through like moonlight through mist.
She was refinement itself—an elegance so profound it hurt to witness. Like a graceful lotus leaf standing solitary in a misty lake, she embodied sorrow given human form. Whenever she emerged from that tower, the very air would saturate itself with an indescribable melancholy. All joy and happiness in her presence would dissipate like smoke before wind, vanishing in the shadow cast by her slender figure.
The people of Yu family sword manor treated her as an honored guest of the highest order, yet no one knew her origins. No one dared ask. They simply called her "Miss Hong," and that was enough.
She never smiled. She never departed that tower except when traveling by carriage, hidden from the world. In her spare moments, she would sit by the tower window, her delicate fingers gently caressing half a short flute while her eyes gazed into distant places only she could see.
This world overflowed with infinite varieties of beautiful women. Some possessed the moon's ethereal radiance, others the willow's supple grace. Some embodied ice's pure spirit, others jade's precious essence. But Miss Hong transcended these common categories—she was a flower of pure sorrow, the kind that might weep and wither into nothingness on any given day without warning.
Xue Xianzi had spent his entire life appreciating flowers and beautiful women with the dedication of a master craftsman. Such a beauty required careful, cautious appreciation to truly grasp her essence—like savoring the most delicate wine, one must not rush or the flavor would be lost forever.
On this particular day, with the sunset painting the sky in shades of amber and rose, Xue Xianzi was weeding in the flower garden when a soft voice drifted from behind him like petals on wind.
"Autumn waters and plane trees fall to dusty skies, spring rain and butterflies should not yet sleep. After a year…"
Xue Xianzi looked up with a knowing smile and continued the verse without hesitation, "After a year, who waits seated in the tower, bright moon and spider silk fill the mirror's face."
The soft voice behind him released a gentle sigh, like the last breath of winter surrendering to spring. "Young master possesses fine literary talent indeed. I see you have an extraordinary bearing and surely are not truly illiterate. Yet your literary skill flows like brocade, poetry spilling from your lips as naturally as breathing."
Xue Xianzi turned to behold a white-clothed woman wearing a light veil, her waist so impossibly slender it seemed he could encircle it with one hand—perhaps even his fingers would overlap. She stood like a dream made solid, too beautiful to be entirely real.
"These White Butterfly flowers are quite delicate," she continued, her voice carrying that perpetual note of sorrow. "To nurture them so magnificently, you must be a first-rate gardener."
"To speak with complete honesty," Xue Xianzi began, his voice carrying genuine sincerity, "I once saw the young lady at Guanmen Gorge. Since that moment, you have haunted my dreams like a melody I cannot forget. So I followed your trail for a hundred li, arrived at this place, and sold myself to the Yu family—hoping only to catch glimpses of you from time to time." He paused, ensuring she understood his meaning. "As for other matters, I harbor no improper thoughts whatsoever."
The white-clothed woman nodded slowly, her voice softening further. "I know. Every day I see you tending flowers here, then gazing... gazing at my window." A pause stretched between them, heavy with unspoken questions. "I simply don't understand—we're strangers to each other, complete unknowns. So why... why are you so kind to me?"
Xue Xianzi tossed aside his flower hoe with casual grace and smiled, his expression lighting up with artistic inspiration. "Miss, your beauty lies concentrated in your brows—sometimes furrowed, sometimes knitted, as if perpetually wreathed in clouds and mist. I have composed a phrase for you that I consider absolutely wonderful, perhaps the finest thing I've ever created. Would you care to hear it?"
The white-clothed woman instinctively stepped back, uncertainty flickering across what could be seen of her features. "What?"
Xue Xianzi wrote two elegant characters in the air with his finger, each stroke precise and flowing. "Nothing surpasses 'Weeping Orchid.' Miss, your beauty is like a weeping orchid—a treasure rarely glimpsed in this mortal world."
After speaking, he shook his head and swayed slightly, murmuring "Orchid dew, like weeping eyes" over and over, already lost in his own intoxication, unable to extricate himself from the perfect imagery he'd created.
The white-clothed woman remained silent for a long moment, then a note of disappointment crept into her voice as she realized he was merely a frivolous scholar. "I may not be as wonderful as you imagine," she said quietly, her words carrying the weight of hidden truths. "Since you're clearly a scholar despite your protestations, why tend flowers here like a common servant? You... you should return home."
Xue Xianzi shook his head repeatedly, genuine distress crossing his features. "I haven't even learned your name—I'd die with eternal regrets! Moreover, miss, you're drowning in sorrow. Though I'm utterly untalented and practically useless, I wish to help ease your troubles."
The white-clothed woman's lips curved in a slight smile—the first hint of warmth she'd shown. "My surname is Hong," she said softly. "Hong as in the color red, like blood or sunset or the last ember of dying hope."
She gently plucked a butterfly flower from her hair, holding it out to him. "Fool. No one can help me with what troubles me. The burden I carry cannot be shared or lightened." Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. "You have no strength to truss a chicken, and this place is very dangerous. Leave quickly while you can. Take this flower—if anyone stops you on the road, say Miss Hong commanded you to depart."
Xue Xianzi continued shaking his head stubbornly. "In broad daylight under peaceful skies, where lurks this danger you speak of? If there truly is danger present, then as a man, naturally I should remain to protect you."
Miss Hong shook her head, her voice carrying infinite weariness. "Obstinately obtuse," she murmured.
She paid him no more attention, turning to walk slowly back toward her tower prison, her white robes flowing like water. As she moved, her thoughts turned dark and bitter: If he treated me even half as well, no—if he would merely speak such words to me, even without sincerity behind them, I would die willingly and call it a blessing. But he... he only has eyes for that ugly girl...
Miss Hong returned to her tower while Xue Xianzi kicked aside his flower hoe with careless abandon, lay back upon the grass, and closed his eyes to sleep beneath the fading sun.
On a distant rooftop, someone spoke with cutting coldness, "This old lecher's skill at picking flowers is truly impressive. I've never seen such shameless talent."
Another person smiled, amusement coloring his tone. "If you openly say he's picking flowers, be extremely careful he doesn't jump up and fight you with desperate fury. He hates nothing more than when people accuse him of picking flowers—he maintains he merely loves gazing at beautiful women, appreciating them like artwork. It's actually quite touching, really." The speaker paused for effect. "Xue Xianzi was devoted to his wife with a loyalty that would shame the most faithful dog. She's been dead over ten years now, and he's never touched another woman's finger since her passing. Not once."
The speaker was naturally Tang Lici. This day, the three of them had arrived at Yu family sword manor, having just climbed over the wall onto the main building's roof with the ease of shadows dancing across moonlight.
"This old lech... old ghost's wife has been dead over ten years?" Chi Yun asked in genuine surprise, his voice rising slightly. "Just how ancient is he exactly?"
Tang Lici smiled mysteriously. "No one knows that particular secret. You might as well ask him yourself—I'm sure he'd love to tell you." He suddenly tensed. "Careful—guards approaching!"
The three quickly dropped from the roof and concealed themselves under the eaves, their bodies pressed flat against the building's side. Yu family sword manor wasn't particularly large, but it wasn't small either—finding where Yu Qifeng might be conducting his business would prove somewhat troublesome. The main building towered seven floors high, with the top floor standing completely uninhabited and abandoned.
After resting briefly in their hiding spot, Chi Yun suddenly spoke up. "Xue Xianzi has been fooling around here so long, playing his flower-tending charade. He should know exactly where Yu Qifeng lives and conducts his daily affairs."
Tang Lici smiled slightly, his scarred eyebrow lifting. "Rather than ask that shameless old ghost, it would be better to ask the servants here directly. Just don't cause too much commotion when you do it... like... this—"
His words hadn't finished falling when he reached out with lightning speed and suddenly grabbed someone ascending the stairway, lifting the unfortunate man over the railing as if he weighed nothing more than a child's toy. With a pleasant smile, he asked in the most courteous tone, "Is Sword King Yu at home today? We're old friends hoping to pay our respects."
The man had been caught completely off guard and opened his mouth to cry for help. Tang Lici made a soft "click" sound and dislocated the man's jaw with swift, practiced technique. Then with a gentle "snap," he reconnected it perfectly, still smiling as warmly as a concerned physician as he repeated, "Where is Sword King Yu at this precise moment?"
The man's jaw had been suddenly separated and reconnected, causing extraordinary pain that radiated through his skull. A breath caught trapped in his throat and he began coughing violently, tears streaming down his face. "Cough cough... what... what do you want..."
Tang Lici said gently, his voice dripping with false courtesy, "We are old friends of Sword King and have urgent business to discuss with him today. Truly urgent—life and death matters, you understand." His fingers pressed meaningfully against the man's jaw—with the slightest additional pressure, he could dislocate it again, and this time perhaps not reconnect it quite so neatly.
Feeling those fingertips applying gentle but unmistakable pressure, the man's face drained of all color, going pale as fresh snow. "He... he's receiving guests in the sword hall right now." He pointed with a trembling hand toward a yellow building beside the main structure. "There. Please... please don't kill me."
"Very good. Most cooperative." Tang Lici smiled warmly and tapped the man's head with two fingers. The man's eyes rolled back and he collapsed immediately into unconsciousness.
Chi Yun frowned, genuine disappointment coloring his features. "Are these truly Yu Qifeng's people? They're rather pathetic and weak. I expected more from someone of his reputation."
Tang Lici's smile widened knowingly. "This person probably isn't actually Yu Qifeng's servant at all. I strongly suspect he's a guest staying here." He reached casually into the man's robes and pulled out a small bottle of pills that rolled onto the ground with a soft clatter.
Shen Langhun picked it up with fluid grace, opened it for a brief sniff, and said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion, "Poison."
Chi Yun searched the unconscious man's waist and discovered a pair of short swords concealed there. "These seem to belong to a disciple of Qifeng Xiao family based on the craftsmanship. Hiding here in secret—could he be taking medicine to enhance his abilities?"
Tang Lici opened his right hand, revealing a small black pill resting in his palm. When he'd dislocated the man's jaw, besides silencing him, he'd also smoothly extracted this pill from the man's mouth. He smiled with satisfaction. "Correct. Your intuition serves you well."
"Qifeng Xiao family has certainly accumulated quite a bit of silver over the years," Chi Yun muttered with disgust. "Damn wastrels, all of them!"
Tang Lici casually threw the pill on the ground and crushed it under his boot. "Yu Qifeng is currently in the sword hall receiving guests. Should we approach him directly and announce ourselves, or... hmm?" He left the question hanging in the air.
Shen Langhun said simply, "Take the high road." His form flickered slightly and he vanished without a trace, as if he'd never existed at all.
Chi Yun's voice rang out clearly, "Of course we march through the front door! Why should I skulk about in shadows like some common thief? I am Sky Cloud Chi Yun!"
Tang Lici smiled with genuine amusement. "Then we'll each act separately according to our natures."
As his words fell silent, Shen Langhun's ghostly form had already slipped through a skylight into the rafters above the sword hall, lurking in absolute silence. Chi Yun appeared outside the railing—a magnificent figure in flowing white robes streaking straight toward the sword hall's main entrance like a comet descending from heaven.
Tang Lici remained standing on the main building, watching the scene unfold with the detached interest of a theater patron observing a particularly entertaining drama.
Chi Yun landed with perfect grace and the sword hall's great doors flew violently open as if blown by hurricane winds. A short sword shot out from within, spinning through the air directly at his throat.
Chi Yun flicked his robe with casual disdain. The short sword hummed as it met invisible resistance, spun backward through the air, and flew straight at Chi Yun's waist with murderous intent.
Chi Yun neither dodged nor evaded, standing still as a mountain. With a clear metallic "clang," the blade struck something hard at his waist and both sword and whatever it had struck fell harmlessly to the ground.
Someone inside called out, voice carrying both curiosity and veiled threat, "I wondered who this uninvited guest might be, barging in with such aggressive intent. It turns out to be the famous 'Sky Cloud' himself. But what brings the illustrious Chi Yun here today?"
Chi Yun strode into Yu family sword hall without hesitation. His gaze swept the interior—four walls stood solemn and imposing, a golden sword hung prominently in front of the hall like a religious icon, and several tables and chairs occupied the center. Nothing particularly remarkable caught his eye.
Several people sat drinking tea as if this were merely a social gathering. One of them frowned deeply upon seeing Chi Yun enter—the same person who had thrown the sword moments before.
Chi Yun spoke with cutting coldness, each word sharp as a blade, "I thought the eldest son of Qifeng Xiao family was supposed to be impressively capable, but it turns out he hasn't even learned twenty percent of his family's vaunted Spinning Sword technique. Sitting here drinking tea with Sword King Yu like equals—aren't you afraid of throwing out your back from such presumption?"
The several people seated at the table changed color slightly, offense and alarm flickering across their faces. The scholar who'd thrown the sword maintained his outward composure admirably. "Qi Lan has mediocre talent and shamefully failed to master our family's swordplay, bringing disgrace upon our ancestors. But surely your sudden visit isn't merely to instruct me in Xiao family sword techniques?"
Chi Yun snorted derisively and fixed his gaze on Yu Qifeng among the seated men, his eyes burning with accusation. "Old Yu, you're not young anymore and your reputation isn't small throughout the martial world—so how can you still peddle poison like some third-rate charlatan to swindle desperate people's money? Has your brain taken on water? Has your conscience been fed to dogs? Have your guts twisted themselves in knots and your meridians tied themselves up in confusion?"
His "Moon-Crossing Ring" blade emerged from his waist in one fluid motion, the edge pointing straight and unwavering at Yu Qifeng's nose. "Today I've come specifically for you, old man!"
Chi Yun's words shocked everyone present into stunned silence. The Xiao family members exchanged worried glances, uncertain how to respond to such direct provocation.
Yu Qifeng's expression remained completely unchanged, his face a mask of stone as he said flatly, "Yellow-haired brat speaking nonsense and slander!"
Xiao Qilan frowned deeply, stepping forward with diplomatic intent. "Sky Cloud has such tremendous fame throughout the martial world—how can he act so unreasonably? Not to mention that Master Yu is recognized as the foremost swordsman in all the land with an unparalleled reputation for chivalrous conduct. But even setting that aside, how can you dare run wild and make accusations here with Master Puzhu and Gentleman Qingxi both present as witnesses?"
Chi Yun's sharp gaze swept over the assembled group, taking in every detail. Among the tea drinkers sat Gu Xitan, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Positioned to Gu Xitan's left was a gray-robed monk with lustrous black hair—unusual for one supposedly ordained. His handsome features carried a subtle hint of killing intent, and a distinctive cinnabar dot marked the space between his brows.
This was the famous Master Puzhu, known throughout the martial world by his peculiar motto: "Ordained but unshaven, keeping none of the five precepts."
Though this monk had supposedly taken vows, he neither shaved his head nor restricted himself to vegetarian food. He didn't abstain from wine or from killing when he deemed it necessary. The only precept he maintained was avoiding women—and even that, some whispered, was more personal preference than religious devotion.
Yet despite these seeming contradictions, Master Puzhu was stern by nature. Everything he did required great wisdom and tremendous courage to execute properly. He had earned genuine respect throughout the martial world, standing as a revered figure among those who walked the righteous path.
Seeing Chi Yun challenge Yu Qifeng single-handedly with such brazen confidence, Master Puzhu asked in a deep voice that rumbled like distant thunder, "You claim Sword King peddles poison to innocent people—do you have concrete proof to support such serious accusations?"
Chi Yun laughed wildly, the sound echoing off the hall's walls. "If we had to reason about everything with perfect logic and evidence, many necessary things in this world couldn't be accomplished! I've lived honorably all my life, never killing innocents without cause—isn't that proof enough of my judgment? When I say someone deserves death, they deserve death!"
Master Puzhu's brow furrowed deeply with disapproval.
Gu Xitan stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly. "Chi Yun, you cannot do this! Sword King Yu is a senior master who—"
He clearly had much more to say, a whole speech prepared in Yu Qifeng's defense. But Chi Yun was pathologically impatient with long-windedness and unnecessary words. He shouted, cutting through Gu Xitan's words like a blade through silk, "Old Yu, come out and face me!"
Yu Qifeng stood slowly, his inner energy becoming faintly visible in the air around him—ripples of power that made everyone present acutely aware of his strength. He was clearly furious inside, though his face remained controlled.
"Fighting a reckless child like you would be beneath my dignity and station," he said coldly. Then louder: "Zhan Jueyi!"
At his command, someone floated in from outside with supernatural grace, landing soft as a falling leaf. The newcomer smiled pleasantly. "Present, Master."
Yu Qifeng flicked his robe with imperial disdain. "Show our aggressive guest out. Ensure he understands proper etiquette."
"Yes, Master!"
Chi Yun's Moon-Crossing Ring moved in his hand, the blade catching the light. This "Zhan Jueyi" appeared only twenty-one or twenty-two years old, blessed with handsome features and remarkable bearing. Yet he was completely unknown in martial world circles—a nobody with no reputation whatsoever.
Moon-Crossing Ring hummed into deadly motion, the silver rings on the blade chiming like bells announcing death. As Zhan Jueyi took a single step forward, Moon-Crossing Ring's cold light already flowed like liquid silver, striking first without warning straight at the crown of Yu Qifeng's head!
Zhan Jueyi's green robe fluttered slightly in the displaced air. Moon-Crossing Ring suddenly met unexpected resistance and with a sharp "whoosh" spun three complete rotations in rapid succession. Something from Zhan Jueyi's sleeve intercepted the blade with a clear "clink," and he stood there smiling calmly as if nothing remarkable had occurred.
The weapon in his hand was revealed—a medicine bottle. Just a simple ceramic container.
"You—" Chi Yun said coldly, his eyes narrowing with sudden understanding. "You aren't Old Yu's servant at all!"
Zhan Jueyi's hands moved in continuous flowing motion, blocking three of Chi Yun's most lethal killing moves while saying with a low, amused laugh, "Your eyesight is quite good. Most wouldn't notice."
Chi Yun pressed his attack relentlessly. "Heh heh, using a medicine bottle as a weapon is very unusual—definitely marks someone who's never openly entered the martial world! You're an assassin or a hidden guard!"
Zhan Jueyi smiled with genuine admiration. "How clever! Your deduction is flawless!"
Chi Yun's voice dropped to arctic temperatures. "Hmph, even if you successfully defend Old Yu, do you honestly think I can't deal with him? You—get out of my way immediately!"
As his final word fell, white light flashed with a sharp "whoosh" cutting through the air. Yu Qifeng suddenly leaped up with alarmed speed—a throwing knife now gleamed brightly, embedded deep in the large chair where he'd been sitting just moments before. The blade had missed his spine by mere inches.
Gu Xitan gasped audibly, his hand flying to his throat.
In that single instant, Chi Yun had already dodged past Zhan Jueyi with impossible speed, his Moon-Crossing Ring blade transforming into a streak of pure white light falling straight toward Yu Qifeng's chest with murderous intent.
Zhan Jueyi followed like a shadow, raising his medicine bottle defensively. From the bottle's mouth, a pale azure mist drifted out in delicate tendrils, and everyone present caught a whiff of subtle, sweet fragrance that seemed to cling to the inside of their nostrils.
Gu Xitan asked quietly, suspicion heavy in his voice, "Is it poison?"
Master Puzhu shook his head slowly, his expression thoughtful. "No. It's medicine—but medicine can be as dangerous as poison when used improperly."
The substance in the bottle was an herb called "Light Smoke," known for inducing peaceful sleep when inhaled in small quantities. Physicians used it to treat severe insomnia. Of course, during combat, inhaling too much would make one drowsy and weak, slowing reactions to dangerous levels.
Zhan Jueyi's action made Gu Xitan visibly displeased. Though high-level fighters' contests traditionally didn't involve poison, this underhanded tactic wasn't entirely honorable either—it existed in a gray area of acceptable conduct.
Chi Yun encountered the subtle fragrance head-on and with a sharp "whoosh" flicked his sleeve like flowing clouds and water, striking straight at Zhan Jueyi's face with devastating force. His sleeves were unexpectedly long—one flick and drag created robes that moved like wind itself, while his right-hand blade continued without the slightest pause, crackling like lightning as it chopped toward Yu Qifeng with lethal precision!
This move—forward strike and backward flick occurring simultaneously—resembled a great roc suddenly spreading its wings to their full magnificent span. Chi Yun's swooping momentum flowed freely as if riding invisible wind currents through the air itself.
Gu Xitan silently praised the technique despite himself—wonderful! Truly masterful!
He watched as Yu Qifeng reached back and grabbed the golden sword hanging prominently on the wall. With a tremendous "clang" of metal meeting metal that rang through the hall like a bell, Chi Yun's Moon-Crossing Ring was severed cleanly by Yu Qifeng's blade.
Chi Yun suddenly withdrew and retreated rapidly, his long sleeve wrapping around Zhan Jueyi's head and face like a python. He landed lightly behind the younger man, his broken blade raised to press against Zhan Jueyi's exposed neck.
"Old Yu," Chi Yun called out, his voice carrying absolute certainty, "you've definitely taken Savage Ghost Nine Heart Pills! There's no other explanation!"
Yu Qifeng said flatly, his tone dismissive, "Your skill is inferior. Still making pathetic excuses? Golden sword breaking silver blade simply demonstrates your inferior internal power. Accept your weakness."
Chi Yun's voice cut through the air with icy certainty. "Moon-Crossing Ring has a steel core plated with silver—hard yet flexible in perfect balance. Even if you'd practiced thirty solid years of dedicated internal power cultivation, you definitely couldn't sever my silver blade with such a soft golden sword! Not unless your power recently increased dramatically and unnaturally." He glanced meaningfully at Master Puzhu. "Master Puzhu's wise eyes can accurately judge your true power level—no need for me to waste additional words explaining the obvious!"
Yu Qifeng glanced at Master Puzhu, whose expression remained perfectly calm and unreadable.
The monk said flatly, his voice neutral, "Sword King possesses approximately sixty years of accumulated power based on what I sense. However, this observation alone cannot definitively prove Sword King has taken forbidden medicine to enhance his abilities. The evidence remains circumstantial."
"Righteous martial world—bunch of hypocritical bastards." Chi Yun spat the words with utter contempt. "Even sneaky little thieves hiding in alleys are more straightforward and honest than you so-called righteous masters. In any case, Old Yu, don't send people of unknown origin out to die in your place like disposable pawns." His broken blade pointed unwavering at Yu Qifeng's face. "Change swords and come out properly! Chi Yun's blade challenges your Sword King's sword in single combat!"
"Arrogant brat who doesn't know the heights of heaven or depths of earth!" Yu Qifeng set down the golden sword with deliberate care and turned to Gu Xitan. "Lend me your sword."
Gu Xitan removed the "Pingtan Sword" from his waist with obvious reluctance—this was his prized possession. "Please use it carefully, senior."
Yu Qifeng drew the sword smoothly. Under the streaming sunlight, the blade gleamed with brilliant reflected light as he looked at Chi Yun with an expressionless face that revealed nothing.
"Not using Sword King's legendary 'Laiyi' will be your eternal regret!" Chi Yun shook his hand and threw Zhan Jueyi out through the main door as if discarding trash, looking coldly at Yu Qifeng with challenge burning in his eyes. "Make your move!"
Yu Qifeng looked at him with that same expressionless gaze, his eyes seemingly containing pity—as if viewing a child about to learn a harsh lesson.
Shen Langhun lurking motionless in the rafters above made absolutely no sound whatsoever, as if he'd completely vanished into the wooden shadows and ceased to exist entirely.
Meanwhile, outside the hall...
Zhan Jueyi staggered several steps, having been thrown outside the door by Chi Yun's tremendous strength. The impact sent him flying a full zhang before he managed to steady himself. Just as he regained his balance, he suddenly noticed someone standing before him, smiling pleasantly.
In that single instant, his entire expression transformed from confidence to alarm.
The person blocking his path had refined, almost delicate features and picturesque brows that belonged on a painting. The only mar was a distinctive knife scar above his left eyebrow that somehow enhanced rather than diminished his appearance. He smiled warmly at Zhan Jueyi. "How have you been, Young Master Hua? It's been too long."
"Zhan Jueyi" quickly forced his face into a reciprocal smile and threw something at the stranger—another medicine bottle. "Antidote!" he called out, hoping to buy himself time.
With a casual "snap," the newcomer's hand shot out and grabbed his throat with iron fingers, still smiling pleasantly. "Not every time can you settle dangerous situations this convenient way, Young Master Hua. Please wait patiently—I have something important to ask you."
This green-clothed youth disguised as "Zhan Jueyi" managed another strained smile despite the hand crushing his windpipe. How exactly had this person grabbed his throat? He still couldn't see or understand the technique, just like last time when this terrifying individual had subdued the formidable Cao Wufang in one effortless move. Cao Wufang remained bewildered and traumatized to this very day.
Someone who could seize his throat in one invisible move absolutely could not be offended under any circumstances. This was a predator, and he was merely prey.
But the question this person wanted to ask was undoubtedly a matter of life and death. Nothing good ever came from such interrogations.
He heard the person gripping his throat—fingers like steel hooks—slowly dragging him like a dead dog toward the grove of trees beside the sword hall. The man asked very gently, his voice pleasant and conversational, "Where exactly are Yu family sword manor's Savage Ghost Nine Heart Pills hidden at this moment? I know you know. So let's not waste each other's time."
Inside the sword hall, tension had reached its breaking point. Swords were drawn and bows strung.
Sword King Yu Qifeng held the borrowed "Pingtan," pointing its blade diagonally at Chi Yun with the confidence of a master who had never tasted defeat.
Chi Yun lifted the hem of his white robes—four Moon-Crossing Ring blades remained at his waist, gleaming with snow-bright menace. He habitually carried five throwing knives; with one broken and embedded in Yu Qifeng's chair, four remained for this battle.
Gu Xitan felt his nerves wound impossibly tight, his heart hammering against his ribs. Yu Qifeng's power clearly surpassed Chi Yun's by a considerable margin—any fool could sense that. Yet Chi Yun possessed a peculiar, almost insane temperament. He insisted on gnawing bones he couldn't possibly bite through, on climbing mountains that would kill him, on fighting battles he couldn't win. This duel's outcome was deeply worrying!
He and Master Puzhu had journeyed here together precisely because of concerns about the Savage Ghost Nine Heart Pills. Gu Xitan suspected Yu Qifeng's involvement, while Master Puzhu had traced a mysterious white carriage distributing these forbidden pills—a carriage that traveled regularly to and from Yu family sword manor. The two had been discussing this sensitive matter with Yu Qifeng when Chi Yun burst through the door demanding combat.
This person's courage was certainly extraordinary, worthy of songs and legends. But acting so rashly before confirming the facts would likely make this situation increasingly unmanageable and dangerous.
"Begin!" Chi Yun gripped his blade firmly, passing the edge close to his face in ritualistic challenge. He lowered his head slightly, his eyes burning as he glared at Yu Qifeng with the intensity of a hunting wolf. "Let me experience the legendary taste of 'West Wind Slashing Wild Fire'..."
"West Wind Slashing Wild Fire" was Yu Qifeng's signature technique—the move that had dominated the martial world for decades, leaving countless opponents dead or maimed in its wake.
Yu Qifeng released a dismissive snort and swung the Pingtan sword with an utterly ordinary "Flat Sand Falling Geese" move, pointing precisely at Chi Yun's chest. Despite Chi Yun's aggressive pressure and outrageous insults, his sword technique still showed calculated mercy—a senior master bestowing instructional discipline on an impudent junior.
Chi Yun swung out his blade in response. Moon-Crossing Ring hummed and vibrated with deadly resonance. Suddenly the air itself seemed filled with thousands of snow-bright ghostly eyes, the blade's breaking-air sound whistling like the cries of tortured spirits as it shrouded Yu Qifeng's head in a dome of certain death.
This devastating move was called "Ferrying Lives"—the eighth form among the eighteen legendary "Ferrying" slashes. Its philosophy was simple and brutal: killing and taking lives, ferrying departed souls across the river of death.
When "Flat Sand Falling Geese" sword qi touched "Ferrying Lives" blade energy, Gu Xitan witnessed his precious Pingtan sword chip very slightly at one corner. His heart filled with sudden terror—the sword chipping meant Yu Qifeng had used his full power in this seemingly ordinary, almost casual move. Once blade and sword fully connected, the result would be—
A tremendous metallic "CLANG" shook the very heavens, rattling teeth and bones!
Pingtan sword snapped cleanly in half!
A single strand of hair drifted lazily past Chi Yun's face, severed by the wind pressure alone. The first Moon-Crossing Ring had struck only empty air and fallen uselessly to the ground. Yet Yu Qifeng's borrowed sword had also lost its tip when blade met sword in that cataclysmic collision. Pingtan's inferior material couldn't match the silver blade's quality and had broken with a clear, mournful ring.
Chi Yun drew his second throwing knife without hesitation and said with ice in his voice, "Change swords, old man!"
"This brat goes too far with his disrespect." Yu Qifeng's tone remained flat as stone, but fury simmered beneath. "Bring me a proper sword!"
While the two had been locked in combat, seven or eight Yu family servants had quietly arrived, drawn by the tremendous noise. Hearing Yu Qifeng call for a sword, one stepped forward immediately, presenting a blade with both hands in the traditional manner of a servant to his master.
Everyone present saw that this sword appeared plain and unadorned, almost ugly in its simplicity—like a discarded practice blade that had seen better days and been forgotten in some dusty armory.
Yu Qifeng drew it with a sharp "swoosh" that cut the air itself.
Chi Yun stood ready with his blade positioned in the center, his stance perfect. He called out with genuine appreciation, "Good sword! That's a real weapon!"
After a brief pause, he took a deep breath and his expression shifted. "As a swordsman, to not wear your blade and instead borrow from others when fighting shows profound ignorance of the way. As the world's supposedly foremost swordsman, to have servants present your sword when battle begins shows shamelessness beyond measure!"
His gaze fixed on Yu Qifeng's "Laiyi Sword" with something resembling mourning. "What a tragic pity—a fine sword in your bastard hands is like embroidered silk shoes on a lame woman's twisted feet, or pearl robes draped over a yellow-faced hag's withered body. What a damn waste of a masterwork!"
Well cursed! Gu Xitan cheered inwardly, fighting to keep his face neutral. Though Chi Yun's actions were recklessly rash, unknowingly this young madman had become his closest friend in spirit. Chi Yun's tongue was sharp as any blade and his words carried poison that could kill, but this string of insults was satisfying and thorough—exactly the things Gu Xitan couldn't and dared not say himself.
Master Puzhu's expression remained cold and unreadable, his bright eyes watching the two combatants with the intensity of a scholar studying ancient texts. Seeing Yu Qifeng now holding his true sword, an aura like a besieged city about to fall arose naturally—his sword presence felt completely different from before, transformed into something that made the air itself heavy with impending death.
"Red lotus blooms for karmic sins, ferrying life, ferrying fate, ferrying ghostly souls!" Chi Yun intoned eerily, his voice carrying otherworldly resonance. His snow-bright silver blade twisted with a sharp "clang" as one knife slowly drifted outward, as if invisible ghostly hands guided the weapon through the air. The blade's momentum was ethereal and phantom-like, resembling a vengeful spirit slowly floating toward Yu Qifeng to claim what was owed.
"Sword Weeps for Wind and Clouds." Yu Qifeng spoke flatly, naming his counter-technique.
Chi Yun's blade could float suspended by borrowing the wind power generated by his sleeve movements—his extremely long, specially designed sleeves served precisely this purpose. So Yu Qifeng struck before his own sword fully emerged from its guard position, sending sword qi pointing directly at Chi Yun's elbow joint. His true force flowed where Chi Yun's dancing sleeves also floated, pointing diagonally at the sleeve opening with surgical precision.
Ha! This single sword stroke might determine life and death in one instant.
Yu Qifeng's "Laiyi" sword emerged with iron determination to sever Chi Yun's arm completely—not to wound, but to permanently cripple.
Shen Langhun, lurking motionless in the shadowed rafters above, only now allowed his breathing to change extremely slightly—adjusting his rhythm to confirm absolutely no one would detect his presence. His finger moved with practiced ease and an extremely fine steel needle appeared between his fingers, glinting dully in the dim light.
If Chi Yun faced mortal danger in the next instant, should he save or kill?
The question occupied his entire mind. His killing skills were naturally first-rate, honed through years of assassination work—among the best in all the land. But his rescue techniques might not be equally refined. The skills required were entirely different.
If his Shadow-Shooting Needle emerged from the darkness and his true identity was exposed to everyone present, did he possess adequate means to avoid Yu Qifeng's legendary "West Wind Slashing Wild Fire" technique? Could he escape this hall alive if all turned against him?
He pondered these questions with cold calculation while events unfolded below.
Chi Yun's long sleeves fluttered dramatically, the floating blade reaching toward Yu Qifeng's exposed face when suddenly a great shout rang out, filled with desperate determination.
With a tremendous "CLANG," half a Moon-Crossing Ring flew upward and embedded itself deep in the rafters, nearly striking Shen Langhun's precise hiding place. The assassin didn't even flinch—true professionals never revealed themselves through involuntary reactions.
In the instant Chi Yun's blade broke and he desperately switched to another weapon, Yu Qifeng struck with overwhelming force. "Clang clang clang"—three rapid metallic sounds like a blacksmith's hammer rang out as Chi Yun changed blades three times in rapid succession. All three shattered completely, embedding themselves in the hall's rafters and walls like deadly flowers blooming from wood.
Finally Yu Qifeng's sword momentum was spent. He twisted his wrist to withdraw his blade, looking at Chi Yun with menacing intensity that promised death. "Again!"
Chi Yun had only one blade remaining at his waist. His proud expression remained utterly unchanged as he stood empty-handed in flowing white robes with his long sleeves drifting, smiling with stubborn determination that bordered on madness. "Of course—again! You're very good, old man! But I'm better at taking punishment than you think!"
Yu Qifeng's blade radiated palpable cold qi that made the air shimmer. Gu Xitan felt an actual chill run through his body—Yu Qifeng's sword was truly earth-shaking in its power, and Chi Yun's spirit only seemed to grow stronger with each setback and defeat. This battle wasn't just uncontrollable anymore—it would absolutely require one person's blood spattering three feet across the floor to reach its conclusion.
"Last blade—let's see whether you die or I die?" Chi Yun's fingers moved slowly and deliberately as he removed the final Moon-Crossing Ring from his belt, gripping it firmly in his hand. "Last blade—'Ferrying Moon Questioning All Living Things.'"
He paused for dramatic effect, then slowly beckoned to Yu Qifeng with his finger in the ultimate gesture of disrespect. "Come, old man. Show me your West Wind Slashing Wild Fire. Stop holding back and fight me properly!"
“I won’t fulfill your wish—wouldn’t that let martial world people say I’m harsh to juniors?” Yu Qifeng said flatly, his eyes faintly revealing the crimson madness. “West Wind Slashing Wild Fire!”
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