The deliberately disguised voice sounded to Ying Jingjue’s ears like damaged vocal cords.
He coughed dully a few times. His vision cleared somewhat as he carefully looked at that white-robed person’s back—
Appearance of twenty-seven or twenty-eight, yet very thin—a kind of pale, sickly frailty.
This person was even thinner than Teacher.
“You are…”
The Umbrella-Blade Ghost siblings were shocked and uncertain.
That sword-wielding white-robed person wearing a black veil—really resembled a certain shadow in their memories.
Just as they were thinking this, they heard that person speak another sentence.
“Umbrella-Blade Ghosts, it’s been ten years, hasn’t it?”
The white-robed person lightly turned the sword hilt. The black veil blown by damp rain and mist lifted, letting the Umbrella-Blade Ghost siblings see that sword clearly.
In shock, Umbrella Ghost lost her voice. “You are—”
“Ximian?!”
Once this name was spoken, the atmosphere suddenly stilled. All the Falling Moon Stream assassins’ hearts suddenly rose, their gazes toward Lian Shenwei wary to the extreme.
In Falling Moon Stream, no one didn’t know Ximian’s reputation.
Anyone from the older generation who’d mixed in the jianghu knew that Falling Moon Stream suddenly went into hiding when at its peak ten years ago precisely because Ximian had suddenly gone mad. In just a few short months, single-handedly, he’d killed his way into Falling Moon Stream’s headquarters.
One person, one sword—he’d nearly slaughtered the top hundred assassins on the rankings, including the old pavilion master, forcing Falling Moon Stream to withdraw.
Those who escaped were also relentlessly hunted by him.
Like an out-of-control mad dog.
During that time, though Falling Moon Stream’s massacre of Fudu Manor had aroused jianghu fury, the one who ruthlessly pursued Falling Moon Stream to extinction was only Ximian alone.
It was precisely because Ximian, at a young age, had killed their old pavilion master who was challenging Tianshu Realm—even though Ximian hadn’t appeared for ten years since, no one dared easily change his position as number one on the Winds and Clouds Rankings.
Many people thought Ximian had already died.
Umbrella-Blade Ghosts never dreamed that their siblings, having luckily avoided being hunted and hidden for so many years, would encounter Ximian on the first major contract they took?!
What rotten luck!
This ancestor was famously at odds with Falling Moon Stream.
But the person they were to kill this time… was the Great Sheng Dynasty’s Crown Prince. If this person didn’t die, there would definitely be considerable trouble afterward.
Truly thorny.
Blade Ghost’s tone was cautious. “Compared to ten years ago, Falling Moon Stream’s people have completely changed. Even if there were grievances, they can be set aside. Lord Ximian, please don’t meddle in others’ affairs and break jianghu rules.”
“Since you two know my reputation, you should have also heard—Ximian by nature dislikes constraints, is unruly and willful, and most detests others preaching those one or two rules at me.”
Aside from the Lian family’s household rules, he’d never seriously observed any chaotic regulations.
Lian Shenwei didn’t care what they thought. He helped Ying Jingjue up. The sticky fresh blood at his touch made him frown, killing intent flashing through his heart once more.
After a moment, he suppressed it.
Unless absolutely necessary, he didn’t want to act, much less draw his sword.
Now, having only used qinggong for a period, his meridians already began to faintly feel alternating heat and cold—precisely the precursor of medicine and poison imbalance in his blood.
And Feng Ke wasn’t by his side… He hoped Ximian’s reputation could frighten them away.
Lian Shenwei sighed lightly in his heart, never having imagined he’d one day be reduced to something akin to a fox exploiting a tiger’s might.
“I’m taking this person. You all stop here.” Supporting Ying Jingjue, he turned and walked forward, appearing relaxed but actually remaining vigilant of the Falling Moon Stream people on the other side at all times.
The imperial shadow guards, seeing this, retreated if heavily wounded, concealing themselves in the mountain forest. Those lightly wounded stepped back a few paces, barely managed to cross the middle gap, and followed, protecting behind the young Crown Prince.
Being close, Ying Jingjue—though the hand supporting him was clearly pale and cold—felt a strange sense of security surge in his heart, along with an indescribable trace of dependence.
Ximian—he’d once heard Li Ningfeng mention him.
Li Ningfeng’s admiring tone had left him with the impression that Ximian was very formidable.
It seemed truly so. Just one appearance had shocked those assassins into not daring to act rashly.
Ying Jingjue coughed lowly a few times. When lowering his eyes, he paused slightly. The blood on his body very easily dirtied Ximian’s clothes. He instinctively struggled. “I…”
The young man silently gripped his wrist tightly.
“…”
Ying Jingjue’s pupils contracted.
He’d detected Ximian’s wariness.
Ying Jingjue’s heartbeat nervously accelerated again. If he truly had the ability to disregard the opposing assassins, why would his emotions be so tense?
Countless speculations arose in his mind. Could it be this person wasn’t Ximian but someone disguised as Ximian’s identity to save him? Or perhaps… Ximian was unwell and couldn’t fight those assassins?
The young Crown Prince’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he suppressed the shock in his heart and lowered his head to walk forward.
One step.
Two steps.
The cool, thin rain ends were like a mass of dim fog, densely packed in the air, bringing coldness and suffocation.
These two or three seconds were especially difficult to endure.
Blade Ghost squinted, suspicion gradually rising in his eyes. He immediately spoke up. “Wait.”
Lian Shenwei stopped, his right hand gripping the sword slowly tightening.
Blade Ghost’s gaze lingered on his sword-holding hand for a moment, his suspicion growing heavier.
Any ordinary swordsman would hold the scabbard in their left hand to facilitate drawing the sword with the right hand. Yet this Young Master Ximian held the scabbard in his right hand, indicating he used a left-handed sword.
—As far as he knew, what Young Master Ximian habitually used was not a left-handed sword.
While gesturing to Umbrella Ghost, he asked with concern, “Young Master Ximian seems much thinner than ten years ago. Your voice is also no longer as clear as before. Is your health poor, or are you ill?”
“…”
Lian Shenwei was silent.
The voice was naturally disguised.
He’d removed the thickening fabric wrapped around his waist when changing clothes. Originally meant to disguise his figure so Ying Jingjue wouldn’t recognize him, it had now become the reason for Umbrella-Blade Ghosts’ suspicion… Compared to ten years ago, had he really become so obviously thin?
Ying Jingjue lowered his voice extremely low. “…Thank you for your assistance. You really needn’t get involved in this murky water.”
The white-robed person’s hand holding him remained steady, his tone calm. “Umbrella-Blade Ghosts, you talk too much.”
“People who talk too much generally die early.”
Umbrella Ghost sneered coldly. “What you say is correct, but—those who impersonate Ximian and bluff their way through die even earlier!”
Umbrella Ghost threw her umbrella forward. The umbrella opened wide, instantly releasing ten sharp iron chains.
At the same time, Falling Moon Stream assassins stepped onto the iron chains, using them as leverage across the gap, charging toward the white-robed youth and the Great Sheng Dynasty’s heir apparent.
Blade Ghost led the charge, not concealing his brutal killing intent at all, laughing sinisterly.
“Not even pretending properly! Ximian’s habitual hand is the right hand. Didn’t you imposter even inquire about this?!”
This is bad!
Cold sweat broke out at Ying Jingjue’s temples. A chill that made his hair stand on end rose up his back. Not caring about anything else anymore, he grabbed Lian Shenwei and fled forward.
Lian Shenwei was startled by his pull, then looked at him strangely.
Could this boy really think he was an imposter?
Ying Jingjue couldn’t see his little maternal uncle’s gaze looking at an idiot. The sense of crisis at his back grew heavier and heavier, so he bit his teeth and released this jianghu figure ‘impersonating’ Young Master Ximian.
No matter what, he couldn’t implicate this person who wanted to save him.
Ying Jingjue pushed him away and shouted, “Sir, leave quickly!”
He pushed Lian Shenwei away. He himself suddenly lost strength and fell to the ground. In his panic, the youth hastily looked back. His constricted pupils reflected the blade light and hidden weapons rapidly closing in, along with Umbrella-Blade Ghosts’ eerily excited laughter.
The shadow guard cried, “Your Highness the Crown Prince!”
He couldn’t dodge.
Ying Jingjue gripped the scattered stones on the ground and instinctively closed his eyes.
“One Sword Through Cangshan.”
Someone said softly.
Clouds and snow cross Cangshan, its thousand-ren precipice hewn as if carved.
It was the sound of a sword being unsheathed.
Incomparably powerful internal energy instantly swept through the entire broken valley. The falling speed of the ethereal rain and mist became extremely slow at a certain instant, then was shattered into even finer water droplets.
Sword intent wave after wave—mountain forests bowed low.
…
That aura containing sword intent was blown away by the wind.
A figure leading a horse and walking slowly through a bamboo forest abruptly stopped.
Qiu Che suddenly gripped his sword.
Verdant bamboo leaves dampened by rain fell on his shoulder.
The next second, he mounted his horse without hesitation. The horse’s hooves splashed rainwater from the ground as he rushed at full speed in the direction the sword qi had swept from.
It was that guy’s sword qi, and moreover—
Not far from him!
…
The Cangshan Sword, sealed for ten years, once again caught the scent of blood.
The veiled youth swung one sword strike. The aura about him changed in the blink of an eye. His slender hand steadily gripped the sword hilt. Magnificent sword qi carved sword marks on the surrounding cliff walls.
“You really are Ximian?!” Blade Ghost cried out in alarm. “How could Ximian use a left-handed sword?!!”
Faces could change, physiques could change, but a swordsman’s sword intent was something carved into their bones—it would never change.
The youth smiled. “Cangshan has not drunk blood in a long time. Since you’ve made it leave its sheath, we cannot shortchange it either.”
The anger and killing intent he’d been suppressing in his heart since seeing Ying Jingjue injured—he now released it all. Originally planning to leave directly, since they’d made him stay, he needn’t endure anymore.
Falling Moon Stream assassins—no matter how thoroughly they died, it wouldn’t be excessive.
Umbrella Ghost bit her teeth. “Leave!”
—Of course they didn’t succeed in leaving.
Sword radiance cut off their paths completely. So many Falling Moon Stream assassins who’d come were actually blocked by Ximian alone. They couldn’t even escape.
Ying Jingjue recovered for quite a while, looking at that sword-wielding figure, murmuring, “So powerful…”
He inexplicably recalled when at the welcoming banquet before, Lian Shenwei had once swung that sword.
A hall full of flowers intoxicates three thousand guests.
Teacher’s sword—sword qi sharp and severe, bearing extraordinary—worthy of the word “stunning.”
Yet it didn’t match when Ximian held the Cangshan Sword. Between every move and stance, he fully displayed the spirit of chivalry and unrestrained freedom. This person—even the sword intent he revealed was unbridled and carefree.
Light gradually brightened in Ying Jingjue’s eyes. He personally experienced why, every time Li Ningfeng spoke of this Young Master Ximian ranked first on the Jianghu Winds and Clouds Rankings, his eyes would shine.
He was helped up by the shadow guard.
In less than two quarters of an hour, only Umbrella-Blade Ghosts remained of the Falling Moon Stream assassins. When the siblings finally died, their eyes were wide open.
Their severed heads rolled into stone crevices. Blood covered the ground.
The Cangshan Sword’s blade was snow-bright, not a drop of blood staining it. Even the faint bloody scent was washed away by the rain.
Lian Shenwei sheathed the sword in silence.
Having not touched it for so long, he’d grown rusty.
An itch rose in his throat. He coughed lightly against his lips, coughing up a mouthful of blood without warning. The dark red color stained his pale fingers, particularly shocking.
Lian Shenwei paused, then nonchalantly put his hand behind his back.
“Lord Ximian.”
Ying Jingjue approached and bowed deeply. “Thank you for saving my life. Jingjue has no way to repay you.”
“Let’s leave here first.”
Ying Jingjue replied, “Alright.”
They quickly passed through this broken valley. The road ahead widened. A few thousand meters further was the river where the ships were docked.
By this time, Ming Zhu should have lured away the assassins. The imperial ship should be fine now. Most of the imperial shadow guards weren’t incompetent either.
Ying Jingjue also visibly relaxed. “I’ve long heard of your great reputation. Why did you help me?”
“You looked agreeable.”
Ying Jingjue: “…”
Ying Jingjue couldn’t help but laugh. “Jianghu people truly are unrestrained. To be honest, I felt a sense of familiarity when I first saw you. You hadn’t appeared for ten years, yet you came to my aid upon emerging—we must be fated.”
Being young after all, he couldn’t help but curiously ask, “Where have you been these ten years? Practicing martial arts?” Training continuously—that’s why he was so formidable.
The young swordsman seemed to laugh silently and said, “Just an idle person wandering the jianghu with a few close friends, drinking wine in bamboo forests. Acting freely on grudges—saving those I find agreeable, adding insult to injury for those I don’t. Can’t be called a good person, but not really a bad person either.”
Ying Jingjue said, “That sounds quite nice.”
The young swordsman replied, “All I seek in this life.”
He stopped and looked at Ying Jingjue. “I don’t care how noble your status is. If you truly want to thank me, go to Jinling for me and do one thing.”
Ying Jingjue immediately nodded seriously. “Please speak.”
The white robes the swordsman wore when he arrived were stained red with blood—impossible to wash clean. The rapidly deepening stabbing pain in his meridians and the fishy sweetness continuously surging in his throat silently reminded him of this body’s current condition.
He was quiet for a moment. His left hand, hanging at his side, lifted and fell on the young Crown Prince’s shoulder.
Like an elder, he patted twice gently.
“Go to Fudu Manor in Jinling for me. For the old manor master, the old lady, and the young manor master—on the day of June 2nd, burn some paper money for them and offer incense.”
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Sam Williams On TYMIMA Chapter 152