Wandering Swordsman |

In Nanjing, along the Qinhuai River, willows and painted bridges stand amidst rippling water.

As dusk settles, lanterns are lit on the painted boats on the river, the sound of oars mingling with the faint strains of music, creating a scene of gentle prosperity reminiscent of "ten miles of beaded curtains and the bright moon over the twenty-four bridges."

By the window of the riverside building, Shen Mo sat alone like a solitary peak, a cup of tea in his hand that had long since gone cold, a thin layer of cold mist condensing on the surface, yet he had not taken a single sip.

Outside the window, the sounds of daily life fill the air; inside, all is quiet.

His gaze was as calm as an ancient well, unable to reflect the colorful lights of the pleasure boats or the laughter of the singing girls, but fixed on the slightly wrinkled letter on the table—the ink was still fresh, it was a handwritten letter passed down from the Murong family to Murong Qing, detailing the changes that occurred on the day of the clan gathering in Shenjiazhuang, Hangzhou.

When he read the passage, "The three elders, clad in black robes, questioned him, publicly read the patriarch's edict, the guests dispersed, and the Zhu family was disgraced," a slow smile appeared on his lips. The smile was as cold as frost, yet strangely revealed a long-lost lightness, as if the shackles weighing on his heart had finally been gently removed by the hand of fate.

He wasn't gloating; rather, he was relieved that the connection with Shenjiazhuang in Hangzhou had finally been severed.

If the Shen family truly considered him family, why would they need to profit from his name? If they truly cared about blood ties, why would they call his mother a lowly servant? Today's humiliation is not a gift from heaven, but rather self-inflicted.

Just as I was pondering this, I heard light footsteps coming from the stairs, like the wind rustling through bamboo, their rhythm already audible before I even arrived.

"Shen Mo!" A clear, bell-like call broke the silence.

Murong Qing stepped up the stairs, her blue robes fluttering slightly. In her hand, she carried a steaming packet of sweet osmanthus taro soup. The sweet aroma mingled with the perfumed scents from the river, adding a touch of human warmth.

She immediately noticed the uncollected letter on his desk, her steps faltering slightly, a flicker of hesitation crossing her eyes—she feared his anger, his disheartening feelings, and even more so, that it would create a rift between them. But in an instant, she flashed her usual bright smile, feigning ease, and said, "After this incident, things aren't much better in Shen Family Village. If you feel this matter wasn't handled properly…"

She paused, her voice softening, "I can have the Murong family's Hangzhou branch secretly help you out. After all... they are, in name only, your 'family'."

She spoke cautiously, her fingertips unconsciously curling up, the paper package being slightly deformed from her grip.

Shen Mo slowly stood up and turned to look at her.

Dusk slanted in through the window, outlining his slender profile; his brows and eyes were sharp as swords, but no longer covered by frost.

He didn't answer immediately, but just gazed at her quietly—seeing the unconcealed concern in her eyes, the anxiety beneath her forced composure, and the way she thought things through for him.

After a long silence, he finally spoke, his voice low yet clear, like a stone falling into a deep pool: "Qing'er, if the Shen family wants to climb up by stepping on my reputation—then they can't blame the world for trampling on their faces."

Murong Qing remained silent, the sweet taro seedlings in her hand still steaming, yet they felt as heavy as a thousand pounds.

Shen Mo took a step closer, his voice softening: "You've already done more than enough by having the Murong family issue a warning without pursuing any further action. To secretly 'help' them would be tantamount to condoning their wrongdoing. Wrongdoings should be met with consequences. Otherwise, if today the Shen family is profiting in my name, tomorrow the Li and Wang families will follow suit—wouldn't the martial world become a marketplace of fame and fortune?"

"Qing'er, since the Shen Family Manor has done wrong, it should bear the consequences. Only in this way will people's hearts not be disrespectful, and the martial arts world will not collapse."

Murong Qing stared at him blankly, then slowly nodded, a genuine smile finally blooming on her lips: "Shen Mo, you're right... I was too soft-hearted."

Shen Mo smiled too, and this time, his smile finally had warmth.

Outside the window, the lights and oars still shone on the Qinhuai River, but between the two of them, it seemed as if an invisible turbidity had been cleansed away.

The letter lay quietly on the table, the ink dried, like dust settled.

......

Since Shen Mo's name as "Sword God" resounded like thunder throughout the martial arts world, the Martial Alliance has become a sacred place in the hearts of martial artists everywhere.

Every morning at the first light of dawn, crowds throng the entrance to the alliance. A young swordsman stands at the foot of the stone steps, his gaze burning; wandering knights clasp their hands in prayer, looking on with devout expressions; and there are even warriors from the far north and south, weary from their journeys, all hoping to catch a glimpse of the legendary "Sword God" whose sword strikes are said to be astonishing.

The stone steps of the Martial Alliance seem to have been polished to a shine by countless admiring gazes, and even the passing wind carries a sense of awe.

On this afternoon, the sunlight slanted down, casting golden rays that shone brightly on the "Martial Arts Alliance" plaque hanging high above the entrance. The area in front of the gate was still bustling with people, a cacophony of voices filling the air.

Amidst the bustling crowd, two figures slowly approached from the end of the long street—a man and a woman, dressed in ink-black robes, their steps silent, as if they were walking on shadows.

The man, dressed in black with his hair tied up, had a refined and stern face, his brows and eyes as calm as a deep, still pool; the woman, in a flowing blue dress, possessed a graceful figure, her gaze as cold as fallen stars. They were Hua Tianyou and Yue Linglong.

The two men carried no weapons or formal invitations, yet they possessed an aura of profound composure that subtly diminished the surrounding noise.

Upon seeing this, the guards, though sensing something extraordinary, still stepped forward as usual, clasped their hands in greeting, and said, "Please stop here. This is a sacred ground of the Martial Alliance; entry is prohibited without permission. If you have any requests, please leave your names, and we will pass them on."

Hua Tianyou nodded slightly, his tone calm yet authoritative: "Please inform 'Sword God' Shen Mo—tell him that Hua Tianyou and Yue Linglong request an audience."

"Hua Tianyou? Yue Linglong?" The guard was taken aback, his brows furrowing slightly. He had never heard of these two names in the martial arts world's register, and the surnames "Hua" and "Yue" were neither famous nor prestigious families in the Central Plains, nor did they have any illustrious battle records.

He sized them up, noticing that although their clothes were simple, they were of exceptional quality. Though he had some doubts, he still followed the rules and pointed to the long, winding queue to the side: "If you two wish to see the Sword God, you must go over there and get a number to queue. Today's quota is full; please come back tomorrow."

Hua Tianyou turned his gaze to the procession—starting from the alliance gate, it wound its way along the street, past teahouses and restaurants, and still seemed endless at the street corner. A rough estimate suggested there were at least five or six hundred people.

His eyebrows twitched slightly, but his tone remained calm: "Why do we have to queue?"

The guard explained with a hint of pride, "Ever since the Sword God defeated the evil cultivators and retrieved the Martial God's treasure, heroes from all over the world have come to admire him. Now that the Sword God's wedding is approaching, the Martial Alliance is making preparations day and night, and the affairs are very complicated, so only fifty people can be admitted each day. Everyone else must wait in order."

"Fifty people..." Yue Linglong finally spoke, her voice as cold as shattered jade striking ice. Her gaze swept over the long line, her lips pursed almost imperceptibly, but her heart was filled with a chilling surge.

—Queuing? Her fingertips trembled slightly, and she almost let out a cold laugh.

She was the granddaughter of the Moon Demon Lord, and wherever the Heavenly Demon God Sect went, others would give way. The word "queue" had never even crossed her path.

If it weren't for his promise to the Moon Demon Lord: "Upon entering the Central Plains, I will conceal my demonic energy and never reveal my identity, lest I cause trouble for my lord."

With a single thought, she could defeat the guards and charge straight in; with a single step, she could shatter the high walls of this so-called "Martial Arts Alliance"!

But now, she has to wait under the scorching sun for more than ten days with a group of wandering martial arts enthusiasts who have come because of her reputation.

"Doesn't that mean we'll have to wait more than ten days before it's our turn?" she finally said calmly, her tone laced with a barely perceptible hint of sarcasm.

The guard was taken aback, then frowned: "That's the rule, everyone is equal. Even the collateral descendants of the eight great families have to wait in line."

Upon hearing this, Hua Tianyou remained calm, only smiling slightly and saying in a low voice, "Linglong, I'll do it."