SS CH9

For the Duanshui Manor Lord to appear in his own family’s forbidden grounds was, of course, entirely unassailable.

What gave Ye Fusheng a headache at the moment was that this Manor Lord Xie looked at him without a trace of surprise or doubt. Instead, his gaze was as cold and sharp as a blade—meaning he had already learned of Ye Fusheng’s origin from Xue Chanyi, and he clearly did not trust him.

“Ye… Fusheng?” Xie Wuyi drawled out his name, his thin lips curving into a fine, sharp edge. “How is the Young Manor Lord?”

“The Young Manor Lord is blessed with good fortune, he made it out without—” Before Ye Fusheng could finish, Xie Wuyi flicked his wrist. Flames scorched through the paper exterior of the lantern, igniting it in an instant as it flew straight toward Ye Fusheng’s face like a ball of fire.

The strikes of the Lord of Duanshui Manor were as swift as startling thunder, and this sudden move was formidable. The moment Ye Fusheng took a step back to dodge the flames, Xie Wuyi was already beside him. A distinct, sinewy hand clamped down on his right shoulder; with a sudden sink and push of internal force, it forced Ye Fusheng’s right leg—which was already struggling to bear weight—to bend at the knee.

Just as Ye Fusheng’s knee was about to touch the floor, Xie Wuyi felt his grip loosen as the man slipped out of his grasp like a slick fish. With a cold sneer, Xie Wuyi pressed forward again. The fluid extension and contraction of his limbs echoed the movement of a gentle, continuous stream—supple and tenacious—wrapping around Ye Fusheng like a water snake and leaving him no room to break free.

Sliding behind Ye Fusheng, Xie Wuyi locked his throat with one hand while kicking the back of his knee with the other. Just as victory seemed decided, Ye Fusheng suddenly jabbed a finger onto Xie Wuyi’s wrist, detonating a burst of internal energy between the joint that throbbed with bone-deep pain. Xie Wuyi’s face went pale; in that brief split second, Ye Fusheng twisted his body and slithered right out of his restraint.

The exchange happened in a flash, and only then did the burning paper lantern hit the ground, its embers still glowing softly.

Xie Wuyi’s expression was naturally grim, but Ye Fusheng was hardly in better shape.

Ye Fusheng reached up to touch his chest; the silk pouch originally tucked in his robes had been snatched away by Xie Wuyi in the moment of his escape.

Fingering the silk pouch in his hand, Xie Wuyi remarked coldly, “Fine finger technique, fine qinggong… fine skills indeed!”

“The Manor Lord is no less impressive. Those three soft techniques thoroughly master the ‘Entangle’ principle of the Duanshui Blade Style; I am far behind. However…” Ye Fusheng took a step forward. “That object is a gift left to me by an old friend. I must ask the Manor Lord to return it.”

“Return it? Is there anything in Duanshui Manor that I cannot take?” Xie Wuyi sneered coldly, pulling a square jade pendant from the silk pouch. It was a piece of flawless mutton-fat jade; carved on the back was a miniature depiction of Wanghaichao, while the front bore a sharp, prominent character: “Xie”.

Xie Wuyi ran his fingers inch by inch over the carved character, his voice low, raspy, and ice-cold: “This is the token passed down through generations of Duanshui Manor’s lords. Unfortunately, it was lost three years ago. I would very much like to ask how exactly you came into possession of it!”

Faced with this, Ye Fusheng showed no trace of fear. Instead, he reached out his hand to demand it back with absolute justification: “As I said, it was a gift left by an old friend—so naturally… I obtained it from a dead man.”

He spoke those words with utmost nonchalance, yet Xie Wuyi’s entire frame shuddered violently!

He had been like a towering tree, standing proud against wind and frost for a long time. Even if covered in the deep gashes of axes and blades, he had still stood upright between heaven and earth—yet at this very moment, his body swayed, rocking as if dying from his very roots.

All color drained from his face. He instinctively stumbled back two paces, his fingers digging tightly into the jade as he muttered incoherently, “A… a dead man?”

As he spoke, he broke into an uncontrollable cough, a morbid flush creeping onto his cheeks.

Xie Wuyi had been in failing health for the past three years. This bout of coughing made him shake like chaff in a sieve, his spine bowing into a line that threatened to snap at any second, only to slowly force itself back upright at the breaking point.

Ye Fusheng looked at him and said, “Yes. The person who gave me this jade is already dead.”

Before the last word even faded, Ye Fusheng leaped backward, barely dodging a thunderous palm strike from Xie Wuyi. This time, it was no mere test. The Lord of Duanshui Manor chopped down with his palm like a blade; even without direct contact, his sharp, domineering blade qi sliced through the skin on Ye Fusheng’s neck, leaving a faint streak of red.

Just then, a dark shadow swept out like a ghost in the wind. One fist intercepted Xie Wuyi’s follow-up palm strike, while his other arm scooped up Ye Fusheng, retreating rapidly before spinning around to land smoothly.

The sudden intrusion instantly brought Xie Wuyi back to his senses. Pulling a fire-striker from his sleeve, he blew on it to ignite a flame and lit the wall lamp nearby, finally seeing the newcomer’s face clearly. He straightened his sleeves: “Young Master Chu.”

“So it is Manor Lord Xie.” Chu Xiwei, currently unable to see, could only tilt his head toward his direction. Earlier, he and Xie Li had waited at the Dragon-Blocking Stone as instructed, but Ye Fusheng had taken far too long to scout ahead. Relying on his deep internal force, Chu Xiwei heard fighting from the other side of the stone fissure, so he left Xie Li behind to feel his way over and watch the show.

Releasing Ye Fusheng, he smiled: “Now we’re even.”

He was referring to the favor of helping him in the puppet chamber. Ye Fusheng rolled his eyes at this sudden reversal of roles, asking, “Where is the Young Manor Lord?”

Before Chu Xiwei could answer, Ye Fusheng’s ears twitched at the sound of rustling footsteps behind them. Xie Li walked out from the stone fissure; seeing Xie Wuyi, he immediately stood straight and dutifully called out, “Father.”

From what Ye Fusheng heard, that single call of “Father” sounded as solemn as a subject bowing before an emperor—devoid of intimacy, yet impeccably proper.

After greeting his father, Xie Li raised the Duanshui blade with both hands, holding it half a foot above his head. Xie Wuyi stepped forward with a face as dark as still water. Taking the blade with one hand, he brought his other hand down with a gust of wind, striking the boy with a sharp slap.

Slap—!

The blow was vicious. Xie Li’s face snapped to the side, nearly knocking him off his feet. Yet he managed to hold his ground, a bright red handprint emerging on his pale cheek, swelling up at a visible speed. The boy’s eyes welled with tears, but he forced every single drop back.

Ye Fusheng and Chu Xiwei both knit their brows. Holding the Duanshui blade, Xie Wuyi towered over Xie Li, asking coldly, “Do you know why I struck you?”

Xie Li shook his head, looking up at his father with stubborn grievance.

“A person must know when to advance and when to retreat, assessing the situation carefully. Never be short-sighted or lose what is grand for the sake of what is small—have I not taught you this?” Xie Wuyi clenched his fingers into a fist. “Who allowed you to chase the weapon thief on your own? Who gave you the audacity to climb Wanghaichao at such peril? And who taught you to cling to a blade instead of saving your own life when facing death?”

“But you said a weapon is a warrior’s limbs, and the Duanshui blade is Duanshui Manor’s…”

He couldn’t finish his talk-back. With another sharp slap, Ye Fusheng couldn’t help but cover his face with one hand, unable to watch.

“Though his methods are a bit rough, I have to say… this troublesome kid really deserves a beating,” Ye Fusheng whispered to Chu Xiwei behind his sleeve. “He’s barely taller than the blade itself, yet he dares to recklessly throw his life away. If he were my son or disciple, I’d beat him until he knelt down and wrote ‘I’ll never do it again’ a thousand times.”

Chu Xiwei: “…”

He subconsciously touched his face, his lips twitching slightly as if recalling some unbearable past memory.

With a third slap landing, the other side of Xie Li’s face turned red as well. Stunned by the blows, he stared blankly at Xie Wuyi.

“That’s right, the Duanshui blade is the responsibility of the Manor Lord, and it will indeed fall upon your shoulders sooner or later. But…” Xie Wuyi slowly knelt down, looking directly into his eyes. “I am still alive. Since when is it your turn to fight with your life?”

“But…”

“Or perhaps you have also listened to those Jianghu rumors and believe that I am ruined—that I am unfit to be the Manor Lord, unfit to hold this blade, and that a child like you must step up to shoulder the mantle for me?”

Xie Li hurriedly shook his head like a rattle-drum, his eyes red: “Father… I didn’t, Father, I didn’t…”

Looking at him, a rare smile touched Xie Wuyi’s cold face. His gaze turned distant as his free hand wiped away the boy’s tears: “Then remember this: as long as I am alive, all you need to do is learn how to grow up. As for after I die… everything I shoulder will belong to you. When that time comes, you must neither run nor hide.”

Xie Li finally couldn’t hold back his tears. He had always been an obedient child, rarely crying even in infancy, yet now he threw his arms around Xie Wuyi’s neck, weeping bitterly.

Xie Wuyi let out a heavy sigh, looking as though his youth had faded in an instant, revealing a rare glimpse of exhaustion and aging—yet it lasted for only a fleeting moment. When he turned around carrying Xie Li, he had once again become that stern and detached Lord of Duanshui Manor.

He said to Chu Xiwei, “Young Master Chu, I accept that deal. Please inform Master Sun that my mind is made up—I will begin pulling the needles to break the seal tonight.”

Pulling the needles to break the seal?

Ye Fusheng’s brows furrowed in confusion, though he asked nothing.

“That is truly… an unexpected answer.” Chu Xiwei stood with his hands behind his back. “There is only one chance. You had better consider it carefully, Manor Lord.”

Xie Wuyi replied, “No need for consideration. I thank you for your help, Young Master. After the Grand Martial Assembly, the Duanshui blade shall be handed over to you. However…”

Chu Xiwei showed a hint of interest: “However what?”

“When A-Li reaches adulthood, he will surely seek you out to reclaim the Duanshui blade. I hope Young Master will grant him that opportunity then.”

Xie Li trembled all over. He looked at his father in terror, unable to understand what deep meaning lay behind those words, feeling only an overwhelming weight press down upon him in an instant.

Chu Xiwei was startled for a moment, then smiled: “If he has the ability, he is welcome to try!”

“Many thanks.” Holding Xie Li, Xie Wuyi’s face revealed a rare trace of vitality beneath the candlelight, his eyes shining brightly.

Ye Fusheng looked at him as if watching a dying candle reignited by an easterly wind, burning through the last of its life in a brilliant, final glow.

He had heard that this Manor Lord of Duanshui Manor was originally named Xie Min. Min meant fine jade, a name implying a gentleman as pure as jade. Yet this man pursued the martial path and admired the grand, generous spirit of border soldiers, taking “Wuyi” as his courtesy name.

The man was like fine jade, the blade like a stubborn rock; jade could not be shattered, and rock could not be moved.

What a pity… human life is not made of gold or stone; how could it last forever?

Xie Wuyi led them out of the dark and back into the light, feeling like a world away.