Chapter 104: Yang Zhi Sells His Blade

On the other side, a man with his chest bared, revealing a palm-sized patch of chest hair, short and sturdy,

Niu Er, radiating a brazen, unruly aura, arrived on this street with two followers from another.

Seeing Niu Er arrive, the vendors who had just been in chaos, cursing their parents for giving them only two hands and two legs,

no longer dared to run.

If they ran now and caught Niu Er's attention, they'd be lucky to escape with their skin.

Niu Er strode forward with a swagger, stopping before an old man selling dates.

He casually snatched a green date from the stall.

Wiped it idly on his clothes, then bit into it with a loud crunch.

His saliva and the date's juice splattered everywhere.

The old man, drenched in the spray, dared not anger him.

Instead, he beamed, swiftly wrapped a bundle of green dates, and handed them to Niu Er:

"Master Niu Er, these are a small offering from this humble old man."

Niu Er took the bundle, weighed it in his hand, and found it weighed at least four or five catties.

He smiled with satisfaction: "Old Li, you've done well."

Old Li bowed deeply:

"Master Niu Er keeps peace in this district; this is what we humble folk must do."

"Hah!"

"Good, you've got sense."

Niu Er laughed loudly, flattered.

"Boys, let's move on to the next stall."

He tossed the remaining green date to one follower and headed toward the next vendor.

"Master Niu Er, good day!"

"Master Niu Er, good day!"

"Master Niu Er, you've worked hard!"

Along the way, all vendors bowed their heads to greet Niu Er.

"All's well, everyone's well!"

Niu Er's smug grin refused to fade.

Once a lowly thug despised by all,

he loved nothing more than seeing these people seethe with hatred,

yet forced to swallow their pride and flatter him.

Suddenly, among the bowed heads,

he spotted Yang Zhi standing tall and straight at the street corner, spine rigid.

"Who'd have thought there'd be a thorn in this patch?"

Niu Er sneered.

Since he'd beaten the last man into a coma and faced no legal consequences,

not a single vendor on these streets dared not bow to him.

He realized that if he didn't crush this thorn decisively,

his reputation as Master Niu Er would vanish,

and other thugs coveting his position would surely gang up on him.

At the same time, he was startled by the terrifying birthmark on Yang Zhi's face.

Yang Zhi's appearance reminded him of certain merciless killers.

"Hmph!

I'm now backed by the son of a powerful official—just a twisted fool.

Thinking of Gao Gao Yana, Niu Er's fear of Yang Zhi vanished instantly.

Compared to Gao Gao Yana, who could command the streets of Bianliang, what was a man with a fearsome face?

Niu Er abandoned the other vendors and, swaggering with two followers, stepped before Yang Zhi:

"Selling a knife?"

Yang Zhi frowned at the slouching, insolent Niu Er and his two lackeys.

He, Yang Zhi, had never dealt with such scum in his prime.

But knowing his current fallen state, he forced down his revulsion:

"I am Yang Zhi of the Mo family, selling a family heirloom blade."

"How much?" Niu Er asked.

Yang Zhi replied flatly:

"Family heirloom blade: one thousand guan. No haggling."

Niu Er raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? What kind of blade is worth a thousand guan?"

Even the surrounding vendors were startled by the price.

A thousand guan could buy a two-court courtyard in the outer city.

"A thousand guan? Real or bluff?"

"Probably just inflated—everyone haggles, after all!"

The vendors murmured among themselves.

It wasn't that they doubted a blade worth a thousand guan existed,

but that such a blade would come to sell here, among petty traders?

Even Zhang Zhang Jie, watching from the corner, shook his head:

Yang Zhi's choice to sell here was a mistake—this was the outer district,

where passersby were poor but not destitute, and certainly not wealthy.

Who could afford a thousand guan for a blade meant only for display?

Yang Zhi's best buyers were in fact other military families, like his own.

Though these families held low political status under the Song's civil-over-military policy,

the court had never stinted on their wealth.

Since Emperor Taizu Zhao Zhao Kuangyin disbanded their armies over wine,

these military clans had endless gold and silver, and even imperial princesses often married into them.

Only they, with hereditary titles and military posts, would spend a fortune on weapons like this,

which held collector's value.

Of course, Zhang Zhang Jie guessed Yang Zhi came here to sell because he couldn't bear the shame.

After all, there were only so many military families—he'd run into them everywhere.

The blade he held was said to have been left by Yang Zhi's ancestor, Old Lord Yang, a symbol and heirloom of the Yang family.

To sell the family heirloom meant the Yang family had fallen utterly.

For Yang Zhi, whose lifelong dream was to restore the Yang military clan,

it was more painful than death itself.

…

On the other side, after hearing Yang Zhi's price, Niu Er sneered:

"What blade's worth a thousand guan? Tell me properly, you fool."

Hearing Niu Er call himself "Second Master" to his face, Yang Zhi's face darkened with anger.

This mere thug—he could have crushed him with one finger before!

But remembering his fallen state, Yang Zhi suppressed his rage:

"I dare name a thousand guan because my blade has extraordinary qualities."

Hearing this, Niu Er grew curious:

"What extraordinary qualities? Tell us, let's have some fun."

Yang Zhi's face lit with pride: "My blade has three extraordinary qualities.

First: it can sever hair with a breath."

He drew a section of the blade—its gleam was icy, unmistakably razor-sharp.

Then he plucked a strand from his thick hair,

laid it on the edge, blew gently—and the hair split cleanly in two.

"Fine blade!"

"Truly, it severs hair with a breath!"

The onlookers gasped—they'd never seen such a blade.

Even hearing of such things came only from street storytellers.

Niu Er, watching, was startled:

Such a blade could not belong to an ordinary man—Yang Zhi must be of noble birth.

Yet after carefully studying Yang Zhi's face, which seemed to scream destitution,

Niu Er suddenly felt the sky had cleared and the rain had stopped—he Niu Er was back in form.

A quiet thrill even stirred in his heart: the pleasure of tormenting a fallen noble.

What if your ancestors were imperial royalty?

Today, you still have to bow to Niu Er's will!

"What's the second test?" Niu Er asked.

"The second is cutting iron like mud!"

Yang Zhi declared with firm resolve.

"Cutting iron like mud?"

Hearing that phrase, the nearby vendors couldn't help but inch closer.

Yang Zhi patted his pocket, hoping to pull out a few copper coins to demonstrate.

But to his shame, he had barely any copper coins left in his pocket,

making it impossible to prove his sword's miraculous sharpness.

"Hmph! Just a paper tiger!"

Having spent time with Gao Gao Yana, Niu Er had learned to read faces—he saw Yang Zhi's distress and sneered inwardly.

The penniless Yang Zhi bowed apologetically to the crowd:

"I'm short on silver today. Kind souls, if you'd be so generous as to lend me a few copper coins,

I could prove this blade cuts iron like mud."

At Yang Zhi's request for money, the crowd fell silent.

Was this some new scheme cooked up by Yang Zhi and Niu Er to extort cash?

Given Niu Er's bottomless shamelessness, he was perfectly capable of such a trick!

Faced with the sudden silence, Yang Zhi's already gloomy face darkened further.

"Hey! For such a spectacle, what's one copper coin?"

Zhang Zhang Jie, eager to join the show, pushed through the crowd and handed Yang Zhi a copper coin.

"Thank you, young master."

Yang Zhi accepted the coin with gratitude.

"This young master speaks truth—such a spectacle is worth ten or twenty copper coins.

We're getting a fortune for just one!"

With Zhang Zhang Jie leading, others quickly echoed in agreement.

Soon, dozens of copper coins lay piled before Yang Zhi.

"Enough, enough—no more needed,"

Yang Zhi bowed to stop those still reaching into their pockets.

Seeing Yang Zhi wasn't exploiting them, the crowd finally believed him.

At this, Niu Er, growing impatient, snapped:

"Get on with it! I've got other places to go!"

Yang Zhi silently stacked a dozen copper coins into a pile,

then drew his sword and slashed down in one swift motion.

Everyone in the crowd, except Zhang Zhang Jie, saw only a flash of silver—*crack! *—the pile of coins severed cleanly.

Yang Zhi deliberately held the blade up for all to see,

its edge unchipped, gleaming as before.

"Cutting iron like mud! Truly cutting iron like mud!"

"A treasure blade! A magnificent blade!"

The crowd, having never seen such a weapon, burst into praise.

"Indeed, a true treasure blade,"

even Zhang Zhang Jie, known for his vast experience, nodded in approval.

Though these coins contained soft metals like tin and each had low hardness,

Yang Zhi's sword cleaving through a dozen with ease proved its extraordinary sharpness.

Among all weapons he had encountered, only the Yi Tian Sword and the Tu Long Blade

surpassed Yang Zhi's ancestral blade in sharpness.

Of course, this didn't mean the blade ranked second only to the Yi Tian and Tu Long blades in the Wu Xia world.

In Wu Xia, weapons were judged by one key standard:

how well they absorbed and amplified internal Qi.

The Tu Long Blade earned its reputation as the key to "commanding the world, none daring to defy"—

because it greatly amplified the user's internal Qi, unleashing nearly invincible sword energy,

vastly enhancing the wielder's martial prowess.

Had Jinmao Shiwang not wielded the Tu Long Blade, he wouldn't have slaughtered the martial world—

he'd have been slain by Mistress Miejue the moment he descended from Brightness Peak,

stripped of Ming Jiao's support and hated by all who despised the sect.

"Yang Zhuangshi, what's the third marvel?"

An audience member, thoroughly intrigued, called out.

Surrounded by so many, Yang Zhi stood tall and declared loudly:

"The third marvel of my blade is killing without a drop of blood!"

"Killing without blood? Hss!"

The crowd's gaze toward Yang Zhi's blade grew more reverent.

If Yang Zhi dared say this, the blade must have—possibly, likely, surely—seen blood.

But Niu Er grew even more anxious:

If people now feared Yang Zhi's blade, where was their fear of him, Niu Er?

Lose their fear, and he lost everything!

After all, even if he didn't care about his life, how many men could one man fight?

If these vendors united, one punch each would beat him to death!

Niu Er, seeking an excuse, sneered mockingly:

"You say it kills without blood? Prove it!

I Niu Er say I'm the Jade Emperor himself…"

Only then did Niu Er realize he'd gone too far:

The Jade Emperor might be fiction, but the emperor on the dragon throne was real.

Even Gao Gao Yana, his great patron, was merely the son of Grand Marshal Gao.

Niu Er's eyes darted, and he changed his tone:

"I meant a divine general sent down from the Jade Emperor's court!

To make us believe, you must prove it!"

Yang Zhi hesitated:

Killing without blood couldn't mean actually killing a person, could it?

At that moment, Zhang Zhang Jie flicked open his fan and offered a suggestion:

"There's a poultry seller nearby—why not buy a live chicken? Cut it, and you'll see."

Yang Zhi felt it dishonorable to use his family's ancestral blade, forged for glory and service,

to slaughter a mere chicken—but he had to admit Zhang Zhang Jie's idea was sound:

"As this young master says—I'll use my ox-knife to kill a chicken!"

Yet his face darkened further, remembering his empty pockets.

The helpful Zhang Zhang Jie pulled out a sliver of silver and handed it to a bystander:

"Please buy a live chicken."

The man took the silver and nodded eagerly:

"Young master and all, wait a moment—I'll return at once."

The man who took the silver nodded repeatedly:

"Esteemed sir, please wait a moment—I'll be right back."