Marvelous Craftsmanship

The confident young master of the Ye family strode to the weapon rack, repeatedly picking and examining weapon after weapon, their sharp edges glinting in the dawn light. Each one he held for but two breaths before shaking his head and returning it. Compared to the Feiying Sword and Chenxuan Blade forged by a renowned blacksmith for his own family, these pieces of scrap iron were woefully inferior. In the end, he completed a fruitless circuit and returned to face his opponent with his fists and palms.

Ye Yumi’s fists and palms worked in concert, his stance reminiscent of a Buddhist Amitabha gesture. With a solemn expression, he said, “Come.”

Fang Haiding, his temper already violent, believed he was being looked down upon and grew furious. He advanced in a single stride that spanned five steps, drawing his blade as he charged, intent on ending this arrogant wastrel with a single slash to the throat.

Ye Yumi stood upright, prepared. Before the silver blade could reach him from the left, he had already readied himself. He tilted his head back just enough to evade the strike, then used his palm to deflect the blade and followed through with a punch.

Forced backward, Fang Haiding was livid. How could a scion of a noble house surpass him in skill? In truth, Ye Yumi, who seemed to underestimate his opponent, was fighting with all his might. Some people devoted themselves to the art of fists and palms; for them, their hands were the best weapons, and wielding swords or blades would only hinder them.

Having gained the upper hand with one move, Ye Yumi was in no rush to press his advantage. He stood firm, opting for steadiness. When Fang Haiding attacked again, Ye Yumi sidestepped with ease and delivered a solid kick, gradually widening the distance between them.

Ye Yumi switched smoothly between fists and palms, his aura intensifying as he prepared to shift from defense to offense. This time, he didn’t wait for an attack—he closed in, struck Fang Haiding squarely in the chest, infusing the blow with hidden force. Fang Haiding’s vital energy was thrown into chaos, and he spat out a mouthful of blood. Ye Yumi immediately followed up with a kick, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Ye Yumi pressed his advantage without hesitation, reaching to grab his opponent’s shoulder and toss him down. Desperate, Fang Haiding swung his blade defensively, using offense as defense. Ye Yumi redirected his force, striking Fang Haiding’s right shoulder with his palm. Fang Haiding cried out in pain, and the silver blade fell from his grasp.

With victory imminent, Ye Yumi prepared to finish him off, but Fang Haiding, disregarding his pain, rolled away. In his panic, he lashed out with a random kick that landed squarely on Ye Yumi’s back. In that instant, murderous intent surged within him. He kicked the fallen silver blade into the air, caught it tightly with his left hand, and thrust it straight at his opponent with deadly precision.

At that moment, Ye Yumi, unable to gather his strength again, sensed the killing intent. Fang Haiding was ready to risk injury for the kill. Ye Yumi had intended to turn and strike, but suddenly lost his nerve. When one’s life is at stake, nothing else matters—without hesitation, he dashed forward and leapt off the martial stage.

Below the platform, Li Jingqiu suppressed a surge of murderous intent, nearly intervening.

Ye Yumi glanced back at the crazed man on stage, shuddering as if stalked by a wolf. He returned to Zhang Ling, a trace of fear in his voice. “That man is a true madman. If he ever joins the Academy, just having him around would set everyone on edge. Who knows when that blade will find someone’s neck?”

Li Jingqiu watched Fang Haiding depart from the opposite side, murmuring to himself, “Don’t worry. The Academy turns a blind eye to the inscrutable hearts of men, but it does not tolerate depraved character.”

He then called out, “Zhang Ling, Xiong Wanshan.”

When it was Zhang Ling’s turn, he strolled leisurely onto the stage, feeling the floor tremble slightly beneath his feet. He was not surprised. As he watched his massive opponent leap onto the stage, Zhang Ling recalled having seen Xiong Wanshan below, not because of his imposing aura, but simply due to his sheer size. One look at this giant standing in the street would be enough to make passersby steer clear.

Despite his bulk, Xiong Wanshan wore a guileless smile. “Zhang Ling, if not for you all yesterday, we wouldn’t even qualify to stand here now. It’s a shame I didn’t see you fight then. Today, I, Old Xiong, will have to learn from you.”

Zhang Ling stood tall, yet seemed to hover weightlessly, smiling as he replied, “It’s an honor. You don’t mind if I make the first move, do you?”

The honest giant had no objection. Zhang Ling approached at a relaxed pace, appearing completely harmless. When they were eight steps apart, he suddenly froze, and in the blink of an eye, only three steps separated them.

Like a lingering shadow, Zhang Ling unleashed the elusive Shadowstep he had never used before, and followed with a Cloudbreaker Fist to Xiong Wanshan’s unguarded body. The force sent Xiong Wanshan stumbling backward, and as he fell, Zhang Ling used Taiji’s redirection to push with both palms, sending the giant crashing down with a thunderous thud.

Fortunately, with his thick skin and sturdy flesh, the fall from the high platform barely harmed Xiong Wanshan. Looking innocently at Zhang Ling, he remarked, “Cunning, just as they said. I really should have listened and kept conversation to a minimum.”

Zhang Ling leapt down after him, slinging an arm around his shoulder with a laugh. “Come now, I’ll treat you to a meal later. No need to act as though you’ve lost your family over a sparring defeat.”

Zhang Ling was not one to act without benefit. He had befriended Xiong Wanshan because the man was the grandson of Xiong Zhongqi, a scholar at the Office of Historiography. Though not a high official, it was still a valuable connection. More importantly, Zhang Ling appreciated the big man’s straightforward and sincere nature—otherwise, befriending someone unreliable was as dangerous as grabbing chestnuts from the fire. No matter how fine the food, who would dare eat if it was poisoned?

In a lavish tower above, Song Qingtian’s expression betrayed a trace of surprise. “Oh! The Shadowstep—a disciple of the Valley of the Medicine King.”

Chen Liu, who had spent years in seclusion at the palace and had fought on the battlefield in his youth as crown prince, also recognized Zhang Ling’s footwork and smiled. “It seems the Academy will gain much this year. But the more I look at this Zhang Ling, the more familiar he seems.”

Chen Liu’s pupils contracted as he fixed his gaze on the short sword in Zhang Ling’s hand. Unfortunately, Zhang Ling never drew it, leaving the sovereign unable to make a judgment.

Chen Liu asked, “Do you know anything of Zhang Ling’s origins?”

Surprised for the second time that day, Song Qingtian glanced at the emperor, who so rarely inquired about a young man, and explained, “The Academy only knows he comes from a merchant family. Any attempt to investigate that district in Luochuan, whether by the Academy or the court’s brocade-clad spies, leads nowhere. Even Wu Zhi’s intelligence, gathered from the Hall of Light, falls short.”

A hint of melancholy flickered in Chen Liu’s voice. “Zong Chentian seems to be there.”

Song Qingtian was momentarily bewildered, then his brow relaxed as if a sudden realization dawned.

Back at the martial arena, as the bouts progressed, the next match was naturally between Song Linjie and Mo Li, who had already crossed swords within the illusion array. Both were prodigies of their generation and leapt onto the stage together. The one wielding the blade exuded a sudden surge of energy; whether from his cultivation or the flame-patterned blade in his hand, a tangible warmth radiated around him. The other gripped a pair of blades, left hand up, right hand down.

Both struck almost simultaneously, closing in with lightning speed. Mo Li instinctively circled to the side, seeking a swift victory. But before his left blade could slash down, Song Linjie reacted in a flash, countering with an elbow to Mo Li’s abdomen. Mo Li flipped back and landed on his feet, but while Song Linjie had scored a point, it was of little consequence.

Knowing that Song Linjie was the grandson of someone close, Chen Liu was in high spirits and asked casually, “Who do you think will win this next bout?”

Song Qingtian replied without hesitation, “If Mo Li could become a leader among the Mohists, he’s likely mastered their mechanical arts. Given Song Linjie’s current level, I fear his chances of victory are slim.”