Chapter 171
“Are you sure about this? You must still be tired from the journey.”
“You are too, Daoist Jinseong. Please stop worrying and face me. There are a few things I want to test.”
“Well... All right.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Jinseong nodded and drew his sword.
I swallowed as I waited for him to take his stance.
The first time we crossed hands, I had felt the overwhelming difference between us in a single exchange.
How much had I changed since then? Had I narrowed the gap at all?
I also wanted to see whether the method Yang Gyojin had taught me would work on him.
Wudang swordsmanship is soft, but its movements tend to be broad. That is because they draw circles while redirecting attacks. I think you might be able to break through it by disrupting the sword path before they complete the Taiji.
You mean I should break their flow?
Right. People trained by old, prestigious sword schools tend to cling to their forms. A true master probably would not care, but someone our age will falter the instant their familiar flow is interrupted. I tried it myself. It works surprisingly well.
Yang Gyojin was not the sort to talk nonsense about swords, so I intended to follow her advice.
Would it work?
Jinseong slowly settled into position and extended a sword-finger gesture.
“Would you like to make the first move?”
“Yes. I’ll go first!”
I steadied my breathing and unleashed a storm of Feather Needles.
Jinseong lightly deflected the rain of needles with his blade, then sprang toward me.
His expression was as serious as ever, but a faint concern for me showed in his eyes.
He seemed to be holding back so I would not get hurt.
Really now. He was underestimating me right to my face.
Even knowing his confidence was justified, I would not be satisfied until I landed at least one hit.
Scowling, I slipped in toward his flank.
He had not expected me to come so deep. A crease appeared between his brows, and indecision flashed across his face. He seemed torn between kicking me away and politely retreating.
I gritted my teeth and went for his right arm.
Jinseong flinched, pulled back, and swung his sword.
The instant his Pine-Pattern Sword began to trace a circle, I planted myself against the flat of the blade, slid along it, and thrust a throwing knife toward the back of his neck.
Jinseong’s pupils widened in surprise, reflecting my broad grin.
It worked!
The day had finally come when Yang Gyojin was useful!
“I got you, didn’t I?”
I tilted my head in delight, and his pale-gray eyes shook violently.
His brow furrowed. He swiftly threw me off and widened the distance between us.
As Jinseong adjusted his grip, his gaze settled into a dark calm.
“That will not work twice, Miss Tang.”
“Oh, you never know until you try.”
“People often assume every Wudang sword is a soft sword, but... that is not the case.”
Breathing hard, Jinseong glared at me and charged.
“What? W-Wait, Daoist!”
I bent backward in alarm, narrowly avoiding his blade, while he continued in his blunt voice.
“Countless swordsmen have laid their bones at Wudang during the long years it has stood as the foremost Taoist sect in the world. I hope you will remember that our swordsmanship has just as many branches.”
Many branches?
Before I could think any further, the keen edge flashed.
I instinctively planted a hand on the ground, flipped through the air, and retreated beyond his reach.
Boom!
The Pine-Pattern Sword struck the blue-steel stone with a heavy crash.
There was not a trace of the softness he had shown before. This form crushed downward with brute force.
“And mine is on the rougher side.”
Jinseong spat out the words and closed the distance.
The storm of sword strikes made my vision swim.
He always looked so neat and composed that I sometimes suspected he was obsessed with cleanliness, yet his sword was rough and utterly domineering.
Had I not already experienced Yeon Ryang’s merciless sword, I would never have managed to redirect those attacks.
My shock lasted only a moment before realization flashed through my mind.
No wonder I was losing.
I should have focused on Jinseong’s sword, not Wudang’s.
Even I differed completely from the other martial artists of my clan. I used poison and concealed weapons, but neither my inner cultivation method nor my preferred forms resembled theirs.
Yet I had carelessly lumped Jinseong in with every other Wudang swordsman and assumed he would naturally use a soft sword.
My eyes curved as I replied.
“Hearing that only makes me more determined. Now I want to keep challenging you until I’ve seen every one of those branches.”
“...Very well. I look forward to it.”
The tension around Jinseong’s mouth eased slightly.
At the same moment, white sword energy wrapped around the Pine-Pattern Sword.
It tore through the air toward me, and I hurled myself aside.
What was wrong with this Daoist?
Sword energy was cheating!
“W-Wait! Daoist! Aren’t you taking this too seriously? I asked you to spar with me, not kill me!”
“You said you wanted to see everything.”
Jinseong drew up his inner force.
His distinctive pure energy rippled through the air as though pressing down upon it.
The sight of his black hair whipping in every direction made my mouth go dry.
This was the first time he had ever shown such a competitive spirit toward me.
Refusing to be overwhelmed by his presence, I forced a relaxed smile.
Jinseong thrust his sword toward me and surged forward, unleashing a blast of wind pressure.
Aaaah!
That would really kill me if it hit!
I leaped aside and hurled a throwing knife infused with inner force, but it was nowhere near enough to stop him.
I hopped about so frantically that my soles might as well have caught fire, emptying every concealed weapon I had.
Then one of my golden needles grazed Jinseong’s cheek and carved a long wound across it.
I had never meant to scratch his face.
A scream burst from me.
“D-Daoist! Your face!”
Jinseong faltered at my cry and slowly lowered his sword.
He brushed his cheek, looked at the blood on his fingers, and stared blankly.
“Daoist, let me see. Is it bad?”
“I’m fine.”
I hurried toward him, but Jinseong flinched, turned his head, and avoided my gaze.
I examined his face and let out a small groan.
A furrow had been gouged into the flesh of his cheek.
Oh no.
This was bad.
Scars on the face were difficult to remove.
“I’m sorry, Daoist. Just a moment. I should have some salve somewhere...”
As I anxiously searched through my sleeves, Jinseong stepped back and shook his head.
“It’s all right. I will visit the medical hall. Please wait here for a moment.”
He calmly sheathed his sword.
After a moment’s thought, I nodded. He would probably feel more comfortable being treated at his own sect’s medical hall than by me.
“Make sure they disinfect it properly. Wounds on the face get infected easily. What am I going to do? I’m truly sorry.”
“I will. Please do not concern yourself. Songhwa is outside the training ground. If you stay with him, I will return shortly. Shall we go?”
“Yes. Daoist, at least use this to wipe away the blood—”
“I’m fine.”
His refusal was firm, and he would not even meet my eyes.
He did not say anything, but it seemed his pride had been wounded.
I had only meant to get under his skin, not carve it open...
I followed him out of the training ground, watching his mood carefully.
Songhwa was nearby, speaking with a third-generation disciple.
When he saw us, he waved.
“Miss Tang, how was the training ground—? Elder Jinseong, what happened to your face?”
“I was scratched. Could you stay with Miss Tang for a moment? I am going to the medical hall.”
“Yes, Elder Jinseong. Please go. I’ll look after her.”
After exchanging a glance with Songhwa, Jinseong bowed to me and turned away.
I really hoped it would not scar...
Noticing my gloomy expression, Songhwa smoothly changed the subject.
“It happened during a spar, so please don’t worry, Miss Tang. Wudang’s medical hall has a salve that can make even a sword scar disappear without a trace. Now then, I don’t believe you’ve met him before. This is our youngest junior brother, Songmyeong.”
“Hello, Daoist Songmyeong.”
“H-Hello...”
Songmyeong greeted me in a voice barely above a whisper, then dropped his head the instant our eyes met.
Songhwa smiled and came to his defense.
“My junior brother is rather timid. He is only acting this way because he is nervous, so please understand.”
He certainly looked the part.
His brows and the corners of his eyes drooped so miserably that he seemed incapable of offering even a single excuse if someone scolded him.
Songmyeong fidgeted with his hands and kept glancing somewhere.
I followed his gaze and saw someone perched atop the wall.
A third-generation disciple sat there motionless, his unfocused eyes staring into nothing.
“But who is that...?”
“Our senior brother. Please pay him no mind.”
Songhwa answered with a bright smile and gestured for him to leave.
The disciple flinched and quickly disappeared over the wall.
Songmyeong, who had been trembling helplessly, soon looked at me and asked with great caution,
“Miss Tang... may I ask you one thing?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Did you really... poison your betrothed to death?”
“What?”
I tilted my head, wondering whether I had heard correctly.
Songhwa went pale and grabbed Songmyeong by the back of the neck.
“Songmyeong!”
“B-But we need to know for certain... What if Elder Jinseong—mmph!”
“Ha ha ha! My apologies, Miss Tang. This fool is spouting nonsense.”
Songhwa clamped a hand over Songmyeong’s mouth and gave me an awkward smile that pleaded for understanding.
A hollow laugh escaped me.
The incident at the Central Plains Bank had probably been twisted in some absurd direction.
I waved it off.
“It’s fine. I can see how someone might misunderstand. But he was not my betrothed, and I never killed him. What would be the point of killing a powerless man who wasn’t even a martial artist?”
Songmyeong’s face turned even whiter.
“Then... you do kill powerful men...?”
“Junior Brother. Just go after our senior brother.”
Songhwa cut him off with a stern expression and pushed him away by the back.
“Yes, Senior Brother.”
Songmyeong bowed and shuffled away, casting frightened glances at me as he went.
I smacked my lips awkwardly.
So that was why people kept staring at me.
It seemed the Daoists had heard some very strange rumors about me.