Chapter 200: The Sword That Deserves a Beating

Leading a light-green horse by the reins, the woman’s white long skirt swayed, and the jade pendant hanging from the blue sash at her waist gently rocked back and forth. She walked onto the official road. It was already nearing noon. She raised her head and glanced at the time, then mounted the horse in one smooth motion and galloped all the way back toward the city.

Last night, demonic creatures had appeared again and again. The night sky had even taken the shape of a golden dragon. Yet by the next day, whether inside or outside the city, the common people still had to live their lives. Laborers repairing the roads gathered about, and merchants waiting to enter the city crowded together. Many foreign caravans also passed through this area. Seeing the wreckage outside the city, they could not help but ask the nearby locals about it.

“What exactly happened here? This road and that forest over there—did dogs chew it up? Why is everything torn into pieces like this?”

“You just arrived in the capital, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, got here this morning.” “Oh my, if I told you, you probably wouldn’t believe it. Last night in this capital, there were masters of cultivation fighting with spells, subduing demons, and exterminating monsters. That demon—huge! When it stood up, it was even taller than the city wall, like a mountain. Tsk, tsk…”

“Well then, you’d better tell us about it.”

Most of the foreign caravans were heading into the city. Travelers who had come along with them had to part ways here if they were going elsewhere. A youth carrying a bundle and wearing a wooden sword across his back listened with great interest as the people over there talked about what had happened in the capital the previous night. After a while, he finally turned and left.

“I wonder how those cultivators compare to Master. But they definitely can’t match him. Even if they could, their looks surely couldn’t compare…”

Muttering to himself, the youth went to look for another merchant caravan heading south. As he did, he brushed past the woman riding the light-green horse.

Min Yuerou paid no attention to the surrounding noise. She showed the token her father had given her and entered the city without obstruction. Along the way, she saw constables patrolling the streets everywhere. In the teahouses and taverns, people were mostly discussing the events of last night. Some also spoke about the emperor’s passing, but only in hushed voices, afraid that others might overhear.

Returning to the street of the officials’ residences, cries of mourning could be heard from nearly every household, all holding funerals. Min Yuerou stepped into her home and handed the horse over to a servant to be led away. She then walked toward the side courtyard and beckoned the two servants guarding the door to come aside.

“How is Zuo Qianwei?”

“Reporting to Miss, Qianwei has not yet woken.”

Their conversation drifted into the room. On the bed filled with the scent of medicinal herbs, Zuo Zhengyang lay with his eyes wide open. His upper body was bare, and thick bandages wrapped from his left shoulder down to his ribs. In truth, he had already awakened. He simply stared blankly at the ceiling in a daze.

The faint voices from outside echoed clearly in his ears.

“…After he wakes up, the two of you must take good care of Qianwei. You must not mention the matter of his arm in front of him.”

“And also, the matter of His Majesty’s passing must not be brought up. When his body improves somewhat, it will not be too late to tell him…”

On the wooden pillow, Zuo Zhengyang blinked lightly. He turned his face to look at his bare left shoulder, then tightly shut his dry eyes. Thinking of everything that had happened yesterday, his cheeks tensed as he clenched his teeth.

After a long while, his tightly clenched jaw slowly relaxed. He took a deep breath, then exhaled.

“From now on… I will only have one arm… only one hand.”

“His Majesty has also passed away. I can no longer continue serving in my post…”

Listening to the intermittent voices outside, he stared at the oil lamp burning on the table, its flame swaying slightly. Thinking of the road ahead, Zuo Zhengyang felt somewhat lost.

“How is Zuo’s path… to be walked now?”

Occasionally, the door creaked softly. Someone would poke their head in to see whether the man on the couch had awakened, then close it again. The broken beam of sunlight shone brightly across the entire city. At the very center, above the imperial city, black smoke rose and drifted with the wind.

White mourning banners hung in every conspicuous place within the imperial palace. Flames surged from massive bronze cauldrons, radiating heat. The paper money scattered from the hands of eunuchs was carried by the wind, fluttering across the sky.

Min Changwen’s hair bun had turned mottled white, and his eyes were bloodshot. From last night until now, he had not closed his eyes once. Leading a group of officials who had been temporarily promoted, he was overseeing the emperor’s funeral. Over there, the Crown Prince was being led by the Imperial Consort as he kept vigil beside the coffin, head lowered in tears.

Before long, a fast horse entered the palace, carrying an urgent document that was delivered before the old man.

After unfolding it and taking a glance, Min Changwen put it away. His expression did not change in the slightest as he waved his sleeve, dismissing the messenger to rest. When he reached a deserted corner, he looked at it carefully once more. Suddenly, he slammed his head against the wall with a bang and struck it with his fist.

“His Majesty has passed away, and now a great enemy rises in the north. Is Heaven trying to bring about the fall of our Chen Dynasty…”

The letter hanging from his hand contained simple yet glaring words.

—Yang Jian, the Chancellor of Northern Zhou, has replaced Zhou and established Sui. He is drilling troops and sharpening weapons; his ambitions are vast.

Chang’an, in the north.

Yang Jian, broad and powerfully built, walked out of the imperial palace. Countless soldiers stood ready with weapons in hand. Soon, ranks of cavalry gathered around him and headed toward the military camp. On the vast parade ground, dragging his cloak behind him, he walked step by step onto the high platform. One hand gripped the hilt of his sword, while the other clenched into a fist pressed against his thigh. 

With a solemn face, dignified even without anger, his gaze swept across the seemingly endless ranks of soldiers before him—tens of thousands of his subordinates.

‘Mr. Lu’s words have come true.’

The wind blew across the field. At a certain moment, he suddenly drew the imperial sword and raised it high. His thick beard trembled as he shouted hoarsely:

“Great Sui—”

The sword gave a light clang as it left the scabbard, its ringing echoing through the air. The great banner bearing the character “Sui” snapped loudly in the wind, together with his cloak.

Sunlight poured down. On the drill ground, tens of thousands of soldiers struck the butts of their long weapons upon the earth. A forest of spearpoints shimmered with a chilling glint as their roar shook heaven and earth.

“—Ten thousand years!!!”

Countless voices howled as one, surging up into the sky.

“Long live Your Majesty!!”

Upon the high platform, the figure holding the imperial sword turned slightly. The blade caught the sunlight, flashing with a brilliant point of light as it shifted direction.

Then Yang Jian swung his arm and slashed down in fury, pointing the blade toward the south.

“Campaign south against the Chen Dynasty—unify the Nine Provinces!!”

“Kill!”

“Kill!”

“Kill!”

The forest of spears swayed with a thunderous crash, and a fierce martial spirit rose like wolf-smoke across the field.

Clouds rolled across the sky. The upheaval in the north had not yet crossed the great rivers, yet a plump monk had already led two youths across by boat to the lands of the south. When they heard that the emperor of Southern Chen had passed away, they were somewhat stunned.

One of the youths raised his hand and waved dismissively. “What does that have to do with us? Fat monk, just how capable is that Mr. Lu you mentioned?”

Farther to the south, Li Sui’an—carrying a wooden sword on his back—grinned mischievously as he joined a merchant caravan bound for He Valley Prefecture. He agreed to do some chores along the way in exchange for travel expenses. Sitting on the edge of a wagon, he kicked his worn-out shoes back and forth and raised his still youthful face toward the slanting evening sun, full of longing.

“…I’m going to become a great hero whose name resounds throughout the jianghu!”

In a certain county town near the great river, Zhang Feng, Zhao Liu, and Wang Ti walked through the countryside fields, inspecting the crops for the coming season. In the farmland ahead, many peasants were still coming and going.

Before long, Ma Tang came running across the fields, holding a letter from a friend in the north.

“It’s from Brother Chongwen…”

The four of them gathered in a circle and read the contents of the letter. Then they all looked toward the distant city walls, their shoulders shaking with laughter.

They had long since prepared themselves for the moment of advancement.

At this moment, news of the emperor’s death was spreading across Southern Chen at astonishing speed. Along the crisscrossing official roads, countless fast horses carrying official dispatches galloped past.

“Hyah!!”

From north to south, on the official road that passed through Fulin Prefecture toward He Valley Prefecture, a yamen runner carrying documents rode his horse at full speed. Dust billowed up behind him.

By the roadside, an old donkey slowly chewed grass as it walked, lazily swishing its tail. The book rack on its back swayed gently, and the small, half-open door creaked slightly. Inside, Toad Daoist swayed left and right with the motion. With his webbed fingers, he took the small pipe from his mouth, exhaled a puff of white smoke that drifted out, and leisurely hummed along with Honglian’s little tune coming from the painting scroll beside him.

Rolling up his sleeves, the Daoist strained with all his might to pull out the Veiled Moon Sword. His sharp, monkey-like face turned red with effort. In the end, he gave up and tossed the sword back to the scholar in front.

“Did that Zhou Yu trick you?”

Sunlight streamed down. Lu Liangsheng reached out and took the Veiled Moon Sword back, looking at the scabbard. “He probably wouldn’t.”

Since leaving the capital, he had originally planned to study the strand of dragon qi that had flown into the sword. Yet he discovered that the sword could no longer be drawn… even pouring spiritual power into it made no difference.

His fingers brushed over the sharkskin scabbard. He again infused a trace of spiritual energy to test it, but just like before, it sank like a stone into the sea with no response at all.

“That’s rather strange.”

Lu Liangsheng had asked his master about it. The Toad Daoist guessed that perhaps when the sword blank encountered dragon qi, it had nurtured a spiritual heart.

“Could it be you need to chant some incantation? To draw from the sheath?!”

Just then, with a clang, the Veiled Moon Sword in his hand suddenly popped out a small section. Before he could reach out to grab it, it whooshed back into the scabbard.

“Heh, this sword’s strange!” The Daoist leaned over to look. As soon as he spoke, the Veiled Moon Sword popped out again a little, and in less than half a breath, it whooshed back inside.

“Could it really be like this old toad said—this sword has developed spiritual awareness?”

A moment later, the Yuelong Sword popped out again, then slipped back in.

Clang!

Clang!

Clang!

Right before their eyes, it kept going in and out repeatedly.

Faintly, a voice seemed to echo from within.

‘I came out, now I’m going back in. I’m just not letting you see! Come on, hit me if you can!’

Lu Liangsheng frowned. The voice sounded rather punchable… and also somewhat familiar.