Sealing Sword Chapter 3

Translator: Palvi

---

Chapter 3: Duanshui

 

At the age of 34, Xie Wuyi, the seventh master of Duanshui manor was skilled in both literature and martial arts. He mastered the ancestral Duanshui Blade Technique and developed the Thirteen Blades of Azure Waves from it. He possessed a dignified aura and a gentle temperament. He entered Jianghu at a young age of sixteen, journeying to the Western Regions for five years. He has fought eighty-two battles, with only one draw and one defeat, gaining fame across the land. Returning to the Central Plains, he accompanied his father to the Wulin Sword and Blade Conference, where he challenged numerous heroes without a single loss. At such a young age, his mastery of the blade astonished the whole Jianghu, securing him the eighth position on the Heroic Ranking.

 

Since Xie Wuyi turned twenty, few came to test his skill. However, three years ago, challengers started appearing again, even assassins lurking around the manor, waiting in ambush.

 

The reason? Rumor had it that Xie Wuyi would not live much longer, and that the Duanshui sword might be sealed eternally.

 

On New Year’s Day three years ago, a masked blade master from the Western Regions challenged Xie Wuyi atop Lingyun Peak. Defeated, the masked assailant resorted to poison, and the two of them fell off the high cliff together. Observers searched in vain. Three days later, Xie Wuyi returned, severely wounded, and summoned over ten renowned physicians from the Jianghu. Each declared his body was afflicted with a strange poison beyond cure, leaving him with little time to live.

 

Two days later, the infamous “Ghost Doctor,” Sun Minfeng, arrived in Luoyang. After his examination, he found the case extremely tricky and set a 49-day period to attempt a cure, though the chances of success were only fifty percent.

 

If Xie Wuyi truly could not be cured, then his undefeated record in life would make him forever the number one blade under heaven. The Jianghu, driven not only by justice and revenge but also by the pursuit of fame and power, saw those who had once fallen to his blade or feared his Azure Waves technique now flocking from all directions like flies, an endless nuisance.

 

“So, what happened then?” Ye Fusheng, sitting on a wooden board, swung his legs while speaking softly with the steward.

 

Xie Wuyi was still alive, so it seemed that the Ghost Doctor was either a miracle worker with a heart like Buddha, or merely a street charlatan spouting nonsense.

 

After entering the city, the caravan split into two groups. Ye Fusheng and the steward rode eastward with Xue Chanyi, while the remaining members headed to an inn where they had previously arranged to meet. Naturally, the steward didn’t trust this half-blind man to drive, so he held the reins himself, answering in a brief manner, “I don’t know the details of what happened later. All I know is that after the 49-day period, Xie Wuyi was still alive, but he never fought again. Rumor has it that although the Ghost Doctor saved his life, he destroyed his martial arts…”

 

“Nonsense!” A shout suddenly erupted from within the carriage. Miss Xue threw open the door and lashed out with her whip, nearly slashing the steward’s mouth into three.

 

“Please don’t be angry, Miss Xue. If we said anything inappropriate, I, Ye, apologize.” Ye Fusheng grabbed her whip, his smile polite and agreeable. Unfortunately for the seasoned flirt, he had met his match this time. Miss Xue, her delicate brows raised, shook her whip free from his grasp and aimed it once more at the steward’s face.

 

The whip whistled through the air, sharp and metallic. If this blow landed, one would wonder if his next life would bear a face split between yin and yang.

 

Miss Xue’s beautiful eyes flashed with fury, intent on leaving the steward’s face thoroughly marked. Yet two fingers suddenly tapped her wrist holding the whip. She felt a tremor run through her tendons and bones, and her grip loosened. Those two ghostly fingers flickered past, effortlessly seizing the whip from her hand. With a light shake, the whip coiled back, obediently falling into his hand, as gracefully as if plucking a petal from the wind.

 

Miss Xue had barely taken a breath before her weapon was snatched away. She looked in disbelief at the dignified yet slightly haggard man. His face was as pale as a ghost, yet he had this kind of skill.

 

Miss Xue was stubborn but not witless. She lifted her chin slightly and said, “I didn’t expect you to be a hidden expert.”

 

“Hardly an expert, but certainly guilty of offending you.” Ye Fusheng coiled the whip neatly, respectfully returning it to her with the same gentle smile. “We both come from the northern borderlands and aren’t familiar with these old tales of the Jianghu. If we have spoken out of turn, could Miss Xue perhaps enlighten us?”

 

Miss Xue sneered. “Enlighten? Hardly. But isn’t it a grave error to gossip so irresponsibly?”

 

At this, Ye Fusheng understood. This Miss Xue before him was none other than Xie Wuyi’s only disciple, Xue Chanyi.

 

Thirteen years ago, Xie Wuyi returned from the Western Regions, rescuing a young girl named Xue in a border town and taking her as his disciple. He taught her earnestly, holding back nothing—not even the Thirteen Blades of Azure Waves. Unfortunately, Xue Chanyi lacked the innate talent, managing only to master about four to five-tenths of his skills, and the blade technique itself remained a mystery to her. Her proficiency was mostly in her whip technique.

 

Since the incident three years ago, Duanshui Manor has been wavering on the edge of collapse. Had it not been for Xue Chanyi’s timely return to support the manor alongside the elder master, the manor would likely no longer exist today.

 

Though her temperament was fierce, her skills fell far short of her master’s. Now that the old master of the manor had passed away, if Xie Wuyi were truly rendered powerless, Duanshui Manor would inevitably be swept away by the tides of the Jianghu sooner or later.

 

Duanshui Manor lay on the eastern side of the city, in a quiet area where the surrounding streets were nearly deserted, as if emptied of all life. The manor’s architecture was ancient and unassuming, with flying eaves and green-tiled roofs, encased by high, deep-green walls. There were no stone lions to guard the entrance, only a black stone stele over five zhang (about 16 feet) high and three chi (about 3 feet) wide, bearing bold, freewheeling calligraphy carved with a blade’s fierce edge: “Among us rise the stormmakers of the world.”

 

The carving grew progressively deeper, starting with sharp prominence and gradually receding, like the journey of a brash young soul entering the Jianghu and maturing into an inscrutable elder of profound wisdom.

 

Alas, in only three years, Duanshui Manor’s glory had faded, leaving behind only the elderly, the weak, and the young to struggle on, their hunching backs barely supporting the title of “First Blade Under Heaven.”

 

By now, the rain had stopped, and the sky had brightened slightly. Ye Fusheng’s eyes began to lose focus again, his vision dimming until he could only make out vague shapes. Surrendering to his sightlessness, he closed his eyes, extending a hand with a light gesture. “Miss Xue, please step down from the carriage.”

 

Xue Chanyi snorted, “Why close your eyes? Is your taste so refined that you look down upon the gateway of Duanshui Manor?”

 

Ye Fusheng merely smiled, without replying, and Xue Chanyi’s eyes narrowed as she asked, “What’s your name?”

 

With his eyes still closed, Ye Fusheng stood straight, speaking in a literate, refined tone like a scholar, “Floating through life as a lone leaf, and in death, a light extinguished. I am Ye Fusheng.”

 

“‘In death, a light extinguished,’” she sneered, “How would you know that’s what death feels like if you haven’t experienced it?”

 

Ye Fusheng replied, “Not to hide the truth — I was once a lonely ghost, but Lord Yama found me so disagreeable he refused to take me. So, I returned to this world, borrowing flesh to roam the earth once more. Twice I have lived, and all I know is that life is like stoking a fire or adding fuel, and death is like blowing out a flame or snuffing a candle — simple yet utterly unfathomable.”

 

Xue Chanyi laughed, “So, how did you die the first time?”

 

Ye Fusheng tilted his head slightly in her direction. “Couldn’t let it go, so I found a way to die.”

 

“And now you’ve learned to let it go?”

 

To his surprise, she was genuinely curious. He responded, “I made a promise to someone; even if I die, I’ll keep a breath waiting to say goodbye.”

 

The steward, who had been standing outside for a while, finally interjected, “A son or daughter, perhaps?”

 

“Something even closer.”

 

Xue Chanyi’s gaze grew colder. “The Jianghu loses people every day. Since ancient times, life and death are governed by fate, and wealth is determined by the heavens. You made a promise — are you so sure you can keep it?”

 

Her tone was unkind, yet Ye Fusheng only smiled. “If I truly face death one day, my soul will transform into a gentle breeze, traveling a thousand miles to visit in a dream.”

 

Xue Chanyi’s expression softened as she seemed taken aback. At that moment, the steward stood by the carriage, and with Ye Fusheng’s eyes closed, no one noticed her complex and unspoken expression — an ambiguous twist at the corners of her mouth, part-smile, part-grimace.

 

After a moment, she composed herself completely, her face blank. “Ye Fusheng, I have a proposal for you.”

 

The steward tugged at Ye Fusheng’s sleeve, but Ye, ignoring the gesture, grinned. “What is it?”

 

Xue Chanyi replied, “The city’s been in turmoil lately. I want another bodyguard to watch over my junior disciple. If you agree, you won’t need to waste away in some small-time trade caravan anymore.”

 

The steward’s face turned red with indignation, ready to argue with the sharp-tongued young lady. This time, though, Ye Fusheng was quick, placing a calming hand on the steward’s shoulder before looking back at her and saying with a serious tone, “No selling of my freedom!”

 

He wore a serious, almost stern expression while the steward pinched his shoulder hard enough to numb it. Hearing the air shift, he raised his hand just in time to catch a small silver ingot.

 

“Use it to clean yourself up — don’t dirty the reputation of Duanshui Manor,” Xue Chanyi said, stepping down from the carriage and leaving him with one final instruction. “Come meet me at the third quarter of the hour before dusk. I’ll have a servant bring you inside.”

 

Ye Fusheng shrugged, snapping off a corner of the silver piece with two fingers, leaving the rest with the steward. Laughing, he said, “Many thanks for looking out for me all this time. I won’t forget a life-saving debt; if ever you need me, I’d even face a mountain of blades or sea of fire for you.”

 

The steward, clutching the silver, trembled with frustration, patting his shoulder fiercely. “I saved you expecting nothing in return; don’t jump into muddy waters on our account! These Jianghu folk aren’t to be trifled with. With their sharp weapons, what business does a blind, limping man like you have in their affairs? Climbing trees wasn’t enough — now you want to fly?”

 

Ye Fusheng replied, “Ah, ah, don’t get angry. What if it brings on an asthma attack?”

 

“Get lost! Go find your death and see if anyone cares to bury you!” the steward snapped, setting off in a huff and leaving him in a cloud of dust.

 

Ye Fusheng listened to the fading rumble of the wheels, idly tossing the broken silver piece in his hand. His face was as pale as a ghost’s, with dark, peach-blossom eyes framed by thin, distant brows that gave him a look almost too delicate, bordering on ethereal.

 

He reached for the sachet on his belt, a square of snow-white silk embroidered with a clumsy bunch of bamboo leaves, each stitch erratic, twisting the leaves into shapes more like caterpillars. It was stained with dried, darkened blood. He traced it lightly, feeling the square jade pendant inside.

 

Reciting softly to himself, “How can one say we are unclad? Together we wear the same robe. The king prepares to march, and I shall hone my spears…”

 

Humming the tune of the “Song of Qin – We Are Clad,” he tucked the sachet back and strode off, humming.

 

At that moment, dusk began to settle. A faint glow fell on the stone stele at the gates of Duanshui Manor, and the carved words blurred in the interplay of light and shadow.

 

“Among us rise the stormmakers of the world; to enter the Jianghu is to be aged by its tides.”