SS CH16

Three days later, the weather was exceptionally fine.

For the first time since the onset of autumn, the sun was warm and gentle. Ye Fusheng felt so relaxed that he simply closed his eyes, crossed his legs while sitting on the railing, and began to annoy Xie Li with a stream of nonsense.

“What a pity,” Ye Fusheng chirped. “Even under such a vast and clear sky, we still cannot restore peace to the mountains and rivers. It goes to show that human beings themselves are the greatest vessels for filth and corruption.”

Xie Li ignored him, his fingers nervously stroking the wooden practice blade, while his other hand gripped his collar tightly, pulling the fabric into a sharp square shape against his chest.

He had known for a long time that today would be a battle concerning the survival of Duanshui Manor. He had tossed and turned all night, crawling out of bed to practice his blade in the backyard well before dawn. To his surprise, someone had beaten him to it.

Xie Wuyi stood in the courtyard wrapped in his outer robe, whispering to Ye Fusheng. When they saw Xie Li, they stopped simultaneously. Ye Fusheng yawned and headed to the kitchen for food, while Xie Wuyi beckoned Xie Li over.

At that moment, his heart had leaped into his throat. He ran over, anxiety gnawing at him, and before his brain could process a word, his body reacted on instinct. Like a frightened kitten, he had hugged Xie Wuyi’s leg and rubbed his head against it.

Xie Wuyi had always been strict with him, especially in the last three years—he hadn’t even given him a smile. As Xie Li realized his impulsive action, he trembled, waiting for a reprimand. Instead, a cool hand rested on his head.

“In seven days, it will be your eleventh birthday,” Xie Wuyi said softly. “So… this is for you.”

Xie Li looked up to find a square-cut piece of mutton-fat jade hanging around his neck. He touched it, filled with joy. “Father, what is this?”

Xie Wuyi stared at him deeply. “Nothing of importance. If you don’t like it, you may discard it.”

Xie Li opened his mouth, stunned. He had never seen anyone deliver such an indifferent statement with such a heavy, solemn attitude, and from his stern father of all people. He nodded timidly, his heart a tangled mess of confusion.

The sun was scorching now. Ye Fusheng, effectively blind, found the glare painful even through closed eyelids. He pulled a strip of black cloth from his sleeve and tied it over his eyes, drawing glares from the crowd. Someone muttered, “This fellow is a blind man, why on earth does he need to…” The implication was clear: Since you can’t see, why take up a spot?

The dueling convention was a best-of-three, held at the Manor’s “Qianlong Pavilion.” This was the North Courtyard, facing the main hall and backed by the rear mountains. Though vast, it could only hold about a hundred people.

“My Duanshui Manor is not a piece of trash-strewn land to allow any stray dogs to enter as they please!”

With this single, indiscriminate insult, Manor Lord Xie insulted both friend and foe. Most onlookers were forced to stay on the street outside the walls, peering in, while only a small minority—half of whom were from the Burial Soul Palace—were allowed inside.

Qianlong Pavilion was a garden centered around a large pool. The courtyard was surrounded by suspended wooden corridors, and the center was filled with water. A few half-withered lotus leaves clung to life on the surface, and several plum blossom stakes of varying heights stood amidst the water.

The corridors were clearly divided: the West and South sides were occupied by the Burial Soul Palace, led by Li Feng and Bu Xueyao; the East side was the Righteous Path; and squeezed between them was the seemingly outnumbered Duanshui Manor.

Xie Chongshan, who had remained silent in his small courtyard for three years, was brought out for the event. He was dressed neatly, his eyes wide, yet his vocal cords had been ruined by poison years ago, and he had been struck with a paralysis point. He sat in his wheelchair, gaunt and expressionless, looking only a ghost of his former self.

“It has been years. Old Manor Lord Xie seems much more haggard,” said a young man named Lu Mingyuan. He looked refined and scholarly, holding a white paper fan, appearing like a harmless bookworm.

Yet, this bookworm stood at the very front of the Eastern corridor. Despite the presence of elders and famous warriors, no one dared to challenge his position.

He closed his fan and bowed. “Ever since I was a child, I have heard of the legendary Duanshui Manor from my master. Seeing the grace of both Manor Lord today, I regret having missed out all these years.”

With that vinegar-soaked, overly polite tone, Ye Fusheng knew instantly: he was from the “Sanmei Academy.” Founded sixty-one years ago by the Southern Confucianist Ruan Qingxing, the academy taught both literature and martial arts. Its students were influential in both the imperial court and the martial world. This arrogant young scholar was likely the next head of the academy. No one dared to ignore him, regardless of his youth.

It’s certainly easy to enjoy the shade when you’re standing under a giant tree, Ye Fusheng thought, reaching out to ruffle Xie Li’s hair, only to be slapped away by Xue Chanyi. “Don’t mess around! It’s starting.”

Xie Wuyi and Li Feng were both men of action. Despite Lu Mingyuan’s flowery rhetoric, there were no flashy rituals. They simply lit a stick of incense at the gate, and the battle began.

The rules were simple: the Burial Soul Palace would challenge, and Duanshui Manor would respond. They would fight on the plum blossom stakes above the pool; whoever fell into the water lost.

Li Feng remained silent with his “coffin-face,” and Bu Xueyao smiled behind a red-feathered fan. A young girl dressed in foreign attire leaped out, light as a butterfly, landing on a plum blossom stake with a tinkling of the golden bells on her ankles.

“Burial Soul Palace, Green Dragon Hall Right Envoy, Manzhu, here to challenge!” she announced, raising her serpentine sword.

Xue Chanyi stepped out, her white robes fluttering, the red silk sash at her waist glowing like fresh blood. It was the “Crimson Snow Ribbon,” a weapon woven with celestial silkworm thread—invulnerable to water, fire, and ordinary blades.

She whipped the ribbon out. The serpentine sword lunged like a venomous viper, but Xue Chanyi sidestepped, striking Manzhu with her palm. They both retreated.

As Manzhu landed, the ribbon whipped toward her. She took the strike on her bare arm, leaving it shredded and bleeding. Xue Chanyi, known as the “Yaksha” of Guyang City, poured her internal energy into the ribbon, turning it into a red, constricting serpent.

Manzhu smiled. She shook her limbs, and the four golden bells on her wrists and ankles rang out in a piercing, rhythmic line.

Ye Fusheng frowned instantly. The sound entered his ears like toxic insects, burrowing into his mind. Xue Chanyi’s eyes blurred; her focus shattered. In that split second, Manzhu wrapped her serpentine sword around the ribbon and slammed her palm into Xue Chanyi’s chest.

Xue Chanyi coughed up blood, but she retreated, wrapping the Crimson Snow Ribbon tightly around Manzhu’s neck. She kicked Manzhu’s knee, lifting her into the air, and pulled—the sound of crushed windpipes followed.

Manzhu choked, her face turning purple, but she continued to smile. She exerted her strength, and the four bells rang again!

Xie Wuyi moved his fingers, pinching a peanut.

“What’s wrong?” Xie Li asked, dull and oblivious.

“Your Sister Xue is going to lose,” Ye Fusheng whispered into his ear.

He couldn’t see, but he could hear everything. Manzhu was weaker in martial arts but far better at playing dirty. The demonic bell-sound was her trump card. Xue Chanyi was agitated and reckless today—she would lose.

At the ringing of the bells, Xue Chanyi froze. Manzhu seized the opportunity, flipped her body, wrapped her legs around Xue Chanyi’s waist, and threw her directly into the pool!

As Xue Chanyi fell, Manzhu raised her sword to strike her down.

Ding!

Ye Fusheng flicked the peanut with pinpoint accuracy, striking the sword mid-air. The blade trembled and missed, leaving only a shallow cut on Xue Chanyi’s ear.

Simultaneously, Xie Wuyi struck out with his palm, knocking Manzhu into the water. “My disciple is inferior in skill, but the victory is decided. There is no need for attempted murder.”

Xue Chanyi gasped, eyes red with rage, but Manzhu rose from the water, bowing obediently. “This humble one was reckless, please forgive me, Manor Lord.”

The Righteous Path side looked grim. Bu Xueyao smiled, tossed his feather fan to Manzhu, and stepped onto the water, his toes barely touching the lotus leaves before he landed on the plum blossom stake.

“I fear you haven’t had your fill of fun…” Bu Xueyao giggled like a flower. “My Dear Li Feng is too shy, so I, Bu Xueyao, shall throw out a brick to attract jade. Which hero of Duanshui Manor would like to dance with me?”

He was a man with a woman’s face, his movements more coy than a courtesan. The Righteous Path looked on with disdain, seeing him only as a plaything of the demon cult.

Until they heard the name: “Knowing it’s not snow, the steps bring forth a karmic catastrophe.” This was Bu Xueyao, the Hall Master of the Vermilion Bird Hall, the “Flying Rakshasa.”

He was lethal, skilled in poison, and possessed the “Yin-Yang Rakshasa Hand” that could shatter bone in an instant. He was not someone to be trifled with.

Xie Wuyi reached for his blade, ready to stand, but someone was faster.

Ye Fusheng took Xie Li’s wooden blade. Guided by the layout of the stakes he had just asked Xue Chanyi about, he leaped from the railing.

His legs were light in the warm weather. He tapped the water—barely creating a ripple—and landed gracefully on a stake.

“Duanshui Manor’s Ye Fusheng, here to accept the challenge of this beauty—who I can tell is gorgeous just by the sound of her voice.”

He grinned and bowed, the black cloth over his eyes fluttering in the wind. The crowd gasped in shock: He’s a blind man!

“Oh my,” Bu Xueyao giggled, his body swaying like willow catkins in the wind. “I love sweet-talkers, but it’s such a pity that you’re blind and can’t see my beauty. Very well, for that sweet mouth, I shall be gentle.”

“Many thanks, Beauty,” Ye Fusheng replied sincerely.

Bu Xueyao’s laughter filled the air, and in the blink of an eye, he drifted forward like a wisp of smoke, his hand already reaching for Ye Fusheng’s throat!