Volume One: The Emperor’s Edict Chapter Eleven: Parting for Years to Come

The scene before his eyes flickered between light and shadow, and after a bout of jostling, his body was placed gently upon a soft mattress. The pain gradually gave way to a tingling numbness.

Once again, he had been saved. Liu Xiaoyi recalled that after the puppet master was slain, the owner of those cloth shoes had approached, stooped down to lift him, slung him over his shoulder, and carried him out the door.

His arms were immobilized, splinted with iron plates to prevent further injury, and someone came each day to feed him. Not until the eleventh day, when the bandages blocking his vision were removed, did he discover that the ones who had kept vigil beside him were the two young women, Xue Yiran and Yu Wenwan.

Once Master Jingkong saw he was out of danger, he left behind a letter and departed in haste, fearing his master would blame him if he tarried any longer. Without daring to delay, he journeyed northward.

"You... it seems you’re safe now." Noticing Liu Xiaoyi’s eyes open, Xue Yiran gripped the gauze in her hands, uncertain how to react. She had never imagined he would break into the Hall of White Robes for her sake, or risk his life against the puppet master. From Shufu, she had learned that the puppet master was a formidable young expert from the Hall of the Sacred Sovereign.

Yu Wenwan, terrified, hugged him tightly, her voice trembling with tears as she scolded him by his ear, "You really are hard to kill! If you died, who would take me to roam the martial world?"

Upon learning that Liu Xiaoyi had dared to sneak into the Hall of White Robes by night and fought the puppet master to the death, Yu Wenwan had ridden from Banner City straight up the mountain, arriving just in time to find Xue Yiran pacing anxiously outside the courtyard halfway up the slope.

After piecing together what had happened, she learned that Liu Xiaoyi, having lost too much blood, lay unconscious within.

Any resentment Xue Yiran felt had long since vanished. The one who’d taken him to the brothel could only have been Liao Ming; her anger was merely at Liu Xiaoyi’s lack of caution.

"My uncle has already led people in battle against the Hall of the Sacred Sovereign—seven halls taken in ten days, and now they’re besieging the main gate," Xue Yiran said, her persistent gloom finally lifting into a smile.

He tried to sit up but found himself too weak. "My dear ladies, just let me rest here for now. With you two beauties tending me, what more could I ask for?"

"Sister Wen, if you keep talking nonsense, I won’t speak to you anymore!"

Though the two girls were flowers among women, the youth had no mind for admiring beauty. Had a true expert not appeared, he would have perished beneath that broken sword. He needed to find a way to draw the Peach Blossom Sword—judging by its scabbard alone, it was no ordinary weapon.

To learn a sword technique and use it in battle were two different things. Watching Xia Liang dance with her sword, a chill enveloped her form, while his own swordplay seemed rigid and awkward. What should have been an unconventional technique, he wielded more like a saber.

Now he understood why Xia Liang would not teach him the Frost Sword—this was the reason.

When Liu Xiaoyi finally recovered enough to walk, the struggle between the factions was over. Eight halls of the Sacred Sovereign had been destroyed; three of their lords slain, the bodies brought back by Xue Yiran’s uncle for burial.

At the same time, news arrived that the Sacred Sovereign was indeed in league with foes beyond the border. The Great Wilderness had massed three hundred thousand troops, pursuing the remnants of the Sacred Sovereign’s forces to the very gates before relenting.

Not until the army had returned did Liu Xiaoyi find himself summoned to the main hall. The Second Elder, eyes bloodshot, stared at him without shifting his gaze.

"As a martial instructor, you dared risk your life against the deputy of the Hall of Black Robes for the sake of the young mistress—admirable courage, but you’ve disgraced our Frost Sword!"

The Second Elder was furious. The Frost Sword had long belonged to the Xue family; even Xia Liang had learned it here. But with generations of merchants in the family, the technique had gradually fallen into disuse.

Xue Cangfeng regarded the youth with a mix of pride and exasperation—pleased at his remarkable talent, frustrated that his poor swordplay had almost cost him his life.

The Grand Elder intervened, "Cangfeng, don’t frighten the boy. Your niece seems rather fond of him. Keep scolding and you’ll make the young lady angry!"

He glanced at Yu Wenwan—she was the last of her line, and the Yu family had long been in the Xue family’s debt. The Grand Elder, turning this over in his mind, proposed, "I don’t think it’s wise for you to remain in the South. Tomorrow I’ll send you to the Central Plains. Banner Mountain has holdings there; you can settle in one of our properties."

Banner Mountain owned many shops outside, supporting the sect’s daily expenses. These businesses were cultivated to ensure stable income.

Xue Cangfeng raised a hand to stop him. "Let him stay half a month. I’ll train him properly before he leaves for the Central Plains."

As this was a private family matter, the elders exchanged glances and smoothly turned the decision over to Xue Cangfeng.

Leave they must, for soon the two sects would be at war. The appearance of Gao Yingkui meant the authorities would no longer turn a blind eye. Once the government intervened in the martial world, great turmoil was sure to follow.

Liu Xiaoyi was uncertain whether news of the Sovereign’s Edict had leaked. All the better to leave this place quickly and find a measure of peace.

The next half-month became a period Liu Xiaoyi least wished to recall. Each dawn, Xue Cangfeng arrived with his sword, not leaving until the moon was high. Only then would two servants carry Liu Xiaoyi, exhausted and limp, to soak in a great wooden tub set over the fire in a side room.

The smell of herbal decoctions clung to him for a long time afterward—so much so that people sometimes mistook him for an apothecary’s assistant.

Compared to Xue Cangfeng, Xia Liang’s Frost Sword was just a superficial imitation. Her fame rested not on the technique, but on the spirit of the sword.

The Xue family’s Frost Sword, passed down through generations, was brought to its peak by Xue Cangfeng. Each stroke conjured frost, true energy coursing along the blade and sending forth waves of chill, lowering the temperature of the entire field—this was the true essence of the Frost Sword.

"Watch closely. I’ll demonstrate these moves one last time." On the final night, Xue Cangfeng performed the entire set beneath the moon, cold light swirling. It was markedly different from Xia Liang’s style.

Xia Liang’s swordplay was clever and exquisite, her force perfectly measured; but Xue Cangfeng’s was a flowing river of light, endless and unbroken. The ten forms of the Frost Sword were seamlessly interlinked, offense and defense in harmony, and in any move the sword could be withdrawn and the body stilled—a sign of true mastery.

So this is what the sword can be! Liu Xiaoyi stared in awe at a droplet flying toward him, only for it to dissolve silently upon his nose as the courtyard filled with a shroud of white mist.

At full mastery, the natural chill slowed the movements of all within range. A sudden cold numbed the nerves—if there had been an enemy present, Liu Xiaoyi felt he could only await the blade. His limbs were flooded with cold, unable to move.

When Xia Liang had used the technique, it had not produced this effect—perhaps so he could escape. When sensation returned, Liu Xiaoyi bowed deeply in the formal salute of a disciple to his master.

"It’s time. The carriage is ready outside—set out at once." Xue Cangfeng drew close, whispering a few words that made Liu Xiaoyi nod repeatedly, his face brightening in understanding. Behind him, the two girls packed what was needed and loaded it onto the carriage.

Along the winding mountain road, the two carriages rolled steadily down. The spirited driver cracked his whip again and again, and together they set off for the Central Plains.