Chapter Eleven: The Mysterious Glass Blade

Xu Qinxian’s sudden visit was, of course, prompted by rumors of a new woman in his household. She had hurried over to find out what was going on. Xu Qinxian was the eldest disciple of the Xuantian Sect, a master of the eighth level of the Earth Stage spiritual power. Aside from their sect’s founder who was at the seventh level of the Heaven Stage, those who reached the Heaven Stage were as rare as phoenix feathers; even in these three counties, all factions gave her sect a measure of respect, let alone someone like her with such formidable power.

After having her fill of fun, Qin Xiaomo returned to her room. She wore the pale pink, gauze dress embroidered with peach blossoms that Qian Mubai had given her. Standing before the bronze mirror, she admired her own radiant, delicate complexion. It felt as if her body brimmed with inexhaustible energy. Though she had no real understanding of what cultivation entailed, surely being so robust and lively was what people called abundant spiritual power.

“Young madam, the young master sent me to inform you to prepare. You’ll be going to the marketplace shortly,” announced Jixiang loudly from outside the door.

The moment Qin Xiaomo heard they were going to the market, she bounded out from the inner chamber, delighted. “The marketplace? Has Miss Xu left?”

Jixiang, upon hearing her mention Miss Xu, felt uncertain about the young madam’s intentions. “Reporting to young madam, Miss Xu has already left. The young master didn’t even see her off, so please don’t take it to heart.”

Qin Xiaomo thought to herself, “I just wanted to see if he had time now. Since arriving here, I’ve either been tied up or stung by hornets. I’ve never had the chance to have fun. The marketplace—what woman doesn’t love a place like that?” She began counting on her fingers, planning what to buy, while Liulv, full of excitement, dashed in to bring her the news that it was time to leave.

Today, the sun was gentle, the sky a clear, flawless blue, a few cottony clouds drifting along the horizon. Jiang Wei drove the carriage along with a steady clatter to the market. From inside, Qin Xiaomo listened to the lively hum of the crowds and the hawkers’ cries. She could hardly sit still, repeatedly lifting the curtain to sneak a glance outside, but Qian Mubai pressed her back down each time. At some point, Qian Mubai had donned his half-mask again, likely to keep his handsome face hidden from prying eyes and avoid attracting trouble.

The carriage finally stopped at the door of a shop. Qian Mubai remained inside, gazing through the white silk screen as Jiang Wei entered the shop and said something. Soon after, the customers inside began to file out, and the manager hung a sign on the carved mahogany door: “The Owner Is Attending to Business Today.”

At that moment, Jiang Wei announced respectfully from outside the carriage, “Young master, young madam, we’ve arrived. You may disembark.”

As soon as Qin Xiaomo stepped down, she looked up to see a two-story weapons shop called Wuji. The second floor had a terrace enclosed by wooden railings. The shop was clearly an old establishment—the sign and façade looked somewhat timeworn, but the interior was spotless and carefully arranged.

The manager, a rather cold and taciturn man, did not greet them warmly like shopkeepers elsewhere, as if their patronage was a debt owed. If it weren’t for Qian Mubai bringing her here, Qin Xiaomo would have wanted to leave immediately. Judging by the manager, the owner was probably a stubborn, arrogant old man, likely shriveled and inflexible.

“I’ll fetch the owner right away. Please wait,” the manager said. No sooner had he spoken than a young man’s voice sounded from the staircase, clear as spring water and melodious. “It’s been a long time, and you bring someone new this time.”

Following the voice, a figure in flowing green robes appeared, looking every bit the refined scholar.

“Enough with the chatter. Pick out a weapon for her,” Qian Mubai said impatiently.

The man in green seemed not to hear. He strolled right up to Qin Xiaomo and looked her up and down without the slightest reservation, smiling. “How should I address you, miss?”

“No need to stand on ceremony. My name is Qin Xiaomo—just call me Xiaomo,” she replied, extending her hand politely.

“My name is Wen Yao,” the man in blue said with a soft chuckle and a bow, glancing at Qian Mubai. “I wouldn’t dare touch the young master’s wife’s hand.”

“Oh, come now, proper etiquette shouldn’t be neglected,” Qin Xiaomo replied with an awkward smile. After all, her position as young madam was only a temporary arrangement, more a jest than anything serious.

Wen Yao leaned in close to Qin Xiaomo’s ear and whispered playfully, “You’re only the second woman this block of wood has ever brought here.” Then he turned to walk to the counter.

“Who was the first?” Qin Xiaomo asked, her curiosity piqued, and followed him eagerly.

At her words, Wen Yao suddenly stopped, turned back, and gave Qin Xiaomo a startled once-over. He glanced at Qian Mubai and muttered, “After so long, I nearly forgot—she really does look just like…” He stopped abruptly, covering his mouth, and hurried off to fetch weapons.

“Like who? Finish your sentence!” Qin Xiaomo called after him, then glanced at Qian Mubai, whose face was dark as thunder, his expression ready to erupt. She didn’t know what he was like when angry, but it was best to keep her head down for now.

“Xiaomo, what kind of weapon do you find handy?” Wen Yao asked from the counter, sifting through various blades.

“She’s never trained before,” Qian Mubai said coldly.

“I see.” Wen Yao looked a bit troubled as he rummaged in the cabinet, finally pulling out a whip. “Try this. It’s made from the sinew of a thousand-year python.”

Qin Xiaomo gave the whip a casual flick. The moment she heard “thousand-year python sinew,” she lost focus and accidentally struck her own arm. “Hiss!” The pain was instant and searing, tears welling in her eyes. Blood soon began to seep from the welt.

“Oh dear, clearly this isn’t the weapon for you.” Wen Yao hurriedly fetched a piece of fish skin from the counter to dress her wound, but Qian Mubai stepped forward, snatched it from him, and applied it to her himself. Wen Yao pursed his lips and stifled a laugh, then resumed rummaging through the boxes.

Before long, he pulled a golden longsword with a ruby set in the hilt from a rosewood chest. Qin Xiaomo’s eyes widened in amazement. Even if she couldn’t use it, selling this would surely fetch a fortune. She stepped forward eagerly and tried to lift it, but no matter how hard she pulled, the sword was utterly unmoving, as if rooted to the counter.

“What’s going on? Is it magnetized?” Qin Xiaomo wondered aloud.

“Magnetized? No, it’s not that. This sword is ten thousand years old. It has gained a spirit and chooses its own master. Seems it has no intention of following you,” Wen Yao said with some regret.

At that moment, Qian Mubai, silent until now, spoke up. “Let her try that one.” Following his gaze, Qin Xiaomo saw an inconspicuous blue brocade box atop the counter, about the size of a sheet of paper.

“Are you sure?” Wen Yao’s expression was complex, but he reached up, dusted off the box, and gently opened it. Inside lay a short sword of white material, gleaming like icy jade.

Qin Xiaomo thought it was just an ordinary ornamental sword—so fragile it would shatter if she wasn’t careful, let alone protect herself.

“Give it a try,” Wen Yao said, holding it out to her.

“If I break it by accident, make him pay for it. I don’t have any money,” she declared, distancing herself from any responsibility.

Wen Yao burst out laughing. “If you can break it, I’ll give you a million taels… of gold. But do be careful when you pick it up.”

At the mention of gold, Qin Xiaomo’s eyes sparkled. That’s easy—if she couldn’t use it properly, surely it would break. Before Wen Yao finished speaking, she grabbed the short sword. Though short, it fit perfectly in her hand, light as air, almost weightless. Once in her grasp, a faint white glow emanated from within the blade, radiantly beautiful. The longer she held it, the fainter its form became, until it slowly vanished entirely. Qin Xiaomo opened her hands in alarm. “Wait, I didn’t do anything! It just disappeared on its own—where did it go?”

A strange, tense silence filled the room. Wen Yao’s eyes were wide, and Qian Mubai suddenly stood up.

After a moment, Wen Yao’s voice trembled slightly. “Say its name in your heart.”

“What’s its name?”

“Xuanli Blade!”

The moment Qin Xiaomo thought the name, the short sword reappeared in her hand. Her mind went utterly blank. She no longer knew what day it was, nor what earth and sky meant—everything seemed illusory, as if she were trapped in a dream.