Chapter 742: The Sword Field

Pei Ye sheathed his sword: “Mere amateur tricks, and you dare challenge a hall?”

He glanced at the stiff man before him, then swept his eyes over the Yanri Palace group—Chen Mishuang’s face was frozen, not a single person moved—so he smiled, turned, and walked back into the Sword Disciples’ formation.

After that, the Yanri Palace group never played another game of sword, and soon departed; several Daoqi escorted them beyond the academy gate. Xu Wensang still forced a composed expression through the formalities, praising the academy’s talents like stars scattered across the sky—though even if he didn’t spread his own defeat, the tale of Pei Ye capturing a throat with a single sword would inevitably spread in small circles.

The afternoon’s sword game proceeded as usual. Pei Ye hadn’t engaged in such pure practice in a long time; the only similar experience had been the Mirage’s Old Moon Palace—but though he approached Yue Muzhou with the intent to train, Yue Muzhou faced him with intent to kill, and he could not communicate with that man who declared, “I will never take a disciple in this life.”

Now, Pei Ye naturally preferred sparring with Jiang Yiner, but whenever the two finished a round and leaned against a stone to chat, other sword disciples would always come over, requesting to test swords with Pei Ye.

In truth, most sword disciples’ eyes had remained fixed on the boy all along.

Pei Ye thus sparred one round each with Zhang Chao, Wen Li, Wen Zheng, Chu Shuiting, Zuqiu Longhua, and others—regardless of their skill level, he accepted them all. The boy now fully retracted his edge, smiling and amiable, putting the nervous sword disciples at ease.

Among this year’s sword disciples, only a handful stood out in swordcraft; Jiang Yiner normally welcomed all challengers, but now that Pei Ye and Jiang Yiner were paired, Yang Zhen no longer drew his blade, leaving the disciples without high-level sparring partners—so the two were always separated.

They trained diligently all afternoon, finally sitting cross-legged together, sweating lightly, as the Daoqi summarized the Yanri Palace’s sword style, dissecting its various techniques. Night gradually deepened, and the official training session ended.

“...Quite right. That’s why outsiders often say Huashan’s sword is strange and perilous—but it’s only because ‘correctness’ forms the foundation, making the oddness stand out,” Wen Zheng lifted his sword, holding two sword manuals, still standing beside Pei Ye. “It’s different from Yanri Palace’s style.”

“Actually, stylistically, I strangely feel it leans more toward Qingcheng.”

Wen Zheng’s eyes brightened slightly: “Pei Tongxiu, you’re truly perceptive. The two schools’ sword styles are vastly different; few notice this, but both truly arise from the rugged energy of their mountains.”

Pei Ye smiled: “Don’t keep praising me.”

Wen Zheng smiled too: “It’s sincere admiration. Pei Tongxiu, do you have plans tonight? Huashan just arrived in the capital—why not come to my lodging for a visit?”

“Ah, I’m afraid not today.”

“Hmm, then let’s arrange another time.” Wen Zheng nodded with a smile. “See you tomorrow, Pei Tongxiu.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Pei Ye turned back. Jiang Yiner, her small pack slung over her shoulder and sword in hand, was watching him thoughtfully from behind.

Pei Ye extended his arm to lift the kitten onto his shoulder, then picked up his sword and grinned: “Even Huashan’s true disciples don’t know where Ming Jianzhu is.”

He stretched lazily: “Class is over. Where are you going, Yiner?”

“Of course to the sword field to practice—won’t you come too, Elder Brother?”

“Oh, yes, I’ll come too.” He’d truly been away from the sword academy so long he’d nearly forgotten the rhythm of its training—dismissal was only at You Hour, and the academy left sword disciples ample time for self-practice.

“Then let’s go to the sword field I arranged.”

“Alright.”

“Elder Brother, you’re so good at talking to people. Sometimes I don’t even know what to say to them.”

“...Huh?”

Jiang Yiner walked beside him, glancing at him: “That Wen Zheng Tongxiu—you didn’t even know her before, yet you chatted so easily with her.”

“Hmm... Yiner, you possess the Heart’s Eye. It’s natural you dislike interacting with others. Quiet solitude suits you fine—no need to force yourself.” Pei Ye said, “You spoke very well on the field today—I couldn’t have said those things.”

Jiang Yiner felt a little embarrassed: “Today, I only spoke so rudely because Elder Brother was there. I’d never say such things normally... Of course, without you, I might’ve already lost.”

“No, you’d have won. You’re excellent with the sword—even without my method, you’d have won seven out of ten times.” Pei Ye smiled. “I’ll stop teaching you to speak harshly, then. Don’t want to damage your image.”

A cool, gentle night, the stars clean and bright; sword disciples passed by now and then.

“It’s not just because Elder Brother taught me that I spoke like that,” Jiang Yiner said. “Because I thought you could beat Xu Wensang.”

Pei Ye laughed: “Then next time you see someone formidable, think ahead—if I can’t beat them, pull back your tail.”

Jiang Yiner smiled too.

They returned to Sword Field Bing-6. Jiang Yiner opened the door and ushered the boy inside.

The field was spotlessly clean—utterly unlike the sword fields Pei Ye had once trained in alone.

“After Elder Brother taught me the ‘sword-clash’ method today, I suddenly understood many things,” Jiang Yiner set her pack aside on a large blue stone and sat atop it, leaving half the space for Pei Ye.

“Oh?”

“Before, I only fixated on the sword itself, forgetting matters of victory, defeat, life, and death.” The girl carefully stroked the [Zhao Shen] on her knees. “Sword games say ‘stop at contact.’ I never thought much about it—I assumed that if contact was made, the outcome was decided; pushing the tip three inches further would be no different from real combat. I never considered there might be a difference.”

“But now I think: how close counts as ‘contact’?”

“Stopping three inches from the throat is victory; penetrating three inches into the throat is life or death. One step back and forth—that’s six inches of space. Six inches—how vast a space it is! It allows countless sword techniques to shift and turn.”

Jiang Yiner said, “It’s not just about fighting again within those six inches—it means overturning and rebuilding every previous sword game. And if a swordsman enters a match expecting ‘stop at contact,’ he often cannot unleash his true sword.”

Pei Ye nodded seriously: “Exactly. So I think, Yiner, to become strong doesn’t mean learning another move from the [Phoenix Soars]. It means liberating your own sword. Today, once you let go, Chen Mishuang wasn’t your match in three exchanges. In the Illusion Tower, on the Winter Sword Platform—you’ve repeatedly shown an extremely high ceiling. And I happen to know exactly how to reach your own ceiling.”

“But if you wish to advance in swordcraft, you mustn’t grow too attached to this power,” he said seriously, making the girl’s bright eyes blink in surprise.

“You’re a Daoist heir; your sword’s roots lie in Shenxiao. Ying Daozhu never taught you to fight to the death—there’s good reason for that.” Pei Ye smiled. “Your talent is extraordinary. Focus your mind on climbing the path of sword Dao, not on how to defeat others every day.”

“...” Jiang Yiner fell silent suddenly.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh no.”

“?”

“Elder Brother, I just remembered. When I descended the mountain, my master warned me: remain pure in sword Dao, never compete in bravado or aggression.” Jiang Yiner looked up at him, her face visibly troubled. “Today, I only thought of defeating my opponent—and forgot... When my master comes, I’ll have to beg her forgiveness.”

“...” Pei Ye rubbed his earlobe. “Is... is this mistake serious?”

“...I’ll definitely get scolded by my master,” Jiang Yiner whispered. “Probably forced to copy scriptures.”

Pei Ye fell silent a moment, leaned close, and whispered: “Then let’s just not tell her.”

Jiang Yiner’s almond eyes widened in shock, staring at him dumbly.

Pei Ye hugged his sword: “Besides, Ying Daozhu probably doesn’t have time to care about something this small... Just pretend you forgot too.”

“But—but... I’ve never lied to my master...” Jiang Yiner clenched both hands together.

“It’s not lying. It’s forgetting,” Pei Ye corrected. He gazed at her, coaxing: “Everything has a first time.”

“...Elder Brother, you—you’re too wicked. No, I must report this to my master,” Jiang Yiner stared in disbelief for a long moment, then clenched her fist firmly.

Pei Ye fell silent, then turned his head and whispered: “Then don’t tell her I taught you to lie.”

“No, I’ll report you too.”

“...” Pei Ye’s face drooped.