Chapter 4
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Nine years ago, when the old master of Biling Manor fell seriously ill, Tan Ci bid farewell to his teacher at Master Lu. His first return to Biling Manor marked his rise to fame.
At the grand sword ceremony, the young and graceful Tan Ci, fresh from the shadows, performed a stunning sword flourish that astonished everyone.
He struck down the feathered green plume—symbolizing the right to inherit the title of manor master—cutting it into a rain of fluttering feathers, which became one of the most elegant and memorable sights in Biling Manor’s century-old history.
If one were to speak of perfection, it would be in the way his sword tip descended, and how the shattered feathers were neatly stacked together, barely a hair’s breadth apart.
Tan Ci became famous with that one strike.
Thus, he renamed his legendary ancestral sword in line with tradition, bestowing it with a new title uniquely his own—Zhe Ling.
The old master of Biling Manor passed away, but there was little disturbance in the Jianghu, for Tan Ci was considered the successor who had surpassed his predecessors.
The only turmoil came from the internal struggle within Biling Manor itself, particularly among the elders.
When the old master passed, many thought that their seniority and experience would allow them to seize some power. However, they had underestimated Tan Ci, the young leader who had spent years honing his skills at Mount Lu.
On his first day as the new master, Tan Ci summoned the elders and began recalling the blood and tears of the old master and the elders. He then spoke of the present, reflecting on how the elders had aged and were now frail.
With sorrow in his heart, he remarked on the passing of his predecessors. Bowing before the elders, Tan Ci humbly acknowledged his new position, stating that as a mere junior, he could not dare to occupy such a high office.
After speaking, Tan Ci attempted to decline the sword, but the elders in the hall, observing with sharp eyes, eventually turned their gaze toward the deputy master.
The deputy master, eyes closed, leaned against a carved rosewood chair, his hands rolling a pair of golden walnuts, the sound gnawing at one’s nerves. Tan Ci stood in the hall, though, holding his composure.
As the incense burned, the elder’s sharp eyes finally opened. He looked at Tan Ci with an unreadable expression and said, “Nephew, you possess a deep and broad mind, both literarily and militarily, with the same style as your father in his prime.”
After finishing this remark, the elder stood and, with his entourage, left.
However, when Tan Ci first took charge of Biling Manor, he had no time to handle these trivial matters. After making a hasty arrangement, he quickly departed for Jiang Cheng, where he would represent Biling Manor at the Yi Shui Sword Duel.
It was the early spring of March in the Yi Shui, and the magnolias were in full bloom.
On March 19th, a light rain fell over Jiang Cheng, and the back courtyard of Yi Shui Manorl was filled with snow-colored magnolias, planted to please the eldest young lady.
Passing through the moon gate in the front hall, a person holding an umbrella walked along the rain-soaked wooden corridor. With a slight creak, entered a scene where mist surrounded the white magnolias.
Shen Xian had never seen magnolias bloom so beautifully. Clusters of them, tree after tree, white as jade, were in the peak of their blooming period, with little wilting. The flower stalks stood upright, and every petal swayed gracefully towards the falling rain.
Raindrops fell on the pure white petals, some sinking into the heart of the flowers, others dropping to the ground, soaking the March sky of Jiang Cheng. The mist created an ethereal atmosphere, as though one had stepped into an otherworldly realm, too afraid to make a sound and disturb the tranquility.
The magnolias were such beautiful flowers—pure, ethereal, so noble that they inspired reverence. Even the harshest hearts would not dare to ruin such pristine white beauty.
He dared not blink, for the scene before him seemed like a painting, one that made it hard to distinguish the time, lost in the mist.
But the next moment, the painting seemed to come alive.
A woman turned her head in the rain. Her white gown blended seamlessly with the magnolia blossoms, her long hair swaying gently like a waterfall. The corner of the painting suddenly sprang to life. She stood beneath the flower tree, gazing at him, her long lashes fluttering briefly, and the crystal-clear raindrops hanging from the tips of her lashes slowly slid down her jade-like face.
Her eyes were veiled behind the rain and mist, languid and indifferent.
She did not know how long she had been standing there, long enough that she and the scene seemed inseparable, leaving him utterly captivated, so much so that he didn’t even realize it.
Shen Xian was an uninvited guest for the moment, watching as she gently shook out her ivory wrists, unfurling the plain paper umbrella in her hand to shield herself from the light rain. It seemed as though a celestial being from the Heavens had returned to the mortal world. Acknowledging his identity, she slightly nodded towards him, then performed a curtsy bow from a distance, her gown billowing in the gentle breeze, the mist and rain swirling around her. Shen Xian instinctively reached out, afraid she might vanish into the fog at any moment.
In the blink of an eye, the figure beneath the flower tree had disappeared, and at the far end of the corridor, the corner of her delicate white skirt slipped away into the distance.
She did not offer him a smile, nor did she call out to him, but he had already lost his soul.
In Jiang Cheng, during March, the literary genius Shen Xian painted a picture, which he hung in his room, with the title “The Smoke Laden – Yi Jiao Jiao,” seven characters in total. Soon, the magnificent magnolia flowers of Yi Shui Manor became famous throughout the Jianghu.
At that time, Tan Ci was still three days away from reaching Jiang Cheng.
Three days later, on the banks of Jiang Cheng, Tan Ci and his friend sat in the highest tea house in the city, enjoying tea. From there, they looked out at the distant stone-blue horizon, and the entire city buzzed beneath them.
The wind rose from the ferry crossing, and through the mist, a majestic ship slowly docked. As Tan Ci lifted his cup, he happened to see a figure in white, slowly approaching from the mist, standing at the bridgehead.
His long fingers paused as he held the cup, frozen in midair.
A servant approached, bowing as he spoke to her. From a distance, their conversation was inaudible, but he could vaguely make out her graceful profile.
She was focused, and when the wind rose, it scattered the mist and swirling fog around her. In the hazy light, her gown fluttered, outlining her slender waist, barely the width of a hand, like a celestial being standing by the river, captivating him entirely.
Her white gown was more pristine than the smoke and mist around her.
Tan Ci’s friend set down his wine cup, patting Tan Ci’s shoulder with a teasing smile. “So, what do you think? The grand display here is impressive, isn’t it? The young mistress of Yi Shui Manor really does live up to the rumors — a perfect blend of talent and beauty?”
He took another glance, clicking his tongue. “The smoke is light, Yi Jiao Jiao is beautiful… Heaven has certainly done its part today. With the mist and wind framing her, she truly stands out. But this woman, she’s too clever, too sharp. It feels like she’s missing something, doesn’t it?”
Tan Ci turned his gaze away, smiling as he glanced at his friend. Finally, he lifted his cup and drank it in one gulp. When he set it down, he suddenly lowered his eyes and smiled, saying, “A wife should be like this.”
Nine years ago, during the first Sword Duel at Yi Shui, Tan Ci, as the newly appointed master of Biling Mountain Manor, was bound by tradition to seal the Zhe Ling Sword for a year. As a result, that year, Tan Ci could only observe Yi Jiao Jiao from afar, unable to truly participate, surrounded by countless talents. But they remained unaware of Tan Ci sitting quietly amidst the crowd.
Nine years later, Yi Shui Manor once again hosted the Sword duel. Tan Ci, now the heir of the old master, sat with the Yi Jiao Jiao and their eldest son in the old master’s right seat. The people below, watching the pair on stage, could only sigh at how fate works its wonders.
After the drumbeat, Tan Ci, representing Yi Shui Manor and Biling Mountain Manor, offered three cups of wine to honor Heaven, the Earth, and the heroes of the martial world. He then announced the commencement of the tournament. As the warriors took turns fighting, countless eyes remained fixed on Zhe Ling Sword.
In the tavern, some swordsmen had specially come to watch Zhe Ling Sword’s swordplay. They were a bit anxious, standing on tiptoe to peer at the stage, only to see Tan Ci glance down at the beauty beside him with a smile, showing no intention of stepping into the arena.
Amid their dazed frustration, the two combatants on the stage began to fight with increasing intensity. The blows became heavier and heavier, and soon, one of them had blood oozing from the corner of his mouth. Another strike, and it seemed likely that blood would splatter on the spot.
Some in the crowd saw clearly. Yi Jiao Jiao frowned slightly, instinctively raising her hand to cover her son’s eyes.
The next moment, there was a sound of “Clang!” as a sword was unsheathed. A figure in deep blue flew swiftly between the two fighters. With slender fingers, he elegantly flicked his wrist, performing a dazzling sword flourish, easily disarming the two combatants who were giving their all.
With a single motion, he had effortlessly separated the two masters, who were locked in a deadly struggle.
As he sheathed his sword, a faint smile lingered at the corner of his lips. Tan Ci gave a slight nod. “My wife doesn’t like bloodshed. You two can stop here. Apologies for the offense.”
The deep blue tassels on the sword sheath swayed, and applause thundered from the crowd. Zhe Ling Sword’s intervention on the banks of Yi Shui once again stirred the martial world into a frenzy.
The two combatants on the stage, their expressions serious, dared not argue and instead respectfully bowed their fists toward him.
In Yi Jiao Jiao’s arms, Jing Zhu, the little one, raised his hand to pull away the hand that had covered his eyes. He pouted at Tan Ci and complained, “I want to see Daddy’s swordplay.”
Hearing this, Yi Jiao Jiao froze for a moment, then suddenly lowered her head and gave a self-deprecating smile. “Yes, yes, but it’s over now.”
That night, after drinking at the banquet, Tan Ci returned to the courtyard and happened to find her standing under the yulan tree, looking up at the sky. In her hand, she held a handkerchief, inside of which were the wilted petals of the yulan flower, all carefully picked off.
He slowed his footsteps, walking over with his hands behind his back. She turned her head at the scent of the wine, saw him, and smiled gently under the moonlight. She folded the handkerchief, put it away, and then reached out to straighten his collar. “Did you drink too much?”
Tan Ci felt a bit awkward. He coughed lightly, helplessly looking at her. “I tried to keep my steps steady and not stagger, but how did you still notice?”
She shot him a playful glare. “You think you can hide it from me?”
He took her hand, carefully enclosing it in his palm, and drew her into his embrace, contentedly closing his eyes. “I don’t want to… We promised, didn’t we? That we wouldn’t hide anything from you.”
Her heart trembled at his words, and as she held him, she thought of the Sword duel earlier in the day, of his majestic presence on the stage. It reminded her of when she had first seen him at the Sword duel many years ago. For a moment, her heart ached sharply.
In his arms, she gently broke the silence. “Husband… if one of us goes first, you must remember to wait for the other at the Naihe Bridge…”
Tan Ci suddenly opened his eyes, his arms tightening around her in a moment of distress, his tone filled with both tenderness and reprimand. “Why are you saying such things?”
She shook his hand, stubbornly insisting. “You must promise, only then will I feel at ease.”
The moonlight was damp and cold, and the night seemed endless. He looked at the yulan tree she had so persistently cleaned of all its fallen flowers, and a feeling of panic unexpectedly surged in his heart.
Holding her, he gently stroked her back, responding, “Alright, I promise you. In the next life, if we must part, we will walk hand in hand.”
