On the day of the Chongyang Festival, the Yunhua Sect’s sect master did not emerge from seclusion.
The second day, the third day… until the fifth day, it was clear that there was no outcome, and Feng Lingjun no longer waited.
He wrote three letters by hand. One sent by carrier pigeon to Alliance Leader Zhao, informing him of the news and preparing to execute the plan; another for Wang Zizhao, asking him to deliver it to their master upon his emergence from seclusion; and the last one to be personally delivered by Wang Zizhao to Wangchun Mountain.
As Feng Lingjun wrote, Wang Zizhao watched beside him. Usually quick-tongued, he had forgotten how to speak smoothly, stammering, “Senior Brother, don’t scare me. You’re still doing alright, why are you writing about your last affairs?”
Feng Lingjun said, “If I come back safe and sound, there won’t be a need for you to send the letter, consider this just a precaution.”
“……”
What kind of “precaution” is this? He’s never seen anyone curse themselves to death! Wang Zizhao felt anxious inside, increasingly worried that Feng Lingjun might not be able to defeat Qin Qing. However, he had a deep trust in Feng Lingjun. They had learned swordsmanship together since childhood. Feng Lingjun came from a martial arts family and had a talent that far surpassed his own, and he was diligent in his studies, always excelling beyond him.
Later, when they began practising the Pure Water Heart Sutra, Wang Zizhao had managed to reach the third level after all these years, while Feng Lingjun had already broken through to the sixth level. Their master had only just comprehended the eighth level.
Wang Zizhao felt a little reassured; with his senior brother’s skills, he was undoubtedly one of the top martial artists in the entire martial world, aside from a few rare reclusive masters. He feared, however, that the old scoundrel Qin Qing might have too sinister of a path…
Wang Zizhao’s mind wandered as his eyes drifted to the desk. Feng Lingjun was writing the last letter, his handwriting exceptionally beautiful, as graceful as his swordsmanship. Wang Zizhao didn’t look closely but saw that Feng Lingjun had written a long passage, and at the end, he meticulously drew a flower, which looked like a camellia.
Wang Zizhao was taken aback, thinking: So it’s for his love interest?
But no matter how beautifully the letter is written, sending a farewell letter would only provoke tears from the girl, it’s truly better not to send it at all.
On another note, how did he not know that his senior brother had someone special? It was just one trip to Wangchun Mountain… Wang Zizhao was puzzled but felt it wasn’t the right time to ask further.
Feng Lingjun finally finished, sealed the letter, and solemnly handed it to Wang Zizhao. He then picked up his sword and said goodbye. His sword is named “Chouguang1愁光 (Chóu guāng) can be translated as “Melancholy Light” or “Sorrowful Radiance.”“, it glimmered with a cold light and could slice through iron as if it was mud. It was the treasured weapon of the Divine Weapon Pavilion from years ago.
Just like how his master had reminded him before entering seclusion, Feng Lingjun patted his junior brother’s shoulder and said earnestly, “After I leave, everything at the sect will be temporarily in your hands.”
“…”
Wang Zizhao felt a lump in his throat, reminiscing about their childhood when they listened to their master’s teachings. While he had taken the so-called “virtues” and “chivalry” that made their ears sore with a grain of salt, Feng Lingjun had absorbed every word.
Both Wang Zizhao and Feng Lingjun were clever, they understood the current situation well.
The approach of the Wulin Alliance was foolish, or rather, it was foolishly clever. What kind of flawless plan could a bunch of jianghu ruffians come up with? It was simply a matter of looking for the most opportune moment to confront their opponent head-on.
Qin Qing’s goal wasn’t just to spar; he was looking for an excuse to gather the heroes of the martial world and strike them down in secret, catching them all in one fell swoop. The Wulin Alliance planned to turn the tables on him, even if they didn’t succeed, they could at least wage war with the demonic cult while Feng Lingjun was engaged with Qin Qing.
After all, the Wulin Alliance had no special skills, but they were good at brawls. However, before that, with Qin Qing’s challenge posted, someone had to step up to maintain the dignity of the righteous martial world, which had been trampled for nearly two years and was increasingly on the verge of collapse.
——Even if this matter is as perilous as courting death, someone must willingly sacrifice themselves.
Of course, if victory can be achieved, that would be the best outcome. If not, even at the cost of his life, Feng Lingjun wouldn’t allow Qin Qing to gain any advantage; he could at least wear him down by seventy to eighty percent, making the remaining problems easier to handle. In the end, whether it was Feng Lingjun or Qin Qing who suffered losses, it was clear that the Wulin Alliance would not be the one at fault.
Wang Zizhao thought his senior brother wasn’t foolish, yet he was willing to undertake such foolishness, using his life to clear the way for others. What would he ultimately gain from this? Only a letter left for his beloved? If he died, perhaps that lady would dry her tears and quickly find comfort in another’s embrace—
“Senior Brother, you—” Wang Zizhao hesitated, wanting to say something but stopping short.
Feng Lingjun lost his patience and didn’t want to hear him ramble. With a swift motion, he mounted his horse and rode off, vanishing from sight in the blink of an eye.
…
In late September, Feng Lingjun arrived at Weishui City.
This was the designated meeting point mentioned in the challenge, originally a remote small town that had attracted a large number of martial artists due to the “decisive battle between good and evil”. The streets were bustling with activity, and even the vendors selling their wares were noticeably more than usual.
Feng Lingjun entered an inn and asked the waiter to help him water his horse. The innkeeper said that there were no vacant rooms. However, as he glanced at Feng Lingjun’s sword, he eyed Chouguang, then looked back at him and changed his tune, “We have one room left.”
Feng Lingjun paid the deposit and was about to head upstairs when a commotion suddenly erupted outside, accompanied by gasps of surprise from the crowd. It seemed that two parties were fighting. Not one for spectacle, Feng Lingjun continued up the stairs without looking back.
Just then, a familiar voice called out from behind him:
“Stop! Give it back to me!”
It was Chu Qian’s voice.
—Chu Qian?!
Feng Lingjun was taken aback, doubting his own hearing as he turned around in disbelief.
He stood at the bottom of the stairs, not directly facing the inn’s entrance, so he could only see half of the scene outside. At first glance, he didn’t see Chu Qian but noticed two ruffians standing there. One of them was toying with something in his hand, sneering, “Give it back? I thought it was something valuable, but its just a pile of hair, just for this, you chased me three streets? Who’s the fool here!”
The other one said, “Forget it, just give it back to him. Why bully a simpleton? It’s not like it can be sold for money, you—”
Before he could finish his sentence, the speaking ruffian suddenly fell silent as the person they were confronting stepped closer, entering Feng Lingjun’s line of sight. It was indeed Chu Qian. He had seized the collar of the ruffian’s clothes and, without employing any complex techniques, threw a punch. The ruffian doubled over, as if he had endured immense pain, his face paling as he spat out a mouthful of blood and collapsed to the ground, unable to get back up.
The onlookers in the street gasped in unison at the sight. Feng Lingjun was also somewhat taken aback. Chu Qian himself seemed surprised by his own actions; he glanced down at his fist, and from Feng Lingjun’s angle, he could clearly see the bewilderment on his profile.
The other ruffian was frightened out of his wits, threw the coarse cloth pouch he had in his hand at Chu Qian. “H-here, I gave it back!”
The pouch was roughly stitched, and since it had just been opened for inspection, it had not been re-tied properly. As it was tossed into the air, the tangled hair inside slipped out of the opening and scattered in the wind. Chu Qian reached out to catch it, but could only grab a single strand; the rest drifted away, swirling on the ground.
Chu Qian’s expression immediately changed. He furiously seized the culprit, his face contorted with rage that seemed to say mere murder couldn’t quench his thirst for vengeance. He also looked profoundly hurt, completely at a loss, with one side of his body trembling.
Feng Lingjun’s throat tightened at the sight, and he quickly stepped forward to restrain him. “Qian’er!”
“…”
Chu Qian froze for a moment, as if his neck had rusted in place, then slowly turned around.
Feng Lingjun met a pair of eyes that were as red as a blood moon, as if it was raining on the moon.
