SS CH3

Xie Wuyi, seventh-generation Manor Lord of Duanshui Manor, was thirty-four years old. A man of both letters and martial prowess, he mastered his family’s inherited Duanshui Blade technique and used it as a foundation to comprehend the Thirteen Blades of Canglan. He possessed handsome, upright features and a gentle, refined nature. Entering the Jianghu at sixteen, he spent five years in the Western Regions fighting eighty-two battles, suffering only one draw and one defeat, cementing his renown across the realm. Returning to the Central Plains, he accompanied his father to the Martial Tournament of Blades and Swords, challenging the realm’s gathered elites without a single defeat. Though young at the time, his extraordinary blade technique propelled him to eighth place on the Heroic Rank.

From the age of twenty, few dared to challenge Xie Wuyi to a duel. Yet three years ago, those seeking to test their blades against his suddenly multiplied, and numerous assassins prowled near the manor, lurking for an opportunity.

The reason was simple: rumors spread that Xie Wuyi might not live much longer, and that Canglan would truly be sheathed forever.

On the Lunar New Year’s Day three years ago, a masked blade-wielder from the Western Regions summoned Xie Wuyi to a duel atop Lingyun Peak. Bested in combat, the intruder deployed a treacherous poison scheme. Both plunged down the high cliff, leaving onlookers searching in vain. Three days later, Xie Wuyi returned severely injured. More than ten renowned doctors of the Jianghu were summoned, but all deemed the rare poison incurable, declaring his days numbered.

Two days later, the Ghost Physician Sun Minfeng arrived in Luoyang. Examining him, Sun Minfeng found the situation dire, setting a deadline of forty-nine days to attempt a cure, though estimating no more than a fifty percent chance of success.

If Xie Wuyi was truly beyond saving, dying undefeated would render him the eternal “Number One Blade Under Heaven.” Beyond settling grudges, people in the Jianghu sought fame and profit. Those who had lost to him in the past and those who had feared Canglan now swarmed in from all directions like flies, creating an insufferable nuisance.

“So what happened after that?” Ye Fusheng asked, swinging his legs while sitting on the wooden board as he conversed softly with the steward.

Since Xie Wuyi was still alive today, either the Ghost Physician possessed divine medical skill and a benevolent heart, or he was merely a street peddler spouting nonsense.

Upon entering the city, the merchant caravan split into two routes. Ye Fusheng and the steward drove the carriage bearing Miss Xue toward the eastern part of the city, while the rest made arrangements to settle into an inn first. Naturally distrustful of a half-blind driver, the steward held the reins himself while answering succinctly: “I don’t know the full story of what happened later. I only know that after forty-nine days passed, Xie Wuyi was still alive, but he never fought anyone again. Thus, rumors began to spread in the Jianghu that although the Ghost Physician saved his life, it ruined his martial arts…”

“Nonsense!” A sudden roar erupted from the carriage. Miss Xue threw open the door, her long whip whistling through the air, nearly striking the steward across the face.

“Please do not be angry, Miss Xue. If we said something improper, I apologize first,” Ye Fusheng said, catching her whip with an approachable smile. Unfortunately, the veteran charmer struck an unyielding obstacle. Miss Xue knit her eyebrows in anger, shook her whip to free her palm, and struck toward the steward’s face once more.

The wind howled with the metallic clang of a force so sharp that an unblocked hit would leave a lasting mark.

Miss Xue’s eyes flashed with anger, intent on lashing the steward. Unexpectedly, two fingers lightly tapped the wrist of her whip hand. She felt a shock run through the bones and tendons of her wrist, loosening her grip. The two fingers glided past like a phantom, taking the whip effortlessly from her hand. With a gentle flick, the coiled leather returned like a snake, settling obediently into his hand as gracefully as plucking a falling flower from the wind.

Before Miss Xue could even draw another breath, her weapon had been easily snatched away. She looked in disbelief at the handsome yet shabby man—his face was pale as a ghost, yet he possessed such skill.

Though willful, Miss Xue was far from foolish. She raised her chin and said, “Who would have thought you were a hidden master?”

“I am no master, only a sinner who offended you, Miss,” Ye Fusheng said, coiling the whip and offering it back with both hands, his smile warm and polite. “Both of us came from the northern frontier and are unfamiliar with these Jianghu tales. If we misspoke, would you mind offering some guidance?”

Miss Xue sneered, “Guidance aside, isn’t talking behind someone’s back a grave fault?”

Hearing this, Ye Fusheng understood that the Miss Xue before him was Xie Wuyi’s sole disciple, Xue Chanyi.

Thirteen years ago, Xie Wuyi returned from the Western Regions and rescued a young girl surnamed Xue in a border town. He took her as a disciple and taught her meticulously. Aside from his family’s inherited Duanshui blade technique, he held back nothing of the Thirteen Blades of Canglan. Regrettably, Xue Chanyi lacked exceptional aptitude, mastering only forty to fifty percent of her master’s skill, while remaining entirely clueless about blade techniques, excelling only with the whip.

Ever since Xie Wuyi’s accident three years ago, Duanshui Manor fell into instability. Had Xue Chanyi not returned in time to support the crumbling estate alongside the old Manor Lord, Duanshui Manor might have ceased to exist.

Though fierce in disposition, her martial arts lagged far behind her shifu’s. Now that the old Manor Lord had passed away as well, if Xie Wuyi truly became an invalid, Duanshui Manor would eventually be swallowed by the restless waves of the Jianghu.

Duanshui Manor was situated in the eastern part of Guyang City, surrounded by quiet, almost deserted streets. The ancient manor looked modest rather than ostentatious, featuring upturned eaves, green roof tiles, and deep, dark walls. Standing guard at the entrance was not a stone lion, but a black basalt stele over fifty feet tall and three feet wide. Engraved upon it in sharp, uninhibited strokes was the inscription: Out of our generation emerge the heroes of the Jianghu.

The carvings shifted from shallow to deep, evolving from razor-sharp bravado to restrained composure—resembling a reckless youth entering the Jianghu and gradually maturing into an unfathomable master.

Yet in just three years, Duanshui Manor’s glory had faded, leaving only the elderly, weak women, and children to endure, propping up the title of “Number One Blade Under Heaven” with their stooping backs.

By now, the rain had stopped, and the sky brightened slightly. Ye Fusheng’s eyes clouded over again, leaving him able to discern only faint outlines. He simply closed his eyes and gestured politely: “Miss Xue, please alight from the carriage.”

Xue Chanyi snorted: “Why are you closing your eyes? Could it be that your standards are so high that you look down upon Duanshui Manor?”

Ye Fusheng smiled without answering. Xue Chanyi rolled her eyes and asked, “What is your name?”

Ye Fusheng stood quietly with his eyes closed, speaking in the refined manner of a scholar: “Floating life is like a single leaf, and death is like an extinguished lamp. I am Ye Fusheng.”

“‘Death is like an extinguished lamp’…” Xue Chanyi sneered. “You haven’t died before, so how do you know what death feels like?”

Ye Fusheng replied: “To tell you the truth, I was originally a wild ghost. Unfortunately, the King of Hell disliked me and refused to take me in, so I had to borrow a corpse to bring my soul back and plague the mortal realm once more… Ah, having lived twice, I only feel that living is like adding firewood to a fire, while dying is like blowing out a lamp. It couldn’t be simpler, yet couldn’t be harder.”

Amused by his words, Xue Chanyi laughed: “Then how did you die before?”

Ye Fusheng tilted his head in her direction: “I acted foolishly and sought death.”

“Then why did you change your mind now?”

Ye Fusheng hadn’t expected the young lady to take such an interest in him, so he said: “I once made a promise to someone. Even if I die, I must keep a breath left to wait for them to see me off.”

The steward, ignored on the side for quite a while, couldn’t help but interject: “Your children?”

“Better than that.”

Xue Chanyi’s expression turned somewhat cold: “Across the world, among all walks of life, does a day pass without someone dying in the Jianghu? Since ancient times, life and death are fated, and wealth is determined by Heaven. Just because you made a promise, can you really keep it?”

She spoke bluntly, yet Ye Fusheng burst out laughing: “If the day truly comes when my end arrives, my soul will turn into a gentle breeze, traveling a thousand miles to deliver a message in their dreams.”

Xue Chanyi’s expression froze. With the steward standing outside and Ye Fusheng’s eyes closed, no one saw the complex emotion on her face—her mouth twitched in an expression that hovered between a smile and tears.

After a moment, she composed herself completely and said sternly: “Ye Fusheng, I have a business offer for you.”

The steward tugged at Ye Fusheng’s sleeve secretly, but Ye Fusheng feigned ignorance under the guise of his poor sight, asking with a smile: “What is it?”

Xue Chanyi said: “There are many troubles in Guyang City lately. I want to hire another guard to watch over my shidi. If you agree, you won’t have to idle away your time in this small caravan after this is done.”

The steward’s face flushed red with irritation, wanting to argue with this sharp-tongued young lady, but Ye Fusheng acted swiftly this time, pressing his hand onto the steward’s shoulder. He turned his head and smiled: “Thank you for your favor, Miss Xue. Unfortunately, my life is cheap, and I only hope for basic food and warmth without any grand ambitions.”

Xue Chanyi said: “Your group is all outsiders unfamiliar with Guyang City’s ways and connections. How easy do you think it is to gain a foothold here in a short time? Even if you don’t consider yourself, you should think of those who are weak, old, sick, or disabled.”

The steward froze, his face sour as a withered gourd. Ye Fusheng turned, pointing one finger to his eyes and tapping his right leg with his other hand, saying mournfully: “Miss, look at me—blind and lame, what use could I possibly be?”

“Just consider it hiring a human shield who can withstand three stabs and six holes,” Xue Chanyi snapped her whip impatiently. “In short, do you accept or not?”

Ye Fusheng said solemnly: “I won’t sign an indenture bond!”

As he spoke with a stony face, his back was pinched numb by the steward. Hearing a rustle in the wind, he reached out just in time to catch a silver ingot.

“Take this to get some decent clothes so you don’t disgrace my Duanshui Manor,” Xue Chanyi stepped down from the carriage, leaving behind her final words: “Come meet me at three quarters past the hour of You. I will instruct the servants to let you in.”

Ye Fusheng shrugged, effortlessly snapping a corner off the silver ingot between two fingers. He handed the rest to the steward and joked: “Thank you for your care these past days. I won’t forget your life-saving grace. If you ever need me in the future, I would go through fire and water for you.”

Holding the silver, the steward shook with rage, patting Ye Fusheng’s shoulder repeatedly: “I didn’t rescue you expecting anything in return! You don’t need to wade into muddy waters for us! Who among these Jianghu martial artists is easy to deal with? Blades have no eyes! What business does a blind and lame cripple like you have getting involved? Do you think having three-penny martial arts makes you invincible?”

Ye Fusheng said: “Hey, hey, don’t be angry! What if your asthma flares up?”

“Get lost, you rascal! Go seek your death, no one will bury you!” The steward threw his hands up in anger, turned back to his horse and carriage, and drove off in a hurry, nearly splashing mud all over Ye Fusheng’s face.

Ye Fusheng listened to the rumbling wheels vanish into the distance, tossing the silver piece idly in his hand. His face was pale, with peach-blossom eyes set beneath distant-mountain brows, giving him a somewhat refined appearance. Yet when silent, his countenance hardened into an unearthly coldness.

He reached into his waist sash and pulled out a brocade pouch. Embroidered upon the snow-white silk was a cluster of green bamboo, though the stitches were crooked, turning the bamboo leaves into twisted shapes resembling caterpillars, stained with dried, darkened blood marks. Feeling it carefully through the pouch, he pressed against a square jade pendant inside.

“How can you say you have no clothes? I will share my cloak with you. The king is raising his army, let us mend our spears and pikes…”

He hummed a line from The Odes of Qin: Wuyi, tucked the pouch back into his robes, and walked off swaying his head.

By now, the sky had dimmed. The faint dusk light fell upon the stone stele before Duanshui Manor, where the carved words blurred within the shifting shadows.

Heroes of the generation rise from among us, but the passage of time in the Jianghu compels us to age.