Blackmail

Anger and desire both embolden a person, magnifying their courage while robbing them of prudent judgment. This can be for better or worse: when for the better, it propels one forward without hesitation or regret, sometimes resulting in unexpected gains. When for the worse, it clouds reason, leading to consequences that are difficult to remedy.

Clearly, Fang Haiding had turned his jealousy of Song Linjie and his longing for the Heaven-Forging Blade into rage, venting it forcibly upon Zhang Ling. Thus, as he swung his blade, there was no method to his attack—only a desperate wish to kill the mocking figure before him.

Faced with Fang Haiding’s impotent fury, Zhang Ling was utterly unfazed. He had originally intended to draw his sword and settle things swiftly, but seeing the futility, he simply used his scabbard to deflect the seemingly ferocious blows.

Fang Haiding hacked wildly, shouting, “Who do you think you’re looking down on? Draw your sword!”

The angrier the opponent grew, the more Zhang Ling smiled with unrestrained delight, though his expression remained unchanged.

Below the martial stage, three high officials were discussing. Hou An said to the commander beside him, “This Fang Haiding has a problem with his temperament. From the very start, his murderous intent has been excessive. Normally, in such a setting, one would at least conceal it, but this boy’s eyes see only the desire to kill—his bloodlust is heavier than even the fiercest generals on the battlefield.”

Wei Liyang frowned and replied, “He’s certainly overstepping. Even if he’s jealous of that Song fellow, it needn’t be so blatant. He looks possessed.”

Zou Wu, never one for agreement, retorted, “You practice martial arts all day and haven’t achieved anything; perhaps you’re just hungry. Possessed? Only grandmasters experience that. This boy is merely fourth rank; at best he uses breathing techniques to help him sleep.”

Tension crackled between them; were it not for the occasion, they might have come to blows.

Song Linjie couldn’t help but ask, “Senior brother, what’s wrong with him? Why has he suddenly gone mad?”

Li Jingqiu, hearing this, was both amused and exasperated. He had driven the man crazy and yet remained oblivious—what a farce.

Li Jingqiu replied lightly, half-joking, “Perhaps his liver fire is too strong.”

Zhang Ling saw his opponent expose a flaw but did not immediately end the trivial contest. As Fang Haiding’s blade missed, Zhang Ling struck his lower limbs with the scabbard, causing Fang Haiding to fall to his knees.

The scabbard was already at his neck, an obvious defeat. Yet Fang Haiding refused to accept it, brushing the scabbard aside and charging forward once more.

But before he could rise, Zhang Ling delivered a swift kick, sending him sprawling to the stage’s edge. With a casual wave of his sleeve, Zhang Ling turned and strode off the martial platform.

Overwhelmed by rage, Fang Haiding, heedless of the watching crowd, grabbed his blade and stabbed at Zhang Ling’s back.

The next moment astonished everyone: the “King of Blades,” standing beside a Chenliu native, suddenly interposed himself between the two. With one hand, he shattered Fang Haiding’s blade; with the other, he blocked a short sword unleashed by internal energy.

While Fang Haiding attempted his sneak attack, Zhang Ling had already anticipated the move. As Fang charged, Zhang Ling struck back ruthlessly, aiming to cut at his neck.

Seeing Song Qingtian intervene, Zhang Ling sheathed his sword.

Song Qingtian looked back at Zhang Ling, smiling. “You’re quite shrewd.”

Of course, Zhang Ling thought. His eyes were not named for nothing.

Then Song Qingtian reached out a single hand toward Fang Haiding, a gesture that seemed to combine the weight of heaven itself, rendering Fang immobile and crushed by an oppressive force. Escape was impossible; he could only kneel and beg for mercy, crying out desperately, “Please spare me, King of Blades!”

Song Qingtian sneered coldly, “So you know how to beg for mercy? That proves you aren’t truly mad. Since your sneak attack was deliberate, it makes you all the more deserving of death.”

The elder known as the King of Blades needed no weapon. He raised his palm slightly, then brought it down upon Fang Haiding’s brow, a strike that would end his life in an instant.

Just as Song Qingtian raised his hand, an elderly man in flowing robes sprang from among the officials behind the carved railings. Standing beside Song Qingtian, the grandmaster, he seemed even more ethereal and dignified.

The old man bowed his head and pleaded, “King of Blades, I beg you to spare him. Fang Haiding’s violent nature results from his cultivation manual; it was not intentional.”

Song Qingtian regarded him with disdain. “Who are you?”

The old man immediately introduced himself as Shen Yunfeng, master of the Sevenfold Grass Hut.

Song Qingtian smiled. “This is an academy selection, inside the imperial palace. After losing, he dared to commit violence in public, and before that he repeatedly tried to kill others. By any account, I could take his life. Tell me, why should I spare him?”

Before Shen Yunfeng could think of a remedy, Zhang Ling, standing behind Song Qingtian, suddenly stepped forward with a mischievous grin. “Dean, since the attack was against me, why not let me mediate?”

Song Qingtian eyed Zhang Ling’s sly smile, suspecting he was up to no good, but allowed him to proceed. Among those below the stage, Song Linjie—who knew Zhang Ling well—whispered to Senior Brother Li what Zhang Ling was about to do, prompting a chuckle.

Zhang Ling adopted a grand demeanor and declared, “Master Shen, harmony is most precious; if one can avoid killing, one should. This is my principle. Since you wish to protect him, you can’t merely offer empty words, can you?”

Shen Yunfeng understood Zhang Ling’s meaning and replied, “How would you like to be compensated?”

Zhang Ling’s smile bloomed, though he suppressed his glee. “Not much—eighty thousand taels…”

Shen Yunfeng agreed at once. His martial path had reached its limit; he was stuck at the Profound Realm, not from lack of talent, but because the cultivation manual he’d mastered was flawed. He had hoped his most promising disciple would bring back new manuals from the academy, but now that seemed impossible. Still, Fang Haiding was fourth rank and young, with a future ahead, so although eighty thousand taels was a large sum, the Sevenfold Grass Hut could manage it.

Yet as soon as Shen Yunfeng agreed, Zhang Ling added, “Gold—eighty thousand taels of gold. Forgive me, I grew up poor and developed a habit of hoarding wealth.”

Shen Yunfeng’s face changed instantly. After the Sevenfold Grass Hut pledged allegiance to the court, he became a guest under Minister Lu Hongyan of the Ministry of Personnel. He had hoped to join the Ministry of War, but they had no interest in him. He couldn’t understand why, as a first-rank master, he had to be scrutinized in the court. Even as minister, he could not provide so much silver; manuals were even more scarce. He said, “Impossible. I cannot produce such a sum.”

Zhang Ling sighed, feigning regret. “Ah, that’s unfortunate. You finally nurtured a fine talent, but today he’ll have to meet his end here.”