To be honest, even Master Jianzi was stunned for a moment. For an instant, he wondered whether Zhou Man was still holding a grudge over the embarrassment he had suffered earlier.
But the truth was far from what everyone imagined.
Zhou Man stared at the long sword that had slipped from her hand and fallen onto the case, her brows drawing together ever so slightly.
A faint, needle-like pain spread from her Qi Sea and Dantian, drifting along her meridians, threading through flesh and bone.
Originally, it had only been her left hand that ached. But now, even her right hand—rarely used in the earlier fights—was trembling.
The price of relying on elixirs to rapidly increase her strength had finally come due after battling nine sword boys in succession.
Yet she was no stranger to this kind of backlash.
Lowering her gaze, Zhou Man pressed her fingers into her knees, her movements calm and natural, as if nothing were wrong—silently trying to steady the tremor in her hands.
For the remainder of the class, she hardly moved at all.
Master Jian lectured from the dais, but her attention drifted, unable to latch onto a single word.
When class finally ended, Lu Yangchen gave her a puzzled look.
After all, he now sat to her right, and was the only person in the entire Shenjian Hall who had the angle to see her true condition.
Of course, Zhou Man noticed his gaze. She even caught the moment when Master Jianzi subtly raised his hand, perhaps wanting to call her over. But she had no intention of responding.
Everyone originally wanted to surround her—congratulating her for winning the sword head position.
But when they saw her icy expression, her rigid posture, and remembered how she had tossed her iron sword straight onto the table earlier, their courage evaporated.
Not a single person dared approach.
As soon as she stepped out of the hall, she passed Wang Shu—who was still packing up his things outside. Lu Yangchen immediately grabbed his sleeve and motioned for him to follow quietly.
Zhou Man had intended to return directly to the East House. But after only a few steps, she felt someone tailing her.
She halted and turned around.
They were already far from the Sword Hall, and this path did not lead toward Avoiding Dust Pavilion. So she wasn’t expecting company.
Yet from the covered walkway ahead, the Song siblings appeared—with Jin Buhuan swaggering behind them, fan in hand, smiling as if the whole world existed for his amusement.
Zhou Man’s frown deepened.
“Looking for something?”
Wang Shu, dragged here for no reason, looked at Jin Buhuan in complete confusion.
Jin Buhuan raised an eyebrow. “Can’t I look for you even if I have nothing important? After all, we share the bond of ‘suffering together’ from saving people. I, the right Gate Guardian of Shenjian Hall—along with the sword outside the hall—shouldn’t I treat our new Sword Head to a drink?”
The right door guardian of the Sword Hall.
The sword outside the door.
Zhou Man nearly laughed aloud.
Who in the world proclaimed himself a gate god with such pride?
She arched a brow.
“Drink?”
With a flourish of his left hand, Jin Buhuan produced two jars of wine and winked at her.
“Authentic Jiannan Shaochun—the very wine the Qinglian Sword Immortal drank when crossing Shu Road. You’re our new Sword Head. Isn’t it worthy of celebration?”
Wang Shu frowned at the sight of the wine.
Zhou Man remained still, thoughtful. Suddenly she asked,
“When someone comes with no reason, they’re either plotting or thieving. What are you really after?”
Jin Buhuan feigned outrage.
“Do I look like that kind of person? We’re all sword hall classmates. In the academy, more friends means more paths; after leaving it, the world is vast, and who knows where we’ll cross again? Junior Sister Zhou, don’t push people thousands of miles away.”
Zhou Man stared at him in silence.
She knew her condition all too well. What she needed right now was to return and meditate, to calm her breath and adjust her meridians. But looking at Jin Buhuan’s familiar, exaggerated expression… a detail from her confrontation with the sword master thirteen days ago suddenly flashed in her memory.
And so—despite herself—she couldn’t refuse.
She simply asked,
“Where?”
“Right here!” Jin Buhuan’s smile sharpened like a fox finally catching its prize. “Good wine and good news should naturally be enjoyed in a good place. Follow me.”
He turned and led the way.
Zhou Man followed.
Wang Shu stayed rooted in hesitation.
“I was planning to go back to Chunfeng Hall…”
Hearing this, Jin Buhuan doubled back and dragged him along without hesitation.
“Nonsense. Sun Mao’s people probably don’t even want to see you. Why return just to be disliked? You’re already here—besides, I have questions for you later.”
Dragged along, Wang Shu could only show a bitter smile and follow as they moved southwest—toward the edge of the academy.
Toward the outside.
They encountered few people along the path.
Zhou Man, considering where Jin Buhuan might be taking them, lifted her gaze—only for her pupils to tighten abruptly.
Two figures approached from ahead beneath the porch.
Jin Buhuan’s expression flickered with equal surprise.
But he recovered instantly. His perfect, easy smile returned, and he tucked away the wine jars without a trace, greeting warmly:
“Brother Chen, Executive Senior, where are you headed?”
It was none other than the senior executive from Qiluotang…
and Chen Si.
More than ten days had passed since the Jiajin Valley battle. The wounds the Song retainer had suffered were completely healed; his aura was sharper, his cultivation seemingly higher. Yet between his brows lingered a growing chill—dark, oppressive, and unyielding.
He had been deep in thought and hardly noticed them until Jin Buhuan spoke.
The executive smiled.
“To Avoiding Dust Pavilion. The young lady wishes to ask us something.”
Chen Si looked at Jin Buhuan first, then at Zhou Man and Wang Shu behind him.
“And you?”
Jin Buhuan answered without hesitation,
“Oh, these two classmates want to see the Sword Wall. I’m taking them. The Qianren Sword Wall holds inscriptions from sword cultivators of past dynasties—every newcomer wants to see it.”
No one in the academy was a stranger to Jin Buhuan. His excuse fit perfectly.
Chen Si did not question it. He only glanced at Zhou Man once more before saying,
“The young lady is waiting. I’ll go ahead with the executive. We’ll meet another day.”
Jin Buhuan cupped his hands politely as they passed.
Zhou Man stood to the right of the corridor, directly in Chen Si’s passing path.
He walked several steps, then suddenly paused.
Turning back, he asked the executive,
“Who was that female cultivator? Why did her aura feel… unusual?”
The executive smiled.
“Isn’t she the one Wang recommended? Her name is Zhou Man. You’ve been investigating the outside matters of Jingu and probably haven’t heard—she intervened in Qiluotang’s affairs recently. And today, she defeated nine sword boys in a row despite a severed finger, overwhelmed Young Master Lu, and became the new Sword Head of Shenjian Hall.”
Chen Si’s furrow eased.
“No wonder. That explains everything.”
So she was the new Sword Head—sharp, proud, and sword-like. No wonder she felt unsettling.
The two men walked away.
As for Zhou Man—
Once Chen Si’s presence vanished down the corridor, she frowned quietly.
Logically speaking, the night at Jiajin Valley had been dark. Her face had been covered. The distance between them had been great. Chen Si should have been unable to see her clearly.
And inside the academy, she had never used her bow.
Even facing him now, there was no reason for him to recognize her.
But that glance just now…
Zhou Man felt an inexplicable unease tighten in her chest.
“Just looking at his expression, you know the investigation at Jiajin Valley isn’t going well. I’m afraid he hasn’t found even the tail of a clue,” Jin Buhuan muttered, completely unaware that the true culprit was walking behind him. His gloating practically overflowed. “Good. Let him keep searching. Better he stays busy than meddles in my business.”
With that, he strolled out of the academy.
Zhou Man lifted her head, scanning for the place he mentioned, but saw nothing that resembled a tavern. She finally asked, “Where exactly are we drinking?”
Jin Buhuan only grinned and lifted a hand.
Zhou Man followed the direction he pointed—
and her eyelid twitched violently.
Standing before them was the thousand-foot sword wall.
The wall, seemingly carved flat by a divine sword strike, bore the long, majestic presence of Shu Dao Nan. Like collapsing mountains and crashing seas, its spirit pressed on the eyes of anyone who looked at it. For thousands of years, countless sword guests had left their inscriptions—some gloomy, some soaring, all densely covering the stone in fragments of forgotten brilliance.
Anyone standing beneath it felt as small as an ant.
And where Jin Buhuan pointed…
was the very top of the sword wall—
the Sword Pavilion.
Morning had fully broken, but drifting clouds obscured the sky. Only a few thin spears of golden light pierced through, stabbing down like divine swords. They landed on the Sword Pavilion’s roof, too bright for the eye to linger on.
White clouds curled beneath the eaves.
The golden bell hung against the light, its silhouette visible but its body swallowed by shadow.
Even Wang Shu fell silent. “This… doesn’t seem like a good idea?”
“What’s wrong?” Jin Buhuan laughed. “No one ever goes up there. Perfect place to drink.”
He took the lead, stepping onto the narrow bird path carved beneath the sword wall.
Zhou Man and Wang Shu exchanged looks—then followed.
This was the path the Qinglian Sword Immortal had once taken upon entering Shu.
A thin ribbon of stone carved into the cliff face, it slanted upward sharply. The lower section was broad enough, but the higher they climbed, the narrower it grew. In some stretches, only one foot could fit.
Fortunately, monks were not mortals. While they didn’t dare claim they could skip across it with ease, they weren’t frightened to dripping sweat either.
Zhou Man and Jin Buhuan walked steadily.
But for Wang Shu—whose cultivation level was truly lacking—this path was no less than life-threatening. By the time they neared the top, his forehead was drenched, breath ragged, legs nearly unable to move.
Jin Buhuan turned, saw the state he was in, and stretched a hand toward him.
Zhou Man also looked back, failed to suppress a laugh, then thinking twice, offered her hand as well.
Wang Shu raised his eyes, looked at the two hands waiting for him, let out a soft sigh, dropped his pride, and placed his hands in theirs.
Together, they pulled him up.
At last, they reached the top.
A fierce wind howled around them. Clouds churned at their feet like a sea.
To the west, the peaks of Shu stretched endlessly.
To the east, the vast plains of Zhongzhou lay beneath them.
And before them stood the Sword Pavilion.
From afar, it had looked ethereal. But up close, the three-story ancient structure, weathered by a thousand years, was unmistakably old. The gold leaf on the beams had long peeled away. Moss spread across the eaves, along the cornices, and even crawled up the wooden frame that held the golden bell.
So this was the world-famous Sword Pavilion?
Zhou Man stared up at it.
When she saw it from afar the first time she arrived at Jianmen Pass, its grandeur had seemed unshakable. Now, its reality dissolved some of the awe, leaving behind something plain, something almost—
Disappointing.
She couldn’t articulate her feeling. She simply stood there, silent for a long time.
Wang Shu also said nothing as he stared.
Only Jin Buhuan ignored the pavilion entirely. He found a flat rock, set the wine on it, and tossed three futons onto the ground.
At that moment, the Sword Pavilion door opened.
A gray-haired old man came out carrying a broom. He locked the door behind him. When he turned and saw Jin Buhuan, his brows knit together instantly.
Jin Buhuan called cheerfully, “Hello, old sir!”
The old man, thin and frail in appearance, glanced at Zhou Man and Wang Shu, then shook his head and walked past without acknowledging any of them.
As he passed… Zhou Man looked at him without thinking—
and her heart jolted sharply.
She followed Jin Buhuan and Wang Shu to the stone, sat down, but the old man’s face stayed vividly in her mind.
Jin Buhuan, noticing her expression, poured her a cup. “What’s wrong?”
Zhou Man felt as though she were in a dream. “An old man sweeping floors in a place like this… must be incredibly powerful.”
Jin Buhuan nearly choked. “Read fewer storybooks.”
Wang Shu chuckled.
Zhou Man didn’t argue. But deep inside, she knew—
coming to the Sword Pavilion today was truly worth it.
Jin Buhuan filled her cup, but when he poured for Wang Shu, he only let a thin layer wet the bottom.
Wang Shu sighed. “You don’t need to pour that little, right?”
“I know how much you can drink,” Jin Buhuan snorted. “The mud bodhisattva drinks and drinks until he becomes mud himself. In another moment, the cup will turn into a puddle.”
Wang Shu could only shake his head.
Zhou Man wasn’t listening to them. Still thinking of the old man, she lifted her cup and took a sip.
Jiannan Shaochun was strong—fiery. Yet the liquid slipped down her throat like warm spring water. The burning spread softly, settling into her chest before rising again, infusing every limb with a comforting heat.
Her fingers tingled, the earlier numb pricking melting into relaxation.
A light, pleasant dizziness drifted through her.
It wasn’t because she couldn’t drink—
but because her body was weakened.
She didn’t mind.
After thirteen days of madness, beating nine sword boys, after countless moments in both her lives… she had never felt so completely relaxed, simply listening to the wind above the clouds.
Jin Buhuan, knowing none of this, pulled her and Wang Shu together for a toast. After a few words congratulating her for taking the sword head, his true goal finally revealed itself.
“You were recommended by the Wang family. Come on, Junior Sister Zhou, tell me quietly—are the Wang family planning something?”
Zhou Man stared at him without speaking.
He pressed on, grinning, “Don’t think I don’t know. Jianmen Academy looks like a school, but it’s where the nobles of the three great families and the geniuses of every major sect mingle. Today they’re classmates, tomorrow they’re allies. They control every corner of the Six States and the empire. No one’s here just to cultivate—they’re here to build networks.”
He waved his hand dramatically.
“The Sword Hall’s head has always been dominated by the three great families. Who dares to touch it lightly? Look at Miao Huanxi—she only hit seven. You really think she lacked the ability? Of course not. She was holding back.”
Zhou Man still stared at him with that unreadable expression.
“Come on,” Jin Buhuan urged. “Tell me—are the Song and Lu families getting too cozy? Is the Wang family trying to suppress them? Elder Wei Xuan behind you, and the young master of the Divine Capital—are they preparing to build a faction?”
Zhou Man couldn’t help laughing.
Jin Buhuan groaned. “Zhou Man, you should’ve noticed when I helped you confront the Sword Master, right? I was ready to take out all my chips.”
“I noticed,” Zhou Man replied calmly.
Wang Shu quietly sipped his tiny bit of wine, smiling without joining in.
“Then tell me something,” Jin Buhuan begged. “Anything.”
“I only do things for myself,” Zhou Man said simply.
He studied her face. She didn’t look like she was lying. He frowned. “That bold? You really dared to grab the sword head for no reason?”
Zhou Man smiled faintly, lifted her cup again, and murmured, “If a person lives their whole life worrying about caution and restraint… what’s the point of living?”
Jin Buhuan gave up with a long sigh and drained his cup. “Fine, fine. No inside information. I wasted my drink.”
Wang Shu chuckled softly.
And since he couldn’t bully Zhou Man, Jin Buhuan turned his attention to Wang Shu. He tapped the table with his fan. “What are you laughing at? Your brush never stops during class—you must’ve memorized everything. Show me.”
“You want to see?” Wang Shu blinked.
Wasn’t Jin Buhuan always sleeping in class?
He didn’t bother explaining. He simply reached into Wang Shu’s sleeve, pulled out the thick notebook, and handed it straight to Zhou Man.
She blinked in confusion.
“It’s for you,” Jin Buhuan said. “You were gone for thirteen days. You need to catch up on Master Jian’s lessons. So I’ll lend you this. And honestly—this is the first time I’ve seen someone ‘discuss war on paper’ and ‘learn swords with a brush.’”
Wang Shu: “…”
“Don’t look at me like that,” Jin Buhuan said smugly. “I’m being generous. Borrowing flowers to offer Buddha—ever heard of it?”
Zhou Man opened the notebook—and immediately understood.
It was filled with stick-figures demonstrating sword moves.
Each little person had meridians drawn on the body, showing how spiritual energy was circulated, and notes beside them giving tips.
Even more outrageous: each move was annotated with the injuries it would cause others, how to treat such wounds, and possible complications.
She tried to hold back her laughter—failed—and finally burst out:
“So that’s why you sit outside? Others learn the sword, but you… you’re preparing to treat their injuries!”
Even Jin Buhuan couldn’t resist snatching the book back to look.
He too burst into laughter.
Wang Shu sighed. “Laugh all you want. But when one of you gets hurt later, don’t come crying to me for treatment.”
Zhou Man calmed down, then asked curiously, “So if you don’t learn swordsmanship… why come to the Sword Pavilion? If it’s medical skill you want, there are better academies.”
Wang Shu fell silent. His gaze drifted to the Sword Pavilion.
“You came for the pavilion?” Zhou Man asked.
“I just wanted to see it,” he said softly.
Zhou Man frowned. “It’s old. Broken. Covered in moss. What’s there to see?”
Wang Shu turned his head.
Zhou Man felt a strange chill—like winter snow falling in silence.
With his thin fingers resting lightly on his knee, like the fragile branch of a sickly plum tree, he looked back at the pavilion. “When I first arrived, I thought the same. But after seeing it over and over… I realized something. The world changes too quickly. Most things fade, break, or disappear in a blink. But this pavilion has stood here for a thousand years, and no matter how damaged, someone repairs it. Changes come and go, but it remains. Long-lasting. Unperishing. Eternal.”
Silence fell on the top of the thousand-foot sword wall.
Zhou Man followed his gaze and looked at the Sword Pavilion again.
She suddenly thought:
This person sees the world differently from others.
Jin Buhuan, of course, didn’t understand a word Wang Shu said. Disgusted, he muttered, “It’s just a broken pavilion. The golden bell is more interesting.”
Zhou Man looked at the bell.
“When Emperor Wu Ying built Jianmen Academy,” Jin Buhuan said, “he ordered this bell cast. Legend says it rings for only one person. If it rings, the sound will sweep across China. Every corner can hear it. The sound threads through the land and echoes endlessly.”
“But it’s never rung,” Wang Shu said quietly.
“Who knows?” Jin Buhuan shrugged. “Maybe that person hasn’t appeared. Or maybe the emperor played a huge joke on everyone.”
The golden bell hung silently, its color dulled by moss and time.
Zhou Man listened but remembered her previous life.
That day… when she obtained the Tired Heavenly Bow and walked out of Emperor Wu’s mausoleum… she had heard the echo rumbling from Shuzhou. Endless, layer upon layer. She’d heard that under the protection of heavenly master Zhang Yi, the prince of the Divine Capital had survived his tribulation that day—broken through to Mahayana—and stepped into immortality.
Emperor Wu had not lied.
The bell of the Sword Pavilion will ring—
but not for ordinary mortals.
Certainly not for someone like her, struggling simply to survive.
Zhou Man laughed softly, lifted her cup, and let the wine drift through her like clouds.
Wang Shu and Jin Buhuan looked at her.
“Zhou Man,” Jin Buhuan asked gently, “are you… a little drunk?”
Of course, it would never resonate with people like her—people fighting every day simply to survive.
What she felt, what she understood, was something not meant for mediocre mortals at all.
Zhou Man couldn’t explain this to them. She simply couldn’t.
But she suddenly felt that today’s trip to the Sword Pavilion had truly not been in vain.
Wang Shu: “……”
Jin Buhuan, already in high spirits, was waving for them to come drink.
The golden bell of the Sword Pavilion gave a faint, trembling ring—
Jin Buhuan didn’t even look at it at first. But when he heard what Zhou Man said, curiosity flickered across his peach-blossom eyes. He grabbed the bell directly to inspect it.
Zhou Man lifted her head to look at him.
Just a little…
He narrowed his eyes. “You were recommended by Wang. If you’re really going to become the sword head, Junior Sister Zhou—come on, tell me secretly, is Wang planning something big?”
Zhou Man listened to their teasing words, but her mind drifted to scenes of her previous life.
Yet she cared little about their speculation.
She simply followed them and, for a moment, turned back to look once more at the Sword Pavilion.
A quiet thought rose within her:
This man’s way of perceiving everything around him… is oddly different from others.
Wang Shu let out a long sigh.
“Does it really have to be so little?”
The carved statue of the swordsman inside the pavilion clearly displayed the meridians of the body—depicting how spiritual energy flowed and what subtle shifts occurred when drawing a sword.
Zhou Man smiled slowly, took another sip of wine, and felt a soft weightlessness, as though drifting among clouds.
Compared to the first time she had arrived at Jianmen Pass—when she gazed up from below in awe—the sight now felt more real. Yet strangely, some of the lofty, intangible courage that once caused the world to revere it had begun to soften and dissolve.
Zhou Man murmured, “I only do it for myself.”
The golden bell hung beneath the eaves. Moss had swallowed its original color, coating it in the marks of countless passing years.
Zhou Man glanced at it, silent.
Jin Buhuan cupped his hands and called out cheerfully,
“Greetings, old man!”
A gray-haired elder stepped out from the Sword Pavilion holding a broom. He shut the door, locked it with care, and when he turned—his brows instantly drew together in deep disapproval the moment he saw Jin Buhuan standing there unchanged.
Next
.jpeg)
Comments
Post a Comment