Bright Moon Pavilion

After a prolonged stalemate, the young man and Zhang Ling finally stood thirteen feet apart. The scorching sun blazed upon the yellow sand, beads of sweat rolling down the former’s forehead and cheek, dripping onto the gun he braced in his hand. Before reaching the tip, they evaporated into nothing; his face was flushed, clearly exhausted. In contrast, Zhang Ling remained composed and tranquil. Though sweat beaded on his brow, after cultivating his breathing techniques for so long, his internal strength had grown deep. Moreover, he had been evading battle through light-footed movements, consuming far less energy than his opponent.

Zhang Ling quickly regulated his breathing with a concise breathing technique, restoring his calm and declared, “The advantage is clearly mine now. If we continue, your death is certain.”

The young man drew his long spear from the sand, sneering, “You always rely on calculation at every step, convinced of your victory. But unforeseen dangers are impossible to predict and even harder to prevent. If you keep this up, you will regret it.”

A surge of true energy separated from the youth’s hand, swirling around the spear. His aura soared, swiftly recovering to its peak and climbing even higher. Zhang Ling frowned, recognizing this method, which stakes one’s entire strength—a gamble that wounds both sides equally. Even when faced with death, Zhang Ling’s temperament would never allow such recklessness.

The young man pressed closer, his voice deep, “You dare not do this. Without absolute certainty, you won’t take the risk. If you continue to evade, you’ll never be able to handle situations like this. This isn’t the true path—it’s determination.”

Failure meant losing everything; success was like rebirth, ascending to a higher realm. Every martial artist understood this principle, but few could truly achieve it.

The long spear suddenly descended from above Zhang Ling. His short sword slipped into its sheath; when he blocked the spear, the sheath shattered with a roar. Zhang Ling’s feet sank deep into the sand as the youth pressed down with ferocity, the spear clashing with the broken sword, producing a shrill, low sound.

The youth thrust his spear, sending Zhang Ling flying. Following up, he swept the spear across Zhang Ling’s brocade robe as he landed, leaving a vivid wound. Zhang Ling ignored the cut on his arm, flicked up a cloud of sand with his sword. The spear pierced through the sand curtain, the youth’s right hand released the spear, left hand gripping the tail, striking fiercely at Zhang Ling’s chest. The blow sent him staggering back, blood spraying from his lips.

The spear wielder could barely hold on; two pools of blood stained the sand. Both wiped blood from their mouths at the same time. Zhang Ling’s heart trembled violently as the other said, “Too many worries hold you back—you’ll never take a step forward.”

Zhang Ling’s expression was cold, silent. After both calmed themselves, they charged at each other. The spear pierced Zhang Ling’s chest; blood seeped from his back, a searing pain rising from within. Even when he was assassinated by the Azure Falcon gang and poisoned by Cloud Brocade, his mind was muddled—never had he felt the edge of life and death so keenly.

The spear wielder, having forced all his true energy, was at the end of his strength. His upper hand trembled; he gripped tighter, preparing to pull the spear free. Zhang Ling, enduring the agony, followed closely.

Blood sprayed, staining the sand crimson once more. The blood from chest and heart streamed down the spear and sword, dripping onto the sand before the two, life exchanged for life.

With spear and sword pressed against each other, neither could fall. When the smiling youth slowly closed his eyes, Zhang Ling blinked once. Upon opening his eyes again, he found himself lying whole on the floor of the library in Sunset Cave.

Zhang Ling picked up the book, closed it, and returned it to its place, murmuring, “You were right. But who could possibly be suitable for someone as selfish as me?”

After leaving the library, Zhang Ling blinked again. A golden ring spread from his pupils, a faint crimson gold lingering—he had reached the third rank.

In Zhang Ling’s eyes, every movement of those around him was clear, their breathing more distinct. Previously, the Divine Suppression technique could only be used once a day; any more would leave his mind shattered, and a third use would split his head with pain. Zhang Ling named the secret art gained from this insight as ‘Clarity.’

Upon demonstration, Zhang Ling found this state of insight could last a full hour, though beyond that his head would ache again. As the book said, spiritual arts could not directly kill—at most, they provided an edge in contests.

He blinked again, returning to himself. His pupils became obsidian once more. Zhang Ling walked out of Sunset Cave. Now that he had broken through, there was no need to return. As he reached the flowing stone wall, Song Linjie came running excitedly, exclaiming, “Zhang Ling, come on, let’s go to Bright Moon Court!”

Zhang Ling thought for a moment, recalling that Bright Moon Court was actually a spring house. One of the famed beauties, Mingyue, was said to hail from there, and was its mistress—the singers and dancers within were all as beautiful as jade, but they sold their art, not their bodies. Many nobles visited, hoping to win favor, but all left disappointed. No one knew why, but after that, even officials dared not pursue the women of Bright Moon Court. The unattainable always lured desire; many spent fortunes just for a glimpse of beauty.

Zhang Ling looked at him oddly and asked, “Since when are you interested in girls? If you want to go, go by yourself—you don’t need to bring me.”

Song Linjie shook his head and said, “We’re not looking for girls—we’re catching a thief. I heard that every so often, a flying thief comes to Bright Moon Tower to steal something—maybe a sachet, maybe a jade zither. Since the items stolen aren’t valuable, the authorities don’t care. Many want to catch him to please the girls, but he’s skilled and adept at lightfooted arts; no one has caught him yet.”

Zhang Ling replied, “So you want me to come?”

Song Linjie grinned, “You know lightfooted arts too—maybe you’ll catch him. Maybe you’ll charm a few girls yourself.”

Zhang Ling shook his head helplessly, “You always rush wherever there’s a fight.”

In a quiet corner of Sunset Cave, someone had been reading the classics, but was suddenly dragged out. On the way, Zhang Ling, wanting to protect the scholar’s reputation, bought him a mask with a flushed face and angry brows. Even so, the scholar kept protesting, but his strength was no match for the martial artist, so he was forced along.

Approaching Bright Moon Court, the crowd grew dense. Many young gentlemen entered the pavilion, always accompanied by beauty. They cared little for the exquisite dishes within, mostly wanting to make a name for themselves in Jade Brocade City. The elders gave these young men a tacit opportunity, for those born to wealth cared only for reputation.

The vast hall of Bright Moon Court was nearly filled with handsome youths below; the embroidered loft above was empty. On the richly decorated stage, several stunning women danced gracefully. Some watched with longing, staring intently yet with awe. A few serving girls stood nearby, hands bound by etiquette. Before arriving, their elders had warned them not to approach the women of Bright Moon Tower—a tacit rule in Jade Brocade City.

The three from Sunset Cave circled the hall and settled at an empty table in the corner. Zhang Ling looked at Ren Pingsheng, masked, and teased, “Pingsheng, have you fallen for any of the girls? Shall I play matchmaker?”

The masked scholar turned his head away, refusing to look at the stage. Zhang Ling’s eyes brightened, and he laughed, “Is there someone you like?”

Ren Pingsheng, seated at the innermost seat, nodded. Even with the mask, Zhang Ling detected his shyness. Just as Zhang Ling was about to ask which girl it was, he saw a woman descending the stairs—her beauty could topple kingdoms, clad in red.