By the time Wei Zhuang limped back to Zi Lan Xuan, shock rippled through the room—he was wounded.
"Brother Wei Zhuang, injured? Who did this?" Han Fei leaned in, prodding curiously—only to recoil under Wei Zhuang's frosty glare.
"He might be my martial uncle," Wei Zhuang said, voice like cracking ice.
He drained a cup of wine, slumping against the window. Identical strikes, the very Heng Through Eight Directions—yet something off-kilter throughout. Worse: it felt like a lecture, a deliberate schooling. Every move mirrored, yet half a beat slower... and still swifter. Pressed from start to finish, schooled like a novice.
"The previous generation's Zongheng pair? But Guiguzi decreed only one survives per era, to claim the mantle anew." Han Fei blinked in astonishment.
"What if one can't best the other... but the other can't kill him either?" Wei Zhuang replied, chill deepening.
"So the last era's other half didn't perish—he fled. Guiguzi couldn't finish him." Han Fei mulled it over—plausible. This generation: Wei Zhuang and Ganie. Wei Zhuang craved Ganie's death but couldn't claim it; Ganie might yearn the same, yet fail.
"What'd he tell Nong Yu?" Wei Zhuang asked.
Han Fei recounted the exchange with Li Haime. Wei Zhuang's brow knotted tighter—not Guiguzi's style at all. That man screamed no valley heir. Yet the swordplay lied not—Guiguzi's secret lore, unknown to outsiders. Infuriating. First tangle with something more vexing than a woman.
"At least he's no foe—for now." Zhang Liang interjected, serene as ever.
Wei Zhuang shot him a look. You wish. Valley kin slaughter kin; even a prior-generation uncle? No mercy, no aid. Same blood? Just sharper bait.
"We need his game—why surface now?" Zi Nu pressed.
Silence fell. A mere word to Nong Yu, then thrashing Wei Zhuang? Too pointed.
But they'd overthought it. Li Haime's Zi Lan Xuan jaunts? Pure curiosity—sizing up Wei Zhuang's crew. The Wei Zhuang ribbing? Mischief, to savor his face when Ganie hit Xinzheng and the jig was up.
"Master, you threw down?" Xue Nu spotted the sword-graze threads on his sleeve.
"Just toyed with a kid." Li Haime chuckled.
No helping it—aping another's style paled against one's own. Wei Zhuang wasn't half-bad; Daoist arts? He'd crumple in one exchange.
Xinzheng quieted once more. Han Fei schemed the prince's and Red Lotus's rescue; Nong Yu swiped the gu mother for the trade with Tian Ze.
"Tonight—spectacle time." Li Haime promised Xue Nu.
Quicksand and Nightfall's pact: Han Fei barters the gu mother for prince and princess; Nightfall nabs Tian Ze.
Xinzheng outskirts, a copse: Han Fei and Zhang Liang, flanked by guards, met Tian Ze—demanding the swap.
"One token, one life." Tian Ze spat, voice venomous.
Han Fei's temper flared—good he'd planned contingencies. Prince first. Wei Zhuang for Red Lotus.
"Curtain up." Li Haime led Xue Nu to a nearby hill—panoramic view of the fray. Other Hundred Schools lurked too, each clan aloof.
"That masked runt in brocade—Farmers' Shennong Hall, Zhu clan's. Mask hue signals his mood." Li Haime nodded to a distant rise: dwarf merchant, paunchy, robes lavish.
Zhu Jia overheard, glanced over—strangers—then away.
"That flask at the waist, slouch and swagger? Knight-errant Jing Ke. Beside him: Mohist overseer Shen." Li Haime pointed anew.
Jing Ke shouldered a blade, hip-flagged gourd ever-nipped; coarse yellow garb, rogue's grin. At his side: black-and-white homespun youth—Shen, Mohist lead. They spotted the pair; Shen cupped sword in salute. Jing Ke eyed them, intrigued.
"And her—gold palace skirts: Yin-Yang's Eastern Sovereign." Li Haime indicated.
Xue Nu peered—Eastern Sovereign drew her most. Gilded robes clung to a silhouette of poised elegance: features sculpted perfection, starry eyes agleam with abyssal depth.
Eastern Sovereign noted them too. Of the crowd, only this duo eluded her. The middle-aged scholar? Unity of Heaven and Man, veiled. His girl? Aura rivaled—no, surpassed—her Five Elders. Their stares? Met gaze for gaze.
"Now him—the real threat. Luo Net Heaven-Rank: Veil the Sun. See that odd blade? Yue King's Eight Swords—one: Veil the Sun." Li Haime gestured to the crest nearest Jing Ke: iron-clad Qin trooper, tiger-mask snarling.
Veil the Sun turned—regarded them—then battlefield-bound, unmoved.
Li Haime eyed the left-handed swordsman, lips quirking—thoughts his own. His gaze flicked 'twixt Jing Ke and Veil the Sun.
Arena's heart: Han Fei reclaimed the prince from Tian Ze, withdrawing with escort. Wei Zhuang located Red Lotus—clashing with Tian Ze's crew.
"Wei Zhuang's fuming today—restrained, but edges honed lethal." Li Haime quipped.
Heads turned his way, then to the melee.
Han Fei gone: an ice halberd plummeted at Tian Ze—dodged. More speared earth, caging him in crystalline ramparts.
Hooves thrummed: white steed, crimson rider—Blood-Clad Marquis astride, striding an iced bridge into the frost fortress.
"That chain-wrapped freak—Baiyue's dethroned prince, Tian Ze." Li Haime narrated.
Tian Ze swathed in iron-snake coils, black miasma seething. He faced the mounted Blood-Clad Marquis, Bai Yifei—ice sword aloft, perched disdainful, gaze a demon's leer, wild and bewitching.
"The same prince who couldn't shield his folk... then butchered them?" Xue Nu asked, eyeing Tian Ze.
"Master—shall I end him?" Xue Nu blurted.
All eyes snapped over—what tie to Baiyue, to demand Tian Ze's head for refugee ghosts?
"Were he useless, he'd not draw breath." Li Haime said.
Gazes withdrew to the field, but wheels turned: these master-disciple and Baiyue?
Wei Zhuang toyed with the Four Oddities—felled them, then loosed: fetch Tian Ze.
"Bai Yifei's arts—curious twist." Li Haime frowned. Ice-kin, yet not: laced with corpse-qi and yin-shade. No central plains vein—yet Yin-Yang echo.
"Eastern Sovereign—Yin-Yang craft?" Li Haime called.
Her fine eyes flicked; shake of denial: "Resemblance only. Corpse-qi and yin fused to frost-vigor—mimics our qi-blade. But such dense death-shroud and yin-veil—how tamed? Only the grave yields such bounty."
Field's tide: Blood-Clad Marquis dominant. At last, Flame Spirit Ji—silks a blaze, innate seductress—held the line; Tian Ze fled with remnants. Bai Yifei pursued not—seized the witch.
"Show's done. Our turn." Li Haime declared abrupt.
Crowd jolted—what ploy? All skulking Xinzheng—fight now screams our arrival. Vigilance sharpened: whose throat?
"Long信侯—no play?" Li Haime pivoted to Veil the Sun.
Iron-clad, sword-hand faltered—wordless, he turned to quit.
"Indeed you—Lao Ai!" Li Haime laughed.
A gold pearl arced; Veil the Sun wheeled, blade flashing it skyward.
"Still hold? Waiting, Eastern Sovereign?" Li Haime baited loud.
Veil the Sun nearer her than him—words landed like sparks. Blade sang free; day dimmed, as if sun and stars veiled.
Eastern Sovereign countered—Yin-Yang erupted: grand hand-seals battering Veil the Sun.
"Shen overseer—rare chance!" Li Haime urged.
Shen froze—then spied Eastern Sovereign lunging his way. Compelled, he joined. Jing Ke, Shen engaged? Leapt in—now her: one against three, parrying Veil the Sun, Shen, Jing Ke.
Eastern Sovereign rued dragging Shen in. Veil the Sun matched her Unity—Lao Ai, Qin's sword paramount; left-hand swift-blade taxed her. Longer fused than she. But Li Haime's taunt, atop Mohist-Yin-Yang rift? Strike first.
"Farmers sit? Prime shot at Long信侯!" Li Haime grinned.
Zhu Jia's glare iced—yet Veil the Sun guarded him too. Resolve hardened: battlefield-bound, Thousand Faces weaving with Eastern Sovereign against the marquis.
"Join, or what?" Eastern Sovereign snapped, irked. Zhu Jia aided, yet suppression eluded. Plus Shen and Jing Ke harrying. But neither she nor Lao Ai foresaw: Jing Ke wheeled—blade lightning, skewering Lao Ai's right arm. Instinct alone spared him death.
Jing Ke's entry? Not mere Mohist aid—craving Lao Ai's end. He'd met Prince Zheng—warm bond. For the future king: sudden thrust, maiming.
Balance shattered: Lao Ai alone versus four; Shen struck him, struck her—equilibrium's thread. Unseen: the hilltop pair long gone, illusions left—Shu Mountain's Abyss Guard proxy rite. parlor trick; any Unity adept knew it.
"Master—we're just... leaving?" Xue Nu gaped. Long信侯's doom? Blinked, and Master's hauled us downslope—up top, they're still at it, fierce as ever.
"Night's fallen, deep as ink—why brawl? Disturbs the dreamers; scoldings await." Li Haime smiled.
Hands-off? Aye. Skulkers all? Drag 'em out—grand reveal, all together. Shu Mountain Abyss? Masters of hide—fine, flush the lot. Dodge that.
This—Daoist way!
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