Wandering Swordsman |

Qian Baiwan and Zhao Wenyuan were terrified when they saw their son faint. They knelt before Shen Mo and kowtowed repeatedly, the sound of their foreheads hitting the ground echoing, "thump, thump, thump," like the drumbeats of despair.

"Your Excellency, Lord Protector of the Nation, spare my life! Spare my life!" Qian Baiwan's voice was already trembling with sobs. "My son is young and ignorant, please spare his life!"

Zhao Wenyuan knelt to one side, kowtowing repeatedly until blood seeped from his forehead. "Lord Duke Protector of the Nation, please have mercy! Please have mercy!"

Shen Mo merely glanced at them indifferently, his gaze devoid of any emotion.

Shen Mo stood with his hands behind his back, his gaze as calm as an autumn pool, yet unfathomable.

He spoke slowly, his voice not loud, but each word struck like a bell, resonating in everyone's heart: "Since you failed to discipline your sons properly and allowed them to run rampant in Jiangzhou, you should have expected this day to come."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the hunched-over, yet furtively peeking crowd on the street. "If you hadn't run into me today, you all would have thought you couldn't afford to offend me—but what if it had been another young swordsman with no martial arts background? If you had used your power to intimidate him, who would have stood up for him?"

Upon hearing this, the entire room fell into a deathly silence.

Immediately afterward, low sobs and suppressed whimpers erupted from the crowd. An old woman wiped away her tears and murmured, "Yes... last month, my little grandson only blocked Young Master Qian's carriage, and he was kicked and broke two of his ribs. He's been bedridden ever since..." The man in plain clothes beside her clenched his fists, his knuckles white, but dared not speak loudly, only echoing in a low voice, "The Sword God is right! In this world, without a backer, you're not even as good as a dog!"

"The Sword God's actions have rid the people of a scourge; this is the true mark of a chivalrous hero!" An old man selling vegetables suddenly shouted, his voice trembling yet resolute.

"Yes! This is more worthy of the title 'Sword God'!" A young man in the crowd echoed, a long-lost light rekindling in his eyes.

Shen Mo did not respond, but the corners of his mouth lifted almost imperceptibly.

He knew that the true world of martial arts wasn't in the imperial court, but in the everyday life of ordinary people.

What he did today was not just punishing the scoundrels, but also throwing an invisible sword at this corrupt order—letting the people know that justice still exists in this world; and letting the powerful understand that there are always higher powers out there.

He stopped looking at the two limp fathers and turned his head, his gaze sharp as lightning, to the bailiff standing dumbfounded to the side: "Bring two basins of cold water."

The constables shuddered, as if waking from a dream.

The leader of the squad was deathly pale, his lips trembling, but he dared not hesitate for a moment.

He waved his hand frantically, his voice trembling, "Quick! Go fetch water!"

A moment later, two constables came running over carrying two large wooden basins. The clear water in the basins rippled, reflecting the hazy sky, and a few withered leaves floated on the surface.

The water was drawn from an ancient well in the city, and its chill was so intense that it sent a shiver down one's spine as soon as one got close.

"Plop." Shen Mo looked at the two people who had fainted on the ground and uttered only one word.

The constables exchanged glances, their eyes filled with fear and hesitation.

They usually acted as henchmen for evil, taking money to do things, but when had they ever personally dealt with their master's son? But now, facing Shen Mo's eyes that seemed to see through their souls, they didn't even dare to have the thought of resisting.

"Splash—!"

Two basins of bone-chilling cold water, like two silver dragons, descended from the sky and poured heavily on Qian Bao and the young master of the Zhao family.

"ah--!!!"

A piercing scream tore through the sky. The two of them sat bolt upright, soaked to the bone, their teeth chattering, their lips turning blue.

When they opened their eyes, the first thing they saw was not their father, but Shen Mo standing in front of them—his figure was as majestic as a mountain, and as lonely as a cold star.

"No...no..." Qianbao cried and crawled backward, clutching her right arm tightly with both hands, as if that would save it.

The young master of the Zhao family urinated in his pants, the stench of urine mingling with the earthy smell of well water, filling the air.

Shen Mo remained silent. He lightly raised his right hand, and the Azure Ox Sword was drawn—silently, yet accompanied by a streak of azure light, like a wisp of cloud descending from the heavens. Even before the sword arrived, its chill had already seeped into his bones.

"Swoosh! Swoosh!"

Two soft sounds, as fast as lightning.

The sword flashed and then disappeared; the Green Ox Sword was already sheathed. Qian Bao and the Zhao family's young master's right arms were severed at the shoulder, blood gushing out like a spring, staining the bluestone slabs red and the astonished faces of the onlookers.

"Ah—!!! My hand! My hand—!" Qian Bao screamed and rolled around, his ten fingers spasming as he tried to grab the severed arm that had flown away, but he only managed to grab a handful of blood.

The young master of the Zhao family fainted on the spot, but was violently awakened by excruciating pain. His eyes rolled back, white foam kept coming out of his mouth, and strange "hoarse" sounds came from his throat, like a dying wild beast.

Fresh blood gushed out, meandering into streams between the cracks in the bluestone, filling the air with a stench.

Qian Baiwan and Zhao Wenyuan rushed forward, frantically tearing off their clothes and pressing them tightly against their son's wound, tears mingling with blood as they slid down his cheeks.

They dared not complain or hate, only feeling a bone-chilling cold rush from the soles of their feet to the top of their heads—thankfully, they only lost a hand, not their lives!

"Take your sons and get out. If you don't behave yourselves in the future, the consequences won't be as simple as losing an arm!" Shen Mo finally spoke, his tone calm as usual, but carrying an undeniable sense of finality.

The two men, as if granted a pardon, scrambled to their feet and helped their sons up.

Qian Baiwan carried Qian Bao on his back, while Zhao Wenyuan dragged the young master of the Zhao family, and they staggered towards the street corner.

Their backs were hunched over like shrimp, no longer bearing any trace of their former gentry's prestige, only the panic and humility of survivors.

The crowd parted automatically to make way; no one stopped them, and no one showed any sympathy. The people watched silently, their eyes filled not with pleasure, but with a sense of relief—as if a huge boulder that had weighed on their hearts for years had finally been shattered by a single sword stroke.

As Zhao Wenyuan and his son Qian Baiwan hurriedly disappeared around the street corner, the hustle and bustle of the street receded like the tide, like withered leaves swept away by the wind; the crowd of onlookers gradually dispersed, and the sounds of discussion and sighs blended into the everyday life of the city as dusk settled.

The two bloodstains on the bluestone slab, still wet from being washed away, gleamed dark red in the afterglow of the setting sun, like a silent inscription on the earth.

A gust of wind rises, whipping up a few withered yellow sycamore leaves, which swirl and sweep across the empty street.

Shen Mo stood with his hands behind his back. He didn't say a word, but turned around and walked steadily toward the street corner—where a ragged little beggar was huddled.

Murong Qing and Situ Meng exchanged a glance, their eyes filled with understanding and tenderness.

They gently lifted their skirts and followed Shen Mo's footsteps with light, firm steps.

The three figures were elongated in the setting sun, cast on the mottled wall, like a flowing silhouette—not a high and mighty deity on a tour, but mortals walking towards each other.

The little beggar trembled at the sound of footsteps and instinctively shrank back even more.

However, the expected scolding or driving away did not occur.

A long, strong hand reached out to him.

That hand had distinct knuckles and thin calluses on the palm, yet it was clean and warm—the hand that had held the Green Ox Sword, repelled the Divine Emperor, and caressed the cheek of a lover.

The little beggar trembled as he raised his head and peered through his fingers.

He saw a young face, yet calm and serene, with a gaze that held both the vastness of mountains and rivers and the gentleness of a spring breeze. Those eyes held no pity, no condescension, only a bottomless understanding, as if they had already seen through all his humility, fear, and resentment.

In that instant, time seemed to flow backward—

The scene when Shen Mo, who was still begging for a living in the small town, met Luo Wangchen was similar: Luo Wangchen slowly approached Shen Mo, gently extended a hand to him, and asked softly, "Young brother, are you alright? Do you need any help?"

From that moment on, the gears of Shen Mo's fate began to turn quietly.

......

Perhaps, the world has never truly been at peace.

But there are always people who are willing to light a lamp in the darkness.

end

April 2026

Clerical script

postscript:

For over four hundred days and nights, I thought about stopping writing and giving up countless times. My writing is immature and I lack experience, but I still gritted my teeth and persevered all the way, just wanting to finish writing down my initial thoughts word by word, to live up to my original intention and leave no regrets.

Now that my two novels, "Blazing Sky" and "Wandering Swordsman," are finished, I can say that I've fulfilled a dream I had ten years ago.

From now on, I will meet you as the musician "Arberto" on Kugou Music, NetEase Cloud Music, and Soda Music.

The content of my next novel will be hidden in my lyrics, waiting for you to listen.

April 2026

---- Clerical script