Chapter 563: Meeting the Qunfang Banquet, the Sword That Slays Demons!

You gazed at Su Yun's servant and said slowly: "It's unlikely I can fulfill Young Master Su's wish—Xie Guan has already accepted an invitation from his family."

Upon hearing this, the servant's face turned pale; his master had repeatedly stressed this task, and failure would surely bring punishment.

"Young Master Xie, please at least accept this invitation—it will give me something to report. When I return, I'll tell my master the truth and let him decide." The servant pleaded.

Seeing his desperate expression, you nodded slightly.

At once, the servant hurriedly offered the invitation, and his attendants placed down silver taels, bowed deeply, and departed in haste.

Wu Tong stared at the sudden pile of silver, her eyes flickering with delight, then narrowed with doubt: "Young Master, are we sure… accepting so much silver is wise?"

Xie Yuan smiled: "Wu Tong, don't worry."

"Three hundred taels mean nothing to the Su family. Had they not feared it would insult you, they'd have sent carts and horses laden with it."

"As for this invitation to the Qunfang Banquet—its value far exceeds three thousand taels."

Zhang Yunzhi nodded slightly; as the foremost of the Nine Surnames, the Su family would never care for such a sum.

Ironically, the purpose of the Qunfang Banquet was to raise funds for famine relief in Jiangnan Circuit.

Outside Bianjing, countless refugees had starved to death by the roadside. She had once accompanied her mother to Longnan Circuit and witnessed it firsthand: peering from the carriage, the roadsides were filled with dying victims, bellies swollen like drums, writhing in agony.

Driven by starvation, they had eaten "Guanyin Mud" to fill their stomachs—but could not excrete it, left to swell until they could not rise, waiting helplessly for death.

Yet when the carriage entered Jingshi Circuit and reached the bustling Bianjing, the scene before her was one of music, dance, and peace.

Within the city, laughter and song filled the air; outside, sighs and despair stretched endlessly.

The young masters of the Nine Surnames still indulged in wine, women, and luxury.

Zhang Yunzhi shook her head gently—this was precisely why she avoided the ladies and mistresses of the Xie household; they cared only for vanity and competition.

Raised under her father's influence, she understood the vastness of heaven and earth, pitied even the humblest grass and trees, and felt deeply the suffering of the world.

Wu Tong, delighted, took the silver and skipped back to the room.

Xie Yuan smiled: "Just now, I was discussing with Fourth Cousin how to secure you an invitation to the Qunfang Banquet."

"It's as if fortune delivered a pillow just as I fell asleep," he added. "When the time comes, I'll ride with you in the same sedan. But it's still nearly two months until New Year's Eve—no need to rush."

The group chatted freely—from politics to tales from distant lands—but you rarely spoke, preferring to listen intently.

Before they knew it, dusk fell, and the sun sank behind the mountain.

Just as Wu Tong prepared to make dinner, Xie Yuan's mother, Lady Zhuge, sent a servant to invite the two back to the mansion for dinner.

Xie Yuan sighed at how swiftly time passed, reluctant to leave. Before departing, he suddenly remembered: "Young Master Guan, will you come to my courtyard tomorrow? Mother has ordered me to begin martial training—you might as well come watch."

You paused, then shook your head.

You knew Xie Yuan was about to begin training, but you already possessed the "Taizu Holy Monkey Stance" and "Yin Fu Jing" from Sima Ting—no need to observe others.

Thus, Xie Yuan and the others took their leave.

After dinner, Wu Tong thought of the four hundred taels they had saved, and the regular visitors to the courtyard: Xie Yuan, Miss Zhang, Mr. Zhang, Master Hua.

The invitations from Sima General and Su Yun lay quietly on the desk.

Now, even when encountering the mansion's stewards, Wu Tong sensed their demeanor had grown warmer. She murmured: "Young Master, I think I'm beginning to understand what you meant before."

Once, Wu Tong had wondered why you went to such lengths to befriend Master Hua.

You had replied: "In ancient times, Qi was weak, yet it befriended the barbarian tribes to the east—and eventually rose to greatness. These small states gained protection through sincere loyalty." Now, Wu Tong seemed to grasp it.

You looked at Wu Tong and smiled: "But this is still far from enough. We're merely borrowing others' influence—we're nothing in ourselves."

"Like floating duckweed without roots—a strong wind blows, the fire dies, the stove grows cold."

"True principles and true reliance lie within oneself."

Wu Tong nodded, half-understanding; she didn't fully comprehend, but she knew her young master was capable.

Night had fallen. Inside the room!

You lit the candle and opened the letter from Xie Hong, the Second Master.

This was the Second Master's authentic handwriting—a transcription of the first section of "Sheng Yu," totaling four thousand characters.

The paper shimmered like clouds and rosy clouds.

Within your mind, the "Zhan Gui Jian" and "Zhan Yao Jian" responded as if awakened, both glowing brightly.

Especially the newly acquired "Zhan Yao Jian"—its radiance surged.

You calmed your spirit, focusing deeply on the "Zhan Yao Jian" within your heart-sea, studying its characters repeatedly.

These characters, like those of the Zhan Gui Jian, held no coherent structure—seemingly patched together, even interspersed with stories, nothing like a proper sword scripture should be.

It began:

"By morning I roam North Yue, by dusk I reach Cangwu; in my sleeve, a green snake, bold and fierce. I give this sword to you—slay dragons wherever you find them."

"With sword in hand, I ride a thousand miles; leave at first watch, return by second…"

"... ho learns this sword shall slay all demons of the world."

Your spirit sank into it, as with the Zhan Gui Jian—until, as you finished reading, the character "Hong" on the page glowed fiercely, then transformed into a human form, beginning to dance with the sword.

Golden light blazed everywhere; you fixed your gaze.

Having experienced the Zhan Gui Jian before, you were prepared: this was a sword-intent vision, a legacy.

Thick mist surged and receded—and suddenly, you stood in another world.

Was this true immersion?

When you looked again, you found yourself standing on cold lake water, the noon sun glinting off rippling waves.

You raised your eyes: the lake stretched boundlessly, and faintly ahead, an island rose from the water.

At that moment!

You noticed a bamboo raft floating silently beside you, carrying three figures.

A man in a conical hat, face hidden, lay lazily on the raft, sunbathing, cradling a sword in his arms.

Two women, dressed in full bridal attire—phoenix crowns, embroidered veils, silk embroidered shoes.

They clung together, beautiful, identical—twin sisters.

Yet their faces held no bridal joy—only terror and helplessness; they hugged tightly, whispering sobs.

The raft drifted without oars, moving of its own accord.

You wondered silently—you were a phantom observer; the three could not see you.

The raft drifted closer—you finally saw the large stone on the island, carved with two characters.

"Dezehu."

Your heart tightened—this was the fabled Dezehu.

The eight-hundred-li expanse of Dezehu.

At its center lay an island, where a natural palace stood—the Dragon Palace.

You gazed again into the deep water: massive shadows glided slowly beneath, colossal as submerged beasts; each gentle pass sent a "swish-swish-swish" through the water, making the two brides on the raft collapse in terror, clinging together, trembling.

The air reeked of thick blood; a permanent mist cloaked the island, deepening its mystery and dread.

Suddenly, a low, commanding voice rose from the depths: "Sacrifice to the Dragon King."

Before the words faded, the lake erupted in violent waves, a colossal whirlpool forming, hurling the raft upward as if the water itself would swallow it whole.

So this was the "sacrifice to the Dragon King"—to cast these innocent women into the water as offerings.

The man in the conical hat finally rose, his gaze piercing the depths, fingers pressed together into a sword-point, and gently pointed downward.

Instantly, the water beneath the raft turned crimson; the lake calmed, and a colossal fish corpse slowly surfaced.

The two brides stared at each other, eyes wide with disbelief.

This act enraged the lake.

Another voice echoed from below: "To offend the Lake Lord is to die."

Before the words ended, monstrous waves surged—creatures burst from the water, each monstrous in form: some with ox heads and serpent bodies, others with multiple arms, some with giant pincers—horrifying to behold.

Their bodies towered like mountains, looming over the raft; the twin brides' expressions grew more hopeless.

Even as a mere observer, you felt the terrifying aura radiating from these great demons—they had reached the peak of the Ninth Realm of Martial Arts, inspiring awe and crushing any thought of resistance.

The man in the hat merely smiled, casually resting his hand on his sword's hilt, and slashed lightly—like the rising sun, golden spots bloomed along the blade.

Unlike the Zhan Gui Jian, whose light was like the moon of Mid-Autumn.

This sword was like the blazing sun hovering over the lake!

Scorching. Burning.

The lake water reversed!

Then, blood-rain began to fall gently upon the lake. The demons near the raft instantly dissolved into skeletons; those farther away were sliced into pieces, their final pair of terrified eyes sinking into the depths.

The vision ended—you saw the astonishment in the eyes of the two brides.

"Zhan… Yao Jian?"

You whispered within, savoring the sword-intent—like the sun, it swept away the lake's demons as autumn wind clears fallen leaves, leaving only shimmering ripples reflecting your stunned expression.

Another sword-intent had been added to your mind.

You trembled slightly, withdrawing your thoughts, and looked again at the Second Master's letter.

You wondered: the Second Master's calligraphy was peerless, his sword unmatched—so why was he bedridden, ravaged by illness?

It baffled you.

A thought surfaced: this "Zhan Yao Jian" seemed to fuse martial strength with divine strangeness—perfectly harmonized, naturally complete. Otherwise, the golden spots would not have appeared during the strike.

You gently folded the Second Master's letter and opened Xie Hong's calligraphy—suddenly, your eyes brightened.

As Xie Hong had said: "After seeing the Second Master's writing, you'll find mine no less impressive."

One style in regular script, one in running cursive—each distinct.

Xie Hong's brushwork flowed with boundless mastery; every stroke was exquisitely refined.

Yet compared to Second Master's, which flowed with effortless grace yet carried a hint of forced artifice, it lacked the natural, transcendent aura.

Second Master's calligraphy, like drifting clouds and flowing water, was unrestrained and superior by far.

From now on, aside from burying yourself in books and the path of cultivation, you must also add calligraphy practice.

An ancient saying goes: aim for the highest, and you'll attain the middle; aim for the middle, and you'll attain the lowest.

You've copied the calligraphy scroll Dong Shao gave you no fewer than a thousand times; your strokes now carry considerable spirit, yet they still lack that unique essence only you can impart.

Every great calligrapher in history established their reputation through a unique style; yet without guidance from a master, relying solely on self-exploration, you'll never truly grasp the deeper principles or ascend to mastery.

Fortunately, you now possess the authentic works of Second Master and Xie Hong—like encountering a true teacher, your path ahead has suddenly opened wide, with no further lack.

You carefully tucked away these two precious items, stepped into the courtyard, and turned your thoughts to your unfinished martial cultivation.

Skill is perfected through diligence, and wasted through idleness.

It was nearly midnight; Wu Tong had already rested.

The Xie Fu was utterly silent, save for the night watchman moving through its courtyards.

You walked to the foot of the wutong tree in the courtyard, ready to begin leaning-post cultivation to advance your martial arts.

Unexpectedly!

Someone was already waiting in the courtyard—wearing a white gauze conical hat, arms crossed, leaning lazily against the wutong tree: Lu Hua.

"What you retrieved from the lake—was it the legendary Sword of Demon-Slaying?"

"The Sword of Demon-Slaying, said to be able to cut down all demons under heaven, was the insight you gained at Ze Lake."

You nodded. Lu Hua had helped you at Dengchun Lou today, and you sensed she meant no harm.

Lu Hua smiled. "What a strange coincidence."

"But when you cultivate the Sword of Demon-Slaying, you must be exceedingly careful. Just now, someone sensed its aura and came creeping over from Dengchun Lou. Had I not acted in time to conceal your qi…"

"You might have met a dragon today."

Your heart tightened instantly—you recalled the man with scaled skin you'd encountered at Dengchun Lou, whose aura still sent shivers down your spine.

"A dragon?"

(End of Chapter)