Chapter Fifteen: The Lady Gathers Three Thousand Drops of Spring Rain, For the Youth’s Pride in a Single Sip

An Le had never learned how to fight, but combat was a primal instinct. The Five Beasts Body-Tempering Technique had allowed him to successfully awaken his vital energy, stepping into the first stage of martial cultivation. Coupled with the blessing of the Sword Dancer's Dao Fruit, he wielded his umbrella as a sword, easily defeating the seasoned gang enforcers.

For the first time, An Le witnessed the chasm between ordinary people and cultivators. He truly understood why people said that all things were inferior, save for those who attained the heights of cultivation.

The three howling gangsters, faced with An Le's questioning, did not persist in their silence. They were not men of iron—there was no reason for them to keep Liu Qingyan’s secrets. Sending them to break a cultivator’s hands was as good as sending them to their deaths; what oath of silence could outweigh their own lives?

An Le picked up his bloodstained oiled-paper umbrella, his gaze cool as he looked at one of the burly men.

The man met his eyes, gritting his teeth against the pain. “It was Liu Qingyan—the painter Liu Qingyan!”

“He envied your skill, hated you for taking his chance to paint for the Lin household. That’s why he sent us to break your hands!”

“It’s true, we swear! Please, have mercy on us!”

The three men were utterly terrified. In their eyes, cultivators were lofty beings, far above the likes of them—ordinary men who could never dream of such power. All that remained in them was fear and awe.

The painter Liu Qingyan?

An Le paused, recalling the scene from yesterday at the Tianbo Waterside Pavilion—the elderly painter whose artwork had been dismissed as filth by the Wind-Chasing Maiden. Never had he imagined that the old painter was capable of such malice.

“So, just because my art surpassed his, and I took his opportunity at the Lin residence, he wants to break my hands?”

An Le drew a deep breath.

The fine spring rain fell, cold on his skin, making him feel the chill of human hearts.

Liu Qingyan was the mastermind, but these thugs were equally culpable. An Le had never considered killing them—at his core, he was still law-abiding. Yet, knowing the constable Huang, he could have them arrested. Attacking a licentiate in broad daylight was crime enough to see them rot in prison.

Suddenly—

An Le looked toward the entrance of Still Street. Spring rain fell in dense curtains, dusk clouds hanging low. A timely spring rain had darkened the sky, turning day almost to night.

At the entrance, a familiar carriage approached, its curtains fluttering in the breeze. As always, the carriage was opulent, rainwater streaming from its eaves like pearl-beaded drapery.

That carriage…

An Le remembered it well. The day he left the Lin estate, he had seen this very carriage, with a man inside wreathed in the aura of years—dozens of strands, marking him as a veritable fat sheep for cultivation. At the time, An Le had simply assumed the occupant was a noble from a neighboring residence and thought nothing of it. But now, the carriage's arrival took on a different meaning.

The carriage stopped ten paces from An Le. At the reins sat a burly coachman, clad in a straw raincoat and wide-brimmed hat, his hands steady on the reins. The spirited horse he controlled was docile as a lamb.

An Le's gaze lingered on the coachman, whose body was as solid as a mountain. His vital energy was concealed yet oppressive, so much so that the falling rain seemed to bend around him.

Clearly, the coachman's martial cultivation was profound.

To An Le’s eye, the coachman bore exactly ten strands of the aura of years—not as many as the Wind-Chasing Maiden or the Lady Yunrou, but formidable nonetheless.

Yet, the main presence was inside the carriage. A distinguished man, his hand lifting a corner of the curtain, regarded An Le with a gaze both playful and deep—like the sun piercing through spring rain, burning into An Le’s soul.

In that instant, An Le felt the world lose its color. The mental strength he had just begun to nurture froze; his vital energy was like a northern river in winter, unable to flow.

Just meeting the man’s eyes, he felt as if a hand had seized his heart, making it pound violently, like a war drum about to split open from the force.

Spring rain slid down An Le’s cheeks, pooling at his chin before dripping away.

He shut his eyes, forcing himself to break the gaze, but the man’s eyes still burned like a scorching sun.

An Le summoned the image of the Sword Waterfall—a cascade of swords descending from the heavens, cleaving through the blinding light. His mind steadied, but his heart still pounded, threatening to burst from his chest.

He tried to control his body with all his will, but it was incredibly difficult. His legs began to tremble, on the verge of buckling and kneeling on the rain-soaked street, bowing his spine—his dignity.

But An Le knew he could not kneel. If he did, his heart for cultivation would be tarnished—a treasure covered in dust, hard to polish clean again.

That day, An Le understood two kinds of distance.

One was the gap between ordinary people and the newly initiated cultivator.

The other was the gulf between the powerful and the weak among cultivators—a gulf even harder to cross than the first.

…

…

The vast, calm lake touched the distant sky. Misty fine rain blurred the light smoke.

At the Tianbo Waterside Pavilion, a spring shower made the scenery all the more enchanting. Ripples spread across the great pool, poetic and painterly, like blank spaces left by a master’s brush.

In the main hall, Lady Hua lay reclining on a couch, her voluptuous form akin to a ripe peach, exuding mature allure. On the stove, red coals boiled water, the steam rising in a hazy veil.

Lady Hua was quietly reading “Knowledge and Action” by a renowned scholar. On the table lay a portrait—a sketch of her drawn by An Le.

Pale, delicate fingers turned the yellowed pages. Suddenly, her hand paused, eyes lowered in thought.

“There are few neutral powers left in Great Zhao: the Lin, Zhong, and Ye families—three great military clans. But to the Emperor, neutrality means uncertainty. The combined weight of these three is enough to stir the balance of the court.”

“Now that the Emperor’s end draws near, if he cannot take that final, unparalleled step, the choice of the crown prince must be made for the dynasty’s future. To the Emperor, neutrality now means unrest and uncontrollable risk.”

Neutral today does not mean neutral tomorrow. The Lin, Zhong, and Ye families are mountains between the factions, enough to tip the balance for anyone.

“With the Emperor’s intentions clear, the nobles have started probing, seeking the three families’ stance.”

“Now… even the lowliest riffraff dare to flaunt their might at my Lin residence.”

Lady Hua sighed softly.

She closed “Knowledge and Action,” then sat up, her dainty feet touching the floor.

Everything that happened on Still Street had not escaped her senses.

At first, she had no intention of intervening, surprised to find that An Le had awakened his energy and entered the first stage of body-tempering. His opponents were just two gangsters, not cultivators, posing no real threat.

So Lady Hua merely observed.

But when the carriage appeared, and the cultivator inside sought to crush An Le’s will and force him to bow—

She could not bear it.

Setting art aside, she truly admired the young man. Though late to cultivation, he had not wallowed in self-pity; his mindset was excellent, meditating three times in one day, awakening his vital energy in a single night.

Such talent moved Lady Hua’s heart. She could not watch the youth she admired have his spirit broken just as he set foot on the path.

Moreover, she knew that An Le had been drawn into this because of the Lin household—she had every reason to intervene.

Most of all, she despised bullies who preyed on the weak.

Lady Hua rose from her couch, her delicate feet touching the ground, and walked to the main hall’s railing. Her graceful figure leaned against the balustrade, gazing out at the spring rain.

The rain fell like oil, gentle and unceasing.

The wind swept through the corridor, sending the steam from the boiling kettle spiraling away.

Watching the endless rain, Lady Hua extended her pale, flawless hand.

Reaching toward the twilight sky, as if to pluck a flower.

In that instant—

The spring rain above the Tianbo Pavilion halted abruptly, as if each drop were a petal gently plucked away.

“A cultivator beyond the fifth realm, bullying a youth who has only just begun his journey—does that fill you with pride? Then let me bully you in turn. Will that satisfy you?”

Lady Hua murmured softly.

Then, she opened her hand.

She gathered three thousand droplets of spring rain, scattering them with sword energy to shatter the azure clouds—

All for the sake of a single youth’s pride.

The rain froze, turning to icy beads in midair, then stretched into thin swords, whistling through the sky. They soared over the Tianbo Pavilion, past its eaves, over the stone tablets and jade arches.

They rained down upon Still Street, upon the carriage whose overwhelming presence sought to bend the youth’s spine.

A corner of the carriage curtain was suddenly sliced free, fluttering weakly to the puddled ground, drifting atop the water like duckweed.

Within the carriage, the aloof, composed man at last showed a reaction.

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