Chapter 761: The Lone Sword of Silence

This was Yun Lang’s first spontaneous words today.

The entire garden plunged from bustle into absolute silence—not even a pin could have dropped. Even when Pei Ye shattered the sword in the pool, the atmosphere had not been this utterly still.

Yun Lang rarely took a stance on worldly matters, but when he did, none could defy him.

In this instant, many thought the biggest news of the day might not be my hard-won victory in the “sword against myself” challenge, nor even Pei Ye’s return to the Divine Capital.

No matter how the young swordsmen performed or who won or lost, it was all a safe game. Even if the juniors fought fiercely, it would not disturb the goodwill between the two sects. Kunlun’s Yanri Palace was present today too, yet no tension could be sensed between them and the Divine Capital’s Sword Academy.

When you care, it stirs every emotion; when you don’t, it’s as if it never existed. The victories and defeats of a few youths could not shift the balance of the martial world.

But clashes between sects were iron-cold, brutal affairs.

Not in the glittering sword gatherings of the Divine Capital, but in the darkest corners of the martial world—no cheers, no words. In those years when Immortal Platform never intervened, how many severed limbs and splattered blood had been spilled in riverside inns and wild taverns?

Especially within the Thirty-Three Sword Gates, any conflict between two sects would stir massive waves across the martial world.

Yun Lang and Kongdong were certainly not at that level yet; today’s Kongdong was far from worthy to stand opposite Yun Lang. But it was still one of the Lower Twelve Sword Gates, and this was still Yun Lang’s own spoken stance.

Many had not been entirely unaware.

Last autumn, a rebellion erupted in Kongdong Mountain. Many were said to have died; the forbidden Sword Belly Peak was breached, the [Mountain’s Sixty Years] was activated, and eventually, Shaolong Immortal Platform took up residence, enforcing strict lockdown on all seventeen peaks for the entire winter.

Very few truly knew what had happened, but no sect could claim complete ignorance.

Kongdong stretched over a hundred li, with many eyes and ears across its seventeen peaks—sealing the news was no easy feat.

In October, Shaolong Prefecture City reportedly issued a feather-letter regarding the incident, though it was swiftly retracted and erased. Still, some rumors leaked out.

That was a highly suggestive time: Yun Lang’s sole disciple, Ming Qi Tian, had just finished her sword challenge on Mount Tian and was heading south in September, passing through Kongdong.

Of course, no one knew what connection she had to the Kongdong rebellion or what she experienced within the vast mountain. But all who tracked her sword journey noticed that after that, the young sword lord paused her nationwide challenges for a full month, only resuming after winter arrived—and this time, she departed from Yun Lang.

After that, the Jade Sword Lord returned to Yun Lang and stayed for a month.

Afterward, news from Kongdong vanished almost entirely. Though it was said they attended Shaolong’s Jade Sword Gathering and their Feather-Scale Trials had now arrived in the capital, rumors claimed Immortal Platform and Daoqi Society members had taken up residence in Lotus Heart Pavilion, cutting off and controlling all communication with formerly allied sects.

。

Whether Yun Lang had a hand in this, one could easily imagine.

This phrase, “Under Yun Lang’s current decree, no encounter with Kongdong is permitted,” was clearly an extension of that posture.

Yet few had expected Yun Lang’s stance to be so cold and unyielding—already on the Tian Shan Sword Banquet, Kongdong had merely sent a youthful disciple to appear at the end, and still received this ban.

As long as Yun Lang remains in the capital until the Feather-Scale Trials conclude, Kongdong may not participate in any sword gathering.

Strictly speaking, this won’t cause real harm—but it will make many realize that what had been a hidden, unspoken understanding is not something Yun Lang chooses to ignore.

Before coming to the capital, Kongdong clearly did not know of this clause. Whatever expectations they held, they are now empty-handed.

It’s hard to say what purpose Yun Lang seeks to achieve or what situation he intends to force Kongdong into—it likely doesn’t care at all.

This statement is a posture, revealed the moment Kongdong appears. Yun Lang clearly didn’t care about the setting.

The garden fell utterly silent. Even Tian Shan likely hadn’t anticipated this. The voices from the central tables ceased; several true disciples blinked in surprise, then their smiles vanished.

This was a sudden matter far more serious than the Sword Banquet—or even the Feather-Scale Trials. No one wished their words to be misinterpreted.

Only Zhang Jingbi still stood rigidly on the pool, his body stiff as a wooden statue, his face pale as flour.

He thought he should leave now, but couldn’t find the will to move. He thought he should speak to uphold his sect’s dignity, but couldn’t think of a single word—even his mouth refused to open.

He instinctively glanced toward Lu Wei’s tail. Just before he entered the pool, this true disciple had watched him warmly and smiling. Now, that face was blank, emotionless. The only hint in his eyes might have been a touch of curiosity—Dongting had long been in the south and knew little of this northwest matter.

He looked beside him at Qun Fei. Tian Shan was the host of this Sword Banquet; in the past few hours, every minor incident had been handled by the Jade Maidens. But now, this [Young Master] had his lips slightly pressed, his handsome brows and eyes lowered—clearly, he knew what matters the Eight Steeds and Seven Jades should handle, and what they must not touch. Tian Shan had strict protocols.

And no one qualified to speak had appeared.

Who would dare stand before Yun Lang?

“I humbly request permission to speak, Elder,” came a startlingly clear voice among the seven tables.

Many felt a jolt from spine to scalp; countless eyes snapped toward the speaker—no one had expected anyone to address Yun Lang at this moment.

It was Pei Ye who stood.

The youth’s face held none of his usual gentle smile. His expression was calm, composed; he clasped his fists and said: “Pei

Ye dares to speak a word. Last year’s Kongdong affair was the private scheming of a few, not the collective act of Kongdong. Many loyal, righteous souls among the seventeen peaks were also victimized. This young master on the pool, Zhang Jingbi, is precisely the descendant of a heroic warrior who died for justice. Now that Kongdong’s chief culprits are dead, the remaining disciples are not all criminals or fools.”

The garden fell utterly silent. Qun Fei turned to stare at him. The other tables did not turn their heads, but all slightly widened their eyes.

The few who had just been debating whether to rank the youth first on the Jade Sword Roll now said nothing, all silently watching that figure, not even exchanging glances.

The pavilion above was also hushed. The maidens didn’t fully grasp the gravity of sect conflicts, but they clearly sensed the tension. They hadn’t expected Pei Ye, the young master, to rise.

For a long time, Yun Lang had stood as the immortal mountain atop the martial world, the solitary peak of sword Dao, hidden in the high clouds. It had no real conflicts of interest with most sects; everyone hoped only to draw closer to it, never imagining anyone would dare defy Yun Lang.

More importantly, Yun Lang and Kongdong clashed over matters involving the Young Sword Lord. The Jade Sword Lord’s experiences in great Kongdong remain sensitive, their details unknown. How could you dare speak for Kongdong now and provoke Yun Lang?

Yet the youth stood there, gazing up at the high stone. All five seats of Yun Lang turned their gazes toward him.

After a moment, Wen Suo Qu spoke softly: “I know. And then?”

The garden’s tension tightened. Li Piaoqing pressed her lips, as if to rise. Cui Zhaoye stopped her.

Pei Ye bowed again, his voice steady: “I don’t know the true disciple Ji Zhuowu. But here present are Zhang Jingbi, Guan Qianyan, and Kong Lanting—all victims of last year’s events. They possess fine character, fear no enemy, and are true disciples worthy of Kongdong.”

“Whether good or evil, Yun Lang does not care,” Wen Suo Qu unexpectedly replied. He gazed down calmly. “Whether Kongdong is now clean or not is irrelevant. Your words may be true, but lax governance allowed Huan Si Lou to infiltrate—that is Kongdong’s crime. Greed clouding judgment, Ji Changyun colluding with criminals—that too is Kongdong’s crime. Crime incurs punishment; Kongdong bears it collectively. No division is possible.”

Pei Ye nodded. “I understand.”

Wen Suo Qu watched him in silence. The garden remained utterly still.

“I understand,” Pei Ye repeated. He bowed to all four directions. “Since Kongdong committed this crime, it must bear this responsibility. As Elder Wen said—under Yun Lang’s current decree, no encounter with Kongdong is permitted. Beyond the Tian Shan Pavilion, I, Pei Ye, shall also carry this decree as Yun Lang’s messenger.”

“… ”

“But I feel someone must say these words,” Pei Ye lowered his salute, bent down, and picked up the sword on the table. “Not just for Elder Wen, but so those here may hear them.”

Then he looked at the frozen youth on the pool and said gently: “Jingbi, I’ll spar with you.”

“… ”

「……」

The four sides fell silent. Pei Ye walked down from the pool, sword in hand.

Wen Suo Qu nodded softly: “Then so be it. Before I die, Pei Ye shall not enter within three hundred li of Yun Lang Mountain. All Yun Lang sword arts within Daoqi Society are forbidden to him.”

Pei Ye said nothing, did not look back. He stood on the pool, as casually as when he had guided the young students of Xiao Yun Mountain. He performed a simple sword salute, then slung the blade behind his arm.

“Please,” Pei Ye smiled faintly. “It’s been months. Let me learn your Caiwu Peak sword art.”

As the youth stepped onto the pool’s surface, Zhang Jingbi suddenly felt his cold, stiff body again—as if the youth were a source of warmth.

He gripped his sword. He thought he should have left earlier, not dragging Pei Ye into this. But the youth’s calm, smiling eyes fixed on him, and suddenly all polite hesitation felt meaningless. He pressed his lips, then raised his sword.

“... Kongdong Zhang Jingbi, clumsy in body, inferior in sword. I humbly request instruction from Pei Ye, young master.”

Zhang Jingbi was a disciple of Caiwu Peak, trained in the [Phoenix Mountain’s Cry].

Pei Ye had seen this sword before in Kongdong. Back then, he’d noticed Zhang Jingbi trained hard, but used it poorly. Now, mere months later, his mastery had surged. More importantly, Pei Ye could now understand this sword.

Its structure became crystal clear to him. After a few rounds, he pinpointed Zhang Jingbi’s position and methodically pointed out each flaw, helping him analyze how to improve.

This was the quietest sparring of the entire Sword Banquet—the clear clash of blades echoed to the garden’s farthest corners.

“... Pei Ye young master. You didn’t have to speak for me. After today, we probably won’t attend any sword gatherings... and now you’ve offended Yun Lang too.” Zhang Jingbi whispered.

“Offended? That’s not the word. It’s trivial,” Pei Ye smiled softly. “If not for your father, Zhang Meiqing, who dared defy the sect master and Lotus Heart Pavilion, I probably wouldn’t be standing here today. Young Mistress Ming might truly have been harmed.”

He paused, his smile fading. “Your father, Master Zhang, once said something I’ve always remembered. If you’re grateful, one day when you lead Caiwu Peak, I hope you’ll carry it in your heart.”

“What?”

“Not acts of righteousness.”

“...” Zhang Jingbi froze.

“Self-preservation, fear of strength, pursuit of profit... these are not acts of righteousness.” Pei Ye placed a hand on his shoulder.

Zhang Jingbi didn’t truly absorb Pei Ye’s sword teachings, but these words gave him another kind of strength—his neck straightened. Until he finally left the pool and returned to his seat, his posture remained upright.

Pei Ye returned to the seven tables by the pool, sword in hand.

No one greeted him as he sat. After a moment, He Yao Yao finally blurted: “Pei Ye young master, you’re wrong.”

Pei Ye blinked, looking at the woman in yellow: “He true disciple, how so?”

He Yao Yao hesitated, then whispered: “The final move of [Phoenix Mountain’s Cry] that Zhang Jingbi used wasn’t wrong—it’s meant to flow into another sword technique. You... you’ve never read Kongdong’s sword principles, so you thought it redundant...”

Her voice faded, then she hurriedly added: “Of course, Pei young master, your skill is exceptional. Everything else you said was spot-on.”

Pei Ye fell silent for a moment. “He true disciple.”

Pei Ye fell silent for a moment, then said: “Crane True Transmission.”

“Let’s be friends.”

“... Huh?” He Yao Yao stared, slightly hurt. “Aren’t we already friends?”

“...Huh?” He Yaoyao blinked, hurt, “So we’re not friends?”

……

Above the pavilion, silence lingered.

After a while, someone whispered: “If Yun Lang dislikes Pei Ye young master, then I dislike Yun Lang.”

“Exactly. He won’t even let Pei Ye young master onto Yun Lang... Pei Ye young master doesn’t want to go anyway.”

“Pei Ye young master is truly good.”

“Yun Lang... what’s so great about Yun Lang...”

Though everyone was now drawn to Pei Ye’s noble character, their defiance lacked real force.

After all, Yun Lang’s reputation was simply too great... especially that Jade Sword Lord. They’d only learned of Pei Ye through Cui Zhaoye, but long before they cared about martial affairs, they’d already heard the name “Ming Qi Tian.”

Extremely young, extremely beautiful, extremely powerful—and utterly clear-minded. Her admirers in the Divine Capital numbered in the millions.

It was Xiao Li, the association chair, who straightened up from the railing, her spirit bright. She smiled: “See? I told you—Pei Ye young master isn’t lustful, nor obsessed with fame or profit. He’s neither from a noble house nor a beauty. He’s simply a heart of righteousness.”

Qu Xin suddenly said: “Exactly. Better than Ming Qi Tian’s so-called ‘Mirror Ice Heart’—that’s just a wooden doll.”

Everyone immediately chimed in: “Exactly!”

Li Piaoqing quickly interrupted; she still truly liked Ming Jianzhu, but at this moment she couldn’t lead anyone to defect, so she changed the subject: “I think the Sword Banquet is about to end. For the rest of the afternoon, sword cultivators will be free to move about the garden. I’ll go help Mount Tianshan with some organization—you all can go down too, and speak to whoever you wish—just don’t bother them.”

“We want to meet Pei Ye!”

“Can we meet Pei Ye?”

“Little Li Chairman~~”

This was clearly everyone’s most pressing concern.

Li Piaoqing smiled: “Of course. You don’t need to go looking—he’ll come to you. We’ll go fetch Pei Ye ourselves—if he has time.”

Onstage

Instantly erupted into delighted shouts, a babbling mess.

Li Piaoqing gave a few instructions and left first, promising to return shortly. Cui Zhaoye gave the crowd a few final words and was about to descend the stairs when she felt someone prod her from behind.

She turned and saw Qu Xin standing quietly behind her, holding up one hand with a calm expression: “Cui Chairman, take a rest. I’ll go fetch Pei Ye.”

“...”

Cui Zhaoye narrowed her eyes. The words were perfectly reasonable, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that the moment Li Piaoqing left, this little herbalist from Mount Taishan suddenly became far more noticeable.

“I can find him. I know the scent on him,” Qu Xin mused. “I can also bring He Yaoyao along—we’re very close.”

“You’re close to Huang Yunxian?” Cui Zhaoye blinked in surprise, but then recalled that their two sects weren’t far apart, so she nodded. “That would be best. If you succeed, I’ll credit you with a deed.”

“Rest assured.”