Chapter 1: The Secret Disciple Part 1

The moment Sang Chencao stepped into the establishment, her gaze was instantly captured by a single figure.

As the door swung open, a fierce gale laden with yellow sand roared into the inn. The sudden intrusion forced the various martial artists inside to shield their tea bowls, yet the person seated by the staircase remained as still as a statue.

She was slender and tall, wearing a white-veiled hat that obscured her features. Several swords and sabers, tightly wrapped in coarse cloth, were slung across her back, while a collection of blades—some large, some small—hung from her waist.

Those blades varied wildly: some were as thin as a cicada’s wing, others as thick as a copper coin; some were barely as long as a knuckle, while others exceeded the length of a palm.

When the gale struck, the blades at the woman’s waist chimed together with a rhythmic clatter-clang, echoing the sound of camel bells in the desert.

Sang Chencao lingered on her for a few extra moments. The more she looked, the stranger it felt. The woman wore a white dress as soft and elegant as those found in the misty water towns of the south—an unusual choice for these desolate sands—yet she carried a small arsenal of weaponry.

To carry such heavy steel on one’s back while maintaining such a perfect, upright posture was a clear sign of a high-level martial artist.

But a white dress…

Sang Chencao shook her head inwardly. A white dress would stain far too easily in the Great Desert.

The doors groaned shut, and the howling of the yellow wind faded into a distant, mournful wail.

The gathered “heroes” returned to their drinks, sipping tea or wine and chatting animatedly, finding joy with one another under the same moon that shone outside.

“The Hero Recruitment Meet is fast approaching,” one man said loudly. “I wonder who will claim the top spot this time!”

Sang Chencao found an empty table and sat down. She, too, wore a veiled hat to hide her face, though her indigo-blue robes lacked the ethereal, immortal-like quality of the woman in white.

She tapped the wooden table lightly to draw attention and let out a soft, mocking laugh. “Only the winner earns the right to challenge the Leader of the Hantian Alliance. Tell me, in today’s martial world, who wouldn’t want to test their steel against the world’s number one, Feng Rong?”

Several people glanced toward the woman in indigo who had just entered.

Sang Chencao continued, “In my view, half the people in this room are heading toward Cloud City. The winner is likely right here among us.”

The man who had first mentioned the tournament grew excited. He scanned the inn and suggested, “Why don’t we settle things here at the Yao Yao Inn first? It would save us the embarrassment of losing in front of a massive crowd once we reach Cloud City!”

Lin Yaoyao, the innkeeper, was leaning halfway across the counter. She waved her fan and said with a smile, “Don’t go breaking my inn. I don’t accept a single copper in compensation—unless you’re willing to pay with your life.”

“Of course we wouldn’t damage your fine establishment, Innkeeper! If we’re going to duel, we’ll take it outside,” the man quickly explained.

The inn was crowded with guests, many of whom were ambitious wanderers of the martial world. However, under the watchful eyes of so many peers, few were willing to openly reveal their full ambitions just yet.

Another voice chimed in to stir the pot. “Rumor has it that Feng Rong has a closed-door disciple up on Listening Goose Peak. That person is supposed to be extraordinary. No one knows their name or face; even the high-ranking members of the Hantian Alliance haven’t had the honor of a meeting. It shows just how much Feng Rong treasures them. This Hero Recruitment Meet happens once every nine years, and only two have been held so far. Each one shakes the foundations of the Central Plains. Calculating the time, Feng Rong’s beloved disciple is due to make an appearance. Once they do, they’ll likely become famous overnight. Which of you here is confident you can beat Feng Rong’s successor?”

One of the drinkers shook his head, letting out a drunken sneer. “Who is Feng Rong? Eighteen years ago, she founded the Hantian Alliance and single-handedly challenged the countless cults and villains of the Central Plains. Within six months, she restored peace to the martial world. Her martial prowess is something every soul in the Jianghu has witnessed.”

“True,” another slurred voice added from the crowd. “In the eighteen years since, Feng Rong may not have drawn her sword in public, but her skills have surely only grown. Her successor will undoubtedly possess the same grace she had back then.”

The first drinker nodded. “It was from that moment on that the Hantian Alliance became the world’s number one power. It governs all matters of the martial forest, and no one dares defy it. Everyone respects the Alliance, but they respect Feng Rong more. She is formidable; the Lonely Heart Sword Technique she created is said to be without flaw!”