Chapter 30: Down the Cliff, Down the Cliff! (Beg for Follow-Up Reads)

Zhao Ti was seated at the moment, making it hard to judge the fight, but after three strikes of "swish, swish, swish," he felt Zuo Zimu truly could not produce any more fearsome sword moves, so he used a White Clouds Emerging from the Mountains, followed by Heaven-Earth Inverted, the sword flicking upward from below, swift beyond compare, stabbing toward Zuo Zimu's wrist.

Zuo Zimu let out a sharp "Ah ya!" and cold sweat instantly soaked through his back; he had no time at all to draw his sword back, his only option was to abandon it—otherwise his wrist would likely be pierced clean through.

Then came a loud "clang," the long sword fell to the ground, his body retreated four or five steps in succession, his heart still gripped by terror; he lowered his head to look at his right wrist, where a red dot rapidly swelled, in an instant blooming like a spray of blood—even though he had reacted quickly, he had still been nicked by the sword tip.

In the martial arts hall a pin-drop could be heard, every face filled with astonishment; the local sect leaders stood dumbfounded, mouths agape, unable to close them for a long while.

Five moves—just five moves to knock the sword from Zuo Zimu's hand—could they really have seen wrong?

Rubbing their eyes, these people reckoned again that something was off: that youth had been sitting in a chair; had he been standing to fight, what then?

Wouldn't it have taken far fewer than five moves? Wouldn't it have been more than just knocking away the precious sword—it would have been taking Zuo Zimu's very life!

Most of their own martial arts was not even a match for Zuo Zimu's; the Wuliang Sword was the most renowned sect in Weichu Prefecture, famous throughout southeastern Dali, and Zuo Zimu's skill was known to all—so just how unfathomably deep must this youth's martial arts be?

Everyone drew a sharp breath; the gaze they turned on Zhao Ti shifted to awe, some even daring no longer to glance his way, afraid that if he glanced back, they would not know how to respond.

Zuo Zimu stood dazed at the center of the hall, fresh blood from his wrist dripping "plip, plip," while the disciples of the Eastern Sect were likewise struck dumb; the master they had revered as a god, whom they thought unbeatable, had actually lost—and lost so utterly, in only a handful of moves, and the opponent had been seated the whole time while wielding his sword!

Xin Shuangqing's gaze flickered with shock and suspicion; she looked at Zhao Ti with a deep trace of fear. She had watched Zuo Zimu's several strikes with her own eyes—those were the most fearsome moves of the Wuliang Sword, moves she herself could not perform with such consummate skill—yet this youth had not allowed a single one of Zuo Zimu's moves to finish before knocking the sword from his hand and driving him back in defeat!

Zhao Ti now surveyed the surroundings, his gaze falling on the female disciple of the Xi Sect who had lent him her sword, and beckoned her over.

The female disciple's face instantly flushed red; she walked over slowly, and the faint liveliness and shyness in her eyes had changed into admiration and worship.

Zhao Ti returned the sword to her: "Many thanks, Miss, for lending your sword just now. May I ask your name?"

The female disciple lowered her head and said: "My name is Chu Zhen."

Zhao Ti nodded: "A fine name—'Only the green lotus and red buds remain, unrolling, folding, opening, closing, at ease in their innocence.'"

Duan Yu said from the side: "Brother Zhao, that poem of yours is splendid—perfectly suited to the feeling and the scene, perfectly suited to the feeling and the scene."

At his words the young girl's face turned an even deeper red; she took her sword and ran back to Xin Shuangqing's side.

Zhao Ti cast Duan Yu a sidelong glance: "What nonsense is Brother Duan spouting now?"

Duan Yu said: "That's simply how I feel—when my heart is stirred and moved, I must speak it out."

Zhao Ti could do nothing with him, shook his head—Duan · Childlike · Stubborn · Frank-and-Open · Yu.

Zuo Zimu at this moment seemed to have aged ten years; with difficulty he spoke: "You have won…"

Zhao Ti smiled, slowly rose to his feet, and said to Zhou Dong and Su Da: "Let's go."

Ma Wude hurriedly stood as well: "This old man will see the Young Master out." He no longer addressed Zhao as "Brother Zhao" as before, but had changed to the same form of address as Zhou Dong, his expression full of reverence.

Zhao Ti waved his hand: "No need to escort me. When I have the time I'll visit Brother Ma Wude's residence—don't take it amiss, Brother Ma Wude."

Ma Wude heard this, his old face flushing red; he understood in his heart that Zhao Ti was giving him a way down, helping him recover the face he had lost today.

He was, after all, known as the "Rival of Mengchang," well-versed in the ways of social exchange; he immediately slapped his chest: "If the Young Master honors my humble home with a visit, this old man will surely sweep the couch in welcome, line the path with wine, and share a cup with the Young Master in joyful conversation."

The local sect leaders in the hall now all revealed envious looks; in their hearts some sighed, some cursed—what incredible luck had this old Ma had, to actually know such a Young Master of extraordinary Wu Gong; it was enough to choke a man with envy.

Duan Yu now also rose: "Zhao…"

Zhao Ti did not wait for him to finish speaking, and said: "Brother Duan need say no more. I will linger in Dali for some time yet, and we shall surely meet again. Brother Duan should give up any notion of tagging along with me."

Duan Yu's face was full of puzzlement at this; he thought to himself that this Brother Zhao was truly a strange character, able to see through his very thoughts—did Buddhism possess a mind-reading divine ability? Could Brother Zhao have learned it? Should he ask Brother Zhao for some instruction? But then again, was this mind-reading divine ability also a kind of Wu Gong… if it was, then he had better not learn it.

The three of Zhao Ti left through the door; not a single person from the Wuliang Sword made a sound, nor did anyone follow behind—after all, the gap in their realms was far too vast, like comparing statuses, and they could not muster any suspicion.

Once outside the gates of Sword Lake Palace, Zhao Ti said softly to Zhou Dong and the other: "Move fast!" Saying this, he took the lead and slipped toward the back mountain.

He reckoned that Rong Ziju, Zuo Zimu's junior brother who had been wounded by the Shennong Gang, would likely return soon, and getting tangled up with him then would be troublesome; further delay would be bad.

The three of them unfolded their movement arts and ran toward the back mountain; by now the sky was near dusk, their feet swift, and after covering more than a dozen li they arrived within the back mountain.

They heard only the babbling of spring water; a small stream came into view, and Zhao Ti nodded—they had not taken the wrong path.

Continuing forward and running for a while longer, the sound of water grew loud, rumbling and roaring; ahead to the northwest it was as if the Milky Way hung inverted, a great waterfall pouring down from on high, and then a massive cliff face appeared before their eyes.

Zhou Dong carefully stepped forward to peer over and could not help drawing a sharp breath: "Is the Young Master thinking of going down to the valley below the cliff? That won't do—it's simply too high; the descent from here is far too dangerous!"

Zhao Ti, although he remembered this place, had not expected it to be so sheer; yet the other three sides of the valley were even more perilous than this one, and harder still to descend.

And the exit of Langhuan Fudi lay by the banks of the Lancangjiang; not to mention the urgent time needed to get there, traveling through the mountains might take a day and a night to arrive, and most importantly, even reaching the riverbank there would make finding the spot difficult—it was broader and taller over there, almost like fishing for a needle in the sea.

Thinking of this, he suddenly recalled something: "Look down below—see if there's any crack."

Duan Yu had once fallen off the cliff and been bounced by an old pine, then saw a crack in the cliff face and slid down little by little to the valley floor; if they could find the crack, they could descend to the valley from there.

Zhou Dong and Su Da hurried to look; after a moment Su Da said: "Young Master, there seems to be a fissure in a very far-down place below."

Zhao Ti heard this, walked over to look, and called Zhou Dong to examine it together; indeed there was a cliff crack far below. He nodded: "In a while I'll go down from here; you two immediately head for the banks of the Lancangjiang. If I get out, I'll surely show myself over there—I don't know the exact direction, but in any case head toward the river."

Zhou Dong said: "Young Master, but…"

Zhao Ti said: "No need for nonsense—I have a whale-sinew rope and a short sword that cuts iron like mud; breaking through this cliff face is like piercing tofu. Nothing will go wrong."

Saying this, he drew from his bosom a slender whale-sinew cord—this was something he had prepared in advance, but the material was scarce; before coming he had only managed to gather fifty or sixty zhang, though with the short sword aiding the descent, there should be no mishap.

He found a hard stone at the cliff's edge and tied the sinew rope to it: "In a while I'll tug the sinew rope three times in succession; you two then untie it from here and drop the rope down, so I can tie it at another spot and reach the crack. Once you've dropped the rope, go to the banks of the Lancangjiang—don't linger here."

The two assented. Zhao Ti pulled at the sinew rope and found it sturdy, then walked to the cliff's edge, rope in one hand, short sword in the other, and with a light leap slid down toward the foot of the cliff…