Chapter 133: 128 Lingering Attachment

Hearing the person outside the door admit their identity, Tang Zhao's first reaction was to blush.

There was no helping it; they had just been discussing the person in such a heated manner, and in the blink of an eye, the person had come knocking—who knew if they had heard it all? Wouldn't that be embarrassing?

Immediately after, he became vigilant.

Although they had only brushed past each other during a chance encounter by the river and he and his fellow apprentice had not been rude, who was to say they hadn't inadvertently offended this person, and he had come to pick a fight?

Both Xing Ji and Xue Xianyun had warned him that many people in the Jianghu were narrow-minded and hot-tempered, prone to bearing grudges at the slightest provocation. Some life-and-death feuds could start from nothing more than a stray glance or a wrongly spoken word.

Tang Zhao tensed up and looked toward Jiang Shenyi, wanting to see how his "old Jianghu" senior brother would handle it, only to see Jiang Shenyi's face flushed red, looking as if he would crawl into a crack in the ground if he could.

Only then did he remember that his Eighth Senior Brother was incredibly vain and thin-skinned, refusing to admit fault even in death. How could he handle the embarrassment of being caught by the very person they had been gossiping about behind his back? He wouldn't be able to recover for a while.

Since his senior brother was useless, Tang Zhao had no choice but to retract his Dharma Artifact into his sleeve and call out, "Please wait a moment."

Upon opening the door, he indeed saw the middle-aged man standing in the courtyard, dressed in simple clothing with a desolate expression, only the square cloth cap on his head was tied neatly; he was no longer disheveled, looking more like a failed Scholar.

Tang Zhao performed a scholar's salute first and said, "It is indeed you, sir. This student offers his respects."

One naturally had to be polite when meeting a Sword Student, especially since this person was dressed as a scholar; he was likely a senior to Tang Zhao in terms of studies. As long as he held a degree, he was better than Tang Zhao, for Tang Zhao was at most a toddler in the path of literature—calling him a child student would be a compliment.

The scholar returned the salute and said, "Forgive my presumptuous visit, and for disturbing you two young gentlemen."

Tang Zhao said, "It is no trouble, sir. Please, come inside and sit."

The scholar waved his hand and said, "I dare not intrude so. This late-night visit is truly because I have a doubt in my heart, and I am so restless and anxious that I could not sleep, which is why I came here so rashly."

Tang Zhao said, "What instruction do you have, sir? Please, come into my humble dwelling to discuss it in detail."

The scholar said repeatedly, "I dare not, I dare not."

Jiang Shenyi heard them exchanging flowery language at the door, pushing and yielding, and found it both amusing and tiresome. He said, "Sir, please come in. If you don't, this junior brother of mine really might keep pushing and yielding all night."

The scholar entered, and Tang Zhao poured tea first. The scholar declined politely, took a sip, and held the teacup in his hands as if warming them.

Tang Zhao and Jiang Shenyi exchanged a look, feeling slightly surprised. Even as newcomers to the Jianghu, they knew not to casually consume things given by others, so Tang Zhao hadn't insisted when pouring the tea. He hadn't expected the scholar to actually drink it; he must either be a truly ignorant scholar with no experience, or he relied on his own strength and feared no underhanded tactics.

Since he was a Sword Student, the latter was more likely. Of course, it also indicated he had no hostile intent.

Tang Zhao felt his heart relax slightly and said, "Sir, you have visited in the dead of night—what is your instruction?"

The scholar said, "It is like this: during the day, I saw the willow trees swaying by the riverbank and was moved by the sight, so I recited a few lines about the Yantai willows. This young gentleman beside me recited a line, 'Are the green ones of the past still here?' It seemed to be a poem. I wonder what the following two lines are?"

Tang Zhao had not expected him to come knocking for such a reason. Beyond his surprise, he was also secretly alarmed; he had said that line in an extremely low voice, almost silently, yet the scholar had heard it clearly. Those who could become Sword Guests naturally had strong Inspiration, but that had nothing to do with hearing, and Tang Zhao certainly hadn't sensed any extra Mental Power probing him—this must be martial arts.

This scholar was an expert!

The scholar said with a sincere tone, "I will not speak falsely before true people. You two gentlemen are clearly disciples of a prestigious school with extraordinary insight. You must have seen that I am merely a Sword Student seeking to comprehend the Sword Heart. I have walked the world for a long time just to realize this Sword Heart. Today, seeing the willow trees, I was moved and could not leave, wanting to grasp a glimmer of Inspiration, but I have always struggled to find it. This young gentleman's words made my heart stir, but after pondering for a long time, I still could not grasp the essence. I think that heavenly secrets are hard to come by, so I followed you all the way here to ask for the rest of the poem. Perhaps my opportunity lies here?"

Tang Zhao suddenly understood. That made sense; for a Sword Student, nothing was more important than realizing the Sword Heart. A chance encounter could lead to breaking through the barrier and becoming a Sword Guest in an instant—the difference was like clouds and mud. To pursue a glimmer of opportunity, doing anything was not strange.

However, he felt a bit awkward at this moment because that poem was something he had said randomly, and its meaning was not auspicious. If it matched the man's experience, that would be fine, but if it didn't, it would be like an insult. But to refuse to say it and ruin the man's opportunity would be too heartless. He apologized, "I was speaking recklessly at the time. This is an ancient poem and may not fit the situation. I will speak it as a mere suggestion, and you may listen to it as such. It goes—"

"Zhangtai willow, Zhangtai willow,

Are the green ones of the past still here?

Even if the long branches seem to hang as they once did,

They must have been plucked by someone else's hand."

Jiang Shenyi was hearing it for the first time too and couldn't help but be stunned, thinking: This isn't well-wishing, is it? Is he saying the man was cheated on?

If this didn't fit the situation, wouldn't they start fighting?

The scholar listened, lost in thought, his eyes reddening with a look of deep sorrow.

Jiang Shenyi realized, and his expression toward the man was full of sympathy.

Tang Zhao also thought: So Senior Brother Jiang guessed right; was it really because of a woman? It might not be a perfect fit, perhaps he was just moved by the sentiment.

But although the scholar was moved, there was no sign of sudden enlightenment; he only had tears in his eyes, muttering to himself.

Seeing him so heartbroken, Jiang Shenyi nudged Tang Zhao and whispered, "You have other willow poems that can evoke emotion—why not recite those for this senior?"

Tang Zhao nodded. Since the atmosphere had been built up to this point and was just one step away, reciting a few more might truly help. Helping someone achieve enlightenment was a virtuous deed. He searched through his mental library of poems and recited:

"When I left, the willows were swaying. Now that I return, the rain and snow are falling. The road is long, and I am thirsty and hungry. My heart is wounded and sad; no one knows my grief!"

To fit the mood and scene, he recited it with cadence and deep feeling. Although he lacked similar experience, he did his best to express profound emotion.

After hearing this, the scholar could no longer hold back his tears, which fell from his cheeks, making him look even more desolate.

But there was no enlightenment.

Jiang Shenyi felt even sadder watching him and looked at Tang Zhao.

Tang Zhao recited another one:

"The green willows hang to the ground, the willow catkins swirl and fly in the sky. The willow branches are all plucked, the catkins all flown away; may I ask, will the traveler return?"

This poem was also about the sorrow of parting, and the scholar wept uncontrollably, staring blankly at the lamp on the table.

Still not working?

Tang Zhao felt troubled. He knew the ancient poems of the Great Jin, but the scholar must have read them all. Only the poems from Chen Zong's hometown could give him a fresh perspective and lead to enlightenment. However, Tang Zhao's stock was truly limited. He racked his brains and said, "... Where will I wake up from my wine tonight? The willow-lined bank, the morning breeze and the waning moon..."

Just like that, Tang Zhao recited the cultural treasures he had inherited from Chen Zong one by one. If he couldn't remember the whole poem, he recited fragments, trying his best to blend the mood and the scene. Even Jiang Shenyi began to feel sad. By the end, the middle-aged man was covering his face with his sleeve, unable to control himself—it was truly a case of "Who among those present sheds the most tears? The Jiangzhou Sima's blue gown is soaked."

In the end, Tang Zhao could find no more poems and had to fall silent.

The scholar could not contain his emotions for a long time. Tang Zhao and Jiang Shenyi handed him a towel to wipe his face and poured him tea to calm his nerves. After a long while, he recovered and choked out, "I... I have let you two young friends see a joke. I was moved in my heart, but the sword... I gained nothing..."

There was no need for him to say it; just looking at the half-unsheathed sword behind his back, one knew Tang Zhao's efforts had been in vain.

"Perhaps... my time has not yet come, and I have harbored delusions, making a fool of myself. It is getting late... I... will take my leave." After saying this, he bowed hurriedly and rose to leave.

Tang Zhao and Jiang Shenyi saw him to the door and watched him stumble away into the night, both feeling dejected.

Jiang Shenyi shook his head and said, "I thought I would see the birth of a Sword Guest, but it didn't happen."

Tang Zhao also felt disappointed. When Xing Ji had ascended to Sword Hero, he had been dying and missed witnessing it; this time he had missed the opportunity again. He said, "Without taking small steps, one cannot reach a thousand miles. This emotional stirring was not entirely useless; perhaps next time it will work?"

Jiang Shenyi shook his head slightly, seemingly pessimistic, and said, "By the way, among the poems you recited earlier, there was one you recited to me—why didn't you recite it to him?"

Tang Zhao recalled carefully and said, "Oh, there seems to be one. That one didn't fit the mood; it wasn't a poem about parting or longing." He then recited toward the night sky:

"From whose house does the jade flute fly in the dark?"

Scattered into the spring breeze, filling Luocheng.

Tonight, hearing the "Willow-Breaking" tune,

who could not feel a longing for their old home? This is clearly a poem..."

The disheveled middle-aged man who had already walked out of the courtyard suddenly stopped, his ears pricking up, as if he had heard something.

In a trance, he seemed to hear the melodious sound of a flute drifting from the night sky.

The flute sound was clear and distant, like the slight chill of jade against skin, seeping into the depths of his heart, strand by strand.

Amidst the flute sound, he seemed to see willow trees, thousands of lush green willow branches swaying gently in the wind.

He saw the shimmering waves of the river, the white sails on the water, the undulating city walls in the distance...

He saw the figures he held dear in his heart: the woman breaking off a flower branch in front of the door, the boatman shouting chants on the boat, the child riding a bamboo horse before the gate, the old man telling stories at the city entrance...

Note after note of the flute, figure after figure, intertwined together, the spring light bright and beautiful, a riot of color—

Hum—

With a sword hum, the long sword on his back unsheathed itself.

A beam of light shifted from void to reality, rising from the ground, its color a greenish-gray—

"That is my..."

"Hometown." Tang Zhao explained, "That poem describes the feeling of homesickness."

Boom!

In the distance, a city wall seemed to descend from the sky, standing tall in the night air, blocking the cold early spring night wind completely. Through the city wall, one could vaguely see the rows of streets in the city, the river flowing through it, and the green willow trees on the riverbank...

That is...

"Yantai!"

Tang Zhao blurted out.

It was not that he recognized this city, nor that he saw a plaque hanging on the city gate, but in an instant, he guessed it was Yantai.

In an instant, he understood everything.

"Yantai willow, Yantai willow. Willow sounds like 'stay'; what he wanted to keep was Yantai, his hometown."