"Follow me."
Song Huiya spoke kindly, slinging her sword behind her back before charging toward the group of assassins like a shooting star.
The sword formation came at her dense as rain, striking toward her head. She stepped onto the earthen wall, using the momentum to rise up, twisted her body mid-air, then flew onto an old tree, leaping directly over the entire group.
The disciples looked up, instantly stopped, and with a whirlwind of yellow dust, silently turned around.
Song Huiya was still airborne after two leaps, her body full of openings. The nearest assassin seized the opportunity and swung his sword, his movements wide and powerful, sparing no effort.
Song Huiya's lightness skill was superb—its subtlety indescribable, yet like a dragon swimming in water, agile and terrifyingly strong. Stepping on the tip of the disciple's blade, Song Huiya not only didn't fall but instead kicked the disciple's arm, making it go numb as if he'd hit an iron bell or bronze cauldron. The disciple staggered two steps and fell to his knees. In mere moments, she'd effortlessly created a distance of half a zhang.
The leading steward's face was ashen as he shouted, "Chase!"
The dozen or so people behind him knew Duan Yan City like the backs of their hands. They chased and blocked from both sides, but couldn't catch up. When they reached the crowded area, they couldn't even see the hem of Song Huiya's clothes—they could only make out her location by the panicked shouts and chaotic footsteps in the street.
It wasn't until they reached the most prosperous East Market of Duan Yan City that Song Huiya leisurely stopped, seemingly choosing a spot with a good view and wide field of vision.
The surrounding pedestrians hurriedly made way, hiding in the shops on both sides. The street, originally crowded with people, was cleared in an instant.
Song Huiya drew her longsword from her back and waited a moment before seeing a group of martial artists rushing toward her in disarray. A mocking smile curled at the corner of her lips.
Thin clouds lingered, the sun shone dimly, and snow threatened.
Song Huiya recklessly charged forward, her iron sword flashing and blurring, creating countless afterimages as she clashed with the weapons of the others.
The clash of swords rang like a clear spring. Despite being outnumbered, Song Huiya didn't change her swordplay—she relied solely on overwhelming force to send several intertwined weapons flying.
Her sword swirled and turned, slicing across the arm of one of the assassins in the front row. The cut was deep enough to see bone, and blood splattered onto the still-frosty ground, a glaring red.
The onlookers on both sides gasped in unison.
Song Huiya scoffed. "You can't even hold a sword properly, yet you want to learn how to kill?"
She swung her longsword, taking another step forward amidst the clamor. One foot stomped on the chest of the person in front of her, gathering her strength, her body plummeting like a thousand pounds. Her other leg delivered a high kick, striking the forehead of a nearby assassin, scattering him to pieces.
Her footwork and techniques were truly unpredictable, but even her rudimentary, unadorned style was more than a match for the insignificant disciples of the Broken Goose Sect.
In less than the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, the supposed attack of more than ten people had barely scratched her sword.
Looking at the martial artists lying scattered on the ground, Song Huiya smiled and asked, "Anyone else want to come?"
The seriously injured disciples groaned in pain, while those with some strength dragged their crippled hands, crawling toward the side of the street, pleading in hoarse voices for passersby to take them to the hospital.
The people opposite, fearing her presence, scattered in a chaotic rush.
Song Huiya wiped the blood from her sword and said sharply, "You Duan Yan Sect are all talk and no action. All I've seen are empty shells, good-for-nothings with no real skills, just swarming together like flies, using your numbers to bully the old and weak. Since you've already unleashed the dogs, why not release a whole bunch more? The people in the city are waiting for you to kill me."
The murmurs rose like a tidal wave, deafeningly loud.
Song Huiya turned and swept her gaze across the crowd. Everyone below lowered their heads and fell silent, avoiding her gaze.
The head steward, barely managing to lift his head, cursed weakly, "You wretch, you can be arrogant all you want today! Even if you escape to the ends of the earth, this hatred will never end! My Broken Goose Sect will fight you to the death! Not only you, but also those two in your family—the old man and the young girl!"
"That suits me perfectly!" Song Huiya clapped her hands and laughed. "Don't worry, I won't leave. I always keep my word. I promised three days, and I should have given you three days. But since Sect Master Ye has so warmly invited me, I can't refuse. So I'll reluctantly move it up a day. Tomorrow at noon, I'll come to take his son's right hand. Please find a good doctor, so he doesn't die too easily. This show of mine has only just begun, and I want the world to come and watch."
Song Huiya walked over, untied the money pouch from the steward's waist, and said with a roguish smile, "You're a guest from afar, so I'll do as I please. No need for your hospitality. I'm a little hungry after playing with you all. Let's eat up ahead. If you need anything, just let me know."
She left with an air of nonchalance, intending to find something to eat along the street, but as she walked, every porter and vendor cowered in fear, some even abandoning their stalls.
Until she passed a small noodle stall, where a middle-aged man with flour-covered hands stared directly at her across the stall.
Song Huiya went over and ordered a bowl of wontons. The man lifted the lid of the pot and, without a word, started cooking the wontons. White steam rose slowly, and Song Huiya pressed her old injury on her side, adjusting her internal energy.
After a short while, the man limped out, holding the bowl in both hands, and respectfully placed it in front of her.
He clasped his hands in a salute and said, "Great hero, you possess such skill and a chivalrous heart, willing to stand up for a mere countrywoman. Since you are not afraid of the power of the Broken Goose Gate and have formed a deadly enmity with them, why did you only take Ye Guanda's arm?"
"Because only Second Aunt entrusted me to seek justice for her. And the justice she wants is for that man surnamed Ye to admit his mistake." Song Huiya pulled out her chopsticks and said with emotion, "Second Aunt is indeed kind-hearted. She never even thought of making the people on the mountain pay with their lives."
The man immediately bent his knees, about to kneel before her. "Then I also want to ask the heroine to help me seek justice."
Song Huiya quickly caught him, lifted him up, forcing him to stand firm, and said with a smile, "I don't like seeking justice for one or two people. It's meaningless."
She glanced at the shadowy long street and scoffed. "If people are all mute, not daring to ask for help, just waiting to reap the benefits, then they deserve to suffer. I will not stand up for them."
The man took a step back, his face sad, but he didn't force himself. He clenched the coarse cloth in his hand and calmed himself down, reminding her, "The Broken Goose Sect is best at eliminating the root of the problem. Anyone who offends them will not be spared—not even the old, weak, women, or children. If there are still people in your family, heroine, do not stay here."
"Really?" Song Huiya took a sip of soup and said sympathetically, "Then I can only say they're in trouble. That old man doesn't seem like a good-tempered person."
"Old man, are you even capable?!"
Song Zhiqie clung to the wall like a gecko, afraid to peek out yet unable to resist looking, cautiously peeking out half her head and calling out worriedly, "Old man, you've been so busy sharpening your knife these past few years, do you even remember how to wield it? Since you know someone as skilled as my master, you must have a few other friends, right? If all else fails, take your granddaughter and find someone to rely on!"
Old Qian was short, with short legs and a thick waist, standing alone on the street, about the same height as the frail Second Aunt. He already lacked presence, and after Song Zhiqie's shout, he looked even more like a fat, scrawny fish that had somehow appeared out of nowhere.
Having roamed the martial world for decades under the name of "Northern Butcher," he had seen countless heroic figures, but he had never encountered such an annoying and unpleasant creature.
If she weren't Song Huiya's apprentice, he would have thrown her into the moat long ago.
Song Zhiqie was also furious, cursing, "Old man! While they still think you're a waste, hurry up and kill enough to make up for it! My throat hurts from shouting, and you still don't understand my good intentions! Last night's chickens died for nothing!"
Second Aunt stood at the door, holding a set of her son's old clothes in her arms and a hoe in her other hand, looking at the twenty or so people opposite her, completely lost. She was about to step forward when the old man pushed her back.
Northern Butcher, unable to bear it any longer, said, "Go over there and gag her."
Song Zhiqie called out loudly, "Second Aunt, come quickly! I'm scared to be alone!"
Second Aunt hesitated and retreated, standing guard at the courtyard gate.
"An old man, a child, and a woman." The leader, perhaps feeling somewhat guilty, sighed and said, "We had no choice. Please don't blame us."
"I've already retired from the martial world and should be cultivating my character and refraining from murder. However, I don't have Song Huiya's patience—I can't wait three days for you." Bei Tu held up three fingers. "After three moves, I will kill you. On your way to the Yellow Springs, turn back now."
The assassin opposite him chuckled, finding it absurd, and without further delay, led dozens of men forward.
Bei Tu didn't carry a knife.
He closed his eyes, exhaled, then opened them again. His eyes gleamed fiercely as he threw a punch, striking the blade coming at his face and knocking it away.
His second punch was purely defensive, a horizontal block that deflected a kick aimed at his chest.
His third move was a palm strike, his large palm narrowly missing the blade and striking the forehead of the person in front of him.
After three moves, Bei Tu's legs remained rooted to the spot, not budging an inch. His aura, however, completely shifted, radiating a terrifying killing intent.
His fourth move—a fist as powerful as thunder—struck the assassin's chest!
The assassin's body immediately crackled like bamboo breaking. A section of his sternum shattered, and he flew through the air, crashing into an old tree on the street, collapsing along with its withered trunk. He tilted his head back, utterly helpless, but his departure was decisive.
With thunderous punches and blurring motion, he struck the assassin on the right again with lightning speed. Unlike Song Huiya, he didn't leave any escape route. If they didn't take the offered way out, then it was a dead end, and every attack aimed directly at vital points. For a moment, the battle raged, plunging the world into darkness.
He didn't pursue those who tried to escape, only guarding the small area in front of him.
Song Zhiqie was horrified. Her grip on the wall nearly gave way, and she almost fell.
This was the first time she'd witnessed such direct, savage, and brutal killing moves. It was also the first time she'd seen firsthand what kind of people stood at the pinnacle of the martial world.
A blazing fire, its light spreading in all directions.
The gruesome corpse was moved before Ye Wenmao.
He lifted the white sheet and gently pressed on the victim's abdomen. It felt as soft as cotton, sinking in with every touch—the internal organs were ruptured. His face showed regret and fear, and he asked involuntarily, his throat tightening, "One punch?"
The disciple shuddered, his inner robe soaked through—whether from his companion's blood or the sweat forced out by extreme terror. He hissed, "One punch!"
Ye Wenmao covered him with the white cloth again, sat down in a daze, chuckled twice, and pressed his hand on the armrest. "I never thought that my Broken Goose City would one day produce two such top masters. They weren't after my son—they were clearly after me."
The elder beside him suppressed his shock and tried to comfort himself. "Could it just be coincidence? Such masters would certainly not be unknown in the martial world. If one is Song Huiya, what about the other? A remnant of Buluo Mountain? If they wanted to kill, why would they look for a pretext? Could it be that Song Huiya was being chased by Xie Zhongchu and happened to come here to live in seclusion..."
Ye Wenmao raised his hand to interrupt, as if he'd figured something out, and stood up to ask, "Where is he?"
The bustling streets, once teeming with people, were now empty for the second time. The once-remote mountain hermits seemed to have been trampled into the mud of the mortal world, emerging in a sorry state only to return with long faces.
Song Huiya was still sitting at that noodle stall, having just finished her wontons, casually scooping minced meat from the soup bowl with her chopsticks.
Ye Wenmao gave a wink, and the elder beside him bowed and clasped his hands in a polite manner. "We apologize for our rudeness. Are you perhaps the great hero Song Huiya?"
Song Huiya found the title "hero" utterly ridiculous and laughed along. "Whether I am Song Huiya or not is none of your business. I'm not going to adopt you as my son—why would I need to tell you my name?"
Never before had the man been mocked like this by a junior, and he immediately lost his temper, pointing at her and about to shout, "You—"
Ye Wenmao slapped him away and stepped forward. "Whether it's a thousand taels of gold or fertile fields and shops, as long as my Duan Yan Sect can promise it, please ask. Past grievances will be forgiven. What do you say?"
"Do you think I came all this way just to beg for money?" Song Huiya replied dismissively, putting down her chopsticks and ignoring him for a moment before saying, "I made myself very clear yesterday. If I say you're cutting off your young sect leader's arm, then you're cutting off your young sect leader's arm. If I say you're going into mourning, then you must go into mourning."
"Just for that one slap... you want me, the young master of the Broken Goose Sect, to lose an arm?" The elder beside him swallowed his anger and forced a stiff smile. "Your Excellency is being extremely unreasonable."
Song Huiya laughed. "I never reason with bad people. If bad people could be reasoned with, why would they do bad things? Bad people just need to be dealt with. I believe you will learn more from suffering two losses than from hearing me spout some grand principles."
Recalling this, she added regretfully, "Besides, I clearly gave you a chance, but you didn't cherish it. Now there's another chance—it's up to you whether you want to seize it."
Ye Wenmao said stiffly, "Even if my son really goes to that woman's funeral in mourning, can you let him go, and let the Broken Goose Sect go?"
"It's hard to say," Song Huiya said ambiguously. "These are two different things."
"Hero Song!" Ye Wenmao emphasized these three words, his chest heaving as he grinned maliciously. "If it weren't for the protection of the Broken Goose Sect, how could the people here live peacefully in this chaotic world? Outside, the fighting is fierce, but in Broken Goose City, there are neither enemies nor bandits! You're just upset about a village woman today, and you want to destroy my Broken Goose Sect? Is this what you call chivalry?"
Song Huiya rested her chin on her hand, puzzled. "Isn't your Broken Goose Sect the biggest bandit group? When did a bandit leader protecting his own gold mine become a virtue?"
"Too many people boast in public. Does Sect Leader Ye really think he's some kind of god?" Song Huiya turned her head, a slightly cold smile on her face. "You see everyone as ants, which is nothing but arrogance. If you expect these ants to be grateful to you, then you're just being foolish. Utterly foolish."
Ye Wenmao's face was ashen. Pointing at the passersby peering in their direction, he said, "If you're going to talk about evil, aren't the common people in these streets and alleys evil too? They're just pitifully poor! They depend on others for shelter and are at my mercy, that's why they have to be so obedient to me. But greed, meanness, cruelty—that's human nature! The evil they've committed far surpasses what I've done. The case files in the yamen are filled with details, one by one. Compared to them, my son only looked down on that peasant boy and slapped him. Why do you insist on picking a fight with us?"
His disciples, moved by his words, deeply agreed and felt indignant, glaring at Song Huiya with shared hatred.
Song Huiya looked at everyone and suddenly said, "I have a disciple."
The crowd was puzzled. She pointed to the bluestone paving in front of a shop across the street and said slowly, "She's like this moss on the stone steps. How you tread on her determines what she becomes. If people are evil, she is evil. If everyone else is good, then she is good too."
"And so, in her short and fleeting life, she learned cunning, malice, cruelty, selfishness, shortsightedness... and many other things, becoming utterly despicable."
Song Huiya shook her head. "She is a very bad, very bad person. If she hadn't met me, she would most likely have become a beast in the eyes of gentlemen, a scourge in the mouths of the martial world."
Ye Wenmao was about to speak when Song Huiya's tone turned cold, and she continued, "People wear fine silks and satins, don flawless white jade pendants, and drink fine wine, thinking themselves immaculate and of exceptional character. Then they look in the mirror." Only then did they realize the person in the mirror was ugly, and they concluded that the mirror deserved to die, to be trampled on and never see the light of day. This is utterly ridiculous."
Ye Wenmao's face twisted, almost ferocious, and he finally lost his temper, roaring, "Song Huiya! I've given you face—do you really think I, Ye Wenmao, am afraid of you? What nonsense are you spouting? Who do you think you are? A few hundred people on Wumingya have already crushed you like a stray dog. You're forcing me to tear off all pretenses, and you won't gain anything!"
"Sect Leader Ye, I said I didn't know if your disciples relayed this." Song Huiya's lips slowly curved downward, her expression solemn and dignified. "Since Sect Leader Ye has extended such a warm invitation, I will naturally not refuse. This is the second time."
With that, she pushed off the table and leaped away like the wind.
Ye Wenmao's expression changed drastically, his mind blank for a moment. He chased after her, roaring, "Stop! Song Huiya! You stop right there!"
Ye Wenmao had already mobilized disciples from the mountains to guard the courtyard where Ye Guanda lived, with guards every three and five steps, making it virtually impregnable.
Song Huiya's figure was as fast as a ghost. After vaulting over the high wall, she stepped on the roof tiles and walked as if in an empty place, shaking off her pursuers and heading straight for the most heavily guarded courtyard.
Ye Guanda was drinking with someone inside when he heard the tiles falling outside. He was instantly enraged, got up to grab his sword from the wall, wanting to fight Song Huiya to the death.
As soon as he turned around, he saw the window smashed open, and sunlight and sword energy cleaved down together. Before he could react, he was overcome by excruciating pain and fainted.
When Ye Wenmao arrived, Song Huiya was already standing on the high wall, holding a bloody severed hand.
She walked a few steps on the wall with her head held high, casually tossed the limb into the back alley, and arrogantly left with the words, "Sect Leader Ye, see you in three days."
She had indeed come with swift and decisive action and left with impunity.
Thoughts on Chap 22
This chapter showcases Song Huiya's philosophy of justice and her confrontation with institutional corruption represented by the Broken Goose Sect. The chapter reveals multiple layers of moral complexity in a wuxia world where power often trumps justice.
Song Huiya demonstrates her martial prowess in the East Market, easily defeating over a dozen assassins in front of witnesses. Her public humiliation of the Broken Goose Sect is deliberate—she's not just seeking revenge for Second Aunt, but exposing the sect's weakness and corruption to the entire city. Her promise to take Ye Guanda's hand is both a threat and a demonstration that the supposedly invincible sect can be challenged.
The introduction of Northern Butcher (Bei Tu/Old Qian) reveals another legendary master in hiding. His brutal efficiency—killing with single punches that rupture internal organs—contrasts with Song Huiya's more theatrical approach. His presence answers the question of why Song Huiya felt confident leaving Second Aunt and Song Zhiqie behind: they're protected by one of the martial world's most feared killers.
Song Zhiqie's anxious commentary provides both comic relief and genuine concern, showing her growing attachment to her strange new family. Her observation that "last night's chickens died for nothing" references their preparation for this battle.
The philosophical debate between Song Huiya and Ye Wenmao cuts to the heart of the novel's themes. Ye Wenmao argues that he's a necessary evil—that his "protection" of Broken Goose City from outside bandits justifies his tyranny, and that common people are just as morally corrupt as he is, so his son's casual cruelty is insignificant.
Song Huiya's response is devastating. Her metaphor about Song Zhiqie being like moss on stone steps—shaped entirely by how people treat her—argues that environment creates character. People become evil because they're trampled on, not because evil is inherent. Ye Wenmao's argument blames the mirror for reflecting his ugliness rather than acknowledging his own corruption.
Her refusal to "seek justice for one or two people" but only for systematic change shows she's not interested in individual grievances but in challenging the power structure itself. The noodle vendor who asks for her help is gently rejected because she won't enable passivity—if people won't stand up for themselves, they deserve their oppression.
The chapter ends with Song Huiya fulfilling her promise ahead of schedule, taking Ye Guanda's hand despite all the sect's defenses, demonstrating that no amount of protection can save the corrupt from consequences.
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