Chapter Eighty: Grit

(According to Einstein’s theory of relativity, everything has two sides; everyone harbors their own definition of justice in their heart. In short, it all depends on perspective and actual circumstance—so, for those who insist that the protagonist, by cultivating Righteous Qi, must be a flawless paragon of virtue, and that anything less makes him a hypocrite with questionable morals, I would venture to say it is your perspective that is flawed. Morality has long been the sharpest weapon to condemn, but for a lackluster writer such as myself, it holds little sway. Therefore, those who wish to seize the moral high ground and twist the narrative to attack this book are bound for disappointment…)

Chen Jianchen gave Wu Wencai no chance to speak. With a swift stroke of his blade, he struck him down, letting the blood spray as it would. After slaying the two of them, a strange calm settled over his heart.

He had to remain calm.

A scholar had killed, and not just anyone—he had slain a Black-Robed Guard and the son of a high official. Should word of this leak in the slightest, the entire Chen family would be sentenced to execution, with not a hope of survival.

Against the vast and dreadful machinery of the Tian Tong Dynasty, Chen Jianchen harbored no illusions about defying fate by himself.

“A bamboo staff and straw sandals outpace a steed—who’s afraid? Let a cloak of misty rain be my only companion.” The poem is elegantly written, capturing a free-spirited abandon—but how many in the world can truly live so unburdened? Reality binds us all with countless shackles, not allowing a shred of willfulness.

This time, Chen Jianchen’s killing of his two disciples already counted as extraordinary recklessness—satisfying vengeance with blood and steel. Yet, at the same time, it plunged him into dire peril.

Life’s accidents come without explanation—

His original plan for Wu Wencai had been forced to a halt by shifting circumstances, much to his regret. Unexpectedly, their paths had crossed here on this desolate outskirts.

A classic case of enemies meeting on a narrow road.

When the Black-Robed Guards charged over like wolves and tigers, Chen Jianchen understood that things could not end peacefully. In an instant, he feigned panic and stumbled, displaying weakness to the enemy; then, seizing his chance, he drew the dagger he always carried and killed the unsuspecting Black-Robed Guard on the spot. With the guard dead, Wu Wencai too had to die.

A contest of wits and courage, decided in a split second, yet enough to determine life or death.

When it was done, Chen Jianchen quickly surveyed the terrain. Seeing a hollow not far off, he dragged the two corpses over and buried them under a layer of earth. As for the book case he carried, it had nearly fallen apart in the struggle; he had no choice but to set it aside.

He did not know why only Wu Wencai and one Black-Robed Guard had come out, so he went to investigate. Once the bow is drawn, there can be no turning back; some things must be finished cleanly.

After covering all traces, Chen Jianchen gripped his Ghost-Cleaving Blade and crept forward. Soon, he reached a small grove, where he saw eighteen fine horses tethered to the trees, and a Black-Robed Guard napping on a stone.

At this, Chen Jianchen understood the situation. Wu Wencai and the two Black-Robed Guards must have stayed behind to watch the horses—a perfect opportunity.

But he could not be sure how soundly the guard in the woods slept, so he dared not act rashly. One must not forget the eighteen horses nearby.

These steeds were no ordinary horses. Well-trained, they would whinny and stamp at the approach of strangers, becoming restless and likely alerting the guard. Speed and precision were essential; the window would close in a heartbeat. Were he to face the guard head-on, his chances of success would be less than thirty percent.

Hiding behind a large tree, Chen Jianchen carefully surveyed the area. After a moment’s thought, he formed a plan. Circling around to another angle, he closed the distance to just over a dozen paces.

A dozen paces—not far, yet not near. He had no choice but to risk it; the longer he waited, the greater the danger.

Chen Jianchen took a deep breath, picked up a stone from the ground, and tossed it gently aside—a muffled thud.

“Who’s there?”

The Black-Robed Guard had only been dozing, so his vigilance flared instantly. He leapt to his feet, hand on his sword hilt, eyes scanning the surroundings. But nothing stirred in the grove.

“Heh, I must’ve dreamed it. Who would dare provoke the Black-Robed Guard?” he laughed at himself, relaxing a little, though out of habit he walked toward the source of the noise, wanting to check for himself.

Now was the chance!

Seeing the guard’s back turned and only three or four paces away, Chen Jianchen sprang forth, his Ghost-Cleaving Blade flashing like lightning toward the guard. As expected, the instant he moved, the horses began to whinny and kick in alarm.

“Ah!”

Feeling a gust of wind at his back, the guard instinctively rolled aside, barely reacting in time.

But Chen Jianchen was as agile as a leopard, his whole body lunging forward. The long blade whistled down.

A cold gleam, a spray of blood—the guard screamed as his left arm was severed. Yet he was no ordinary soldier; even wounded, he managed to kick out, landing a solid blow to Chen Jianchen’s right flank. The force nearly knocked the breath from him.

But at the edge of life and death, it is ruthlessness that decides the victor. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Chen Jianchen twisted aside, reversed his blade, and struck from an unexpected angle, slicing across the guard’s abdomen.

The strike was swift and deadly. Having already lost an arm, the guard could not evade; he died on the spot.

Panting heavily, Chen Jianchen collapsed to the ground, all his strength spent, finally having slain his foe.

Gazing at the corpse, he shook his head with a wry smile: perhaps he had the potential to become a martial champion after all… Of course, that was a jest. To pass the military exam, one needed not only strength and stamina, but mastery of countless martial skills—far more than he possessed.

Jesting aside, Chen Jianchen was pleased with the body he had honed through years of discipline. That early decision to train himself had proven wise; a strong body would always find its use.

Of course, he owed much to the “Great Luo Fruit” gifted by Yingning, which had endowed him with such robust health.

Still, killing was a grave matter, fraught with baleful energy. Though forced by circumstance, the memory stirred up tumult in his heart, leaving him at a loss for what to do next. If only the Mouse Demon and Yingning were here—they would surely have a magical way to destroy the corpses, leaving no trace for the Black-Robed Guards to pursue.

Thinking of Yingning, anxiety gnawed at Chen Jianchen again. By now, the Black-Robed Guard captain and the monk, along with their men, had surely entered Maple Mountain to hunt. He could only hope they would not discover Yingning’s whereabouts; if they did, a fierce conflict would be inevitable.

For Yingning was a demon, and in the eyes of the monk and the Black-Robed Guards, she was an abomination to be destroyed without mercy.

Furthermore, Chen Jianchen had no way of knowing whether Xiao Yi had reached the Pine Hollow in time to deliver his warning. So much time had passed, and still there was no sign of its return.

He could only hope that nothing had happened to them…