ABST Chapter 86

The first to recover was Emperor Jingcheng, who knew Lian Shenwei’s background.

 

Emperor Jingcheng clapped his hands in admiration. The assembled ministers who had been stunned finally came back to their senses. Genuine and false applause mingled together, breaking the inexplicably silent atmosphere that had been suppressed by Lian Shenwei’s sword-drawing aura.

 

“I concede, Young Marquis.”

 

Begonias fell in alarm. Lian Shenwei sheathed his sword and suddenly frowned, coughing lightly a few times.

 

Ming Zhu, who had his discarded clothes draped over her arm, immediately approached upon hearing the cough. The thick cloak was pressed onto the young man’s somewhat slender shoulders, concealing along with it the stunning bearing from moments ago.

 

“Master’s cold just recovered. Don’t catch a chill again.”

 

Ming Zhu admonished.

 

Li Ningfeng’s expression was complex as he raised his hand to touch the side of his neck.

 

If that had been on the battlefield just now, and he’d encountered Lian Shenwei while completely devoid of internal energy, he would now be a corpse.

 

That chill just now was clearly sword qi—the sword qi only possessed by those who had achieved great mastery of the sword dao.

 

But within that sword qi, there was no sword intent.

 

Sword qi without sword intent was more like… an imitation. In other words, that sword strike from Lian Shenwei just now wasn’t his own move—it was him imitating someone else.

 

If mere imitation was already this strong, what level had his actual true strength reached?

 

Could such a person really have no internal energy at all?

 

Li Ningfeng didn’t believe it.

 

Having made his calculations, he smiled and moved forward, speaking as he walked. “I didn’t expect the Regent Prince to also be proficient in martial arts. It’s truly astonishing. You must have had a formidable master in your early years.”

 

“Let me tell you…”

 

Amusement flashed through Lian Shenwei’s eyes as he watched with interest to see what tricks this boy could pull.

 

When he was still one step away, Li Ningfeng suddenly cried out and lunged forward, heading straight for the sword Lian Shenwei held in his left hand.

 

Lian Shenwei’s eyelid twitched, and he quickly stepped to the left.

 

Li Ningfeng narrowed his eyes, pretending to panic. He grabbed Lian Shenwei’s right wrist as if to steady himself and quickly squeezed once. Before Lian Shenwei could speak, he stood up with a whoosh and said embarrassedly, “Ah, ah, the ground is too slippery. These shoes I just had made—I slipped accidentally. Regent Prince, please don’t take offense.”

 

A flash of shock crossed his heart.

 

There truly was no internal energy in Lian Shenwei’s body.

 

His earlier feeling had been correct.

 

Moreover, Li Ningfeng noticed that aside from calluses on Lian Shenwei’s right hand where he held a brush, he had none of the martial calluses that martial artists had.

 

This meant he hadn’t held a sword to practice martial arts for a long time in several years.

 

Since he held a brush with his right hand, Lian Shenwei’s dominant hand should also be his right. But when fighting him just now, at the moment of striking, he’d used his left hand.

 

Unless this person’s right hand had been injured, and without internal energy, couldn’t complete actions requiring wrist strength and inch-force like sword strikes.

 

Then his sudden pull and squeeze just now…

 

These thoughts occurred in the blink of an eye.

 

Li Ningfeng’s expression became slightly more guarded. His gaze fell on the position of Lian Shenwei’s right hand, concealed by the cloak.

 

He couldn’t see anything through the clothing.

 

Lian Shenwei said flatly, “The Young Marquis should be more careful. Otherwise, if you really get injured, when word spreads, outsiders will think the Young Marquis is dissatisfied with this Prince’s handling of Luan Qingan’s matter and harbors resentment.”

 

He handed the sword to a nearby eunuch and nodded to Emperor Jingcheng. “Your Majesty, this minister has not long recovered from illness. It’s cold outside, so I’ll return to my manor first.”

 

Emperor Jingcheng said, “Someone, escort the Regent Prince back. Minister Lian, rest well. Your health is most important.”

 

Lian Shenwei acknowledged with a yes. Ming Zhu and Tian Nan followed behind him as he left the palace.

 

Li Ningfeng watched his departing figure, frowning slightly.

 

Lian Shenwei had only struck once, but he could sense he hadn’t used his full strength. Even without internal energy, such “rudimentary skills” couldn’t possibly be achieved overnight.

 

But if he remembered correctly, when discussing Lian Shenwei with Jingjue the day before yesterday, Jingjue had said this teacher of his had studied literature and calligraphy since childhood—there was no mention of any martial arts training.

 

Some things required further investigation.

 

–

 

The moon hid behind dark clouds.

 

Carrier pigeons fluttered away.

 

Foquan Temple.

 

“After all these years, in the entire Great Sheng Dynasty, the only person I can’t see through is Lian Shenwei.” Mo Da burned incense and offered it before the Buddha statue. “After investigating for so long, you still haven’t uncovered his background?”

 

Mu Xiang said, “His identity and records on file are clean and clear—there’s nothing to investigate. Which official in the Great Sheng Dynasty isn’t thoroughly vetted three generations back before being allowed to serve? Grand Tutor, this can’t be faked. If you truly suspect his identity, the only one who could forge this would be Emperor Jingcheng.”

 

Why would Emperor Jingcheng help a minister forge an identity? What would be his motive?

 

“However, today’s message said that Lian Shenwei defeated Li Ningfeng with just one move.”

 

“One move?” Mo Da slowly opened his eyes. After a long while, he said, “Go investigate again. This time, don’t limit yourself to the court. Look into the jianghu.”

 

“Yes.”

 

Mu Xiang continued, “The contact that Luan Qingan had been communicating with was also discovered by Lian Shenwei. He didn’t kill him—broke one of his legs and let him go. Looks like he wants to play the long game to catch bigger fish. I’ve already dealt with the contact. Grand Tutor can rest assured.”

 

“Mm.” Mo Da sat on the meditation cushion and picked up the wooden fish beside him. “The capital is prosperous, the frontier bitter and cold. The Young Marquis is so young—like his father, he should enjoy himself more.”

 

Mu Xiang asked, “You mean…?”

 

Mo Da didn’t speak aloud but began chanting sutras in a low voice.

 

Mu Xiang said, “I understand.”

 

–

 

Loyal Righteousness Marquis Manor.

 

Li Ningfeng reflected on today’s events, wrote a letter, tied it to a golden-winged eagle’s leg, and tossed it forward. “Go.”

 

Several years ago, after he’d accidentally practiced a nameless but very compatible cultivation method, a mysterious person had found him. They said what he was practicing was their core inheritance and kept telling him to call them Master according to jianghu customs.

 

Li Ningfeng had thought it was a scam, but that mysterious person had sent him letters several times, each word profound advice. From their manner of speech, they appeared to be a reclusive, refined, and carefree jianghu figure.

 

Master never demanded anything from him or required him to fulfill any duties as a successor—only telling him to study the cultivation method well. Over all these years of correspondence, they’d never met face to face.

 

Master was knowledgeable—seemingly no problem could stump him.

 

When Li Ningfeng encountered confusion, he often sought instruction and confided in him. Aside from his father, the person he respected most in his heart was this anonymous master.

 

Now that he’d returned to the capital, the letters he sent out should reach Master faster than when he was at the frontier.

 

Li Ningfeng flipped out the window and picked up a longsword from the weapon rack in the courtyard, brushing his fingers along the blade.

 

Moonlight fell on the sword, as if covering it with frost.

 

He suddenly gripped the sword and swept it forward horizontally.

 

Something was wrong.

 

Li Ningfeng swung several times but couldn’t grasp the essence. Only then did he increasingly understand the profundity of that sword strike Lian Shenwei had made today.

 

Once immersed, before he knew it, it was midnight.

 

Li Ningfeng’s ears twitched. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, sheathed his sword, and turned toward the archway. “Uncle Liu, why are you here?”

 

Uncle Liu was the manor’s steward, even older than his father.

 

“The Marquis knew you wouldn’t sleep so late and told me to bring you some food, in case you get hungry at night.” Uncle Liu smiled and placed a food box on the stone table, opening it to reveal a bowl of congee with minced meat. “I’ll leave it here. Remember to eat.”

 

Li Ningfeng replied, “Alright.”

 

Uncle Liu nodded kindly and left.

 

Children from the Loyal Righteousness Marquis Manor were instilled from childhood with the concept that food was hard to come by. That bowl of congee—the Young Marquis who had fought for three years at the frontier would absolutely not waste it.

 

Li Ningfeng practiced for another half hour. The congee had cooled to lukewarm. When he picked up the bowl, he paused, then pulled out a needle from his clothes, tested it in the congee, and seeing no reaction, drank it clean in a few gulps.

 

–

 

Regent Prince’s Manor.

 

The study’s owner wasn’t working—only a single lamp was lit on the desk, making it somewhat dim.

 

Feng Ke yawned from drowsiness while applying medicine to Lian Shenwei’s right wrist, complaining and nagging. “…Although I have great confidence in my medical skills, after your tendons and meridians were severed back then, and with parasites entering, they were thoroughly ruined.”

 

“My father and I stitched and patched you up—our needlework rivals the embroiderers of Shuzhou. Normal use is fine, but it can’t withstand pulling. Don’t you know how strong Li Ningfeng’s grip is? Couldn’t you have dodged? Does it feel great to be in pain? Does it?”

 

Feng Ke always became irritable before bed—commonly known as sleep tantrums.

 

He scooped out a small amount of ointment and rolled it over his friend’s wrist with a small jade wheel.

 

Lian Shenwei: “…”

 

It didn’t feel great at all.

 

Knowing he was in the wrong, he wisely didn’t add fuel to the fire.

 

Tian Nan entered, holding a small bamboo tube and a small box.

 

“Master, these are from the Loyal Righteousness Marquis Manor. Along with previous items, I brought them all from the manor in the suburbs.”

 

Lian Shenwei opened the bamboo tube. Inside was a letter written densely. A quick glance showed it was much as he’d guessed—discussing today’s martial arts match.

 

[To My Esteemed Master:

 

Today I dueled with someone and was defeated in one move. My opponent had no internal energy, no martial calluses, yet your disciple has three questions… I humbly request Master’s answers.

 

Recently returned to the capital with leisure time, I wonder where Master resides. This disciple wishes to thank Master in person for your teachings.

 

Also, regarding the items I sent Master last time, I wonder if Master liked them.]

 

Lian Shenwei pondered for a moment. He knew exactly where Li Ningfeng’s weaknesses were—today at the welcoming banquet, he’d felt them out clearly.

 

After the ointment on his wrist was absorbed, he reached his hand toward the brush holder—

 

“No!”

 

Lian Shenwei’s hand trembled.

 

Even Tian Nan was startled.

 

Feng Ke’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What are you doing?!”

 

Lian Shenwei paused. “Replying to the letter.”

 

“…Come, come, come. You hold it and write. I’ll watch you write.” Feng Ke personally selected a writing brush, dipped it in the inkstone, and stuffed it into Lian Shenwei’s hand.

 

Lian Shenwei gripped it. The brush hovered in the air in his hand, the tip trembling slightly.

 

He paused, then grasped his right wrist with his left hand to steady it before lowering it toward the paper. Just before the first stroke, Feng Ke snatched the brush away.

 

Feng Ke’s expression was unpleasant as he threw out three words. “Don’t write. You can’t write well.”

 

Lian Shenwei looked at him. “I think I can write well.”

 

The smile hadn’t faded from the young man’s lips. The heating system was still burning in the room. He wore thin blue robes and sat beneath the dim candlelight, emanating a refined, scholarly air.

 

A single catastrophic change, a few years’ time—it could transform one person into someone completely different.

 

Yet the stubbornness remained the same.

 

Nine years ago, when Lian Yubai had awakened, it was also spring, with pear blossoms just beginning to bloom. After learning his right hand was crippled and his internal energy couldn’t be used, he showed no unusual reaction—only that same afternoon, he put on fitted clothing convenient for martial practice.

 

[“Feng Ke, even without internal energy, I think I can still swing a sword with my right hand.”

 

The youth gripped the lightest wooden sword, sweat pouring as he repeated the simplest chopping motions, yet he never once swung without a trembling blade.

 

Feng Ke heard his father sigh. “Don’t try to persuade him. He’ll eventually overcome this hurdle.”

 

He stayed in the corner with his father, watching that figure swinging the sword.

 

Lian Yubai practiced tirelessly.

 

Until the wooden sword slipped from his hand—when he could no longer even grip it—he stood dazed and silent beneath the pear tree.

 

The youth stood there the entire night, pear blossoms covering his shoulders.

 

For a moment, Feng Ke felt that this childhood friend of his, who was so proud in his bones, no longer stood as straight-backed as before.

 

Lian Yubai looked at the wooden sword on the ground. Before dawn, he bent down and picked up the wooden sword from the ground. Still with his right hand, still tirelessly, he began swinging again.

 

Feng Ke looked up. He saw his father’s eyes rimmed with red, closing them unbearably.]

 

Feng Ke came back to himself. Actually, he’d always known his childhood friend’s left-handed swordsmanship was also quite good. It was just that stubborn streak in his bones that propped him up, refusing to admit defeat, propping him up to keep moving forward.

 

He glanced at the writing brush in his hand, planning to return it to Lian Shenwei, saying carefully, “You…” could write fewer words in the reply—that wouldn’t be unacceptable.

 

“Forget it.”

 

Lian Shenwei gave up, smiling as he took the remaining small box and opened it to look.

 

Feng Ke was stunned. “You’re not writing?”

 

Lian Shenwei replied, “Not writing.”

 

He flipped through the things Li Ningfeng had sent him in the small box—mostly precious health supplements. For some reason, this boy thought his master was forty or fifty years old, a middle-aged man. He’d even once inappropriately sent him tiger penis.

 

“Good thing I didn’t reply. Otherwise, with my hand trembling and the characters shaking, he’d think I’m actually a seventy or eighty-year-old who can’t even write steadily.” Lian Shenwei smiled.

 

His voice reached Feng Ke’s ears, floating distantly and somewhat unreal.

 

He looked at Lian Shenwei’s currently smiling eyes, but what came to mind was what he’d buried deep in his memory—that youth beneath the pear tree, gritting his teeth, swinging the wooden sword again and again.

 

Feng Ke suddenly desperately wished that Lian Shenwei would snatch the brush from his hand and put it to paper to write one character, even just one stroke.

 

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