Chapter 525: The Young Swordsman

Li Yan was already used to being challenged.

After all, in this jianghu, building a reputation through blade and fist was too slow—perhaps half a lifetime would only earn local fame.

The best way was to rise by trampling on others' reputations.

So anyone with a modicum of fame in the jianghu inevitably faced such things.

But this young man was different.

His smile was calm, brimming with confidence.

Li Yan recognized that smile well.

It was called "a calf unafraid of tigers."

Passionate, pure, and reckless.

"Fine."

Li Yan readily agreed, yet glanced subtly at the blind old Daoist, a flicker of doubt stirring in his mind.

He could read the young man clearly.

But the old Daoist was strange.

He clearly was extraordinary, yet in Li Yan's perception, he was just an ordinary, even somewhat worn-out Daoist.

Only someone of profound cultivation could create such a contrast.

Li Yan had seen too much to casually probe—he turned instead to the servant, "What's your specialty?"

Wang Mazi was hard to talk to, so Li Yan saw no point in wasting words.

It was just a meal, not making friends.

The servant was startled by the question, stole a glance at Wang Mazi, saw no reprimand, then whispered, "Master has rules: no ordering dishes. Whatever he cooks, you eat."

"Then bring the food."

"How many dishes, sir?"

Li Yan smiled, "Cook as much as we can eat."

"Hmph!"

Wang Mazi grunted but said nothing.

Dressed in coarse cloth, sleeves tightly bound, he flicked his little finger—and a massive cleaver leapt into his hand.

With a few swift flips, blades flashed, and with rhythmic thumps, pork instantly became paper-thin slices.

He spun, and chili peppers and Sichuan peppercorns were already in hand—sliced, crushed, movements fluid as flowing water.

The wok heated, oil boiled, meat slices danced, tofu lightly fried, chilies, peppercorns, and broad bean paste swirling together—a pot of spicy, numbing, fragrant aroma rose: Mapo Tofu…

Next, blades flashed again—chicken breast instantly diced, marinated briefly, then slid into hot oil.

Peanuts fried golden, ginger, garlic, scallions, and a special sauce added, dancing with the chicken cubes—bright red, fiery, savory: Kung Pao Chicken…

Immediately after came "Husband and Wife Lung Slice."

Beef head skin, heart, tongue, tripe—sliced like paper, thin and even. Special chili oil, ground Sichuan peppercorns, soy sauce, sesame oil blended and poured over the meat—glossy red oil, spicy, numbing, fragrant, rich in flavor…

During the Da Xing era of the previous dynasty, sea merchants had introduced chili peppers to the Central Plains, calling them "fan jiao"; they were already widely cultivated in Shu.

Whatever they were called, they had become the soul of Sichuan cuisine.

Especially Wang Mazi—no doubt a Culinary General. Ugly as he was, standing before the stove, he radiated the aura of a master on the battlefield.

Every motion, every gesture, utterly focused—blade glints, spoon shadows, clashing spatulas, sizzling oil—felt like martial practice.

Li Yan had noticed.

Wang Mazi's awakening must be the Body Divine Skill—less mysterious than others, but maximally attuning the five senses and controlling the body.

Flavor, though not a matter of "a hair's breadth off, a thousand miles wrong," still demanded precise control.

Almost everyone in the tent was drawn in.

Moreover, the aroma attracted trouble.

Some common folk came drawn by the scent.

They wanted to enter and taste, but were immediately warned by others.

"Don't go. You won't want to leave—it's just home cooking, no rare delicacies, and costs more than Chengdu's finest restaurants…"

"Really?"

"Why would I lie? If you…"

"Pah! That money could buy a whole pig!"

Onlookers chattered, but some had money to spare.

Immediately, several dressed-in-silk men pushed through the crowd, trying to enter, cursing loudly—clearly looking for trouble.

Wu Kang of Changchun Society saw this and rushed out.

"Get lost, or I'll break your legs!"

He glared, scaring them off, then ordered his men to guard the entrance, preventing disturbance to the guests inside.

He had good sense—he sensed something was off.

At a time like this, he didn't want to offend anyone.

Li Yan naturally knew what was happening outside, but he didn't care—he had several dishes already on the table.

Another thing he appreciated about this place:

Though plain-looking, it was spotlessly clean.

The servant was diligent—tables and chairs wiped clean, from the teapot to the bowls and chopsticks, everything radiated freshness.

With fragrant rice, Li Yan and Wu Ba dug in, chopsticks flashing like wind, rice bowls emptied one after another.

Soon, the dishes were all gone.

Fortunately, Wang Mazi's hands were swift—the clatter of pots and spoons, the sizzle of oil, dish after dish appeared.

On the other side, the old Daoist and the boy ate the same way.

The entire tent felt like a battlefield—both sides gorging silently, the cook focused entirely on cooking, no words wasted.

Only the servant suffered—he nearly ran his legs off.

He had to serve dishes and wash bowls, using the icy mountain spring water nearby; in the bitter cold, his hands turned bright red.

Unnoticed, two large pots of rice were finished.

Thud!

Wang Mazi slammed his cleaver into the cutting board.

"No more cooking today—out of ingredients!"

Li Yan and the others had eaten every scrap of meat and dish he'd prepared.

Wu Ba wasn't satisfied, glancing anxiously at Li Yan.

Wu Kang, standing at the door, had good sense—he bowed quickly, "Master Wang, what do you need? I'll get it right away."

"Get what?!"

Wang Mazi glared, "Damn it, can't you see my hands are cramped? No more service today."

He shot an annoyed look at Wu Ba, "Never seen anyone eat like this—cow chewing peonies, ruined the mood!"

"Master, you're wrong."

Li Yan chuckled, shaking his head, "My brother has a big appetite, but he's eaten plenty of fine food—his palate's grown pickier, yet I've never seen him like this."

"How much? Add our table to theirs."

"Hehe, how could we possibly accept?"

The blind old Daoist sipped tea, grinned, "Young sir, this Mazi cooks for us free of charge. If you insist on paying, and feel guilty, just give the money to us… ugh~"

Before he finished, the boy clapped a hand over his mouth.

The boy blushed, quickly shaking his head, "Li Shaoxia, don't mind him—my master talks nonsense."

"You idiot!"

The blind old Daoist slapped his hand away, grumbling, "Pride kills you—someday you'll pay dearly!"

The two were clowning, but Wang Mazi didn't waste words—he spoke directly: "They pay nothing. Your table is thirty taels."

"Hmm."

Li Yan nodded, pulled out thirty taels in silver notes and some loose silver, and handed them to the servant: "Young brother, you've worked hard."

The servant froze, flustered, glancing at Wang Mazi.

"What are you looking at?"

Wang Mazi glared, "He's rich—take it. With me, you'll never lack for this."

Though his words were harsh, it was clear he greatly admired this diligent apprentice.

On the other side, the sword-holding boy was already impatient—he bowed to Li Yan, "Li Daxia, you've eaten your fill. Shall we train now?"

"Heh, why the rush?"

Li Yan smiled, lifted the teapot, poured hot tea, "Exercise after meals harms the stomach. Drink tea first."

"Young man, when sparring, you must state your name and lineage—can't just fight blindly?" He sensed the blind old Daoist wouldn't speak—he had to draw info from the boy.

The boy blushed, glanced at the blind old Daoist, then whispered, "My surname is Chang, name Gou Sheng. I practice my master's Firewood-Cutting Sword Art."

Li Yan's eyebrow twitched, "Are you joking?"

"What's wrong with Firewood-Cutting Sword Art?"

The blind old Daoist grunted, "If a sword art can cut firewood, it's useful. Useful is good."

"Master is right."

Li Yan smiled faintly and said no more.

He could tell this was likely an extraordinary person, hiding his identity, with a foolish disciple.

He never expected to stumble upon such a scenario.

Hiding won't help—once they start fighting, he'll guess it easily.

In one glance /p>

Thinking of this, he asked no more, drank a few sips of tea, then rose slowly with a smile: "Find a place without people, shall we?"

"Fine!"

The sword-holding boy, Gou Sheng, nodded eagerly.

"Wu Ba, let's go!"

Li Yan smiled faintly and turned to walk away.

Outside the pavilion, he headed straight into the mountains, taking only three or four steps before appearing as if he had condensed distance, instantly arriving over ten meters away.

Wu Ba's heavy feet slammed into the ground, his speed equally astonishing.

"Li Shaoxia! Li Shaoxia!"

Wu Kang from the Changchun Society panicked, sprinting after them, face flushed with urgent pleading: "Could you take this humble servant to watch?"

He had just heard these two were going to duel, and had waited all this time for exactly this.

He'd never get such a chance again in his life—he couldn't miss it, even if he had to beg shamelessly just to see.

"Fine!"

Li Yan turned, took three steps to reach him, grabbed his arm with his right hand, and pulled him forward.

With his current cultivation, even carrying someone, his speed didn't slow at all—it was purely martial skill.

Wu Kang felt his arm yanked, instantly his feet left the ground, wind whistling past his ears, scenery blurring backward.

Immortal… immortal arts?

He stared, dumbfounded, heart brimming with excitement.

Yet the blind Daoist behind them twitched his ears slightly, a hint of surprise on his face as he sneered: "Gou Sheng, look—you're far behind him. Don't fight. Just go back and chop wood and till the soil with me."

The boy Gou Sheng's face was also filled with shock.

He could see Li Yan used no magical techniques—only an extremely refined method, mastering force to its peak.

Yet instead of being discouraged, his fighting spirit surged.

"Whether he's good or not—only fighting will tell!"

Saying this, he pushed off with his feet and shot forward with a whoosh.

His light-body movement was completely different from Li Yan's: one hand holding his sword, body low, toes barely touching the ground, like a sharp blade zipping forward—zipping, zipping, zipping.

In speed, he matched Wu Ba.

As for the blind Daoist, he seemed merely an observer, indifferent, strolling lazily behind them all.

He appeared careless, yet always stayed exactly three steps behind the boy.

The crowd outside the pavilion still didn't understand what was happening—the few figures had vanished at high speed, leaving them gaping.

"Master, aren't you going to watch?"

Inside the pavilion, the young servant asked timidly.

Wang Mazi had awakened a divine ability; from his knife techniques in cooking, he was clearly no ordinary man.

Yet he showed no interest whatsoever, sitting silently on a bench, crossing his legs, and lighting his pipe to smoke a few puffs.

"Remember—a cook is just a cook."

"Life is short. Just master one thing…"

…………

The group moved swiftly, and in less than half a stick of incense, they reached a secluded spot halfway up Lingquan Mountain.

Li Yan suddenly stopped. Around them, bamboo groves half-encircled the area, a stream flowed gently, and a ruined temple stood collapsed, its walls reduced to rubble, distant mountains and clouds dark as ink.

"Perfect place!"

Li Yan laughed heartily and turned to face behind.

The master and disciple arrived one after the other.

"Gou Sheng, what do you want to compete in?"

Li Yan smiled and asked directly.

He had some fondness for the boy, so he cut straight to the point.

"First, weapons!"

The sword-holding boy Gou Sheng, unable to hide his excitement, drew his sword with a clang.

But when Li Yan saw it, he frowned: "This sword won't do—it'll shatter on contact. Wait, I'll find you something."

Saying this, he glanced around, picked up a stick from the ground.

The boy's sword was truly pitiful—a common iron blade, rusted and full of nicks.

The boy's face flushed red instantly: "You're looking down on me?"

"Fool!"

Behind him, the blind Daoist kicked him squarely on the buttocks: "He's fighting you with a stick—it's the same thing."

The boy stumbled forward, face twisted in indignation, wrist flicking as he raised his sword to attack.

"Hey—stop!"

Li Yan quickly raised a hand to halt him.

"What now?!"

Gou Sheng was speechless.

Along the way, he'd heard many rumors about Li Yan—always killing without reason, a cruel murderer.

Yet now that he saw him in person, why was he so fussy?

Li Yan smiled faintly, twirled the stick in his hand like a saber, and said calmly: "First, steady your breath. Otherwise, it's pointless."

Gou Sheng's face reddened: "Thank you for the advice."

He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.

When he opened them again, he was calm, slowly raising his sword, forming the sword seal, lowering his body, and stepping forward with his left foot.

Li Yan narrowed his eyes and lifted his stick.

Shhh!

The boy Gou Sheng launched a sudden attack.

He didn't charge straight on; instead, as he neared Li Yan, he twisted his body, the blade flashing, slicing diagonally across Li Yan's neck.

This was called "seizing the outer gate."

A sword has two edges, thin and sharp on both sides.

Thus, when using a sword, you mustn't block head-on—only strike sideways along the edge. That's "seizing the outer gate."

Li Yan had anticipated this—he stepped his left foot back slightly, flicked his wrist lightly, and the stick precisely hooked the blade.

There was a sharp clang—Gou Sheng felt his sword go out of control, as if it might fly from his grip.

He reacted instantly, lifting upward, then flipping his wrist, leaping into the air like a scorpion's tail, aiming straight for Li Yan's head.

Li Yan smiled faintly and raised his stick to block.

Gou Sheng saw this and felt a surge of joy.

Even his rotten sword could easily shatter a stick—using this thing against him was sheer nonsense.

At the same time, Gou Sheng felt a twinge of discomfort.

Along the way, he'd faced several famous masters—each had fled in disgrace after just a few moves. Yet this one, too, was just a pretender.

Fine. Better not hurt him.

Thinking this, he even held back slightly on his strike.

But the instant sword met stick, Gou Sheng sensed something was wrong.

His blade only scraped off a bit of bark—the force vanished completely, as if sinking into mud, unbearable.

Li Yan merely rotated the stick, and Gou Sheng's sword was pulled off-course again, nearly flying from his hand.

He yanked his blade back in shock:

"What kind of skill is this?"

(End of Chapter)