Chapter 738

Pei Ye precisely caught the man’s movement, swiftly assessing the situation—he was no longer what he once was, but how could he waste his two greatest cards first on a blood feud, then on a fellow academy member? And if it came down to sword skill alone, these two would fight without mercy… Thinking this, he quickly gripped the man’s shoulder: “Brother Yan, is this really necessary?”

Yan Feiqing said calmly: “I killed him.”

Pei Ye pressed both hands onto his shoulders, pleading earnestly, while Yang Zhenbing walked up behind and carefully lifted the small cat from his shoulder.

Tan Tou said coldly: “It’s fine, don’t be afraid. He’s just older—he can’t beat the two of us.”

Pei Ye turned back, irritated: “Go back first.”

Yang Zhenbing turned and walked away, still holding the cat.

“Leave the cat with me!”

Yan Feiqing raised his sword calmly: “I’ll kill him and get it back for you.”

“Brother Yan, really, letting him take it isn’t such a big deal.”

“Pei Ye, hold off for two moves—I’ll go get my sword.” Yang Zhenbing walked off without looking back, still holding the cat.

Pei Ye held Yan Feiqing down with all his strength and locked Yang Zhenbing inside the room, even sealing the windows—there was no need to determine the ranking of Tang San Jian’s strength here, especially not if it ended with blood all over the courtyard.

Having worked so hard to quell this conflict, Pei Ye once again deeply felt his importance in this courtyard, wondering how these two had managed months without him.

Of course, he didn’t wonder why the courtyard erupted into violence the moment he returned.

To preserve harmony in Tang San Jian, Pei Ye didn’t even retrieve the cat—he left it in Yang Zhenbing’s room overnight. The next morning, as Pei Ye brushed his teeth and opened the door, he silently saw the small cat lazily stretching its neck on the bed, while Yang Zhenbing sat cross-legged on the floor, quietly watching it.

“...Didn’t sleep all night?”

“Mm.”

“A cat doesn’t need such a big bed.”

“I was afraid I’d disturb it.”

Pei Ye rolled his eyes, grabbed the cat by the nape, and lifted it up—the cat’s emerald eyes regarded him thoughtfully.

“...What’s that look for?”

“Comparing.”

Pei Ye shoved it into his arms: “Dare to run off with someone else, and I’ll shave every last hair off you.”

Fortunately, Yan Feiqing wasn’t in their class—only Pei Ye and Yang Zhenbing attended the training sessions. At dawn, the air was fresh; they sat together for breakfast, tasting once again the academy’s unchanging morning meal after a long absence. Yang Zhenbing was always early; Pei Ye followed his schedule, and by the time they headed to the training hall, the path was nearly empty.

Pei Ye had long skipped classes; according to Yang Zhenbing, the lectures had now reached the Daoist section.

Pei Ye remembered—the *Six Dynasties Overview of Sword Art* mentioned it, and Ming Niang had told him too: Daoist swordsmanship had several branches.

But overall, they used the sword to cultivate the Dao—unlike other sword schools that sought to reach the pinnacle of “sword,” they aimed to stand atop the sword and touch heaven; for a thousand years, ascending to immortality had been Daoism’s eternal ideal.

Often in offense and defense, Daoist swordsmanship appeared strange, even flawed; beginners in Daoist sword art were less fierce in combat than practitioners of other schools, often drawing criticism for being ethereal and detached from reality.

But viewed from this angle, one could understand Daoist swordsmanship’s unique character: it was indeed one of the world’s foremost sword arts for cultivating the self and reaching upward—not a weapon of attack, but a method of cultivation.

Of course, purely as sword art, once deeply accomplished, Daoist sword cultivators would reveal their advantages in mind-sword and intent-sword, clearly leading the world in understanding.

Pei Ye sat beside Yang Zhenbing in the lecture hall; now he understood why this young sword demon arrived so early—he had reviewed the previous lesson in full and pre-read today’s material.

Perhaps because he’d accepted a night’s cat bribe, he didn’t grow irritated by Pei Ye’s endless questions.

Just after the fifth hour, the sword lecture master entered the hall, and sword students trickled in—mostly familiar faces, some clearly having trained at dawn, others obviously just woken, some still with grease on their lips.

“That’s you, Zhu Shishi!”

The girl walking past her seat froze, staring blankly at him, a chicken claw still in her hand.

Pei Ye narrowed his eyes at her; after a moment, she hesitated, reluctantly offering the chicken claw toward his mouth.

“It’s almost class time—still eating?”

Pei Ye bit off a piece of chicken skin, but Zhu Shishi shoved it into his mouth and then completely ignored it, pulling another from her bag and continuing to gnaw on it as if nothing had happened.

At this moment, Ning Shuhong walked up from behind, surprised to see the boy with the chicken claw: “Young Master Pei, long time no see!”

“Young Master Ning, long time no see—I’ve missed everyone.”

“Flattery.” Ning Shuhong laughed, then looked at the boy with complex emotion. “Young Master Pei, since last year’s Zhuque Gate sword gamble, we haven’t seen you. Brother Wang said if you don’t show up again, he’ll cut ties with you.”

“Bluff.”

“Haha.” Ning Shuhong had been heading to the back row but now sat beside Pei Ye, pulling Zhu Shishi with him. “We haven’t seen you train, yet you keep growing stronger… Do you know how shocked I was when I saw you defeat Li Zhi with one sword… Too bad you vanished for months after that—we were almost used to not seeing you.”

“I’ll be here until the Yulin Trials.” Pei Ye blushed slightly, then added seriously: “I haven’t trained in the sword academy, but I haven’t stopped training.”

“Of course, of course.”

After a moment, Wang Shousi entered the hall, and upon seeing Pei Ye, he was again delighted, clapping him warmly on the shoulder with no intention of severing ties, and eagerly invited Pei Ye to join the Jian Society with him.

“If we walk together, my status will double, Brother Pei.”

“But I think it’s embarrassing.” Pei Ye didn’t want to indulge his groveling.

Gradually, the hall filled; many noticed the new figure beside Yang Zhenbing.

To the sword academy’s students, Pei Ye was both familiar and strange—everyone knew his name and face; he’d been recommended by Ming Qi Tian upon entry, a fact that had impressed many.

But after that, nothing followed—he never appeared at any sword trials, until rumors spread that he’d killed a master with Yan Feiqing in Xichi, then word came that he’d fought in the Zhuque Gate gamble, and now, as sword talents gathered in the divine capital for the great contest, he’d vanished for months, never showing his face, rumored to be active beyond the capital on the Eight Waters.

But after that, there was no follow-up; thereafter, none of the sword trial participants were ever present, until suddenly word came that he had killed a Patriarch with Yan Feiqing at the Western Pool, then rumors spread from outside that he had entered the Vermilion Bird Sword Wager—now, in the Divine Capital, all swords converged, the very moment for heroes to test their mettle, yet he vanished again for months, showing not a single face, as if heard to be stirring up trouble on the Eight Waters beyond the Divine Capital.

Had he done something major again? Was the sword academy always the last to know?

Or had the sword cultivator who dominated the divine capital last autumn and winter finally entered the arena?

Pei Ye didn’t think so much—he’d been consumed by Li Xizhou these days, either deep in the imperial palace or in the wilds, hearing only scattered rumors about the capital; he was utterly blind—not just to the situation, but even to how many sword sects now resided in the capital.

“Brother Pei, it’s such a pity you’ve been away from the capital—so much has happened. That one sword you struck outside Zhuque Gate—if you’d shown it a few times these past two months, you’d have earned countless praises.”

“Is that so? I’ve been tied up with several urgent matters.” Pei Ye sighed lightly.

“What in the capital could be more urgent than the Yulin Trials? Did you go to attend the Linxue Test?” Wang Shousi gestured northward.

“...” Since it involved secrecy, Pei Ye fell silent, instead asking: “Brother Wang, since you’ve been in the capital these days, have you heard whether Master Jian has arrived?”

Wang Shousi paused, remembering Pei Ye’s background: “The Liusui Sword Master arrived at Huashan a few days ago. You know how many sword sects are now in the capital—many climbed the mountain to pay respects, but we heard the master asked his questions and then left on his own; his whereabouts since then are unknown.”

“Ah, I see.” Pei Ye had received word of the woman in early March and assumed she’d already reached the capital.

The sword lecture remained as pleasant as ever; Pei Ye listened calmly through the lesson. When class ended, he glanced around and asked Ning Shuhong: “Young Master Ning, where’s Yiner?”

“Young Master Pei, will you be at the afternoon sword demonstration? If so, you’ll see her.” Ning Shuhong packed his sword texts but fell silent.

“Will Master Pei be practicing swordplay this afternoon? If so, you’ll be able to see him.” Ning Shuhong tidied up the sword scrolls, then fell silent for a moment.

“Yiner has been training hard these days—for today’s demonstration.”

“Isn’t diligence a good thing?”

Ning Shuhong snorted: “Young Master Pei, you’ve been away—you don’t know. As more sword sects from outside the capital come to visit the sword academy, some come for friendly exchange, but others come with arrogance, targeting our academy because it’s long been the capital’s prestigious sword institution, hoping to crush the local snake and win fame.”

Pei Ye was puzzled: “We have so many sword students—can’t we beat them?”

He thought sects like Yunlang Dongting wouldn’t do this.

Ning Shuhong grew angrier: “I’m saying—if it came to real combat, who fears whom? Losing means you’re inferior. But our academy’s students are lax; aside from their own class, former students don’t participate, even staying away from the academy.”

Ning Shuhong grew angrier: “It was clearly said we’d fight with real blades and true skill—who fears whom? Losing simply means you’re outclassed. But first, the sword disciples in the Jian Academy are inherently lax; apart from those in their own grade, former students don’t participate, and often don’t even stay in the academy.”

“Oh, I’m not talking about you, Young Master Pei—and even among your class, it’s not unified—Lu Xiu, Han Xiuben, and others refuse to confront powerful sects. That’s fine, and we aren’t afraid of them with Brother Chu… but they deliberately exploit our weaknesses.”

“Oh, Master Pei, I’m not talking about you—and even the current-grade disciples aren’t united; Lu Xiu, Han Xiuben, and others refuse to confront the strong factions. That’s tolerable enough—we aren’t afraid of them either… but they Pianpian resort to underhanded tactics.”

“They’ve studied our academy’s situation thoroughly—they know Yan Feiqing won’t fight, that Yang Zhenbing already fought twice last month and won’t fight again, and they’ve tracked Brother Chu’s movements, choosing their timing carefully… Worse, they always invent strange restrictions!”

Ning Shuhong leaned against the wall, arms crossed; Wang Shousi chuckled beside him.

Pei Ye asked curiously: “What restrictions?”

“‘Northwest sword cultivators,’ ‘Lingzhu Realm,’ ‘under twenty years old.’” Ning Shuhong’s eyes narrowed. “Young Master Pei, what’s wrong with being over twenty? Are you not a young sword cultivator?”

Pei Ye couldn’t help laughing, then joined in the scolding: “Absolutely despicable!”

He added: “But how does this relate to Yiner?”

“Because Yiner has a proud, heroic spirit.” Ning Shuhong’s gaze turned cold. “These past few days, Kunlun Yankong came—they’re one of the Top Twelve sword sects, yet they’re just as despicable. They’re not afraid of Brother Chu, only targeting Yan and Yang, who won’t fight. Several arrogant fools even boasted about ‘cleaning out the Divine Capital Sword Academy.’ A few days ago, they came to demonstrate and injured Zhang Chao. Yiner argued with them and challenged them to a sword trial today.”

“Because Sister Yiner has a proud, heroic spirit.” Ning Shuhong’s gaze turned cold. “These past few days, Kunlun’s Yanri Palace came—also one of the Top Twelve great sword sects—and they’re equally shameless. They fear no one but Master Chu, and they’ve targeted Yan and Yang, knowing neither will fight. Several arrogant fools even boasted, ‘We’ll sweep clean the Divine Capital Jian Academy.’ A few days ago, they came to demonstrate swordplay and injured Zhang Chao; Sister Yiner argued with them and set a sword trial for today.”

“Hmph. They just arrived in the capital, trying to make a name for themselves at once. Yankong placed one in the top fifty and one in the top twenty on their last Fubang ranking—they’re clearly pushing hard.” Ning Shuhong said. “This sect has always been tyrannical—we only heard scattered rumors before, but now we’ve seen it firsthand.”

Pei Ye thought for a moment, then turned to Yang Zhenbing beside him and asked: “Why don’t you fight?”

Yang Zhenbing, absorbed in study, looked up at him: “Weak.”

“When I’m not here, if anything happens to Yiner, you help her. Each time you help, let the cat stay in your room one night—remember?”

Yang Zhenbing thought a moment: “Does this count?”

“When I’m away, if anything happens to Yiner, you step in to help. Every time you help, let Little Cat stay in your room for one night—remember that?”

Yang Zhenbing looked disappointed.

They ate lunch together; Wang Shousi chattered nonstop about capital and academy gossip, giving Pei Ye some context; Zhu Shishi also talked nonstop, devouring half the meal.

The afternoon sword demonstration was still held in the sword yard, but now that external sects were visiting, it saved the students from practicing among themselves—the sword academy clearly welcomed students sparring with swordsmen from all over, even if the visitors had ulterior motives.

But Pei Ye didn’t hurry over—he parted ways with them at the fork and went alone to the practice yard to find Jiang Yiner.

The sword yard was quieter at noon than at night; Pei Ye listened to the sword sounds as he passed, finally catching the familiar rhythm outside Sword Field Bing-6.

Before the Zhuque Gate gamble, Jiang Yiner had often trained with him in the academy to refine her sword state; Pei Ye knew her style well.

But he didn’t disturb her—just leaned against the door and waited. Sure enough, after more than a minute, the sword sounds ceased, followed by the sound of tidying; soon, the door opened from within, and the clean, birdlike girl stepped out, small pack on her back, sword in hand.

Before the Vermilion Bird Sword Wager, to refine her sword state, Jiang Yiner had repeatedly trained with him in the Sword Cultivation Academy; Pei Ye knew well the girl’s sword style.

But he didn’t disturb her; he leaned against the door and waited. Sure enough, after more than a moment, the sword sounds inside ceased, followed by the rustle of tidying. Soon after, the door was pulled open from within, and the girl, as clean and delicate as a young crane, stepped out, a small bundle on her back, sword in hand.

Pei Ye smiled: “Working so hard?”

The girl’s forehead was still damp with sweat; she blushed, quickly checked her attire, and bowed formally: “Yiner greets Brother Shi.”

“No need to bow—I’ve missed you.”

The girl, still damp with sweat on her brow, blushed slightly and quickly checked her attire and posture, then bowed earnestly: “Yiner greets you, elder brother.”

“No need to bow to me—it’s been a long time.”

Jiang Yiner smiled: “Young master, you’ve been silent for so long… Did things go well?”

She remembered the last time they parted, the boy had looked weighed down by thoughts.

Pei Ye turned toward the sword training ground; Jiang Yiner hurried after him in small, quick steps. He smiled: “Everything went well. Thank you for comforting me back then.”

Jiang Yiner said: “You can tell me anything that troubles you, young master.”

Pei Ye said nothing, quietly pulling a tiny, luminous, beautiful pendant from his sleeve — carved in the shape of a white cat — and holding it out to her.

“...”

“I brought it for you. I remember you like hanging small jade pendants on your mask,” Pei Ye smiled. “This kind of jade doesn’t exist in the mortal world. Isn’t it beautiful?”