Chapter Fifty-Three: The Legendary Top Scholar Returns to Lin’an, The Sword That Vanished from the Young Man’s Hand

The mountain, chilled by frost and shrouded in mist, is devoid of tigers; yet when the sword stirs, the starlit waters are home to dragons.

At the entrance to Qingbo Street, silence reigns. Somewhere along the long avenue, the bustling figures have vanished, as if the crowd had been purposefully cleared away.

A burly coachman stands atop the carriage shaft, gripping his blade and saluting An Le in the manner of those who walk the martial path. The atmosphere is not one of murderous intent, but rather carries a hint of resignation.

An Le, holding yellow wine and beef, gazes calmly at the coachman bathed in starlight, his brow slightly furrowed. He looks toward the carriage behind the coachman. "Does Luo Qingchen want to kill me? Is he inside?"

Mount-forged, the burly coachman, lifts his head, his face full of bitterness. "Rest assured, Young Master An, sir is not inside. He is unaware of my coming."

Mount-forged himself is reluctant to harm An Le. He knows that An Le now holds the Lesser Sage's Token and is protected by Lin Manor's Jade Guanyin—he, a mere coachman, is no match. But he has no choice.

Young Master Qin found him, ordered him to kill An Le. If An Le dies, Luo Qingchen, now spiritless, can safely leave Lin'an and return to Qingzhou. Luo Qingchen refused Qin Qianqiu's demands; given Qin's domineering nature, he would never let Luo leave Lin'an easily, much less ensure his safety.

Mount-forged had accompanied Luo Qingchen from Qingzhou, watched his rise and fall, and was closest to him in Lin'an. Moreover, Luo Qingchen had once saved Mount-forged's life.

Mount-forged knows how much Luo Qingchen suffers. Now that his master has finally decided to return to Qingzhou, he is held back by matters concerning the young man. For this reason, Mount-forged agreed to Qin Qianqiu's request to challenge An Le.

"Only if you die, Young Master An, can sir live." Mount-forged looks at An Le, his face gradually showing guilt. "Perhaps the dust clouding sir's heart because of you will also be swept away. Most importantly, sir can leave Lin'an and return to Qingzhou, the place where his dreams began."

This, then, is why Mount-forged stands armed in the night.

The burly coachman, Mount-forged, gazes at the snowy-clad youth under the starlit sky, the look beneath his bamboo hat filled with shame.

"Young Master An, forgive my offense. If I wish sir to return to Qingzhou, I must ask you to take your leave."

Mount-forged raises his blade and bows once more. Then, leaping down from the carriage shaft, his feet root into the earth, blood and vigor surging beneath his skin like crashing waves, resounding in his ears.

In the starlight, An Le, hearing these words, understands. He looks at the guilty yet determined coachman, and his eyes show little emotion.

"You bear your master’s burdens, but must use my life to prove your loyalty. I respect your valor and fidelity, but I will not show mercy."

"Moreover, in coming to kill me, have you considered Luo Qingchen’s wishes? If you die, he may truly be left alone in Lin'an. He might even come to avenge you and kill me, only to be slain by those stronger who protect me, thus fulfilling the intentions of the one who sent you."

An Le speaks softly, his voice ringing like a great bell, leaving Mount-forged momentarily dazed.

Would sir really avenge him if he died?

An Le says no more. He gently places the old yellow wine and oiled beef parcel by the roadside, arranging them neatly.

He then rises, looking at the burly coachman holding a broad-faced blade, confusion flickering across his features, and removes the ink-colored sword at his waist. Drawing the blade, he rests its tip upon the ground.

An Le gazes calmly at Mount-forged, waiting for his choice.

He can guess who forced Mount-forged to attack him. None but Qin Qianqiu, who, after being refused, promptly sent Mount-forged to kill him.

To many, An Le’s support comes from Lin Manor and Madame Hua, but in Qin Qianqiu’s eyes, such backing is illusory, and only strengthens his resolve to kill.

Were it not for the Lesser Sage’s Token and the rules of Sacred Mountain, Qin Qianqiu might have sent a cultivator beyond the fifth realm to assassinate him, taking advantage of Madame Hua’s absence from Lin'an.

An Le exhales, facing the Qin clan—facing Qin Qianqiu, who regards his life as expendable. A fire burns in his heart.

A gentleman repays virtue with virtue and resentment with honesty. Even a drop of kindness will be returned with a spring, but today's scheming will be remembered and repaid double in days to come.

An Le is no saint; gratitude is gratitude, enmity is enmity, and must be kept clear.

In the distance, Mount-forged’s face changes repeatedly until he grits his teeth. He lifts his face under the bamboo hat, guilt deepening, his blood and vigor surging like summer rain gathering strength.

He has made his decision.

...

...

The carriage rests quietly a mile from the silent street.

Qin Qianqiu and Wang Qinhe, clad in blue, step out together, standing atop the shaft, bathed in starlight, watching the distant battle about to erupt.

“That’s Luo Qingchen’s coachman, isn’t it? Qin, you’ve played your cards well—killing two birds with one stone,” Wang Qinhe says, dragon-back blade at his waist, smiling.

“Sending the coachman to kill An Le—if he succeeds, so much the better. If not, and An Le kills him, Luo Qingchen will surely seek vengeance. With his strength, if he attempts revenge, An Le will die, and Madame Hua will kill Luo Qingchen in turn.”

“Luo Qingchen refused your command, so you plan to discard him entirely. Remarkably clever.”

Qin Qianqiu laughs softly and shakes his head. “Not two birds, but three. I’m also removing a threat for you, Wang, so you’ll owe me a favor.”

“Sacred Mountain’s rules forbid any force from sending cultivators more than two realms above the Lesser Sage’s Token holder to attack. Within one realm, it’s considered training.”

“This coachman is just right, and I’m certain he’ll give everything, even burn his blood and risk his life to kill An Le.”

Qin Qianqiu toys with his wine cup, speaking calmly. “Because he is a most qualified servant.”

...

...

Night is black as ghosts kindle fire, geese cry in the frosty cold.

Outside Lin'an Prefecture, dusk clouds drift and swirl.

Under the cool moonlight, a burly figure hovers in the sky, robes rustling, a broad blade on his back, his powerful qi and blood seeming to change the very color of heaven and earth.

He appears to be waiting, or blocking the way.

A cultivator beyond the fifth realm, sent by Qin Qianqiu to delay Hua Jie Bing.

The man does not know Qin Qianqiu’s true intent; he simply needs to obstruct.

Suddenly, the shadowed figure opens his eyes, gaze bright as stars, looking into the distance.

Someone is approaching—not one, but two.

One is graceful, breathtakingly beautiful, dressed in splendid robes, walking in the night as if bathed in Buddhist light, sword qi forming a Guanyin image—Jade Guanyin of Lin Manor, Hua Jie Bing.

But what makes the man’s eyes narrow is the scholar in robes, sword at his side, walking beside Hua Jie Bing.

With a single glance, the black-robed man feels endless sword qi surge, like the vast sea overturning, as if piercing the starry sky and letting the constellations pour forth.

“Li You’an—General!” he exclaims in terror.

Madame Hua walks through dusk and cloud, bathed in moonlight and starlight, sword qi forming a Guanyin behind her, merciful yet cold.

“Qin Qianqiu sent you to block me? He truly intends to strike An Le. The once ordinary youth now shines, drawing envy and violence, just because he is close to Lin Manor…”

Hua Jie Bing sighs.

Yet she is not truly worried for An Le’s safety.

After all, An Le carries the Sword of Green Mountain, protected by the legendary old Imperial Uncle. Unless Qin Qianqiu disregards all costs to kill him, An Le’s life is secure.

Above the clouds, the scholar gazes calmly at the black-robed cultivator meant to block Hua Jie Bing.

The pressure is so great that sweat beads on the black-robed man's forehead.

“I remember you, just transferred from the battlefield at Canglang River to the capital. You return to Lin'an, only to be blinded by its splendor? For the sake of others’ selfish gain, you assist in such disgraceful acts—is this why you came back?”

His voice, like a sharp blade, pierces the black-robed man’s heart.

“Report to the military department and return to the front to kill enemies. Do not let me see you in Lin'an again.”

Hua Jie Bing and Li You’an sweep past the black-robed man.

No violence, no attack.

Yet those words leave the black-robed man drenched in sweat.

Watching them depart, he bows deeply, fist pressed to palm.

“Your subordinate obeys.”

...

...

Mount-forged grips his broad blade. Having made his decision, he will not turn back, even knowing who ultimately benefits from all this.

Still, he must gamble, for the sake of sir’s return to Qingzhou.

The burly coachman steps forward, his internal energy surging like a mountain flood. Each step shakes the flagstones of the street.

Then, Mount-forged begins to run, accelerating, gaining speed. Blood colors the blade, his momentum swelling like a storm.

He is utterly solemn, putting forth his full strength. Although his martial cultivation surpasses An Le’s by a realm, he dares not underestimate him.

He charges swiftly, aiming for the white-clad youth standing still, sword in hand.

His gaze locks onto him, like a bear stalking its prey.

An Le bathes in starlight, his expression unchanged, the night wind stirring his white robes.

A gust sweeps by.

Mid-run, Mount-forged’s pupils suddenly contract.

The ink-colored sword in An Le’s hand—

Has vanished without a trace.