Chapter 36: You Forgot Your Wager

The dark clouds above began to thin, and the daylight grew brighter.

Li Budu stood shoulder to shoulder with the swordsman. He narrowed his eyes, watching Chen Zhi'an on the Wind-Wave Platform. For a moment, the figure of Chen Shuijun seemed to overlap with that of Chen Zhi'an, until they merged into one. A flicker of disgust instantly crossed his eyes.

"So, it is this spawn who harmed Yinxi," he whispered to himself, shaking his head.

Beside him, the mysterious swordsman spoke slowly: "The blade light that young man just unleashed was quite interesting. His true energy is persistent and unyielding, carrying the aura of one who could shatter cities and topple capitals, as if tempered long on the battlefield... Truly extraordinary. This unruly blade technique has reached completion in his hands; he is but a single step away from perfecting it into a blade-intent."

"To be so young and yet possess such mastery of the blade..."

Before the mysterious swordsman could finish, a sudden surge of energy emanated from the direction of Tiger Hill. Li Budu’s expression shifted violently. He drew a deep breath, and a divine image of a fierce tiger, some thirty feet tall, manifested behind him, looming over the entire pavilion. Li Budu nodded slightly to the swordsman, bent his knees, and leaped several yards, landing atop the tiger’s head. The divine image then strode off into the void.

A spring breeze blew, parting the veil that obscured the mysterious swordsman’s face, revealing her features. Her phoenix eyes were curved like crescents hiding amber, and her vermilion lips were like two cherries. The swordsman was, in fact, a woman. She, too, looked toward Tiger Hill. Her long sword flew from its pristine white scabbard, trailing rays of light, and hung suspended before her. She took a step, alighting upon the blade. The sword streaked away, carrying her through the air like an immortal descended from the heavens.

Yet, whether it was Li Budu departing atop his divine image or the swordswoman flying on her blade, no one seemed to notice; no one even spared a glance toward the tavern.

Below the Wind-Wave Platform, an eerie silence had fallen. Only the head of the Zhou family, inside the tavern, gripped his chair’s armrest so tightly that he crushed it to powder. Behind him, two or three martial artists stood up, ready to leap from the tavern toward the platform.

Just then, the Zhou family head heard a cough. He turned to see that the wooden door of another pavilion in the tavern had opened. Seated inside was a face he knew all too well: Prefect Wei Mozhi of Sunan Prefecture. He was not alone; beside him sat a person of extraordinary presence, dressed in crane-embroidered robes. This man was looking down at his tea, a slight smile on his lips as he watched the platform below.

"Master Zhou," the Prefect’s voice drifted over. "Since the rules of the death duel have not been abolished in Sunan, and your son accepted the challenge, I ask you to abide by the rules and refrain from using your influence to scorn that written agreement."

Wei Mozhi, in his fifties, had a portly build and a face that seemed wealthy, but his sharp, triangular eyes added a piercing glint to his appearance. His gaze rested on the Zhou family head, making the man feel as if he were sitting on pins and needles.

Under the administrative system of the Great Yu Dynasty, a prefect was a legitimate fourth-rank official, governing all affairs of a prefecture. While not a regional viceroy, he held significant power. Among local officials, only the Imperial Inspectors appointed by the court held higher authority, but there were only five such Inspectors in the entire dynasty, each overseeing several regions—and the wealthy Sunan Prefecture happened to fall outside their jurisdiction. In other words, in Sunan, Wei Mozhi was the highest authority.

Even the Zhou family, with their vast wealth and connections in the capital, had to bow before a prefect. When Wei Mozhi’s calm voice arrived, the Zhou family head could only stand up, bow toward the pavilion from afar, and wave his martial artists back.

Yet, even after that single sentence, the Zhou family head’s eyes were bloodshot, his face flushed, and he breathed heavily as he glared at the platform. It was not just the Prefect he feared, but the agreement itself—by the rules of the death duel, killing was permitted without punishment.

Zhou Xiujing on the platform had been severely wounded. Even though he wore a treasure from the profound sects, the long iron blade in Chen Zhi'an’s hand had been too fast. Before Zhou Xiujing could activate the treasure’s protection, he had been struck down. Though the blade had not pierced the garment, the sheer force and the ferocious power of Chen Zhi'an’s true energy had landed squarely on him. With broken ribs and internal injuries, he lay on the platform, vomiting blood.

Chen Zhi'an sheathed his blade and stepped forward until he stood over Zhou Xiujing. The crowd below, finally shaking off their stupor, erupted into a cacophony of gasps and shouts. Chen Zhi'an ignored them, his expression wearing his usual smile as he looked down.

Zhou Xiujing met Chen Zhi'an’s gaze, and his fading consciousness sharpened. He channeled his true energy to suppress his pain and gasped, "Chen Zhi'an... I didn't do this just for those two hundred taels of gold. Someone wanted you dead. A person of noble status who holds the lifeline of my Zhou family—I had no choice."

"Don't kill me! Once I recover, I will tell you who it is!"

Chen Zhi'an seemed entirely uninterested. "If that person is so noble, I suppose I have no hope of revenge. Since it was you, Young Master Zhou, who plotted to kill me, I shall settle the debt with you. That will be my own answer."

As he spoke, he slowly drew his blade again. The iron sword was already notched from the impact. Even without the treasure’s full activation, the sheer power of Chen Zhi'an’s blow had shattered the edge of his own weapon.

"The blade is chipped, but it is enough to cut your throat."

Zhou Xiujing, terrified that Chen Zhi'an did not believe him, twisted in pain and stammered, "I am not lying! Chen Zhi'an, the one who ordered your death was Li Fushu, son of General Xuanzi of the Li family in Xuantian Capital. He is a name inscribed on the Fledgling Tiger Monument! I dared not refuse, which is why I devised that wretched scheme!"

"Chen Zhi'an, Master Chen, don't kill me! I will give you anything. If you want wealth, I will give you gold and silver. If you want treasures, I will give you this profound sect artifact, and I will find you even better ones!"

Zhou Xiujing breathed in ragged gasps, his eyes filled with profound dread. He had seen many death duels, and he knew the life of the defeated rested entirely in the hands of the victor. This young master, who had never known hardship, was now so close to death that his fear was absolute. Yet, even in his terror, he did not lose his composure entirely.

"If you don't kill me, there will be benefits. But if you kill me, even if this is a death duel, my Zhou family will never let it go. I am the eldest son of the Zhou family; my status is clear!"

He turned his eyes toward the tavern. His father was there, his eyes wide with murderous intent, staring at Chen Zhi'an. Chen Zhi'an seemed to sense it and glanced at the Zhou family head. Seeing his father’s expression, Zhou Xiujing felt a sliver of relief. "Master Chen, my family has endless wealth. If you kill me, you will face endless pursuit..."

Chen Zhi'an pulled his blade free completely. Then, under Zhou Xiujing’s horrified gaze, he swung. Blood sprayed out, staining Chen Zhi'an’s moon-white floral robes.

"My son!" the Zhou family head roared, rising to his feet. The martial artists behind him lunged forward, ready to storm the platform.

"Master Zhou, is it only your family who may scheme to kill, but no one may kill your family?"

The Zhou family head turned to see the man beside the Prefect, who was calmly sipping wine without even looking at them. Yet, a sudden gust of wind, like a raging storm, blocked the path of the martial artists. The Zhou family head looked up to see a divine general in armor standing above the pavilion—a divine image.

"A figure of the Jade Palace Realm."

The Zhou family head slumped into his chair, utterly defeated. The martial artists were sent flying backward in an instant, crashing into the pavilion and shattering the stone.

"Is this the son of the common schoolteacher that Jing'er spoke of?" He seemed to age ten years in an instant, closing his eyes.

Chen Zhi'an sheathed his blade and muttered to himself, "Having killed you, according to the rules of the death duel, this profound treasure of yours is also mine."

"Hmph."

Someone let out a soft snort. Chen Zhi'an sensed it and looked into the distance. He saw Si Hougui lower his sedan chair curtain as his four guards lifted it. Chen Zhi'an’s smile grew wider as he looked at Si Hougui.

"Third Young Master Si, you’ve forgotten your wager!"