Chapter 146: A Wave of Fiancées Descends

Yesterday, at the Autumn Duel, after Ji You’s final seven swords all fell, Chu He was knocked out of the arena but quickly stood up again.

Though he was drenched in blood, his numb expression suggested no serious injury.

At the time, everyone assumed Chu He was unharmed, believing the seven swords had merely cut superficial flesh.

So they waited for the second round, anticipating more of the “Chu family’s depth.”

But in truth, though Chu He appeared unscathed on the surface, his hand bones had already been shattered by the heavy sword qi.

Had he raised his hands then, the crowd might have seen both hands, skin and flesh dangling, broken.

It was said the Chu family was deeply alarmed and forbade outsiders from approaching Chu He.

The Office of Affairs later sent a disciple to examine Chu He’s hands.

To say they were “broken” was no longer accurate—they had been utterly pulverized.

What puzzled the Office of Affairs disciple was that Chu He showed no reaction, no expression of pain; his gray eyes stared blankly, as if his soul had vanished.

Whether out of paternal concern or other reasons, the Chu family head outright refused the second round and hurriedly took Chu He away.

There was no way to continue—the match naturally ended.

Thus, the best-of-three format became unnecessary to pursue further.

Out of respect for the Chu family, the Office of Affairs did not publicly announce the result.

In fact, past Autumn Duel outcomes were never deliberately publicized, for this contest within the Heavenly Book Academy’s outer court was ultimately just a minor matter.

Only because Ji You’s reputation was so immense and Chu He had been under intense scrutiny since enrollment did this result draw extraordinary attention.

Thus, from the autumn of Tai Chang Year Two to the autumn of Tai Yuan Year One—nearly a year later—the humble, unaffiliated cultivator successfully entered the inner court, his seven swords cutting down every doubt.

A peasant cultivator defeated a noble scion and ascended Nishan.

During this time, Lu Qingqiu stood frozen in the Instructor’s Pavilion for a long while, seemingly deaf to the drizzling autumn rain outside the window.

Though she knew Ji You was strong, now that his entry into the inner court had become reality, she still felt as if in a dream.

No one questioned Ji You’s strength—his sword mastery had been visibly extraordinary, from Shengjing’s streets to Qiling and Lingjian Mountain, to yesterday’s Ascension White Jade Platform.

Yet her daze stemmed from her own status.

It was like a peasant, back bent to the soil, wielding a hoe to defeat a nobleman feasting with bells and tripods.

Ma Jiaoxi was right: Ji You had only just begun to reveal his divine talent; proximity to the water’s edge naturally grants first access to the moon.

Lu Qingqiu gently pressed her red lips together, her eyes rippling with emotion.

“Did you hear? Ji You won.”

“I heard by noon—apparently, after the first round, Chu He’s hands were already shattered, unable to continue.”

“So does that mean Ji You’s entering the inner court…?”

“Who else could it be?”

Within half a day of rain, rumors of Chu He’s shattered hands spread through the outer court.

Many outer court students, upon hearing this, exchanged stunned glances, unable to suppress memories of yesterday’s seven swords.

And now, their feelings mirrored Lu Qingqiu’s almost exactly.

Even though they’d known Ji You was strong, the idea of a peasant cultivator entering the inner court still felt unreal.

But then again—if not him, who else could it have been?

“A sword that even Chu He couldn’t block…”

“We all know that to survive in a divine sect, talent matters less than background. Master Wen’s talent rivals He Lingxiu’s, yet she lost because her Wen family couldn’t match the He family’s power. So Ji You wasn’t chosen for the inner court—he slashed it open with his sword.”

The phrase “slashed open the inner court” spread from an unknown disciple’s lips, then was eagerly adopted by many.

Hearing this, both outer court instructors and Office of Affairs officials felt complex emotions.

Because deep down, they all knew it was true.

His path had been blocked by countless obstacles—he truly had cut open the gates of the Heavenly Book Academy’s inner court with a single sword.

At this time, the rumor of “Chu He’s hands shattered” gradually leaked beyond the Heavenly Book Academy, reaching Shengjing and the capital’s noble families.

In Chunhua Alley, Dou Yuankong stood with over a dozen servants, coldly watching a small side courtyard around the corner, his gaze dark.

“Have you confirmed it? He lives here?”

“Confirmed, Master. Every letter Wei Miss sends out is delivered here.”

Hearing his servant’s report, Dou Yuankong’s eyes blazed with murderous intent.

He and Wei Rui had grown up together, and their elders fully approved—this was a match ordained by heaven.

Yet recently, Wei Rui had been sending letters to the residence of a low-ranking official in the Immortal Supervision Bureau—a poor, backwater Top Graduate.

The son of Minister Dou felt his head turning green. This was unbearable.

In truth, Dou Yuankong had known of the Kuang scholar’s existence since the spring, when refugees streamed northward.

But back then, because of the Heavenly Book Academy’s figure, he had held back.

But patience has its limits…

Just as he gestured for his servants to break down the door, three sword-wielding guards blocked them and escorted Dou Yuankong to Hongxiang Tavern.

Dou Yuankong didn’t resist—he recognized the guards as belonging to the Chong Prince’s mansion.

Less than a cup of tea later, the son of Minister Dou was brought into the tavern and saw Princess Changle, seated by the window, sipping tea.

“Dou Yuankong, pays respects to the Princess.”

Zhao Yunyue turned her head: “The Autumn Duel at the Heavenly Book Academy is over.”

Hearing this, Dou Yuankong froze.

He assumed the Princess summoned him due to the court’s volatile political climate, warning him not to stir trouble—but he never expected her to mention the Autumn Duel.

As the son of a high official and a member of the pro-immortal faction, he naturally knew of Chu He and Ji You’s inner court contest.

It was said Ji You unleashed divine power yesterday, knocking Chu He off the stage in the first round—this truly surprised Dou Yuankong.

But he also knew how deep noble family roots ran, especially families like the Chus, whose lineage stretched nearly as far as humanity’s rise.

Even if he lost one round, in his view, Chu He could not possibly lose.

Yet Princess Changle’s expression now made his eyes widen slightly—he realized he was facing a scenario he refused to accept.

“Ji You won?”

Zhao Yunyue set down her teacup and nodded.

Dou Yuankong disbelieved: “How could he win? What about the second round?”

“There is no second round. At the end of the first, Chu He’s hands were completely shattered. The Heavenly Book Academy rules state: inability to continue or voluntary surrender counts as the end of the duel.”

“Hands… shattered?”

After a long silence, Zhao Yunyue spoke: “Actually, ‘shattered’ is still inaccurate. I heard from an Office of Affairs disciple that Chu He’s hand bones were pulverized.”

Dou Yuankong clenched his teeth: “How could a peasant from Fengzhou possibly win?”

“But that’s the truth. You can’t deny it. Once Ji You enters the inner court, his status changes—he may even become the sole patriarch of Fengzhou’s noble house. Wei Rui’s scholar is his closest friend. You’d better be cautious.”

“I’ve known Wei Rui since childhood, yet she…”

Zhao Yunyue fixed Dou Yuankong with a chilling gaze: “In the Qingyun Realm, divine authority reigns supreme. Do you think you can risk offending an inner court student of the Heavenly Book Academy’s top five realms over petty romance?”

Dou Yuankong fell silent, utterly unprepared for this turn of events.

The peasant cultivator, with no background and facing the predatory gaze of a thousand-year noble house, had truly walked step by step into the inner court.

Zhao Yunyue paid no mind to his pallid face and departed gracefully, heading to a painting room to retrieve a sheepskin-wrapped bundle.

Yesterday, at the Autumn Duel, He Lingxiu had sent a draft from Lingjian Mountain’s disciples for copying.

She had paid the artist to make an extra copy.

Now, the second copy and its accompanying text lay within the bundle. When opened, a bare-chested white-robed swordsman leapt from the paper, ethereal and peerless.

Indeed, Lingjian Mountain’s words were true.

Sword and youth—perfectly matched.

Zhao Yunyue tucked the painting close to her chest, her eyelashes trembling.

Cultivators live longer than mortals, so they marry later—but Zhao Yunyue was at an age to choose a husband.

Every year, the Chong Prince invited youths from the Seven Divine Sects to his mansion, partly for this purpose.

In past years, though many talented youths came, Zhao Yunyue had never felt urgency to marry. But now, she felt it.

When the Great Xia Dynasty was founded, the Heavenly Book Academy was honored as the Sacred Sect, and its first emperor had himself emerged from its inner court.

Thus, marriages between inner court students of the Heavenly Book Academy and the Xia imperial clan were not uncommon. Zhao Yunyue wished to meet Ji You, gauge his feelings, and then petition the Emperor for a royal marriage decree.

Though not a disciple of the Seven Divine Sects, Zhao Yunyue had taken an Elder of Lingjian Mountain as her master.

In that sense, she was already an inner court disciple of Lingjian Mountain—even a direct disciple of an Elder.

In her view, her status and Ji You’s were perfectly matched.

Thus, on this early autumn rainy day, letters poured in from Shengjing, the outer court, and across the Nine Provinces to the small courtyard by Bi Shui Lake.

The letters carried handkerchiefs, silk sleeves, and other intimate items; one girl from the capital even slipped a pink undergarment into her envelope.

The letters’ content was nearly identical: inviting Ji You to a private drink at a specific time and place.

But the women never expected their letters to be returned.

A few had been opened, but others still bore their lead seals intact.

When Princess Changle received the returned letters, her eyes widened in disbelief: “He refuses to meet? Did you explain clearly why I asked for a private drink?”

The Princess’s maid nodded: “I used blunt words—‘I wish to become your Dao Companion.’”

“And still he refuses?”

“Mm…”

Zhao Yunyue’s eyes flew open: “I’m a direct disciple of Lingjian Mountain’s Elder, my divine registry higher than his. He’s a peasant, I’m a Xia Princess—and still he looks down on me?”

The maid pursed her lips: “It’s said many women in the outer court sent letters, some even slipping in their undergarments— even Lady Lu of Yunzhou did the same.”

“Which one did he accept?”

“Your Highness, Young Master Ji didn’t accept any of them…”

Zhao Yunyue froze slightly, then flushed with indignation: “To establish a noble house, heirs are essential—he must continue his bloodline, yet he can’t even look at me? Does he hope to marry the Young Mistress of Lingjian Mountain?”

Among all women under heaven, the most esteemed is the Young Mistress of Lingjian Mountain.

Princess Changle used him as an example to subtly mock her own overinflated self-regard.

(End of Chapter)