Chapter 671: Sword Like Mirror on Water, Son-in-Law

This sword intent was forged from the Primordial Spirit, the longsword in hand also born of the Primordial Spirit, yet as solid as a physical object, its blade gleaming with icy radiance.

In your hand you hold the longsword “Dragon Shadow,” gifted by Lady Gongsun; it is indeed a treasure, neither too heavy nor too light, its hilt fitting your palm as if custom-made for you.

The sword-intent figure’s sleeves fluttered in the wind; on the sunlit blue stone slabs, two figures stood opposed—one real, one illusory.

You did not rush to draw your sword; instead, you lightly pushed the hilt with your thumb, gripped the scabbard tightly in your right hand, and let your left hand hang naturally.

“Zheng—”

The longsword shot forth like a startled swan across the sky, its light swift as lightning, aimed straight at the opponent’s throat. Yet the sword-intent figure turned its wrist with ease, parried with a horizontal slash, sparks flew, and the sword’s chime rang clear and sweet.

This drawing technique, you had labored over for days to perfect—yet the sword-intent figure dispelled it effortlessly, as if it had foreseen every move.

Their forms crossed, swordlight flashed like lightning, blade shadows whirled like wind. Your sword swept in a dense rain of strikes; the sword-intent figure drifted like willow fluff, each blade grazing past your shoulder without ever drawing blood.

Suddenly, you halted your motion, the sword’s momentum shifted abruptly—your blade spun into countless shadows, like a torrential downpour engulfing all around. Yet the sword-intent figure moved like a phantom, slipping effortlessly through the storm of blades, its form flickering, untouched.

“Bang, bang—” Blades clashed, sparks flew; you were forced back three steps involuntarily. You knew the next strike from the sword-intent figure would be a spinning counterattack—you had lost to it countless times before.

But the sword-intent figure suddenly changed tactics; its blade flickered like a venomous snake’s tongue, instantly piercing toward your heart. Your pupils contracted—you swung to block, but too late by half a heartbeat.

“Chi—” A soft sound—the sword-intent figure’s blade now pressed against your chest, piercing only your clothing, not breaking your skin.

You possess innate qi and Primordial Spirit power; this blade-light could not pierce your flesh. Yet to be subdued so easily was humiliation. Had the sword-intent figure’s face not been blurred, expressionless, you would have felt its mockery plainly.

The sword-intent figure sheathed its blade and stood tall, straight as a pine, the tip angled toward the ground.

A low voice echoed in your ear: “The way of swordsmanship lies in the heart, not in form.”

And one final phrase: “Still need to train!”

Hearing this, even your steady nature nearly cracked—yet after losing once, twice, thrice… a hundred times, even a clay figure grows stubborn.

You slowly raised your sword, tip aimed directly at the figure, voice calm: “Again.”

The sword-intent figure nodded slightly, moved—swordlight flashed like lightning once more, and in an instant, the blade rested against your throat.

You sighed involuntarily—the sword-intent figure had just used your own drawing technique against you.

It seemed to comprehend all sword arts, shifting fluidly, mastering one to master all—several times it had defeated you with the very same method.

Using your own method against you!

You studied the figure closely, murmuring inwardly: “Is this intentional… or is it guiding me?”

“Again!” You growled, launching first—swordlight flashed like lightning, rapid strikes cascading, seeking to overwhelm with speed.

“Bang—”

“Bang—”

Blades clashed, sparks flew—but by the tenth strike, a longsword slashed down diagonally from empty air—you lost.

You sighed inwardly: “Impulsiveness won’t work.”

The sword-intent figure sheathed its blade and spoke coldly: “Your heart is disturbed.”

Hearing this, you could only helplessly smile bitterly—this duel of sword forms, the legacy left by Second Master, carried overwhelming pressure.

The sword-intent figure was left by Second Master; its sword realm far surpassed anything you could reach.

You even felt a fleeting urge to unleash your Primordial Spirit and innate qi and beat the figure senseless—you’d nearly done it several times.

You drew a deep breath; a calm energy rose in your chest, quelling your frustration, and you whispered softly: “If the heart is disturbed, the sword is disturbed.”

Your gaze sharpened; you raised your sword again—swordlight reflected like water on a still surface, your form light as a swallow, turning and reversing your blade, the sword silently switched hands.

The sword-intent figure unfolded its stance calmly; you settled your spirit, your sword movements flowing like clouds parting mist.

The final blade touched your skin, gently resting on your wrist—if force had been applied, your hand would have been severed.

The sword-intent figure slowly sheathed its blade; you emerged from your trance, silently counting eighteen strikes—then a faint, satisfied smile appeared.

“Continue!”

Swordlight and silhouettes intertwined—you lost yourself completely, forgetting even the time.

Only when the sun set and the footsteps of Wutong and Luyah returning pulled you back to reality.

You released a pulse of Primordial Spirit from your brow, slowly withdrawing the eighth sword’s intent into your dantian.

You sheathed Dragon Shadow; the fallen leaves swept by its blade had not yet touched the ground before being spun by swirling sword qi into a thousand golden butterflies, dancing around the century-old crimson tung tree in the courtyard.

Finally, Dragon Shadow became a streak of light, returning to the sword crown hanging from the branch.

This too counts as your recent insight into sword control.

At that moment, the vermilion courtyard gate creaked open. Wutong stepped across the threshold, carrying a gilded food box; behind her, Luyah followed, arms full of brocade. A breeze stirred the girl’s pale yellow skirt, both maids’ faces bright with joy.

Luyah entered the courtyard and bowed respectfully: “My lord, may you be well.”

You smiled and greeted: “Luyah, you’ve come.”

Wutong fetched several gifts from inside the house, among them gifts from the courtesan queens.

Colorful gift boxes covered the stone table: a gilded silver-inlaid Boshan incense burner from Su Yun, a black iron tassel from Lady Gongsun, a hand-embroidered brocade square depicting nine carp playing with lotus from Zhou Yuner—each dazzling.

These were all gifts you and Wutong had long planned to send to your fourth cousin, Xie Ying.

In a few days, your fourth cousin Xie Ying would marry Sima Ting; the marriage contract and betrothal gifts were already prepared.

Your fourth cousin Xie Ying had always cared for you deeply—even when your mother was alive, she was among the few relatives who spoke to you. You were no ungrateful soul; this gift had been carefully prepared.

You turned and entered the room, took a letter from your desk—its characters neat and precise, the congratulatory message you had written for Xie Ying’s wedding.

In the courtyard, Wutong smiled, squinting: “Luyah, pick whatever you like—the Young Master said you may choose freely.”

Though Wutong loved wealth, she was exceptionally generous to her dear friend Luyah. She laid out every gift on the table for Luyah to select.

Luyah’s eyes sparkled like stars, yet after much hesitation, she whispered: “Sister Wutong, these are too precious—I cannot accept them. If the Young Lady found out, she’d punish me.”

Wutong laughed, patting Luyah’s shoulder lightly: “What’s the worry? If the Young Lady asks, say the Young Master gave them—no harm done.”

Luyah still hesitated, her gaze drifting among the gifts, finally settling on a delicate silver-threaded incense pouch.

Wutong immediately slipped it into her hand, smiling: “This one’s perfect—it matches your dress today.”

“Really?”

“My little Luyah has grown even more beautiful.”

Luyah felt a pang of envy. Though the Young Lady treated her kindly, it was still different from Wutong.

She could see—Master Guan never regarded Wutong as a servant; the concern in his eyes was unmistakable.

Wutong leaned close to her ear, whispering: “Has the Fourth Young Lady assigned you as a concubine yet?”

Luyah’s ears flushed red. Girls raised from childhood to serve their mistress had another duty: to serve the master as concubines.

When the married ladies had their monthly indisposition, to prevent their husbands from seeking other women, they’d send their concubine maids to serve them.

Luyah replied shyly: “The Young Lady mentioned—if General Sima requests it, I am to serve.” At the thought of Sima Ting’s towering figure, her cheeks flushed deeper.

Luyah turned and asked Wutong: “Sister Wutong, are you still a maiden?”

Wutong recalled each night—the Young Master returned to her room, removed her shoes, massaged her feet, and she always drifted off half-asleep, nothing more having occurred. She mused inwardly: “This year, the Young Master turns twenty…”

At that moment!

You stepped outside, holding the letter, seeing the two whispering, and smiled: “Luyah, pick any gift you like—don’t hold back.”

You stepped forward and handed the letter to Luyah, speaking gently: “This is the gift for your Fourth Young Lady. Please deliver it for me.”

Luyah rose quickly, accepting the letter with both hands, whispering: “The Young Lady wished to visit Master Guan herself, but due to her status, she cannot come—please forgive her.”

You nodded understandingly, smiling: “Proper etiquette.”

In the Great Qi, steeped in Confucian rites, women were expected to never leave the inner quarters.

Even when Zhang Yunzhi and others came to this courtyard, they required Xie Yuan’s escort, lest gossip arise over a lone man and woman being alone together.

Yet it was ironic—Confucian rites did not contradict the aristocracy’s licentiousness.

Though Confucianism emphasized propriety, aristocratic youths frequented courtesans, while the courtesans of Xiqiang Pavilion faced no such restrictions—instead, their affairs were celebrated as romantic.

Xie Ying now had a betrothal; she must be especially cautious, minimizing contact with men.

Luyah hesitated, then finally spoke: “The Young Lady asked me to tell Master Guan—you’re turning twenty soon. Madam Yuan has already arranged your marriage—you’re to be a son-in-law to the Li family; your household registration has been submitted to the Ministry of Personnel… and downgraded to the low caste.”

Wutong’s grip tightened; she blurted: “How could this happen so fast? The Young Master isn’t even twenty yet!”

Luyah whispered: “The Fourth Young Lady pleaded with Madam, but the Lady Dowager personally approved it—there’s no turning back.”

Wutong’s face darkened with rare anger, teeth clenched: “This is unbearable!”

“Even if he’s to be a son-in-law, they didn’t even hold a betrothal ceremony—just rushed to change his registry! This year, the Young Master was to take the imperial exams; Master Zhang had already guaranteed his eligibility with his Licentiate status. Now, with his name in the low caste and as a son-in-law, he’s lost all eligibility for the exams!”

Seeing Wutong so agitated, Luyah faltered, unsure whether to continue, lowering her eyes.

Yet you remained calm, soothing Wutong: “Wutong, didn’t you already know he’d be a son-in-law? Why be so upset?”

You turned to Luyah, voice gentle: “Luyah, go on.”

Luyah hesitated again, then spoke: “It’s said the Li family’s betrothed lady is a cultivator—she’s been away from home for years, and the Li family has already postponed the wedding…”

“Postponed the wedding…” Wutong froze, trembling: “Master Guan stood out so brilliantly at the Qunfang Banquet—how could he suffer such humiliation?”

Becoming a son-in-law was already disgraceful in Great Qi; now, with the wedding postponed, it was tantamount to rejection—what greater shame?

Wutong leapt to her feet: “I’m going to Daguanyuan—I’ll demand justice from the Lady Dowager!”

Luyah grabbed her sleeve: “Sister Wutong, don’t act rashly—we’re servants—we can’t defy our masters!”

Wutong ignored her—you reached out and stopped her.

Seeing your figure, Wutong bowed her head, tears slipping silently, voice trembling: “Madam entrusted me to care for the Young Master—I’m useless. Years ago he was blind at home, now he’s cast off and rejected—how can heaven be so unjust!”

Luyah sighed beside her. In Great Qi, filial piety and ritual were paramount—this was parental decree, arranged by matchmakers; Master Guan could not defy it.

You gently wiped the tears from her eyes, speaking softly: “If one does not deceive oneself, heaven cannot deceive one.”

Luyah softly embraced Wutong’s trembling shoulders; gradually, the sobs subsided.

“Wutong, you and Luyah go to your Fourth Cousin’s place.” You spoke quietly.

Wutong opened her mouth to say more, but Luyah gently pulled her away.

You clasped your hands within your sleeves, quietly watching Wutong and Luyah’s retreating backs, your expression serene.

They always thought marriage by entry into the bride’s family, the imperial examinations, entering a scholarly academy—these were the mountains atop your head, the quagmires you could never cross.

Yet you have already met the Master, seen the Second Master who opened the Heavenly Gate with a sword, and encountered Prince Lu Chen of Yan from three thousand years ago.

In dreams, I know not who I am—not the moon, not the clouds, not the crane.

This man should live differently.

You gaze at the ancestral tablet of your mother, placed upon the central wall inside the small courtyard.

Your mother has been gone nearly five years; you are no longer the child who wept until his eyes went blind beneath the white funeral banners.

With a flick of your hand, the long sword upon the tree canopy hummed and trembled, dancing around you like flowing light.

Is this the Xie family—one of the Nine Great Surnames of Da Qi, which has produced three generations of dukes and marquises, and endured for over a thousand years?

The young man, who had always been gentle, smiled faintly, revealing a coldness never before shown.

“Let’s see if this vast Xie family can hold me captive.”

“And as for Father—how will you come to recognize your fault?”

Since childhood, the boy had locked a wicked dragon within his heart.

All these years, he never once erred, behaving as if a celestial being.

Your emotions settled into stillness in an instant, and you became once more the unshakable Xie Guan.

You look toward the courtyard gate—there are visitors today!

(End of Chapter)