ebonymovies Chapter 541 A Person from the East Sea, Someone Who Shouldn't Be Here
Chapter 541 A Person from the East Sea, Someone Who Shouldn't Be Here
The swordsman's swordsmanship was fierce and sharp, each strike carrying the ruthlessness found only in the snow and winds of the North.
The swordsman's swordsmanship was light and graceful, like waves on the East China Sea, one after another, endless, yet each strike landed precisely on the knife-wielder's most vulnerable rhythm.
The two exchanged more than twenty blows, and the swordsman's swordplay had become somewhat scattered.
Jian looked at it for a while, then looked away.
Although the swordsman from the East Sea's swordsmanship was beautiful, it lacked any killing intent, as if he was practicing for the audience.
Such a person, in a real life-or-death struggle, would not survive more than three moves.
Jian Lai withdrew his gaze.
He no longer looked at Zhao Wujiu, nor at the fighting on the arena.
He turned slightly to the side, as if adjusting his posture, and glanced at Xu Longxiang on the high platform out of the corner of his eye.
He watched this glance without batting an eye, his eyes slightly lowered, his gaze merely sweeping over the hem of Xu Longxiang's robe before returning to the arena.
Then he paused slightly.
Xu Longxiang was not looking at him.
From the start of the martial arts tournament until now, Xu Longxiang's gaze has hardly lingered on him.
His gaze remained fixed elsewhere, on the crowd, on the throng of heads, as if searching for something.
Jian Lai was used to being watched.
He is the sect leader of the Qinglan Sword Sect, someone Qin Mu personally promoted, and the head of a renowned righteous sect known throughout the world.
He knew that by sitting there, he was the very person Xu Longxiang needed to be most wary of.
But Xu Longxiang didn't look at him.
The gaze wasn't on him, nor on the seat of the Qinglan Sword Sect, nor on any seemingly suspicious corner.
His gaze was aimless, yet it carried an uncontrollable urgency.
Jian Lai slightly raised an eyebrow, then subtly withdrew his gaze, no longer looking at the high platform.
He turned his gaze back to the ring, but his mind was no longer on it.
He wondered what was hidden in that gaze.
Who is Xu Longxiang?
Lord of the North, commander of 300,000 iron cavalry.
From the moment he sat on the platform, he should have known how many eyes were watching him across the entire training ground, and how many people were waiting to find a flaw in his face.
But at this moment, his gaze held an anxiety that shouldn't have been on his face.
He's looking for someone, and he's still looking for someone else.
That means this person is very important, so important that he forgot to even pretend.
Jian Lai mentally reviewed the sentence, his face remaining expressionless.
He simply lowered his eyes, watching the two figures locked in combat on the stage, like a dutiful spectator.
On the high platform, Xu Longxiang's fingers finally stopped.
He lowered his voice, turned his head, and kept his gaze fixed on the crowd, only slightly moving his lips.
"Fan Li, go find her."
Fan Li did not move.
His gaze fell on the two people on the ring, and his voice was very low, like an echo coming from underground.
"Your Highness, the Moon Goddess Sect is, after all, a sect that the Great Qin Dynasty has explicitly ordered to be suppressed. Her participation in this martial arts tournament is naturally her own choice. However, if we show them too much enthusiasm, it may give them ammunition to criticize us, which would be detrimental to us."
Xu Longxiang's gaze finally paused for a moment.
He was silent for a moment.
Then he nodded.
"You're right. I was too impatient."
His voice was very soft, with a hint of unease that he himself didn't even realize.
Xu Longxiang picked up the teacup in front of him and took a sip.
The tea had gone cold, carrying a faint bitter taste that spread from the tip of his tongue to his throat, much like his current mood—bitter and lingering.
At this moment, Xu Longxiang desperately wished he were the Emperor of Qin, so that he wouldn't have to worry about the Moon Goddess being targeted by anyone.
Xu Longxiang's eyes gradually hardened; he had gained another reason to overthrow the Qin Dynasty.
Fan Li stood behind him, her gaze fixed on his back, and said nothing more.
He knew that His Highness had taken his words to heart.
This is enough.
.........
On stage, the third performance has ended.
The swordsman from the East Sea narrowly defeated the knife-wielder from the North. It wasn't a spectacular victory, but it was enough to make him walk off the stage with his head held high.
Fan Li turned his gaze away from the arena and back to Xu Longxiang's back, silently waiting for the next match to begin.
The fourth match has begun.
Fan Li unfolded the roster, and his voice rang out again, this time deeper than before.
"Fourth match – Yan Shisan, a rogue cultivator from the Northern Territory. Opponent – Bai Yujing from Penglai Island in the East Sea."
The murmurs from the audience had subsided compared to before.
Yan Shisan, a rogue cultivator from the Northern Territory, is unaffiliated with any sect or faction, yet he manages to live peacefully in this land, which is no small feat.
In the martial arts circles of the North, no one knew who his master was, where he came from, or even when he appeared here.
He was like a gust of wind, blowing in from some unknown corner, and then taking root in this place.
Some say he was a deserter from the border of Northern Mang, some say he was the last survivor of a major sect that was wiped out, and others say he was not a rogue cultivator at all, but a remnant of the old dynasty who lived in anonymity.
There are many different opinions, but no one can provide any evidence.
He was just a man, a sword, living quietly, like a stone at the bottom of the water. You couldn't see anything on the surface, but when you stepped on it, you realized how heavy it was.
While no one had heard of the name Bai Yujing, the people of Penglai Island in the East Sea knew it like the back of their hand.
In the mouths of those in the martial arts world, that place was like a pavilion hanging in the sky, visible but untouchable.
Some say that Penglai Island holds the secret to immortality, others say that it hides ancient cultivation techniques, and still others say that it's all a hoax, a mirage in the East China Sea.
Regardless of whether it's true or not, the name Bai Yujing definitely originated from that place.
So when Fan Li read out those two names.
All eyes turned from their previous casual observation to the figure that was walking out of the crowd.
He was a middle-aged man wearing a gray cloth long gown.
He was tall and slender, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. He walked at a steady pace, each step firm, like an old tree that had stood in the wind for many years, its roots already deep in the ground.
He had a sword hanging at his waist.
The scabbard was black and undecorated, and even the handguard was the simplest kind of iron ring. The hemp rope wrapped around the handle was worn shiny, showing that it was an old item that had been used for many years.
He didn't look at the ring, the referee on the platform, or Xu Longxiang on the high platform.
He walked slowly up the steps, onto the ring, and then stopped.
His gaze fell on the opposite side, on the person who had not yet appeared.
There was a moment of silence in the audience, and then another figure emerged from the crowd.
It was a young man wearing a moon-white robe.
He looked very young, no more than twenty-five or twenty-six years old, with delicate features, gentle eyes and brows, and a faint smile on his lips.
But his steps were even lighter than Yan Shisan's, as if he were walking on clouds, each step landing without a sound, as if he were not walking, but floating.
He also had a sword hanging at his waist.
The scabbard was jade-white, smooth as jade, without any patterns. Yet, the jade scabbard gleamed with a warm luster under the sunlight, like a riverbed stone washed countless times by moonlight. Looking at it for a long time would give one a kind of dazed illusion.
His gaze fell on Yan Shisan's face, paused for a moment, and then he smiled.
"Yan Shisan?"
Yan Shisan did not answer.
He simply raised his hand and gripped the hilt of the sword at his waist.
Bai Yujing's smile deepened, and he raised his hand to grasp the hilt of the jade-white sword at his waist.
The two were three zhang apart.
The wind on the arena stopped for a moment, and even the noise of the distant streets suddenly seemed to subside, as if it had been suppressed by an invisible hand.
The audience members kept their breathing to a minimum.
No one spoke, no one moved, and even coughs were swallowed back down.
Then, Yan Shisan made a move.
The moment Yan Shisan drew his ink sword, the entire training ground fell silent for a moment.
That sword was so heavy, like a mountain turned upside down, carrying the cold, hard, and resolute air that only the northern winds and snow possess.
He made no unnecessary movements, no probing, no feints; with a single sword strike, he aimed straight for Bai Yujing's chest.
When the referee on the platform saw that sword strike, Fan Li's brow twitched slightly.
The swordsman in the stands looked over, his gaze slightly narrowing.
Even Xu Longxiang, who had been absent-minded on the high platform, finally turned his gaze from the crowd back to the arena.
Bai Yujing did not withdraw.
He didn't block either.
With a flick of his wrist, the jade-white sword met the attack in an extremely natural manner.
The moment the swords clashed, there was no earth-shattering roar, only a very soft "ding," like a drop of water falling into a deep pool, or like a piece of ice breaking.
The blades of the two swords touched each other, slid half a foot apart, and then separated.
Yan Shisan took a step back.
Bai Yujing also took a step back.
The distance between the two remained three zhang, but the footprints on the ground had changed.
A shallow dent was left on the ironwood arena beneath Yan Shisan's feet, as if it had been struck by a giant hammer.
The ironwood beneath Bai Yujing's feet remained unchanged, not even a speck of paint had been rubbed off.
Someone in the audience finally couldn't help but gasp.
"That ink sword...it's so heavy."
"How did Bai Yujing catch it? His sword strike didn't look like he used any force at all."
"It's not that he didn't use any force, it's that he deflected the force too thoroughly. He redirected all of Yan Shisan's strength to his feet, without taking any of it himself."
"But there wasn't even a footprint on his feet."
"This is incredibly powerful. Where did this person come from?"
On the stage, Yan Shisan looked at Bai Yujing, and a slight emotion finally appeared in his eyes.
He was not the kind of person who could be easily shaken. Over the years, he had seen too many opponents, some more flamboyant than Bai Yujing, and some more shrewd than Bai Yujing.
But no one could catch his sword so easily, without even breaking a breath, like him.
He spoke, his voice hoarse.
"You are not from Penglai Island in the East China Sea."
Bai Yujing smiled faintly, like a wisp of smoke blown away by the wind.
"I am."
Yan Shisan's gaze fell on his jade-white sword.
"The people of Penglai Island do not use this kind of swordsmanship."
Bai Yujing neither refuted nor explained.
He merely tilted the sword slightly, tip pointing downwards, his posture as composed as someone sunbathing in their own backyard.
"It doesn't matter where I'm from, what matters is that I'm here."
Yan Shisan fell silent.
He did not press the matter further.
He gripped the hilt of the sword again, and the blade of the ink sword rose once more, pointing at Bai Yujing's brow.
The third move.
This sword strike was faster and heavier than before, carrying a resolute and unstoppable momentum.
The blade of the ink sword drew a dark arc in the air, like a crack torn from the depths of the earth, slashing towards Bai Yujing's shoulder.
Bai Yujing did not dodge.
His sword also moved.
The jade-white sword blade traced an extremely thin arc in the sunlight, silently grazing Yan Shisan's wrist.
Yan Shisan's sword strike faltered.
He looked down at his wrist.
There was no wound there, not even a trace of redness, but his hand felt as if it had been burned by something, and he abruptly pulled it back.
The ink sword slipped from his hand and landed on the arena with a muffled clang.
A suppressed gasp rippled through the audience.
Yan Shisan took two steps back, grasped his right wrist with his left hand, and his face turned slightly pale.
He stared at Bai Yujing for a long time, then bent down, picked up the ink sword from the ground, and sheathed it.
"I lost."
His voice was flat, revealing neither resentment nor frustration; he simply stated a fact calmly.
Then he turned around, walked off the stage, his steps still unhurried, just as when he came.
Bai Yujing sheathed his sword, the jade-white blade sliding into the scabbard without making a sound.
He stood on the ring, his gaze sweeping across the crowd below, the smile still playing on his lips.
"You're too kind."
He turned around and stepped off the stage, his steps still so light, as if he were walking on clouds, leaving no trace.
The murmurs from the audience surged up like a tidal wave.
"How did he sever Yan Shisan's tendons with that sword strike?"
"It wasn't severed. It was shattered by the shockwave. He used sword energy to sever the tendons in Yan Shisan's wrist. There's no visible injury on the surface, but he won't be able to hold a sword for at least three months."
"Three months? Wouldn't that mean it's ruined?"
"If you can recover in three months, that's good luck. But whether someone who can't hold a sword for three months can even pick it up again is hard to say."
"Where did this Bai Yujing come from?"
And in a restaurant not far from the training ground.
A crack was pushed open in the second-floor window, and Qin Mu was sitting by the window, holding a cup of warm yellow wine in his hand, his gaze fixed on the arena, watching the pale figure walking down from the stage.
He didn't speak, he just looked, his gaze as indifferent as if he were looking at a stream flowing past his feet.
After a long pause, he put down his wine glass and muttered, "Interesting."
Jiang Zhaoyue sat opposite him, followed his gaze, and asked softly, "What's wrong, young master?"
Qin Mu did not answer, but simply twirled the wine glass in his hand, the smile on his lips deepening.
"Someone who shouldn't be here."