Charging forward recklessly

Yu Chang had to visit the military camp every two days to handle the accumulated affairs. The camp was distant, but it was absolutely forbidden to bring official documents home to review—such an act would be a grave offense. The eldest son, Yu Lianwu, also held a post in the military department, so the two departed early, leaving a carriage behind the residence. Zhang Ling and Song Linjie walked to the carriage and found that it was Gu Pinghou who would guide them.

Zhang Ling asked, “Why are you here, Senior Gu? Surely there are others at the residence who can drive the carriage.”

The elderly man sitting at the front descended from the carriage, seeming unusually spirited, and laughed, “I’ve been freeloading at the residence, with nothing better to do. It’s the perfect time to show you both the way.”

Zhang Ling cupped his hands respectfully, “Then thank you, Senior Gu.”

Zhang Ling and Song Linjie climbed into the carriage. Gu Pinghou took the reins and drove at a leisurely pace toward the south gate. Once outside the city, the carriage picked up speed. As they neared their destination, Zhang Ling poked his head out through the curtain, noticing several people headed in the same direction. When the carriage stopped, both stepped out one after the other.

Not far ahead was a cave residence carved into the base of a mountain, surrounded by jagged woods—within a small space, remarkable feats were accomplished.

Wealthy young nobles in fine attire filed into the cave, and at the entrance, a young man lay sprawled on a chair. Each noble showed him a silver token before entering, yet he never opened his eyes.

After alighting and saluting Gu Pinghou, Zhang Ling and Song Linjie approached. Zhang Ling observed the young man, who had several silver tokens hanging from his waist, speaking lazily with his eyes closed, “One thousand taels a month. Just place the money on the stone platform over there.”

Zhang Ling was irritated by the young man’s idle attitude, even lazier than himself. He signaled to Song Linjie, who immediately kicked the entire chair over. The young man, just before hitting the ground, flipped upright and stood, his eyes shining with excitement as he looked at Song Linjie.

Song Linjie lifted his gaze even higher, calmly stating, “I didn’t bring money. Want to fight?”

The young man suddenly grew animated, laughing, “It’s been ages since someone chose that option. Just a moment.”

He stretched his waist, twisted his neck, and extended a hand, “Go ahead.”

No sooner had he finished speaking than Song Linjie swung a fist at him. The young man, just moments before exuding nonchalance, instantly grew grave. He hurried to block, but the speed of Song Linjie’s punch left him no time. He was about to step back, but Song Linjie followed up with a large stride and struck his chest, forcing him to retreat repeatedly.

The young man felt a tightness in his chest, coughed several times, and had barely straightened up when Song Linjie’s foot landed squarely on his chest, sending him flying backwards. He crashed heavily onto the solid stone slabs that made up the cave’s entrance.

Several people coming and going from the cave stopped to watch in shock, eyes fixed on the scene—a rare sight, for few dared to cause trouble here.

The young man tried to stand, but Song Linjie stepped on him and strode into the Cave of Rosy Clouds.

Supporting himself with one hand, the young man looked at Song Linjie and called, “Hey, my name’s Tang Yong. What’s yours? You haven’t taken your entry token yet.”

Song Linjie waved dismissively, “Song Linjie. I don’t need that thing. Next time I come, you can try again.”

Tang Yong lay on the ground, sighing, “So bold!”

Zhang Ling said to Gu Pinghou, “Senior Gu, you may return now. We’ll be back later.”

Tang Yong, intending to ask if Zhang Ling wanted a match as well, turned his head only for Zhang Ling to stomp on him, pausing to rub his foot before stepping into the cave.

Tang Yong called after him, “Hey, you haven’t fought me yet—don’t leave!”

Zhang Ling glanced at Song Linjie ahead, murmuring, “I’ve beaten him before. Is that enough?”

Tang Yong looked toward Song Linjie, saw no reaction, and took it as consent. Once the two entered the cave, he struggled to his feet, gazing at Zhang Ling’s receding figure with a smile, “That one’s even bolder! Looks like I’ll have to inform Master—two remarkable fellows have arrived.”

Clutching his chest, Tang Yong dragged himself into the cave. There was no need to worry about trespassers in the Cave of Rosy Clouds—anyone daring to enter would be welcomed. The old man by the carriage watched the scene conclude, smiled, and drove away.

As Zhang Ling and Song Linjie entered the Cave of Rosy Clouds, they discovered it was truly another world. Water was diverted from the mountain, trickling down stone walls, and the cave’s structure was complex. The various buildings were scattered and elegant, built with meticulous craftsmanship, showcasing the robust beauty of mountain architecture.

After asking around, the two found the library. The entire pavilion was built of redwood, painted pale to avoid being too conspicuous. The railings and corners all protruded outward. Sharing a glance, Zhang Ling and Song Linjie walked in.

Many disciples browsed the bookshelves. If something caught their eye, they registered it at the counter for borrowing. All categories of books were neatly arranged; martial arts manuals and literary works were divided left and right, each area clearly marked. The literary section was subdivided into history, geography, and so on; the martial arts section further distinguished between sword, spear, sabre, and halberd.

Zhang Ling walked to the swordsmanship area among the martial arts books. After casually flipping through a few volumes, he found only basic techniques, far inferior to what he had learned. He then moved to the shelves of internal cultivation, and though most were familiar or easily understood, there were still some worth referencing.

Gathering several books to borrow, Zhang Ling registered them at the counter, then left the pavilion, reading and waiting for Song Linjie. Nearly an hour passed before Song Linjie finally emerged. Zhang Ling expected him to have borrowed many books after such a long search, but when he looked up, Song Linjie’s hands were empty.

Song Linjie said with disdain, “The manuals in here are utterly worthless. I glanced at a few and found at least ten flaws. The stances for drawing and sheathing a blade were written all fancy, but they’re useless. I could write a better one myself.”

Zhang Ling looked around, noticing a crowd gathering—clearly overhearing Song Linjie’s contemptuous tone and feeling displeased.

Song Linjie looked around defiantly, “What? Did I say anything wrong?”

A man stepped forward, clad in a drunkenly patterned cotton robe with dark gold embroidery, a beautiful sabre at his waist, and spoke arrogantly, “Judging by your tone, young master, your swordsmanship must be extraordinary, to so casually point out so many errors.”

Song Linjie glanced at him sidelong, “Want to fight?”

The sabre-wearing noble smiled, “That’s exactly what I had in mind. I’d like to see what skills you possess to dare speak so boldly here.”