ABST Chapter 97

Qiu Che carried Lian Shenwei on his back, swiftly moving through the forest. His qinggong displayed to the utmost—only afterimages visible.

 

Over these years, he’d imagined more than once the scene of reuniting with Ximian. But he’d never dreamed it would actually be under such circumstances.

 

Near death.

 

He’d never associated these two words with Ximian before.

 

Moreover, it appeared to be poisoning. He knew Ximian’s temperament and strength—he must have been inadvertently schemed against to become like this.

 

Ximian had just saved the Crown Prince… So was it poison administered by that group of assassins targeting the Crown Prince?

 

Truly ruthless.

 

Whoosh—!

 

A sound suddenly came from behind. A sense of crisis struck. Qiu Che instantly dodged. At the same time, a hand reached for Lian Shenwei on his back.

 

Trying to snatch him?!

 

Qiu Che’s gaze instantly turned cold.

 

He flew up, kicked against a nearby tree, spun once, and landed on the ground, saying coldly, “What vile scoundrel?!”

 

Ming Zhu drew the long whip at her waist. The child whistle tightly gripped in her palm vibrated incessantly. She glanced at her master with weak aura on that strange man’s back. Fury and killing intent pervaded her usually calm eyes.

 

Could it be Master was overpowered and severely injured by this assassin? Where did this damned bastard want to take Master?!

 

Ming Zhu demanded, “Hand him over.”

 

Qiu Che assessed Ming Zhu, quietly growing alert in his heart.

 

Could this person be the assassin who poisoned Ximian? Was the antidote also on her? If such a ruthless person snatched Ximian away, who knew what vicious things she’d do?

 

The two faced each other, both seeing hostility in each other’s eyes.

 

Battle was imminent.

 

During the gap while attacking, Qiu Che untied the gray-white cloth strip from his sword. He wasn’t intending to draw the sword but rather tied the cloth strip around Lian Shenwei’s waist, binding them together to prevent accidentally dropping him on the ground.

 

Lian Shenwei was unconscious, arms hanging down. Without fixed support, they occasionally bumped against tree trunks with Qiu Che’s evasive movements.

 

Soon, bruise marks from impacts appeared on his pale hands.

 

Qiu Che didn’t notice. Concerned about the poison in Lian Shenwei’s body, he didn’t dare attack recklessly. While dodging, he concentrated fully on trying to snatch the antidote from the “assassin’s” hands.

 

Meanwhile, Ming Zhu, constantly watching her master, had an increasingly ugly expression. Her temple twitched.

 

Master’s health was poor. In daily life, they carefully nurtured him. Never mind impacts—even a single cough would have them request Master Feng Ke to examine him.

 

This assassin actually dared treat Master this way!

 

Simply courting death!

 

Ming Zhu didn’t want Lian Shenwei injured further and forced herself to stop. “What will it take for you to let Master go?!”

 

“…” Qiu Che stopped, stunned.

 

Huh?

 

Master?

 

–

 

Three days later.

 

“Still no trace of the Regent Prince?”

 

“Reporting to Your Highness, no.”

 

Ying Jingjue let out a long breath, the crease between his brows deep.

 

A full three days. They’d searched everywhere around—completely searched—without seeing even half a person’s shadow. No person, no corpse either. As if he’d vanished into thin air.

 

Little Zhizi hesitated. “Your Highness, do you think the Regent Prince might have…”

 

“No.”

 

Ying Jingjue said with certainty. “No news actually means he’s most likely fine now. Even if all of us died here, he wouldn’t come to harm.”

 

Someone as calculating as Lian Shenwei—even for the power and status he’d worked so hard to obtain—wouldn’t truly perish in such a place. His personal guards’ whereabouts were also unknown. They should be with him now, just unwilling to let them find him.

 

Having delayed these three days, traveling by water would still take time to reach Jinling. He’d promised Young Master Ximian to go to Fudu Manor on June 2nd to pay respects for him. If they didn’t leave soon, they’d likely miss it.

 

He’d already arranged for trusted subordinates carrying his credentials to take the land route, racing to Jinling and Yunbei with Lian Shenwei’s portrait to search for him.

 

Delaying here further would only waste time.

 

Ying Jingjue made his decision. “Don’t write truthfully in the letter reporting to the capital. Write that the Regent Prince and this Prince are merely acting separately. Leave half the fleet here waiting for news. The other half will go with this Prince to Jinling.”

 

Little Zhizi replied, “This slave understands.”

 

–

 

Jinling had always been prosperous. Here were money pits that made people squander fortunes. Here were wine, lust, wealth, and power—beautiful women who could topple kingdoms and prodigal sons indulging in pleasure quarters.

 

Here were also countless rain-soaked ancient temples, tranquil and quiet—solitary knights walking alone at night, power struggles, righteousness reaching the heavens. Young gentlemen drunk atop white horses—generation after generation’s jianghu dreams.

 

Jiangnan’s fine drizzling rain, dazzling prosperity, and omnipresent jianghu atmosphere composed the unique Jinling City.

 

…

 

Jinling.

 

Drunken Railing Inn.

 

Lian Shenwei slowly opened his eyes.

 

His vision blurred for a moment before gradually clearing. Familiar pain came from his meridians and right hand.

 

Lian Shenwei coughed dully a few times. Immediately after, a suffocating sensation came from his lungs. He leaned against the bedside to recover. Just this simple movement made his meridians spasm. His entire body trembled slightly, beyond his control.

 

“Master!”

 

Ming Zhu pushed the door open with a bang, set the congee in her hands on the table, and with a tense expression, came over in two or three steps to support him properly.

 

Lian Shenwei closed his eyes. His voice hoarse, he said, “…It’s nothing. Close the window. Very cold.”

 

It was already June. Outside, sunlight was warm and gentle. Passersby wore thin clothes. Yet the youth was still covered with a cotton quilt, his body cold as frigid jade.

 

“Yes.”

 

Ming Zhu closed the window, her heart sinking slightly. Master hadn’t been this afraid of cold before. Was it because he hadn’t fully recovered this time?

 

“How is Jingjue’s side?”

 

“His Highness the Crown Prince is safe. He left by water route several days ago. Now, like Master, he’s in Jinling.”

 

Lian Shenwei paused. “Jinling?”

 

Ming Zhu explained everything from beginning to end, including Feng Ke’s pill. Finally, she said, “This subordinate encountered one of your old acquaintances. He found you first. It was also with his assistance that you were properly settled.”

 

Master didn’t want exposure before the Crown Prince. Given the situation then, returning was impossible. Coming to Jinling was the only option.

 

An old acquaintance who would appear in Jinling at this time.

 

Lian Shenwei was silent for a long while. “…What’s his name?”

 

“Why not ask me directly?” A cold, indifferent voice sounded.

 

The black-robed swordsman strode in, his gaze falling directly on the pale youth on the bed whose expression was dazed and listless.

 

“Ximian.”

 

…

 

[“Who else is stronger than you?”

 

The tipsy old Daoist slapped his thigh, glancing at the cold, stern youth whose expression wasn’t very good.

 

“Of course, Ximian! That’s a true martial arts genius. I’m telling you—among peers, as long as you defeat him,” the old Daoist pointed at the sky, “not long after, in the next Winds and Clouds Rankings, you’ll be number one.”

 

The youth Qiu Che gripped his sword tightly. “I will defeat him. Where is he?”

 

The old Daoist casually pointed toward Jinling.

 

So he went, searching for three full months before finding Ximian at Phoenix Terrace.

 

Phoenix Terrace had just released new fine wine called Clear Night Candle. Only the person who won first place in the competition could be the first to taste the wine.

 

When he found Ximian, spring flowers were in full bloom.

 

That person lazily leaned under a tree at Phoenix Terrace, wearing a half-mask, drunk among flowers. The Cangshan Sword famous throughout jianghu was casually set aside. A jade-green bamboo flute hung at his waist.

 

He used sword qi to force the person awake and issued a challenge.

 

Originally, he’d wanted to find a proper day—after this person sobered up—for a proper match.

 

Who knew the half-drunk youth would smile while accepting his challenge, brush off flower petals stuck in his hair, immediately draw his sword, casually lift a flower with the sword tip, and stern sword qi would instantly burst forth.

 

With a few understated moves, Qiu Che was defeated.

 

Ximian said, “Your sword intent is quite interesting. However, too immature.”

 

After speaking, he rubbed his eyes drowsily, finished the remaining few sips of Clear Night Candle, lightly tapped his toes, and left—going who knows where to slack off.

 

The youth Qiu Che stood in place.

 

For the first time, he clearly knew how vast the gap was between the word “genius” and ordinary talent.

 

Clearly around the same fourteen or fifteen years old, yet Ximian treated him like instructing a junior.

 

That was their first match. Ximian hadn’t asked his name—as if he’d defeated just another ordinary passerby.

 

For most of the next half year, he challenged Ximian almost daily.

 

From initially finding it interesting, Ximian grew increasingly annoyed, finally directly hiding at the Feng family.

 

Until the ranking battles of the Winds and Clouds Rankings that year—breaking through under pressure, his sword intent advancing another level, ranking second—when he fought Ximian for a hundred moves without losing, he was finally acknowledged.

 

He knelt on one knee in disheveled state, sword tip pressing the ground, barely able to grip the hilt, trembling severely. He reluctantly tried several times but didn’t even have strength left to stand.]

 

Ximian sheathed his sword and extended his hand toward him, his eyes earnest. “Friend, your name?”

 

The youth Qiu Che caught his breath, shook off the blood on his hand, gripped it through gritted teeth, and said coldly, “Qiu Che.”

 

“I will defeat you.”

 

Ximian was startled, then smiled. “Alright.”

 

Gradually, they became each other’s only opponents among their peers. In their youthful, spirited days, their mutual respect and friendship were forged through combat.

 

Back then, Feng Ke, he, and Ximian traveled the jianghu together—free and unrestrained.

 

Feng Ke was the Feng family heir, Ximian was Fudu Manor’s second young master, while Qiu Che depended on his studious younger brother Qiu Cheng for survival. His background truly couldn’t compare to those two.

 

But no one cared.

 

Qiu Che had never actively inquired about their family backgrounds or visited their homes.

 

To him, friends were friends.

 

It was actually Ximian who proactively brought his younger brother Qiu Cheng, who was studying in Jinling, to stay at Fudu Manor, laughing as he told him that after he left Fudu Manor, his elder sister found things boring—Qiu Cheng staying there helped keep his sister happy.

 

Occasionally, when the mood struck after a fight, Ximian would play a tune or two on his bamboo flute.

 

On the eve of yet another match, Ximian suddenly received a letter. After reading it, his face turned deathly pale. He hastily dropped a line—”I owe you one match”—and left.

 

Afterward came news of Fudu Manor’s massacre.

 

Ximian, hands covered in blood, came before him carrying his younger brother Qiu Cheng’s corpse, eyes rimmed red, gaze utterly empty.

 

“Fudu Manor—two hundred thirty-seven corpses. Your younger brother… took my place.”

 

“Qiu Che, I’m sorry. I owe you.”

 

Fudu Manor gained two hundred thirty-six graves. The world didn’t know Ximian’s connection to Fudu Manor—only that Ximian had madly hunted down half the jianghu, single-handedly forcing Falling Moon Stream into seclusion.

 

During that period, whenever the Cangshan Sword was mentioned, conversations would be tinged with a terrifying cold bloodiness.

 

For the next ten years, Qiu Che never saw him again.]

 

Until now.

 

Qiu Che took out the tightly wrapped Cangshan Sword, unwound the cloth strips, and handed it over, saying slowly, “You said it yourself—a swordsman will never abandon his sword.”

 

“Qiu Che.”

 

The youth leaned against the bedside, smiling weakly. “I’m no longer a swordsman.”

 

The Cangshan Sword’s master had died ten years ago.

 

#

 

T/N: i smell nie liang