Chapter 747: President

Pei Ye did not open his eyes; he heard again the night wind outside the window above him.

The grape wine drunk in the Queen Mother of the West’s dream seemed truly capable of intoxication; he confirmed the soft, smooth fur in his hand, his consciousness sinking, thus peacefully entering sleep.

Pei Ye had not dreamed for a long time—not truly dreamed.

Since acquiring Chunshou, even in dreams he often clearly knew what he was doing; dreams rarely drifted or slipped away, and deep within, he knew precisely which part of his mind each element came from.

But tonight’s dream was clearly different.

Some dreams not his own had entered, carrying an unfamiliar scent; Pei Ye realized it was an extension of the Queen Mother’s dream.

It was exceedingly simple, with no sense of intrusion; before arriving, it even granted the dreamer clarity, like a courteous visitor.

Nor was there any chaotic information; Pei Ye stood amid white mist.

He looked down and saw a sword in his hand; ahead, Yong Ji stood with a spear.

Pei Ye gripped the sword in his hand—it was real and sharp; he looked at Yong Ji, who was neither wounded nor restrained; there was nowhere to flee, nowhere to hide, no water or fire.

Only the two of them revealed clear intent to kill.

Pei Ye was about to strike when the mist drifted away; the scene dissolved like smoke, and he clearly fell back into his own dream.

The Queen Mother’s dream vanished, as if it had come and gone with the faint intoxication from that bowl of wine.

Pei Ye remained still for a while; the message this dream sought to convey to him seemed utterly clear, with no room for misinterpretation.

What he was meant to do also seemed very basic.

—If you wish to kill him, you must surpass him.

No divine authority, no surprise attack—face him directly, and surpass him.

This was the first time Pei Ye received such a mystical revelation; he chose to believe.

He released his awareness, letting it soften and rest… when he opened his eyes again, a beam of light already shone upon his forehead.

Spring, a clear and cool season; the bedding, wood, and flowers all smelled fresh; Pei Ye stretched and sat up, the black cat long crouched on the windowsill, quietly gazing outside.

Pei Ye reached out and pulled it into his lap, hooked his leg under the bed to find his shoes: “Still cultivating, huh?”

“Mm.”

“How much do you weigh now?” Pei Ye Tuozhexielaidaogangbian ， Tiqimupen ， Tuikaiganggai ， Waleyipenqingliangyaohuangdeshui 。

He placed the kitten beside the basin, draped a towel over his neck.

“Heavier than you imagine,” the black cat lazily extended a paw, stirring the water just within reach—next instant, the boy’s large hand scooped up a handful with a splash.

He rubbed its face, cool water droplets spattering lightly over its fur.

At first, the cat didn’t understand why the boy always brought it along during his morning ablutions—not just mornings, but nighttime baths too, placing it beside the bucket, chuckling when he stood and exposed his large backside, then twisting its head away.

But gradually it grew accustomed; the boy didn’t merely carry it during bathing—he unconsciously kept it near him at all times.

Even across the few zhang from windowsill to basin.

Deep within, those fragile, sensitive emotions—the black cat perhaps understood them better than he did; so it grew accustomed to quietly placing itself within his awareness, whether through touch, scent, or sight… sometimes when it wished to go elsewhere, it ensured he could see it simply by opening his eyes or turning his head.

“I think you’re… eight thousand jin,” Pei Ye mumbled, “I can’t even lift you anymore.”

Immortal Hunting cultivation was far simpler than human cultivation; their entire existence depended only on Xuan Qi—growth alone sufficed.

Since arriving in Shenjing, it had received abundant Spirit Pills and Treasures from Xu Chuo, enabling its body to grow large enough to overshadow the boy; had it remained as small as a snake in Bowang, it couldn’t have withstood even half of Yu Sic’s spear.

“Twelve thousand,” the black cat said, drawing its paws beneath its head as a pillow; it no longer touched the water after the boy had washed several times.

“Fat cat,” Pei Ye brushed his teeth.

The black cat said nothing, stood, shook off the water, and leapt onto the nearby shelf.

Sure enough, the next moment Pei Ye spat his rinse water splashing beside the basin.

Pei Ye turned, donned his sword-training robe and boots, picked up his sword, and slung the black cat onto his shoulder: “What do you want to eat?”

“Fish.”

“Raw?”

“Mm.”

“I’ll eat bing,” Pei Ye thought, “I’ll catch you a fish from the pond when we pass the garden.”

In truth, the black cat had no dietary needs; human food wasn’t even enough to fill its teeth; its life was sustained by Xuan Qi alone.

But Pei Ye had a need to feed.

Thus they headed toward class.

For the next three days, Pei Ye lived a quiet, regular life at the Jian Academy—attending lectures, playing Yi Jian, spending three to five hours daily practicing swordplay.

Sometimes he was curious about his two fellow students’ progress, but Yang Zhen always just practiced sword, and when asked, he only replied, “The Sword Peak has no summit; I know not my own height.”

Yan Feiqing spent every day poring over an old Daoist text; Pei Ye truly suspected his sword had rusted inside its scabbard. At noon and night, he never spoke; if asked in the morning, he said, “Summer insects cannot speak of ice.”

Pei Ye stopped bothering to talk to them.

Clearly, the younger sister in Bingliu Sword Courtyard was more agreeable; Pei Ye’s favorite thing each day was

practicing sword with the girl; over three days, they rarely sparred directly—Pei Ye mainly studied the newly acquired Dongting “Lei Qin,” but he still enjoyed sitting on the green stone in the sword courtyard, flipping through his book.

After three days, Pei Ye roughly understood the nature of this sword. Qiu Ji Zi had told him to learn the qin—not a joke, for this sword’s foundation was to treat thunder as its strings, heavy and fierce; Pei Ye had never encountered a sword art with such a spirit.

It was clearly stronger than any sword he had previously known; in the concept of “one sword,” it might not surpass “Hao Bailu,” but viewed broadly, it was the only pure offensive sword Pei Ye had ever encountered.

Its strength made Pei Ye feel alien because all previous offensive swords—“Qing Ming,” “Shang Shen,” “Zhuo Yan,” and so on—however powerful, remained under the swordsman’s control; “Hao Bailu” pushed this path to its extreme, draining the swordsman’s entire body’s strength in an instant, leaving him paralyzed for a moment—but it still remained under Pei Ye’s control.

But “Lei Qin” demanded from the outset that the swordsman relinquish control over the sword.

Pour all power into it without concern for control; let it become a runaway steed, a thunderbolt racing across the sky—a force too vast for human will to bind.

Such bold liberation was undeniably captivating, but the sword was still a tool in one’s hand; if it grew too powerful to be governed by human will, how could it be used?

Excessively yang and violent, it would recoil upon the swordsman, and enemies would easily see through it—it was not a good sword.

The sword’s author’s answer was: treat the thunder above as a qin.

The swordsman need not control the sound he unleashes; if you carry the melody in your heart, even if the power escapes control, as long as the playing remains true to its intent, the effect will be precisely what you desire.

Thus this sword has three chapters, each derived from a musical piece; Pei Ye could, of course, force understanding through his extraordinary sword sense—but it would be inferior to tracing the author’s intent through the qin itself.

Just as “Chuyue Beiyu” does not attain its soul only in the rain, mastering the qin melody for “Lei Qin” would naturally deepen one’s understanding.

“Yiner, can you play the qin?” At noon, Pei Ye closed his sword manual and looked at the girl approaching with her sword.

Jiang Yiner’s forehead was damp with sweat, breathing softly; she rummaged in her small bag, pulled out water, drank deeply, and looked at the boy: “What?”

“The qin,” Pei Ye raised his ten fingers, curling them like worms, “Can you play?”

Jiang Yiner placed her sword on the stone, sat beside the boy: “I learned a little as a child, then stopped. Why, Shi Xiong?”

“I want someone to teach me the qin.”

“Ah?” Jiang Yiner froze.

“Ah what?” Pei Ye looked at her, “What’s that expression for?”

“N-no… I’m just surprised,” Jiang Yiner quickly composed herself, serious, “Shi Xiong wants to learn the qin… I know Miss Changsun has studied since childhood—we talked about it last time. I just don’t know if she still practices.”

Pei Ye thought: “Changsun is a daughter of a scholarly family; she surely excels in qin, go, calligraphy, and painting; she even painted New Year pictures for us last New Year.”

“Then tomorrow at the Tianshan Banquet, I’ll take you to ask her.”

Pei Ye smiled: “Why do you need to take me? My relationship with Changsun is excellent—we sat together at the Guozijian.”

Jiang Yiner fell silent for a moment: “Shi Xiong, tomorrow let me come with you—I’m here to protect you.”

Jiang Yiner fell silent for a moment: “Young master, let me accompany you tomorrow—I’m here to protect you.”

Jiang Yiner said no more, hugged her gourd, and lowered her head to drink: “The entire Jian Academy has been invited; they say we’ll all go together at Mao Shi. Will you come too?”

“Tomorrow morning I’ll go to the Xiwen Pavilion first, then meet up with you.”

The day before, he had gone to the Xiwen Pavilion but missed Li He; he left a letter with the academy’s steward. Yesterday, they sent a note saying Li He wished to meet him tomorrow morning.

Pei Ye stretched, gazing at the wall, thinking of tomorrow.

Tianshan Villa.

“Alright,” Jiang Yiner said.

She looked at the bright sky, wondering what Zhao Ye and the others were doing now, hoping tomorrow wouldn’t frighten Shi Xiong.

She gazed at the bright daylight, wondering what Zhao Ye and the others were doing now, hoping they wouldn’t frighten the young master tomorrow.

Cui Zhao Ye held Changsun Jue’s hand, standing in a small pavilion on Leyou Plain.

Since spring, this place had been thronged with visitors; nearby lay vast plains, green-shaded pools and waterfalls; afar rose towers of Shenjing and the solemn Five Tombs—truly exquisite scenery.

Yet even with Leyou Plain’s endless beauty, people often turned their gaze this way.

A large cluster of young girls gathered together, laughing like orioles and swallows, their skirts fluttering, forming a dazzling spring glow.

It was an astonishing sight—clustered beside a pavilion and pond, all gazing at the small pavilion; among them were a few young gentlemen and scholars, but they sat at the edges, huddled together whispering, unable to stir much commotion.

Visitors, upon first glance, were startled; upon second glance, they instinctively sought an explanation; then their eyes would sweep to the bright silk banner beside the pavilion, embroidered with five characters.

The visitors were first struck by surprise, then instinctively sought a reason for it; a quick glance revealed a vivid silk banner beside the pavilion, embroidered with five characters.

Outsiders entering Shenjing would be astonished, but locals were long accustomed to all manner of novelties; the name “Pei Ye” was not unfamiliar—even the most apathetic commoners had likely heard of last winter’s imperial court sword wager, and once told the victor’s name, most would recognize it.

More surprising still was that these people did not keep their activities private; they displayed many small paintings, carvings, silk ribbons, and other delicate items; whenever a curious person approached—especially a young girl—they warmly invited them in, chatted cheerfully, and gifted them one or two pretty trinkets.

In this joyful welcome, many newcomers stayed, surrounded and questioned endlessly.

A girl in a green skirt stood frozen, holding her sword—she had been pulled right in.

This was her first time in Shenjing, and her first time stepping onto Leyou Plain, famed in poetry and prose; she bought a string of Shenjing sugar haws, tasted two—coarse, poorly selected fruit, crude sugar—and carried them, slowly nibbling.

The rain had long stopped; after urgently confirming the boy’s safety that day, she had refused to think of his name again; these past two days of brief leisure, she wandered Shenjing alone, sword in hand, observing its scenery.

But she had suddenly seen the banner beside the pavilion.

She froze, eyes wide open, her usual lazy gaze now startled.

But he suddenly spotted the banner beside the pavilion.

He froze, widening his lazy eyes.

The girls seated around were instantly drawn to her; several conversations halted as they pointed and glanced at one another.

Even in Shenjing, where stunning beauty was commonplace, this figure was startlingly radiant.

Her face was ethereally beautiful, with only a faint bluish tint beneath her eyes and no makeup at all. Yet this pure, unadorned face, paired with a blue skirt and long sword, held a hand holding a sugar-coated hawthorn berry skewer—graceful and lovely—while the hand gripping the sword wore a thin glove.

Especially her demeanor in her eyes and brows was deeply captivating, as if she had weathered countless storms—nothing like a girl her age.

“Sister,” a noblewoman beside her could no longer hold back, “do you also like Young Master Pei Ye?”

Li Piaoqing felt as if someone had lightly pinched her heart—she froze. “What… what are you all doing?”

“We’re the Young Master Pei Ye Appreciation Society—the president is Cui Zhaoye, up in that pavilion,” the noblewoman smiled. “Sister, do you know Young Master Pei Ye? He’s one of Shenjing’s most formidable swordsmen right now.”

Worried this striking girl might find their trivial activity uninteresting, she added quickly: “You’re carrying a sword—are you also from the Jianghu? We’re selecting who will go to the Tian Shan Sword Banquet tomorrow. Would you like to join us and watch?”

“Oh?” Li Piaoqing was surprised. “Do you have many invitations to the Tian Shan Sword Banquet?”

“Yes, President Cui got them for me—she’s incredibly powerful! I heard Young Master Pei Ye himself is close to her!” said the noblewoman.

To her surprise, this girl didn’t seem as aloof as she appeared. After a brief pause, she nodded and squatted beside the stall. “May I listen for a while?”