Chapter 26

"Enter."

The great gates opened slowly. Qin Zhaotian walked in with measured steps, fearful of inciting the wrath of the Second Prince Zhong.

"I have heard everything. Since you are here, stay and share some tea with me." The Second Prince produced a green jade bowl.

Qin Zhaotian walked over and sat down. The Second Prince lifted a ceramic pot, poured hot water to rinse the bowl, and then discarded the water. "This water was melted from the accumulated snow on the plum blossoms of White Cloud Peak five years ago, yet it is a pity that it can only serve to warm the cup."

He then brought out a tea canister, pinched a small amount of leaves into the teapot, poured in hot water, and began to brew. Pointing to the pot, the Second Prince said, "Whenever my heart is troubled, I drink tea. Once finished, my heart feels at ease."

Qin Zhaotian, heavy-hearted, remained silent. When the tea was ready, the Second Prince poured a cup: "You see, tea brewed for too long loses its flavor, yet its color remains unchanged."

The Second Prince held it out. "Taste it quickly."

Qin Zhaotian watched the steaming liquid and took the cup. "The mission was completed well enough, but... to think that He Yuyun's son is still alive..."

The Second Prince nodded. "As long as it does not affect the plan, leave those two be."

Qin Zhaotian felt a great weight lift from his chest.

***

At midday, the four travelers, weary from their journey, arrived at a teahouse in a small town to wash away the dust of the road. Judging by the horses tethered outside, business was thriving. This town lay less than a hundred miles east of Mancheng; travelers often stopped here to rest, making the clientele numerous and their backgrounds complex.

The teahouse was noisy and chaotic. A waiter led the four to an empty table.

"You four look light on your feet," the waiter remarked. "Are you here for a meal?"

Deng Yangfeng turned to the group. "Xiao'er, see what our two friends would like. They might not find their usual favorites here."

Wei Xiaoyu frowned. "How about mung bean cakes? They go quite well with tea." Lin He nodded. Mung bean cakes were a favorite of Mu Xiangming’s, who enjoyed them with tea as a snack, though Lin He himself disliked their powdery, glutinous texture.

"That will do," Lin He replied.

"Good!" Deng Yangfeng said, turning to the waiter. "Three portions of mung bean cakes, a pot of hot water, a pot of Nanyang tea, and five griddle cakes."

The waiter shouted back, "Coming right up! Mung bean cakes, Nanyang tea, and griddle cakes!"

Lin He noticed five men sitting not far away. They were dressed roughly, and ever since the four had entered, their eyes had never left Mu Xiangming. This was to be expected, given her remarkable beauty and vibrant attire, but these five did not seem like ordinary men. Naturally, Lin He remained vigilant. Given their group's sensitive status, he avoided eye contact to prevent drawing unwanted attention.

The tray arrived. "Good tea for the guests!" the waiter announced, setting the food and drink on the table.

Lin He reached for the remaining silver in his pocket, intending to pay, but Deng Yangfeng immediately stopped him, producing a few copper coins from his robes. "Waiter, see if this is enough."

The waiter counted them. "Not short, not extra! Just right!" He tucked the coins into his waistband. "Enjoy, masters!" He walked away.

Lin He was puzzled. Wei Xiaoyu smiled and explained, "Teahouses like this, located on main roads, serve people from all corners of the world. Nothing is marked with a price. If you offer too much, they will raise the cost. If you ask, they will quote high. My master gave the exact price, and the waiter, knowing he was dealing with an expert, simply nodded."

Lin He realized, "I never imagined a small teahouse could have so many rules."

Wei Xiaoyu praised his master: "Master has roamed the rivers and lakes for over thirty years. When it comes to the ways of the world, he is legendary!"

Deng Yangfeng laughed, frowning. "Xiao'er, do not praise your master to his face! You should praise him when he isn't around!" The dialogue between master and disciple lightened the previously somber atmosphere. Lin He admired their way of life from the bottom of his heart, sensing in their exchange a nobility that felt out of place in this world—a nobility that transcended all things.

While the mood became light, Mu Xiangming remained silent. All along the way, he had been observing her. Her eyes remained dim—neither sorrowful nor upset, but quiet in a way that felt alien to Lin He. He felt immense guilt, yet he could only hate himself. But what was he hating? Everything seemed so helpless... as if it were fated.

***

The tea on the table remained untouched, as did her favorite mung bean cakes. Disliking the atmosphere, Mu Xiangming stood up and walked toward the door. She did not know where she was going; perhaps the moment she learned the truth, her heart had lost its compass. She should have wept, but with her teacher poisoned, she could not afford to cry. Everything now depended on her; she could not weep!

Deng Yangfeng had long since seen through their relationship and signaled for Wei Xiaoyu not to interfere. Seeing Mu Xiangming leave, Lin He felt as if a thousand-pound weight pressed upon his heart. He wanted to call out, but the words stuck in his throat.

Wei Xiaoyu whispered, "Master..."

Deng Yangfeng replied calmly, "Affairs of the heart are difficult. Let her go clear her mind."

Lin He finally spoke: "Xiangming... where are you going?" He did not know what to say, but he could not say nothing. Perhaps by asking, the distance between them would not grow further.

At his question, Mu Xiangming paused, her voice low. "Outside... it is too noisy in here." She walked on.

Lin He lowered his eyes. If Mu Xiangming's heart was empty, then his own felt as if it were pierced by a thousand needles—painful with every movement.

Mu Xiangming stepped out of the teahouse. The midday sun was blinding. Outside lay a wide stone path, empty of travelers. Across the way stood a long wall, ten feet high, belonging to a manor. Mu Xiangming noticed a mural painted on it—likely by a child. It depicted a sun, a field, a wooden cabin, and two people holding hands, running through the grass.

She walked toward the wall, her pink dress trailing softly over the stone. The brilliant sunlight bathed her willow-like figure, as if spring followed wherever she stepped. She was intoxicating to behold, a vision one dared only admire from afar.

Suddenly, a tall, burly figure blocked her path. It was one of the five men Lin He had noticed earlier. They leered at her with lecherous grins.

"Seeing this woman is more comforting than seeing a living Bodhisattva!" one laughed.

"You're pathetic! Just looking at her makes you that satisfied?" another mocked.

"Are you done? If so, move," one of them said, rubbing his palms as he approached her. "Now that you've finished, since you're so beautiful, why not satisfy us?"

Mu Xiangming did not wish to waste words. She struck with the "Divine Palm of Desired Sound," hitting the man squarely in the solar plexus. She was shocked.

"Iron Cloth Shirt!"

The man merely retreated a few steps, completely unharmed. Mu Xiangming realized at once that they were no ordinary thugs. Her strike, which had surprised them, only seemed to excite them further.

"She knows martial arts!" the man exclaimed.

"Even better!" The group laughed and lunged at her. Mu Xiangming performed a light backflip, landing on the teahouse roof. The men grabbed at air. They failed to notice it was the "Nine Heavens of Desired Sound," nor did they notice the beast standing at the teahouse entrance, clutching a sword that radiated a biting chill. He watched them like a hungry tiger eyeing its prey, listening to their every word.

They were so consumed by their lust for her that they charged blindly. Wei Xiaoyu, seeing Lin He hesitate, wanted to intervene, but Deng Yangfeng stopped her.

"Xiao'er, I want to see Lin He's sword."

Since her master had spoken, Wei Xiaoyu could only watch. As Lin He drew his blade, the ceramic bowls on the table cracked. He Yuyun was no swordsman, nor was Lin Zhongcheng; the Tao family were scholars and could not have taught him. She wondered who had taught him, and whose hand had forged that blade.

As the five men prepared to scale the roof, a flash of sword energy, fierce as lightning, struck toward them. They scattered just in time. The energy tore through the wall, splitting the two figures in the mural asunder.

The five were stunned.

Before they could react, Lin He moved with the speed of thunder, flashing into position. His agility and velocity seemed to vent all his pent-up emotions. The man he targeted reacted quickly, performing an aerial roll to dodge, but the other four attacked. Their punches rained down like a storm, fierce and heavy. Dust flew as they clashed. Lin He’s movement was ethereal, his swordplay like a swimming dragon. He wove between them like a ghost, neutralizing their every strike.

The patrons of the teahouse ran out to watch the shocking display, cheering them on.

In the heat of battle, Lin He forgot all technique. Driven by the fire in his heart, he did not hold back. Even without formal swordplay, his rage left the five men covered in wounds, blood dripping onto the ground.

Deng Yangfeng noted that Lin He’s swordplay lacked finesse, fueled entirely by emotion, which proved he possessed a solid foundation. "Xiaoyu, do you recognize his style?"

Wei Xiaoyu shook her head. "It looks chaotic. I never saw anything like it from Elder Deng."

Deng Yangfeng sighed, frowning. "Do you think the boy is hiding his true strength?"

Wei Xiaoyu blinked. "It doesn't seem so. He’s using all his might. But Elder Deng always said that emotion is the first and final barrier for a swordsman. Perhaps that is the reason."

Deng Yangfeng smiled faintly. "You’ve even picked up that old man's manner of speaking!"

Wei Xiaoyu smiled. "But there is something you might have missed, Master."

"Oh? Tell me."

"Lin He’s sword can pierce their Iron Cloth Shirt!"

"Indeed, I missed that. What is the reason?"

"Elder Deng once said that the Iron Cloth Shirt is a 'yang' technique. The sword that can pierce it is not the sharpest one, but the one stained with the most blood!"

As she spoke, Lin He began to change. He had fallen into a demonic state. His movements became ghostly, the dust swirling around him in brown residues. He became one with the dust, impossible to track. Every strike of his sword seemed to tear through space itself. He was unstoppable, indifferent to their lives.

Deng Yangfeng and Wei Xiaoyu were shocked. The swordplay of a maddened Lin He was the "Turning Back from the Bitter Sea."

The five men, terrified, had no courage left to fight. Even the spectators fled back into the teahouse. Mu Xiangming leapt down, uncaring if the sword energy struck her; if Lin He lost his mind, he would never be the same again.

As his sword energy pursued one of the men, who had become so frightened he lost control of his bladder, Deng Yangfeng intervened. A single "Divine Palm of Desired Sound" dissipated the energy. He snatched the man up and leaped a hundred feet into the air.

"Lin He, if you cannot control your own heart, how can you save the world? How can you fulfill your mother's wishes?" His words had no effect; Lin He, as a blurred shadow of sword light, lunged at him.

Seeing this, Deng Yangfeng threw the man onto the roof. "It is the first time I have fought a youth!" With that, he vanished, moving with lightning speed. The two shadows collided in the air.

Wei Xiaoyu watched in disbelief. She could not believe her master was using martial force against someone so young. She looked at Mu Xiangming; what was their relationship that it could cause Lin He to instantly grasp the lower sect style of "Turning Back from the Bitter Sea"? Even Elder Deng, the world's foremost swordsman, had spent ten years comprehending it at his peak.

After three rounds, neither side gave ground. But on the fourth, the brown shadow was struck down. The massive impact slammed Lin He into the ground. A thunderous crash echoed as stone shattered and a deep crater formed.

Mu Xiangming’s heart trembled. She ran to check on him, followed by Wei Xiaoyu. A strike from Deng Yangfeng was fatal, or at the very least, crippling.

In the crater, Lin He trembled, propping himself up with his sword. "Turning Back from the Bitter Sea" had exhausted his strength. Deng Yangfeng’s palm had clearly carried killing intent—it was the only way to shock him back to his senses.

Lin He barely remembered the fight, and the provocation of the five men was but a hazy memory.

Mu Xiangming jumped into the crater and helped him up. No matter how estranged they were, she could not bear to see him suffer, just as he could not bear to see her mocked.

Wei Xiaoyu breathed a sigh of relief when she saw he was not critically injured, but her curiosity grew. Few could exchange blows with her master. It was clear Lin He had received tutelage from a master. Although his outburst was emotional, the foundation of "Turning Back from the Bitter Sea" was undeniable.

Deng Yangfeng hovered in the air. "Lucky the boy woke up in time and blocked with his sword, or I wouldn't know how to answer to Zhi Ming!"

Wei Xiaoyu was still in shock. "I can't believe it was the lower sect style of 'Turning Back from the Bitter Sea'!"

Deng Yangfeng laughed. "So that's why the old man kept disappearing—he was playing a long game! I must have a word with him."

Wei Xiaoyu looked at Lin He below, nodding. "It was mostly his own talent. Elder Deng said swordplay isn't taught; it's realized."

Deng Yangfeng nodded with satisfaction. "Regardless, as long as he isn't indifferent to the world, it is a good thing."

Lin He looked up at the two figures hovering in the air. Though drained, he whispered to himself, "It seems Wei Xiaoyu's 'Nine Heavens of Desired Sound'... has reached a level not inferior to my own."

For the first time, Mu Xiangming responded to him.

"Do not agitate yourself..."

High above, Deng Yangfeng called out, "How is it, Lin He? Can you still move?" Lin He smiled faintly. He never imagined he would one day cross swords with Master Deng and live to tell the tale.