Chapter Seventy-Two: Telling the Tale of the Legendary Top Scholar, the Elder of the Imperial Ancestral Temple Bestows the Three Swords of the Word Plaque

Returning from a journey of ten thousand miles, his face seemed even younger, and when he smiled, the fragrance of plum blossoms from the mountains still lingered in his breath.

Anle held an oil-paper umbrella as he returned to the courtyard, his heart tranquil and at peace.

Though he had defeated Wang Qinhe—once ranked eighteenth on the Young Saints List—in an almost overwhelming fashion, there was no trace of pride in his demeanor.

Spring rain drizzled down, echoing sharply in the alleys and the courtyard, its clear sounds refreshing the mind.

With a flick of his finger, Inkpool and Green Mountain flashed out, deftly and precisely landing in the hollow of the old locust tree without harming a single patch of bark, causing the branches and leaves to shudder lightly.

Anle folded up the oil-paper umbrella, shook off the water, and set it aside.

“You’re back,” the old man said with a cheerful smile, pouring a cup of warm aged rice wine and sliding it across the table to Anle.

Seating himself on a small stool, Anle downed the wine in one gulp, driving away the lingering chill of early spring from his body.

“How do you feel? Wang Qinhe was someone the Duke’s household placed great hopes in, investing significant resources to obtain the Young Saint’s Token for him. He’s certainly talented. Did you gain anything from this battle?” the old man asked, sipping his own wine and admiring the rain-soaked night.

Anle took another sip, cradling the cup, and after a moment’s thought, replied solemnly, “Wang Qinhe underestimated me.”

“He’s a full stage above me in the Body Tempering realm and has reached the fourth level, grasping Profound Intent. Yet he failed to utilize his advantage in body refinement, grew careless, and allowed me to suppress him with the explosive power of the Ancient Demon Tiger Style, losing the initiative from the very start.”

Reviewing the scenes of their fight, Anle analyzed calmly.

The old man stroked his long white eyebrows, listening with a pleased expression.

“My promotion on the Young Saints List means even the Sacred Mountain acknowledges I’m not weaker than he is in raw strength, yet he didn’t give his all from the outset, still holding back.”

“That was the main reason for his defeat. In the end, when he unleashed the Profound Intent of the Saber, the energy was formidable. Had he used it the moment he closed in on me, I might have had to work much harder.”

Anle finished and let out a soft laugh. “When facing an uncertain opponent, you must go all out from the first strike—otherwise, you may never get a chance for a second.”

The old man nodded in appreciation. “You see things clearly. Of course, it’s also because Wang Qinhe lacked the conviction to beat you. If he’d had true belief in his victory, this fight would have been much harder for you—unless you had even greater cards up your sleeve.”

Anle nodded earnestly. Indeed, although his victory tonight seemed almost effortless, in truth, breaking through Wang Qinhe’s saber aura and Profound Intent at the end had exhausted all the spiritual strength accumulated in his Sword Furnace.

It was only by succeeding with the Ancient Demon Five Beasts technique at the outset that he could press Wang Qinhe relentlessly, suffocating him and ultimately achieving victory.

But had Wang Qinhe been more cautious and delayed the fight, relying on his fourth-stage Body Tempering physique and the interference of Profound Intent, Anle could genuinely have been worn down.

In that case, Anle might have had to draw upon the power within the Dao Fruit, “Heroic Spirit Guide.”

The old man poured another cup, and the two drank together as the rain continued to patter against the leaves of the old locust tree.

“Besides that, did you notice anything else?” the old man asked, his voice full of meaning.

Anle paused, playing with his wine cup, his brow furrowed in thought.

Without further ado, the old man pointed to the raindrops falling steadily from the sky.

“With this victory, do you not feel your confidence growing, a new sense of conviction taking root?”

“Just like water dripping on stone—one drop is insignificant, but millions, billions of drops falling on the same spot can shatter rocks and carve through stone.”

“By defeating Wang Qinhe across realms, you’ve accumulated a sense of triumph. The more battles you fight, the stronger this conviction will grow.”

“Where does heroic spirit come from? It arises from the heart. But true heroic spirit isn’t blind—it’s built on strength, achievements, and hidden resources. An army undefeated in a hundred battles will dare to charge into an enemy ten times its size, not out of recklessness, but because victory has instilled in them a spirit and belief that cannot be broken.”

The old man looked at Anle, a hint of expectation in his eyes. Perhaps, in this youth, he saw a reflection of his own younger self—full of vigor and ambition—which stirred in him the desire to guide and pass on his legacy.

He was an old prince of the imperial family, but since the Great Zhao’s southern migration five centuries ago, he had distanced himself from royal affairs, losing all interest in the royal clan.

The distinguished figure seated in the Supreme Palace had once wished for him to pass down the Green Mountain Sword to the royal descendants.

But Zhao Huangting had refused. Unmarried, without heirs, he entrusted his legacy to fate alone.

When the time was right, it would be passed on.

Now, the youth before him in blue robes was the one destined for his teachings.

The old man grinned and said to Anle, “Winning every battle is the way to cultivate an unbreakable conviction and indomitable spirit. The very purpose of the Young Saints List is to foster your belief in inevitable victory. With conviction, even metal and stone yield.”

Anle reflected quietly. In defeating Wang Qinhe, he had indeed felt a surge of heroic spirit—an overwhelming confidence welling up, the tiger in his heart roaring with pride.

Perhaps this was the transformation that comes with victory.

“In the past, Li You’an took this very path. Do you know why he was called the Legendary Top Scholar?” the old man asked, sipping his wine.

Anle shook his head. He knew little of Li You’an’s deeds, having never gleaned any of his aura from the river of years.

Perhaps, given the chance, he could seek out the aura of this legendary scholar and witness his glorious past.

“When Li You’an first entered the Young Saints List, his ranking was only slightly better than yours. Yet from that day, he began challenging every genius on the list.”

“Every seven days, rain or shine, he fought—unless it was during the Spring Imperial Examination. If not engaged in a duel, he was on his way to one.”

“He won every battle, nurturing an aura of invincibility and heroic spirit, and then achieved the top rank in the Spring Examination. Seven days later, he challenged the top of the Young Saints List, won, parted the clouds and mists of Sacred Mountain, and went to confer with the Saint Master.”

The old man smiled, even he expressing some awe at the tale.

“Would you not call that legendary?”

Anle felt a yearning in his heart. Indeed, to be called a legendary top scholar was no exaggeration—it was a life that seemed blessed by destiny, truly awe-inspiring.

“When Luo Qingchen entered Lin’an, he took the same path, but unfortunately… his resolve was as soft as tofu—an exceptional talent, but all too rare.”

Mentioning Luo Qingchen, the old man couldn’t help but smile.

“And that’s not even the most legendary part. After Li You’an became the top scholar and conferred with the Saint Master, he gave up the seductive riches of Lin’an and went to the Canglang River battlefield, starting as a centurion. Through battlefield merit and killing enemies, within a year, he rose to deputy general.”

“He once led a hundred men across the river, directly penetrating the main camp of the Yuan-Mongol army, capturing their general alive, and returning safely across the waters—what a boundless, domineering feat!”

The old man stroked his long brows, his tone full of emotion.

“Fighting on three thousand miles of shifting battlefields, a single sword against a million troops… Heroic spirit!” Anle exclaimed in admiration.

The old man savored the words, then clapped his hands. “Well said.”

The two drank again. The warm wine had grown cool, but little was left.

“By telling you of Li You’an today, I wish to impress upon you the importance of conviction. From now on, I place my hopes on you—may you climb to the top of the Young Saints List with unrivaled valor and spirit, and achieve distinction in the Spring Examination!”

The old man’s eyes shone brightly.

Anle took a deep breath, his expression solemn. Though the task was daunting, especially considering the likes of Zhao Jiu—the current number one on the Young Saints List, known as the Mortal Immortal, his body refinement having already surpassed the fifth stage and reached the sixth, unmatched among his peers—Anle did not shrink back. The tiger in his heart raised its head, and his spirit soared.

The old man smiled, stroked his beard, and beckoned. The Green Mountain sword trembled, parted from the tree hollow, and landed in his hand.

“You please me greatly, so I will pass on to you three sword forms. May you gain insight and fill the gaps in your swordsmanship, thus continuing my sword legacy.”

Rising slowly, the old man walked into the courtyard, letting the brisk spring rain wash over him, and began to demonstrate the sword.

“These three forms, I have named Bamboo Branch, Fragrant Grass, and Youthful Journey. Don’t laugh at the sentimental names—I borrowed them from poetic tunes favored by a fair lady in my youth. You’re still young; you wouldn’t understand such moods.”

“Haha, just watch closely.”

With a hearty laugh, the old man wielded Green Mountain and danced.

The spring rain filled the courtyard, hanging between heaven and earth, not a drop landing on the ground.

Anle stood up, bowed respectfully, and watched intently.

In that moment, the Dao Fruits “Genius of the Ages” and “Born Swordsman” seemed to burst forth with unprecedented vitality.

Within Anle’s pupils, every movement and technique of the old man wielding Green Mountain was reflected with perfect clarity.

That night, the old man danced with his sword like a wild youth, stirring the spring rain so it did not touch the earth.

That night, Anle comprehended the three poetic sword forms and witnessed a display of elegance and flair.

…

The spring night’s contest upon West Lake for a place on the Young Saints List had come to an end.

Wang Qinhe, the Duke’s son, renowned as a prodigy and bearer of the Young Saint’s Token, once shook Lin’an with his fame.

Yet such a talent was defeated by An Da, famed for his ink bamboo paintings.

Few in Lin’an knew Anle, the new addition to the Young Saints List, but mention An Da and all would recall his reputation—his ink bamboos were praised by scholars, causing a stir in the Literary Academy, well known among literati and artists.

So by the time the spring rain ceased and dawn’s light barely broke, news of Anle’s victory had spread throughout Lin’an.

An Da was not only a master of ink bamboo but also a prodigy in cultivation, accepting the Duke’s son’s challenge on West Lake, defeating him so thoroughly that Wang Qinhe was left lying adrift on the lake the entire night, his spirit shattered.

Some speculated Wang Qinhe, like the talented Luo Qingchen before him, might suffer a clouded Dao Heart!

For a time, this became the talk of Lin’an’s elite, rivaling the recent gossip of Qin Qianqiu being pummeled by Luo Qingchen and hiding in a vajra bell like a turtle.

Wang Qinhe and Qin Qianqiu, once close as brothers, had become the laughingstock of the city.

The Prime Minister’s Residence.

After the rain, the chill lingered, wine sickness and spring melancholy blending into sorrow.

In the waterside pavilion, two young men sat in silence, each seeing the awkwardness in the other’s eyes.

The Duke’s and Prime Minister’s households were in-laws, so Qin Qianqiu and Wang Qinhe were as close as brothers, yet now both had become the butt of jokes.

Wang Qinhe rubbed his nose. “Don’t look at me—my story at least sounds a bit better than yours. I challenged someone and got beaten like a drowned dog, but it’s still better than you being used as a turtle’s shell and getting beaten while curled up.”

Survival of the fittest—Wang Qinhe had no shame left.

Qin Qianqiu merely smiled, not angered, and pushed a cup of tea in Wang Qinhe’s direction.

“So, do you accept it now?” Qin Qianqiu asked.

“I do.” Wang Qinhe shrugged, surprising Qin Qianqiu with his straightforwardness.

“That kid is truly monstrous. The one who stirred the Martial Pavilion’s Martial Sage Stone must have been him. He’s obtained a top-tier martial scripture, making up for his former weaknesses—he’ll only get harder to deal with.”

Wang Qinhe spoke with sincerity.

“These prodigies who earn the Young Saint’s Token through their own talent are all monsters. Your brother Qin Hua’an, Ye Wenxi, the Ninth Prince, and now this An kid—they’re all freaks! Damn!”

The more Wang Qinhe spoke, the more agitated he became. With so many monsters, why couldn’t he be one?

Qin Qianqiu watched Wang Qinhe quietly. While Wang Qinhe envied others, he, in turn, envied Wang Qinhe’s own talent.

Such is the way of the world: while you envy another, someone else is envying you.

“Don’t you think Anle’s demonic aura is a bit too intense?” Qin Qianqiu asked.

Wang Qinhe glanced at him. “That’s a phenomenon produced by his blood energy, related to the martial scripture he practices, probably a rare inheritance from the Martial Sage Stone.”

Qin Qianqiu shook his head. “All I see is the demonic aura…”

Wang Qinhe frowned. “What are you planning? The Spring Imperial Exam is nearly here—don’t cause trouble. That kid may be close to the Lin family, but with Li You’an in Lin’an now, you can’t afford to cross the legendary top scholar.”

“I have no plans to act rashly for now, but with such a demonic aura, all I need to do is leak the news to some obsessive and fanatical exorcists…”

Qin Qianqiu’s eyes shimmered as he sipped his tea.

Wang Qinhe raised his brows, then shook his head sternly. “Exorcists? Those people are no good—filthy and dangerous. I advise you to keep your distance.”

Qin Qianqiu smiled. “Given my status, I wouldn’t approach them myself—just let the word out.”

By the ornamental pond, Qin Qianqiu tossed a handful of fish food.

The koi below surged to compete, creating a burst of color.

…

After the rain, the spring scenery was even more radiant.

In the small courtyard, the old man had already departed.

Anle sat alone beneath the eaves, an empty wine jug by his side.

Green Mountain was once more embedded in the old locust tree, all was peaceful and still. The fresh, sweet scent left by the rain brought Anle back to himself.

The previous night, while watching the old man perform the sword dance and pass on the three poetic sword forms, he had indeed gained insight.

In swordsmanship, Anle had only just grasped the “Sword Qi Proximity,” which was more a technique of the mind and spirit than actual combat. He had never truly practiced practical sword forms. The old man’s teachings filled this gap, and imparting his sword art was a profound gesture of trust and recognition.

Rising, Anle exhaled deeply and closed his eyes.

Suddenly, a luminous panel appeared before him, blue characters flickering by.

“Fearless Heart (Dao Fruit): When the dragon fights in the wild, victory across realms, strengthens the fearless spirit. Dao Fruit rewards accordingly.”

A clear, refreshing energy surged up from his soles, coursed through his skin, meridians, inner core, and mind.

Anle felt his vitality grow even stronger. The inner core he had just broken through was now utterly consolidated, its glow brighter than ever.

In the Sword Furnace at his brow, sword energy resounded, swelling greatly.

By conventional standards, his Refining Spirit and Transcendence had already surpassed the early stage and stepped into the middle stage.

A faint smile played at Anle’s lips. For him, battle was indeed the best way to solidify his cultivation and ascend in strength.

After tidying up the remnants on the table, Anle fetched Green Mountain from the courtyard and began practicing swordplay, using “Bamboo Branch,” one of the poetic sword forms taught by the old man.

The old man had once said he loved painting bamboo and was skilled at it—perhaps that was why the sword form was so named.

He wondered, though, who the fair lady was who inspired the three poetic sword forms… Perhaps there were three ladies, each lending a tune to a sword form? The elder, too, must have been a charming character in his youth.

Anle chuckled softly.

After sword practice, he performed the Ancient Demon Five Beasts exercises before ending his morning routine and changing into fresh white robes. With Green Mountain and Inkpool at his side, he took up a great scholar’s book, “Words of Rites,” reading as he left the courtyard.

Stopping at the alley entrance for his usual bowl of bean curd, he then made his way to West Lake, where he met Liu Yue of Huating, who was waiting for him. The two conversed at length.

Liu Yue had never cultivated, being a pure scholar, so he knew little of the previous night’s battle. He and Anle simply chatted about literature, poetry, and the beauty of spring.

Anle recalled catching sight of the Celestial Lady Yunrou on West Lake the night before and remembered an old promise to her, deciding to keep the appointment. Yet after waiting a while with no sign of her, he surmised she had no plans to appear—truly one who drifted freely through mortal life, even skipping appointments with ease.

He remembered, too, that Lady Yunrou was the guardian of the Sixth Peak. The old man had told him that the master of the Sixth Peak carried a sword case containing three thousand blades of the mortal world and cultivated the sword intent of the Red Dust.

Perhaps Lady Yunrou sought to comprehend the ways of the world by first descending into it herself.

After bidding Liu Yue farewell, Anle made his way to the Lin residence.

As always, the one who opened the gate was Liuxiang, the maid who awaited him every morning. Seeing Anle, her eyes sparkled as though filled with starlight.

“Good morning, Young Master An,” Liuxiang said, her cheeks flushing as she looked at the handsome, striking Anle.

News of Anle’s overwhelming victory over Wang Qinhe had already spread. In the Lin household, famed for its martial prowess, everyone knew—even the servants had heard, especially after Lin Zhuifeng had run around proclaiming Young Master An’s greatness.

Anle smiled gently. “Good morning, Miss Liuxiang.”

Her face turned bright red, and she hurried ahead to lead the way.

“Is Madame Hua not at home?” Anle asked.

“My Lady left early this morning. She’s been very busy lately, only returning late and leaving again at dawn,” Liuxiang replied.

Anle nodded, understanding.

They proceeded straight to the Martial Hall.

There, they found Lin Zhuifeng, Lin Qingyin, and several other young masters of the Lin family.

It had been some time since Anle had gathered the aura of years from others. Seeing these young masters, he put on a gentle, approachable smile.

Upgrading from three times a day to four, Anle was bursting with confidence.

He drew four strands of aura from each of the five young masters, draining them completely.

Then, he began painting portraits for them while Lin Qingyin obediently observed and learned.

Lin Zhuifeng, with her fire poker at her waist, watched Anle intently; she loved to look at beautiful things.

As evening approached, Anle finished his painting and teaching and prepared to leave.

Before he could exit, he saw a graceful young woman standing quietly in the distance—it was Ji Ying, the attendant of the Old Madam whom he had met once before.

Ji Ying greeted Anle with a respectful smile and a graceful bow. “Young Master An, do you have a moment?”

“The Old Madam would like to see you.”

ps: Third chapter, five thousand words this chapter, fourteen thousand in total today. Please support with your first subscriptions, monthly tickets, and recommendations!

(End of this chapter)