Chapter 10

Luo Jiao keenly felt the wind go still.

The very color of the sky changed too.

If the shattering of the illusion had made everything around them spring back to life, then now, everything seemed frozen in place.

And without a doubt, all these changes came from the woman before her—

The moment Luo Jiao looked toward her, the woman was already walking toward her.

On looks alone, this woman was absolutely the stuff of exiled immortals.

Her hair was unbound, white as frost, white as cold jade—let the wind catch it and it became falling snow. Her bearing was graceful; a casually draped white gauze veil and mourning-white robes sat on her like the immortal vestments of the Nine Provinces, drifting as if she trod upon emptiness, her whole person steeped in a chill of ice and snow.

If Luo Jiao’s composure hadn’t been so sound, she might have stared like a fool.

Please! Luo Jiao thought. The killing intent radiating off that person is no joke!

Sure enough, in the blink of an eye, the woman was upon her, dagger raised, stabbing straight at Luo Jiao!!

Shocked, Luo Jiao flung herself backward on instinct, rolling aside like a snowball.

She barely dodged the blade.

Hearing the shrill wind at her ears and the harsh screech of the dagger biting into stone, Luo Jiao’s heart pounded as she used the momentum to roll outward again.

But she’d barely steadied herself when the wind rose once more at her ears—a blade-wind laced with baleful energy, bearing straight down!

Only then did Luo Jiao draw the Everlasting Sword from her robes and fight back.

A hundred years without holding a sword, and she was visibly rusted; and Xu Liangdi’s body clearly carried no spiritual energy to speak of.

But at the very least, the Everlasting Sword in her hand was a rare immortal-grade treasure of this world—its power would do.

Drawing the sword to defend herself had never been Luo Jiao’s intent. She’d assumed the Everlasting Sword’s name alone was deterrent enough—who knew the person before her had no eye for quality!

Luo Jiao fumed, “This is the Everlasting Sword! The Everlasting Sword!”

The woman’s blade showed no pause.

If anything, its force grew fiercer.

“So?” came the reply.

The woman’s voice was ethereal, falling like the light chime of jade pendants, like the tinkling of spring water.

Judging by her tone, Luo Jiao thought she might have arched a brow—or maybe not. Behind the thin gauze, Luo Jiao couldn’t tell.

She saw only the dagger in the woman’s hand.

Honestly, that dagger… was anything but a fine weapon. Crude, and old—rusted like some woodcutter’s axe from legend, flecked green and red, genuinely unlovely to behold.

Set before a butcher’s stall at the market and examined closely, those cleavers’ blades—their chipped scars would look more refined than this dagger!

—And yet the wielder’s fortune with it could not have been more exquisite.

Fluttering as a startled swan, supple as a swimming dragon, every pass raising a wind that was razor-sharp yet strangely restrained.

A crude, blunt weapon concealing a master’s hidden edge.

Luo Jiao deeply suspected that this woman’s swordsmanship and bladework were both superb.

For wherever those edges pointed—brows and eyes, throat, right wrist, organs—every strike aimed at a fatal gate of Luo Jiao’s body.

Clang, clang, clang—after a few exchanges, Luo Jiao was driven steadily back.

Worse still, whether out of pity or some pursuit of fairness, the woman rarely used spiritual energy against her.

And even so, Luo Jiao was still… utterly wretched.

Luo Jiao lost her temper entirely, words tumbling out: “Hey! What are you doing?! Why are you hitting me?! What’s there to fight about—do we even know each other?!! What did I ever do to you? Huh? Dig up your ancestors’ graves? Kill your father?…”

Perhaps startled by Luo Jiao’s unbroken tirade, the woman faltered for an instant.

But after the lapse came an even fiercer assault.

Luo Jiao gritted her teeth, turned retreat into advance and defense into attack, and with the expression of one marching to her death, swung at the woman!

CLANG—

Luo Jiao’s palm went numb; the hilt burned like a branding iron. With a jolt, she flung the sword forward—

The sword flew from her grip.

Worse—it was caught, steady and sure, by her opponent.

Standing there empty-handed, Luo Jiao felt a wave of desolation.

So humiliating… I haven’t blundered like this since I was fourteen. She felt that “scurrying with her head in her hands” would not be an exaggeration for her current state.

Meanwhile her opponent had floated back a single graceful step, twirled the sword in a dashing flourish, and spoke—half mocking, half teasing. “Thanks.”

Luo Jiao was furious enough to spit smoke.

She asked, “Why are you attacking me?”

Her opponent didn’t answer, only lifted her chin toward Luo Jiao through the white veil of the hat. “You’re the one who broke this array?”

Luo Jiao played dumb: “What array?”

The woman gave what sounded like a cold snort and asked, “What brings you to Mount Sanqing?”

Though a question, the whole register was icy and flat.

Sensing the killing intent had eased, Luo Jiao went “ergh” and answered truthfully, “To watch the sunrise.”

The woman was nonplused: “…Sunrise?”

For some reason, Luo Jiao suddenly felt she quite possibly knew this person—

Not only knew her, but knew her… especially well.

Especially this faintly baffled manner of hers.

Luo Jiao felt certain that a hundred years ago, someone around her… had also loved answering in this slightly dazed tone.

But she couldn’t remember who.

She looked at the woman. “Have we met before?”

The woman looked back, expression mild, saying nothing.

But Luo Jiao distinctly felt the disdain in her eyes.

Luo Jiao suddenly felt like she’d lost her mind.

Because even that flicker of disdain in the woman’s eyes felt terribly familiar!

Someone once looked at me with exactly this expression!!

Yet Luo Jiao racked her brains and could not, for the life of her, think of anyone from a hundred years ago who would have dared look at her—the renowned Sword Master of the Unending Sword—with such contempt… and leave her not the least bit offended.

It was like a faint shadow in her memory—disturbed by the slightest motion, it scattered at once.

And when the faint shadow dispersed, something felt missing in her chest.

Hollow, like the corner of a broken window, letting in a thin, cold draft.

The instant she came back to herself, Luo Jiao’s hand rose without her meaning it to, reaching for the woman’s veiled hat.

THWACK!

Faster than lightning, the woman drove an elbow into her, knocking stars into Luo Jiao’s vision.

Recoiling four or five steps on pure instinct, the soles of her cloth shoes smoking from the friction, Luo Jiao stared blankly at the fallen hat—only to face yet another hand-blade chopping toward her.

She took the hit squarely, again.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” She dropped into a practiced kneeling slide, apology utterly sincere. “I didn’t mean to take off your—I’m sorry!”

The white-robed woman paid her no heed whatsoever, twisting aside and raising the dagger in another vicious strike.

Empty-handed, Luo Jiao dodged while wailing, “I’m sorry! Stop hitting me! I know I was wrong! Stop!…”

Wind shrieked past her ears; her apologies grew more and more absurd against that endless, pressing killing intent.

Dodging, ducking, scurrying every which way, Luo Jiao finally howled at the last gasp: “STOP ALREADY!!”

The shout stopped the woman cold.

Luo Jiao lifted her head—and only then realized: beneath the white gauze of the woman’s hat, she also wore an Eye Veil!

Her coral-and-antler hairpins dripped with silken tassels and pearl blossoms, beneath which hung that strip of pure white gauze, covering the greater part of her face.

But the remaining half of her face was unmistakably a young girl’s.

Luo Jiao saw, truly and clearly, the woman’s pale, thin lips and bloodless cheeks. They were standing so close now that their breaths mingled, the whole world narrowing to this sliver of vision.

And Luo Jiao could feel, beneath all those layers, a pair of eyes—vacant and desolate.

Swooning over beauty wins no battles—pressing the advantage is the only law. Luo Jiao, who one moment had been scurrying with her head in her hands and the next staring dumbstruck, seized her chance—a flash of movement, a counterstrike, a blow to the woman’s wrist that knocked the dagger from her hand.

The woman recovered, gave a cold snort, raised her left hand—and drew the Everlasting Sword toward her across empty air!

The next moment, before Luo Jiao could possibly react—

The Everlasting Sword’s edge pointed straight at her pupil.

A gust of icy sword-wind raked across Luo Jiao’s cheek, raising a burning sting.

Luo Jiao stared, swallowing with difficulty.

In truth, the blade wasn’t all that close to her.

Yet she had the feeling… that this sword might pierce her eyes at any moment and nail her skull into the rock behind her.

Because the person before her carried far too much killing intent.

So dense was the killing intent, so deep the baleful energy, that Luo Jiao fell under an illusion: this killing intent was not aimed at her at all.

This killing intent carried the air of burning jade and stone together, of dragging the whole world down as company in death.

The life and death of all things under heaven meant nothing to its bearer.

Luo Jiao raised her hand slowly, voice trembling. “I’m s-sorry…”

Only to see the white-robed woman abruptly lift the sword.

With a flourish she cast it to the ground, formed a seal with one hand, mounted the blade on sword-light…

And left.

Luo Jiao had no idea how she made it back to Jinguan City.

Beaten half-senseless by the white-robed woman, she drifted through the streets empty-handed, her thoughts muddled.

All she knew was that everywhere she passed, seemingly… everyone was talking about Mount Sanqing’s return to the world.

The street vendors were no exception.

They said Mount Sanqing had been trapped in mist for nearly a full sixty-year cycle—older than many of the people present. Many had lived in Jinguan City half their lives and only today glimpsed its true face.

They also said that today was the twenty-eighth of the third month, not so very far from the day, sixty years ago, when the mist had first closed over the mountain. “Now that Mount Sanqing has seen daylight again, who do we have to thank, I wonder?”

At those words, Luo Jiao’s hand holding her cup jerked violently—she nearly dropped it.

Fortunately she recovered in time, spilling only a little tea.

She looked at her reflection in the cup and smiled silently.

By her old nature, any grand deed Luo Jiao accomplished had to be trumpeted to the four winds a hundred times over. Just now, she had nearly done it on reflex, marching up to claim credit.

She thought of Wu the Tiger-Slayer, striding down the mountain, spotting the tiger pelt hung below, and launching into the tale of his own exploits all over again.

Why had she always loved doing that? To prove she wasn’t useless? To win someone’s favor?

In a daze, Luo Jiao heard that name again.

“Maybe… Ye Qingzhou broke it herself,” someone whispered.

“I heard from the Young Attendant of Auntie Li’s mother’s uncle’s aunt at the village edge—they saw a figure in white robes and white hair, riding a sword away.”

The teacup Luo Jiao had just steadied tilted off-course once more.

So that really had been… Ye Qingzhou?

Luo Jiao couldn’t help asking aloud, “You mean, that person in white with white hair… was Ye Qingzhou?”

The woman at the next table arched a brow at her words, instantly familiar. “You got roughed up by her too?”

Too?

Luo Jiao couldn’t help asking, “Does she beat people often?”

“All the time,” the woman said. “No warning, no discussion—two slashes of sword qi and you’re knocked every which way.”

Luo Jiao smiled bitterly to herself: That aura, that fighting style… Ye Qingzhou, they call you Madman Ye, and honestly, it’s not entirely undeserved.

The woman looked Luo Jiao over a few times. “Well, no missing arms or legs—you count as lucky.”

Luo Jiao laughed awkwardly, not knowing how to answer.

At that very moment, a stream of cursing came crashing into the tea stall with a hiss of boiling water.

The scalded customer shrieked, lifted his head in fury, and was just gearing up to curse when he saw who had spoken—and went silent.

Everyone in the tea stall looked up in astonishment.

Three men, each wearing a sour, beaten face, noses bruised, features swollen—yet Luo Jiao found them vaguely familiar.

Someone nearby couldn’t hold back a snicker. “I know those three! At first light this morning, the night watchman found them hanging naked from their own shopfront… The scene…”

The next instant, that same bowl of scalding tea was flung into the speaker’s face.

Among the three, the thinner one was holding the teapot. He raised his white-rimmed eyes and snarled, “Long-tongued gossip—you tired of living?”

Luo Jiao recognized him at a glance: the two-faced waiter from last night’s crooked teahouse—all smiles on the surface, all shadows beneath!

And the two beside him were last night’s companions too. The marks on their faces… were all Luo Jiao’s handiwork.

Luo Jiao pressed a hand to her forehead: No wonder they looked familiar.

She stared back at the three of them, bold and unbothered.

The instant their eyes met, the three at the stall entrance actually flinched with something like lingering fear. But in the next breath they glanced out the door, found their nerve again, put on their fiercest faces, and shouted at her: “Demoness! Do you know how long we’ve looked for you! Don’t think you can roam free—we’ve summoned a noble patron. Today, today is the day you die!”

Behind him, another grumbled under his breath, “Cursed woman… getting beaten by that mad Ye is one thing, but now any random little girl comes along with the same madness… See if I don’t do you in, you…”

“Hah,” Luo Jiao drawled, openly provocative.

“A noble patron? How noble can it be?”

“Heh. This is a great noble I personally petitioned from the government offices.” As if she’d hit the mark, the three wiped their cheeks and shifted instantly to servility, making a respectful ‘please’ gesture toward the doorway.

Luo Jiao heard the sound of a Wooden Fish.

Moments later, a middle-aged man in a dull yellow Kasaya stepped into the tea stall.

Facing Luo Jiao, he performed a scholar’s bow and struck the Wooden Fish three times.

Donk. Donk. Donk.

Then he stowed the clapper and bowed once more, elegantly. “Benefactor, you have wounded people without cause and humiliated them with trickery. By rights you should have accompanied us to the government office. Yet you fled in the dead of night—another offense.”

Luo Jiao: …

Dull yellow Kasaya, Red Wooden Fish, and above all that bone-chilling Lanjie Salute—this was a Bald Donkey of Lanjie Prefecture!!!

In the battle at Qianli Slope a hundred years ago, these Bald Donkeys had cost Luo Jiao dearly: she’d lost the Unending Sword and nearly half her life.

And now this Bald Donkey had the gall, wearing an official’s credentials, to declare her the party at fault?

Old grudges and new alike, Luo Jiao found it genuinely hard to mind her manner. She sneered, “Wounded without cause? Humiliation? They were the shameless ones first! Abusing their positions to drug my room with incense, claiming they ‘hadn’t seen a woman in too long,’ their minds in the gutter—”

“L-lies, all lies!” The waiter cut her off hastily, then spun toward the monk. “Master! Don’t listen to her nonsense—the knockout powder has nothing to do with us! The three of us live upright lives and do honest work—how could we commit such filthiness! You’ve seen it yourself, Master: this woman has a violent temper and no restraint with her tongue. Last night, it was clearly she who got a whim to do evil—fetched the drug herself, struck first, trussed us up at the roadside, and humiliated us! How else would three grown men fail to overpower one mere girl!”

Listening to the waiter invert black and white and twist every word, Luo Jiao’s blood boiled. She clenched her fist, channeled her energy, snatched a teacup from the table, and hurled it with all her might at the waiter’s head—

Only to see the monk raise the Wooden Fish Clapper and tap lightly toward the cup.

A teacup, half a palm across, shattered into powder in midair.

In the tea stall, the thrill-seekers who’d stayed to watch all sucked in a cold breath.

“Benefactor, do not force us to violence.”

Lowering his hand, the middle-aged monk bowed slightly. “Whatever the truth may be, please… come with us.”

Luo Jiao narrowed her eyes.

Once upon a time, she could have handled a hundred of these Bald Donkeys without breaking a sweat.

But now…

She remembered how the donkey had raised the Wooden Fish Clapper and lightly tapped toward the cup. With eyes as keen as Luo Jiao’s, she knew perfectly well: if that tap had carried just a little more force…

The teacup would have halted, reversed, and come spinning back at her with doubled strength.

And a force like that could punch a hole through anyone’s skull without difficulty.

Luo Jiao might not have been able to block it.

She clicked her tongue.

“As you wish.”