Chapter 404: Waving and Bowing

In-forum search

Search tags

Total 1 page

Reply posts: 1

While checking for updates, don't forget to click 'Sign In' at the top right.

"The Chronicle of [Title]" by Feng Huo Xi Zhu Hou

PC Reading Address:

Address:

Red tickets are free. After registering a Zongheng account and reaching a certain number of points, you will receive red tickets.

Each account can bookmark "[Title]".

Chapter Serialization Master Post:

Before the main text is posted, no inserting replies. Please wait patiently.

Xueba Admin Log Link:

Anyone who inserts a reply before the update is complete will be sent to the "little black room" for one day.

He Xinliang

Wu Liuding carried a scoundrel, Wen Hua, who was half-dead yet still mumbling for Cuihua to carry him. While resentful, Wu Liuding also felt a sense of relief; his glib tongue showed that his spirit hadn't died. To cultivate the Heavenly Dao with a sword, a clear sword-heart is most precious. The body, a mere vessel, is secondary. If the sword-heart is stained with impurities, one is destined never to reach the realm of mastery. Wu Liuding glided across the snow, with Cuihua leading the way, carrying the Plain King Sword.

The night curfew in the capital was stricter than ordinary people could imagine. However, the patrolling armored guards and elite spies throughout this vast capital region had long received explicit orders from above: they were to turn a blind eye to the trio's movements. As long as they committed no murder or robbery, they were to be ignored. Thus, the Sword Crown and sword attendants, despite violating the night travel rules, proceeded unimpeded.

Upon reaching a courtyard, Wu Liuding didn't knock, thinking to simply climb over the wall. However, the heavy snow in the courtyard suddenly slanted like a myriad of swords. Cuihua, who was patiently opening the gate, completely ignored him. Wu Liuding was forced back into the alley, shrinking his neck, and could only follow behind Cuihua, entering the elegant courtyard through the gate. Finding no one inside, Wu Liuding hurriedly called out, "Old Ancestor, Old Ancestor, we need to leave the city urgently! You have great influence; could you show us the way?"

Inside the house, there was only a faint lamp, and silence reigned. Wu Liuding, with a bitter expression, looked at Cuihua, who calmly said, "We hope the Tomb Lord will act."

An unremarkable voice came from within, "How much of those two swords have you learned?"

Cuihua opened her eyes and slowly replied, "Ninety percent in form, sixty percent in spirit."

A soft "hmm" came from inside the room. A slender old man, his back hunched, slowly walked out, extending an index finger with the small cluster of lamplight he had taken from within. Without even glancing at Wu Liuding, he frowned and asked, "What's wrong?"

Just as Wu Liuding was about to speak, the old man flicked his finger, and the small cluster of lamplight suddenly shot forward. Cuihua remained unfazed, and Wu Liuding closed his eyes, expecting death. The lamplight then gracefully swirled back to the old man's fingertip. Like a moldy, withered tree, a lifeless old man "carrying a lamp" walked out of the courtyard and entered a carriage. The coachman was an even more ancient and wizened old fellow than the old man himself; people would believe it if you said he was 120 years old. In fact, this man, at forty, believing his swordsmanship had reached a bottleneck, went to the Wu Family Sword Tomb to acquire a sword. As a result, he became a "withered swordsman" confined to the Wu family, and at sixty, he became the sword attendant to the old man in the carriage. By now, his age could rival that of Song Zhiming, the great alchemist of Mount Wudang.

Wu Liuding, carrying Wen Hua, sat inside the carriage. Cuihua continued to lead the way, running ahead. The carriage drove towards the central imperial road. The old man gently flicked his finger, and the lamplight left the carriage, remaining just before Cuihua. The foot-thick layer of snow on the road instantly melted away.

The old man sat motionless and quietly asked, "Is this Wen Hua?"

Wu Liuding, a straightforward person who couldn't keep a secret, spoke like pouring beans from a bamboo tube: "This kid is stubborn. Huang Longshi, that thousand-year-old scoundrel, taught him swordsmanship so he would kill Xu Fengnian, the brother of the Northern Liang Heir. But he refused! Not only did he leave the 'Tyrant Splendor' sword he won from Lu Baijie for that scoundrel Huang, but he even broke the wooden sword he cherished more than his life. Losing an arm and a leg is one thing—after all, with Li Chungang as an example, he might still be able to make a comeback. But this kid threw away his wooden sword and destroyed his vital points, like a burst dam, leaving nothing behind! How can he practice swordsmanship in the future? He said he'd borrow ten taels and return twelve or thirteen. You've lost everything! It's more than twenty taels! Wen Busheng, have you been kicked in the head by a donkey?"

Wen Hua leaned against the carriage wall, reeking of blood, clenching his teeth without a sound.

The old man calmly said, "If he hadn't done that, do you think Huang Longshi would have let him live? When has that madman Huang Longshi ever shown sentimentality to anyone? No one can understand the principles he holds. Since he was Huang Longshi's chess piece, to leave the board alive, he had to be as good as dead."

Wu Liuding snorted.

The old man kept his eyes closed, his tone still gentle. "Liuding, if it were you, like him, would you be unable to practice swordsmanship? Very well, if that's what you believe, I will break one of your hands and one arm, cripple your cultivation, and throw you onto Sword Mountain. We can talk about it again when you feel you can practice swordsmanship."

Wu Liuding didn't think for a moment that the Old Ancestor was joking, and quickly offered an ingratiating smile: "Old Ancestor, please don't be angry. I just felt it wasn't worth it for Wen Busheng. He can practice swordsmanship, a thousand times over, he can practice swordsmanship!"

The old man opened his eyes, looked at the blood-soaked young wanderer, and asked, "Each person's matter is their own. You are now empty, which means good fortune should follow adversity. Have you considered returning to the Sword Tomb with me?"

Wen Hua covered his severed arm with one hand, his face as pale as the snow outside the carriage. He shook his head, his eyes remarkably clear, and said, "I know you are the incredible Old Ancestor of the Wu Family Sword Tomb, but I said I wouldn't practice swordsmanship anymore, and I won't touch a sword for the rest of my life."

The old man smiled faintly, made no further effort to persuade him, and closed his eyes. The floating speck of lamplight in the street was a sword, the countless snowflakes outside the carriage were swords, even this capital city could be a sword, and he himself was a sword. Swords come and go; how could it be clearly explained by simply having or not having a sword in hand?

Wu Liuding's eyes widened in shock. The Old Ancestor was actually smiling?!

Before the carriage arrived, the city gates slowly opened, showing that the Wu Family Sword Tomb wasn't entirely as detached from worldly affairs as rumored in the Jianghu. The coachman dismounted and handed the reins to Cuihua, who was also a sword attendant. Before dismounting, the Wu family head made a gesture with two fingers, extinguishing the lamplight outside the carriage, and said, "Wen Hua, I have noted this name. Whenever you remember that you lack a sword, you might as well come to the Sword Tomb to take a look. For eight hundred years, swords have been hidden, collected, and seized there, and Sword Mountain is piled high with hundreds of thousands of swords. If, by then, you still don't find the one you desire, it won't be too late to descend the mountain and leave the tomb."

Wen Hua, still stubborn, shook his head miserably.

Wu Liuding wished he could slap the tactless Wen Busheng to the ground and bury him in the snow.

The old man of the Wu family, known as the "Plain King" of swordsmanship, stood on the street with his sword attendant, watching the carriage depart from the city and disappear into the distance. Behind them, the heavy snow quickly covered the seemingly endless imperial road.

The old man murmured to himself, "Outsiders mistakenly believe that the Wu Family's 'Withered Sword' is a 'Heartless Sword.' They are gravely mistaken. Liuding, this time, should understand this principle. The Heavenly Dao's 'ruthlessness' has never referred to the cold-heartedness of the world; it refers to fairness. If a person is truly heartless, let alone wielding a sword, they don't even deserve to be human."

The sword attendant beside the Plain King remained unmoving.

The old man looked back and said, "I don't know why, but from here to the Imperial Palace, there are eighteen gates in total, and I always feel that a junior might one day pass through all of them with a single sword stroke."

The carriage drove half a li out of the capital when Wen Busheng suddenly said from inside the carriage, "Let me look once more."

Cuihua stopped the carriage, pulled aside the curtain, and Wu Liuding helped the fellow look towards the capital.

Wu Liuding softly asked, "Regretting it? It's not too late. In his lifetime, my Old Ancestor has found only a handful of swordsmen worthy of his attention. If you want to go to the Sword Tomb, I'll take you."

Wen Hua sat upright, looking straight at the capital. "There's something I've wanted to tell you two for a long time. Before, I was narrow-minded, fearing that if you listened to me, your swordsmanship would advance rapidly, so I held back. Now that I'm not practicing swordsmanship anymore, I'll say a couple of extra things. I'm not sure if they make sense, and whether you listen is up to you. Six Jars, you practice the Overbearing Sword. But now that I know Xu Fengnian is truly the son of Xu Xiao, the Human Butcher, I believe even more that so-called 'overbearing' cannot truly be heartless and unjust. Because I believe that the Northern Liang King, who pacified the Spring and Autumn, must be a decent old man to raise a son like Xiaonian. Also, Cuihua, the Northern Liang Princess's 'World-Exiting Sword' transforms into a 'World-Entering Sword'; you can learn from that. How to reverse it, I can't explain; you'll have to figure it out yourself. Anyway, you're nothing but smart. What do I really know about swordsmanship? I've just been idly pondering and blabbering."

Wu Liuding cursed, "Are you giving me your last words, kid? I don't want to hear it!"

Wen Hua shook his head and said, "Why should I die? I still need to find a wife and have children. My brother is useless; he's had a bunch of daughters, so I have to rely on myself to carry on the family line. I'm going back to my hometown to open a small restaurant. Scallion noodles are my specialty. Unfortunately, sauerkraut noodles, I guess nobody back home would like them; they're so sour they'd make your teeth ache—only you, Six Jars, would enjoy them. Cuihua, honestly, Six Jars isn't bad. Don't look down on him just because his skills aren't as good as yours. Men who aren't 'successful' are more dependable. Also, don't come looking for me in the future; I'd be ashamed and couldn't face you. Once my injuries are mostly healed, just drop me off anywhere, and we'll go our separate ways. Oh, and Six Jars, I can't repay the money I owe you in the capital, but no matter how you two see it, I consider you half a brother. I won't be polite about it; just consider it the wedding red packets you'll owe me when I get married."

Wu Liuding spat, but his eyes were a little sore.

Wen Hua extended his sole arm, rubbed his face, and realized it was covered in tears. He grinned, and with all his might, shouted towards the capital, "Xiaonian, we part ways here, brother! Knowing you, I've lived this life without regret! If you, you damn kid, dare to be a nobody in the future, without the ambition to be the best in the world—count my share with yours—then I won't acknowledge you as my brother!"

Wen Hua chuckled with difficulty, "I'm just saying that; how could I really not consider you my brother?"

Wen Hua waved his hand, "Xiaonian, farewell."

Wen Hua, a nameless wanderer who had been through the dirt and mire, journeyed through the martial world shoulder-to-shoulder with Xiaonian when the latter was in distress. He had been called "Young Master," ridden both a poor horse and a mule, and mastered two swords. In his final breath of the Jianghu spirit, he had never wronged a brother. His life had been worth it!

Wen Hua felt a little tired. He closed his eyes, his lips curving slightly upwards. Because before he fell asleep, he remembered that year, the off-key tune they used to hum together.

"Steamed buns so white, yet not as white as a maiden's bosom.Lotus tips so pointed, yet not as pointed as a young woman's backside."

Wen Hua did not know that in the capital, a lone figure, like one possessed, was sprinting wildly along the central imperial road, their hair completely white. He soared onto the city wall.

"Wen Hua, damn your ancestors for eighteen generations! Who the hell gave you permission not to practice swordsmanship?!"

A sword was violently thrown by him out of the capital.

"If you don't want it, then fine! I'll pretend I never had this sword!"

The white-haired man threw away that Spring and Autumn sword. He lowered his head, his vision blurred by tears, his lips trembling. He choked softly, weeping uncontrollably.

"Whoever permitted you not to practice swordsmanship, I forbid it. We promised to make sure no one would ever dare to look down on us brothers, didn't we?"

"Are you an idiot? We were so skilled at conning people out of money together before, why couldn't you pretend to kill me? So what if Xu Fengnian stabbed you, Wen Hua, with a sword? That year, when did I not play the villain to help you trick those young women?"

"You're allowed to be my brother, but I'm not allowed to be yours? Is that how you treat a brother?"

Xu Fengnian's voice was hoarse with tears. He cried and cried, bending over with sorrow.