Chapter 82: Sword Dance

Qi State Chegan, Lin Du Imperial Palace, Wind‑Chant Hall.

The palace gate was silently pushed open, and a woman dressed in dark palace robes waved a hand behind her before sauntering in lazily.

The dim light in the hall flickered across her face, revealing a beauty so stunning it seemed not of this world.

Her age was indeterminate. From the icy‑crystal complexion one would guess she was not yet twenty, yet her exquisitely rare beauty betrayed a life of hardships; and those eyes, bright yet unfathomable, suggested she was past fifty, a notion one could not deny.

The stunning woman—Leng Qingya—walked with graceful laziness, yet her footsteps made no sound.

Passing through the main hall's curtains into the rear sleeping chamber, Leng Qingya's perpetual smile finally faltered, a fleeting, oddly complex tenderness flashing in her eyes.

On a long desk at the left side of the sleeping chamber lay scattered papers and brushes; behind it, on a carved dragon pear‑wood chair, Wei Lingfeng rested his head, leaning against the back, eyes closed in sleep.

His unusually handsome face showed a hint of fatigue, long dense lashes quivering, brows knit, indicating restless sleep. His pale, slender hands—one lightly resting on the arm of the chair, the other still firmly touching the white paper on the desk—were evident.

Leng Qingya's gaze first fell on the white paper on the desk; it was merely ordinary xuan paper, on which crooked sketches of boat‑like figures were drawn with a crude hand, as if by someone who did not understand painting.

Leng Qingya's delicate brows furrowed slightly, a hint of doubt flashing in her eyes before her gaze shifted to Wei Lingfeng's face.

After a long while, for reasons unknown, her previously clear eyes grew hazy and distant, as if through that exceptionally handsome young face she were watching her own long‑ago loves and memories.

She slowly extended her youthful jade‑green hand, unchanged from a decade ago, and gently brushed toward that handsome visage…

"Snap—" A crystal‑clear, slender hand barely halted Leng Qingya's mesmerized motion.

"Mother Empress." A pair of ice‑crystal clear yet profoundly deep eyes opened slowly toward Leng Qingya, showing no doubt, no surprise, only utter calm and coldness.

Wei Lingfeng released his hand, shifted his body lightly, stretched, and when he looked back at Leng Qingya a mysterious smile had formed. "It is rare for the Mother Empress to grace my sleeping quarters," he said, pointing to the nearby chair. "Won't you sit? Or shall I summon someone to attend you?"

A complex expression flashed in Leng Qingya's eyes for a moment, then she regained composure and sat down gracefully and delicately.

Leng Qingya spoke softly, "Xuan'er, you let Xuantian capture Yin Chuan State; what do you intend to do afterward?"

Wei Lingfeng raised an eyebrow slightly, puzzled, "The Mother Empress actually cares about such trivial matters?"

"Xuan'er…" A cold glint flashed in Leng Qingya's eyes, "You should know that you cannot defeat your father, the king."

"Heh—" Wei Lingfeng seemed unable to suppress a laugh, his eyes growing deeper, his right index finger rhythmically tapping the chair arm, "So the Mother Empress means I should rely on your protection, is that so?"

Wei Lingfeng paused, leaned forward slightly, gazed at the familiar yet strange woman before him, and sneered, "Do not forget. It was you, Mother Empress, who helped erase my memory and cast me into this unfamiliar palace."

"Moreover, when it comes to who truly deserves hatred," Wei Lingfeng stood, carefully gathering the drawing papers from the desk, and, with a detached yet unusually cold tone, tossed out, "Did your father not do all this for you, Mother Empress?"

A flash of anger crossed Leng Qingya's eyes; after a while, her expression gradually settled.

She rose slowly, her face lazy and indifferent, a faint smile playing as if the earlier lapse had never occurred.

"Xuan'er, the Mother Empress does not intend to interfere with your rule, but regarding the harem, she must involve herself. How much longer will you keep your consort position vacant? It is time to discard that aimless maid and appoint a new one, is it not?"

Wei Lingfeng's eyes flashed coldly, a dark chuckle curling his mouth; in a measured tone he said, "Whether to discard or not is my private matter, and thus not for the Mother Empress to worry about."

"I hope the Emperor will not regret the words I said today," Leng Qingya said, her murderous glint fading instantly, then she smiled leisurely and, without lingering, turned and left.

Wei Lingfeng listened but did not look up, gazing at the few sheets of drawing he had folded, a gentle, slightly pained light flashing in his eyes, then suddenly in a deep voice said, "Chengyou, convey the document and Mo Er."

"Yes, Your Majesty," a respectful echo resonated through the empty hall.

Wei Lingfeng raised an eyebrow, thinking of seeing that person again soon; a soft smile tugged at his mouth as he said lightly, "Create the illusion that I am in Yin Chuan. We set out for the northern border of Yin State."

Ten days later, we finally left the territory of Yao State and reached the chaotic zone at the Yin‑Yao border. Of course, that was only in the past; now this place has long been the territory of Yi State, bustling and prosperous.

Yi State's southeastern subdivision—Fengyou—was the small kingdom I passed through when I left Ting State to marry into Qi State.

Back then I never imagined that the nation I admired and the young lord whose charisma I longed to see would turn out to be Qiran.

On the first day we set foot in Fengyou, we received news that shocked the entire continent.

The mist‑shrouded capital of Yin Chuan State, which had long upheld a three‑kingdom stalemate, was seized within less than two months by the Qi State's Protector General Xuantian leading the "Heavenly Armor Elite."

From then on, the superficial balance and fleeting stability of the world were shattered. The Tianhe continent officially entered an era of war among three, no, four kingdoms vying for supremacy.

"Qiran…" I looked up on the gently rocking horse, my gaze meeting that peerless face, but with a sullen expression, "Thus Character: Thus Character: Luofeng following is one thing, why did she also come along?"

The contest between Thus Character: Thus Character: Luofeng and Qiran ended without a result, because midway Qiran became unsettled and could not focus.

One must know that in a duel between masters, any momentary distraction can be fatal. Fortunately Thus Character: Thus Character: Luofeng noticed his off‑state and voluntarily halted the match, hurrying back to the rendezvous point.

That day, after Thus Character: Thus Character: Luofeng escorted Fu Junmo away, he actually returned, shamelessly insisting on following us. To be clear, none of the three of us intended to let him join.

But his martial skill matched Qiran's, his nerve was as thick as mine… cough… and his lightness and tracking experience even surpassed those of Bu Sha before.

Finally, helplessly, this man of unknown whereabouts, unknown skill, unknown identity—who seemed to have appeared from nowhere—became our companion, given Qiran's indifference, my lack of inquiry, and Bu Sha's nonchalance.

Originally, having Thus Character: Thus Character: Luofeng join was already surprising; who could have guessed that within three days…

My gaze drifted to Cheng Er under the gorgeous sunset, her youthful aura so beautiful it almost blinded me. Sigh! I still harbor resentment over the kick she gave Bu Sha that day.

Qiran shook his head helplessly, steadied my restless body, and lowered his gaze, saying, "She said she would watch over Bu Sha for Hong Xiu, traveling the whole way, and she kept asking all the way."

Come to think of it, Cheng Er's attitude toward others—like me and Thus Character: Thus Character: Luofeng—was not bad; she didn't hold a grudge over the few needles I once shot at her. Her modesty mixed with aloofness and pride, such a woman shows no concealment, and I… cannot say I don't like her.

As for Qiran, I was speechless; it's just the natural deference and worship of a lower‑ranked ice‑ling toward a superior, which has become commonplace.

But when it comes to her attitude toward Bu Sha, I can't help but feel a chill; helping her sister watch over someone she likes? It's simply looking for trouble, adding chaos whenever Bu Sha shows a bad side, as if she won't rest until he shows his ugly side.

I suspect that these past days, Bu Sha has been pushed to his limit as well.

The most absurd is that Hong Xiu; whenever I recall her glaring at me, her eyes seemed ready to tear me apart, sending a deeper chill. Is she Bu Sha's junior sister? Does she like Bu Sha? Surely not?

Qiran's horse gradually slowed as I pondered; he glanced at Bu Sha beside him and said calmly, "To take a shortcut, we'll have to camp out in this forest tonight."

Bu Sha's expression remained unchanged as he gave a cold nod.

We did not stay the night at Fengyou Palace; the reason was simply not to draw attention. Moreover, according to my account and Qiran's memory, after crossing this forest and passing a small town, we would reach the hill where the "Hidden Realm" lies.

The sky gradually darkened.

"Let's camp here tonight,"

Qiran spoke, and naturally no one objected. Though the mountain weather was damp and cold, with many mosquitoes and insects, I have always curled up in Qiran's arms to sleep, enjoying natural warmth plus incense mosquito repellent, so it was comfortable.

We gathered some nearby twigs and built a fire.

The sky soon turned completely black, but the bright moon tonight gave the camp a special atmosphere.

Thus Character: Thus Character: Luofeng and Cheng Er went nearby to look for fresh "food" and more firewood, while the three of us stayed to watch over the luggage and horses.

Since that day Fu Junmo ambushed us, Qiran has refused to leave my side or Bu Sha's, so in recent days our movements have been in groups of two or three.

"Bing Yi, learn a sword set tonight." Qiran suddenly lowered the wooden stick in his hand.

"That's a statement, not a question!" I lifted my head and stared for a while, scratched my head, and asked embarrassedly: "Is it hard to learn?"

Qiran smiled, drew his sword and tossed it to Bu Sha, saying, "The Carefree Wander sword technique—practice a round first so she can watch."

Bu Sha took the sword without a word, blandly accepting it, and walked to the open grass before the fire.

"Eh? Bu Sha isn't... he has no internal energy left, right?"

Qiran glanced at me and said, "Bu Sha is an assassin; his techniques emphasize concealment and speed. If his internal energy isn't gone, you probably couldn't even see one of his moves clearly."

As he spoke, Bu Sha had already lifted his sword and struck out lightly.

"Still dazed." Qiran chuckled, lightly tapping my forehead, "Watch Bu Sha's every move and stance clearly; I'll explain them in detail for you."

I turned my head foolishly; a silver light flashed before my eyes, and Bu Sha was already lightly waving his sword blossoms around his body, accompanied by Qiran's voice flowing like a stream.

"The Carefree Wander sword technique consists of three moves and twelve forms. First move, like a fish in water; the emphasis is on lightness, agility, and unrestraint—you only need to grasp the sword movements, not the sword intent……Second move, the dragon roams and dives underwater; you must clearly see the connection between each of Bu Sha's movements; this move must maintain continuous forms, with form and spirit round and complete like a ring……"

I focused my gaze on the black figure swaying in the moonlight, continuously digesting the information from Qiran's warm, moist voice in my mind.

"The final move, 'Let me wander freely,' is also the soul of the entire sword technique. Formless, traceless, desireless, selfless; under heaven and earth, let me wander freely……"

Bu Sha lightly turned, sheathed his long sword, and stood firm before the firelight; the silvery-white moonlight and crimson flames also reflected his black clothes and dark eyes, reflecting his cold visage.

"Little girl, dazed again..." Qiran helplessly called back my spirit, "How is it? How much did you remember?"

I turned my head in a daze, grabbed his sleeve, and exclaimed excitedly, "I thought those sword techniques, blade methods, and supreme martial arts were just lies in wuxia novels! Turns out they really exist? By the way, who created this sword technique, and do you both know it?"

Qiran brushed off the grass scraps that had fallen on my head with his hand; his smile seemed to melt into pure indulgence and pity, "I created it myself. When I first thought of it, I once demonstrated it in front of Bu Sha, so……"

"This... this... these two people, were they born just to make others feel inferior?"

Qiran reached out, pulled me from the corner where I was doodling circles, and held me in his arms; no matter what, the smile in his voice couldn't be hidden, "This Carefree Wander sword technique is easy to learn and use, and whether for close combat or long-range, it suits you perfectly."

"Carefree Wander..." I clutched Qiran's collar, leaning against his chest and murmuring repeatedly, a thought flashing in my mind over and over. Right—dance! Sword!

I let out a strange cry, jumped up, took out one of the miscellaneous items that Xin Hui had packed in the luggage—the jade zither—and, facing Bu Sha, who seemed either foolishly dazed or still aloof, I excitedly said, "Bu Sha, that... I haven't learned it yet. Could you dance it again for me?!"

The two exchanged a glance; Qiran shook his head helplessly and laughed, "I don't know what she wants to do either, just dance it again for her."

I sat cross-legged beside Qiran, casually placing the jade zither on my legs, and looked up, saying, "Let's begin."

Bu Sha blinked, his posture unmoving, stepped back a step while holding his sword, lightly flourishing the blade, and traced a gorgeous circle of light in the night.

My slender ten fingers lightly plucked the strings, the smooth melody precisely matching Bu Sha's sword-dancing rhythm, and I sang aloud……

Years are rare in silence, the autumn wind weary of drifting.

The sunset lingers, unwilling to leave, hanging on the wall, reluctant to part from me.

The former beloved's voice by my ear has already flowed eastward with the tide.

Looking back again, past events fall like maple leaves, one by one.

Bu Sha turned, neatly flourishing his sword blossoms under the moon; his motion lacked tremendous force, lacked ethereal agility, yet was suave, without a single superfluous movement—as if that simple move alone could reveal his perseverance, fortitude, and unyielding spirit; I only needed to watch silently, believe, and then feel at ease and at peace.

Love has reached its end, hate too has abandoned its promises.

Fate considers itself humorous, with too many thoughts beyond my control.

Ambitious aspirations soaring to the clouds, how much sorrow? Kindred spirits are hard to meet, few remain.

Looking back again, I only hear laughter spreading through drunken dreams.

……

Bu Sha ceased his movements and steps; a light sheen of sweat appeared on his broad forehead; he lightly flicked his wrist, the long sword tracing a beautiful arc above the fire before landing in Qiran's hand.

The vocal stopped, yet the zither's notes continued to ring and echo through the valley.

I tossed the handkerchief at my side to Bu Sha, already seated to my left, then gave Qiran a subtle "please perform" smile. My ten fingers gently gathered, and the long melody rose again……

Love has reached its end, hate too has abandoned its promises.

……

Laughing sigh, words exhausted, ancient obsession, present madness—all end in emptiness.

Dull blade, worn edge, grace exhausted, righteousness severed—only then does the dream break.

……

Under the moonlight, a youth in white robes leisurely kept the beat; amidst the sparkling starlight and glorious moonlight of the mountain forest, he seemed like a divine child inadvertently fallen into the world, lightly sketching the tranquility between heaven and humanity.

The desolate road has already sighed; its footsteps have been fully observed, yet no one understands.

For years I have strained my eyes to see through the rolling dust of the mortal world, yet I still haven't grasped it.

I mock myself: ink exhausted, a thousand feelings and myriad grudges—all turned to sorrow.

When the music ends and people disperse, hair temples turn white, red faces fade.

The candle has burned low, yet I haven't noticed competing with the sun's brilliance in a plot to grow thin.

When tears dry and blood conceals, the frenzy surges—even as white snow flies, all becomes emptiness.

Qiran performed a light, agile flip in the air, his robes flying; his movement reached the utmost in grace and ethereality, his black hair like thick silk, rising then drifting down.

The clear breeze brushed past my ears, lifting my hair strands, just like plucking my ten fingers on the zither strings, lightly sweeping over the deepest part of my heart, playing the most wonderful chapter. I turned my head to look at Bu Sha before the fire, his complexion clear and cold, yet I could not conceal the starlight sparkling in his black eyes.

In this open valley, beneath this dark night curtain, we three stood in a line, never parting, never abandoning.

The corner of my mouth lifted slightly; whatever had settled in my heart rippled outward, forming one circle of light after another.

So... this is happiness!

The zither's notes gradually faded; Qiran leapt and landed before me, a few strands of his long hair still tousled by the wind brushing past his ears and lips, then falling smoothly. He handed over the long sword, his voice gentle yet smiling: "After watching three times, even the dullest should have learned it; I'll play the music for you."

In the tranquil valley, a warm, moist, low voice echoed amidst the leaping flames, gently flowing. In the firelight, there was a girl whose robes fluttered, holding a sword and dancing gracefully.

A body clad in pale pink and fluttering red delicate silk, hair flowing with the wind, a face that embodies all worldly joy, delicate and beautiful……

Light petals, flying fallen leaves, curling, round after round, wrapping her, then drifting down softly.

The zither-playing, peerless youth singing low; the black-clad man sitting calmly; the sword-wielding, ethereal maiden twirling—all of this exists within the valley, yet seems to have been extracted from these mountains to form a world of its own.

That is a world where, as long as it exists, no one can intrude or destroy it—a blissful world.

Thus Character: Thus Character: Luofeng held food in his left hand and firewood in his right as he stepped into the valley; beside him, Cheng'er followed closely, and in their eyes appeared this scene.

Suddenly, a chilling gaze fell upon Thus Character: Thus Character: Luofeng—the black‑clothed man sitting coldly before the fire, Bu Sha, whose expression remained unchanged, his eyes as dark and icy as ever; yet that fleeting look, so quick he almost thought it an illusion, laced with icy killing intent, made him faintly furrow his brow.

Immediately after, Xiao Qiran silently lifted his head, still humming softly, his voice warm and smooth. His deep, sea‑like blue eyes swept over him without a ripple, lingering not at all—but that single glance held a clear warning, threat, and… killing intent.

However, in the blink of an eye, once the sword‑dancing girl turned away, all their expressions were quietly concealed, as if they had never existed, replaced by a clear, gentle grace like flowing water and happiness.

Thus Character: Thus Character: Luofeng glanced aside, watching the slender figure dancing before the fire; his gaze grew distant and wistful, his youthful cheer stiffening, the corner of his mouth curling into a strange arc as he murmured lowly, "Really makes one want to destroy… this world…"

Cheng'er stood beside Thus Character: Thus Character: Luofeng; though his words were soft, she should have heard them. But at that moment, her pale, sweat‑damp hands clenched tightly at her skirt, her chest aching for no reason, waves of pain rendering her unable to hear anything.

She had always believed that person was a born cold‑blooded killer, heartless and unfeeling—forever, forever incapable of showing such tenderness… a… tender expression.

(End of chapter)