Chapter Fifty-One: A Perfect Misunderstanding

To outsiders, Yang Wenhao’s swordsmanship might appear slow and entirely devoid of lethality. Yet to those with true understanding, it was nothing short of extraordinary. The essence of the Taiji sword lay in its very name—like the famous Taiji boxing, which seemed soft and powerless to the eye, yet could overcome strength with gentleness, returning the opponent’s force upon themselves. Such was the principle of Taiji.

In the end, Yue Lingshan simply gave up attacking altogether. No matter how she tried, Yang Wenhao would always deflect her strikes. She flung her sword aside in frustration and exclaimed, “I’m done! This isn’t fair—you’re just bullying me!”

Yang Wenhao sheathed his sword with a faint smile. “How is this bullying?”

Yue Lingshan retorted, “You’re just like a turtle. I can’t land a single hit on you.”

He only chuckled in response.

“Do you dare fight me openly, fair and square?” Yue Lingshan demanded. “Stop hiding like a turtle.”

Just as her words fell, a figure emerged from the side.

Upon seeing him, Lao He and Lin Pingzhi hurriedly saluted. “Master!”

Yue Buqun nodded slightly and looked at Yue Lingshan. “Lingshan, that’s enough.”

Seeing her father arrive, Yue Lingshan grew even more indignant. She rushed to his side, grabbing his arm. “Father, he’s cheating!”

Yue Buqun shook his head. “Lingshan, you are no match for Young Master Yang.”

“Why not?” Yue Lingshan protested. “If he didn’t just defend all the time, I wouldn’t have lost.”

“Did you not notice that Young Master Yang could block your every move?” Yue Buqun said gently. “If he had chosen to seize an opening and strike, do you think you could have countered?”

Indeed, Yang Wenhao had only defended, never attacking. If he had switched to offense, Yue Lingshan wouldn’t have lasted even a single round—let alone defeat him.

“Young Master Yang was showing you mercy, yet you don’t even realize it.” Yue Buqun shot her a glance, then saluted Yang Wenhao. “My daughter Lingshan’s skills are lacking. I apologize for her.”

“It’s nothing,” Yang Wenhao replied with a wave of his hand.

“Since you’ve come to visit today, I had someone fetch some fine wine and food from town. Please, this way,” Yue Buqun offered.

Yang Wenhao was briefly surprised by Yue Buqun’s hospitality. “Thank you, Master Yue.”

...

“Please, Young Master Yang.”

When Yang Wenhao took his seat, he happened to see Ning Zhongze bringing in dishes. At the sight of her, his eyes brightened. “You must be the famed Heroine Ning. Meeting you today, the stories do you no justice.”

Before marrying Yue Buqun, Ning Zhongze had been renowned throughout the martial world as Heroine Ning. After her marriage, she was more often called Madam Yue, but both titles belonged to her.

Though Ning Zhongze had grown used to being called Madam Yue, it had been a long time since anyone addressed her as Heroine Ning. At first, her impression of Yang Wenhao was not favorable—after all, he had killed several righteous sect members. Yet hearing her old title spoken again, her view of him shifted considerably.

Yue Buqun noticed the gentle smile at the corners of her eyes and was delighted. He laughed. “Wife, I never thought even Young Master Yang would know your reputation.”

“It’s nothing—just an empty name,” Ning Zhongze replied lightly, but inwardly she was quite pleased.

After setting down the tray, she said, “You two enjoy your meal. If there’s not enough, just call me.”

With that, she left, leaving only Yang Wenhao and Yue Buqun in the sitting room.

Yue Buqun personally poured him a cup of wine and raised it. “It is a blessing for the martial world to have someone as young and accomplished as you, Young Master Yang.”

Yang Wenhao raised his own cup in return. “You flatter me, Master Yue. Without years of hard work, I would be nowhere today. The martial world respects only the strong—without strength, how could one survive here?”

“That’s true,” Yue Buqun nodded.

The world of martial arts was perilous indeed. Without skill, no one would care if you lived or died. The strong ruled, the weak perished—that was the way of things.

“I watched your match with my daughter today and found your swordplay quite familiar,” Yue Buqun remarked. “Might I ask, are you perhaps from Wudang?”

The Taiji Sword was not some invention of a system, but a genuine style, created by none other than Zhang Sanfeng of Wudang. As the head of Mount Hua, Yue Buqun was widely experienced and knowledgeable.

Yang Wenhao did not answer, only smiled.

Seeing this, Yue Buqun reached his own conclusion. “So it’s true. Who would have thought that the supposedly rootless Young Master Yang is actually a direct disciple of Wudang?”

Yang Wenhao understood what Yue Buqun was thinking—it was only natural that he would assume Yang was a Wudang disciple, given his mastery of the Taiji Sword, a style reserved for Wudang’s inner circle. Yue Buqun’s deduction was quite reasonable.

Besides, Wudang rarely involved itself in worldly matters, so it was not surprising for a disciple to be out seeking experience.

“Come, let us continue,” Yue Buqun said with a faint smile, betraying nothing.

This was, after all, why people called him the Gentleman Sword. Yet Yang Wenhao knew the truth: Yue Buqun was, in fact, a hypocrite. Sometimes, a true villain is not so frightening; the truly dangerous ones are the hypocrites, for you never know what they truly intend.

As night fell, Yang Wenhao sat alone in the courtyard, gazing at the sky.

Just as he was about to begin his cultivation, a voice sounded behind him.

“Young Master Yang?”

He turned to see Ning Zhongze. “Heroine Ning.”

She smiled gently. “No need for that title. Just call me Madam Yue.”

“Then, Madam Yue, you needn’t call me Young Master Yang either. Just call me Xiao Yang.”

“Very well.” Ning Zhongze nodded. “But what are you doing outside so late? You’ll catch cold.”

At her insistence, Yang Wenhao returned to his room to cultivate.

Meanwhile, Ning Zhongze entered her own chamber to find Yue Buqun reading. “Still up so late?”

He nodded.

She draped a cloak over his shoulders. “By the way, what do you think of Xiao Yang?”

“Why do you ask?” Yue Buqun frowned slightly.

(End of chapter)