Chapter 99: Into a Martial Arts Novel, Day 21

Chapter 99: The Twenty-First Day in a Wuxia Novel

An Yi’s expression remained unchanged; he only cast a faint glance at him before turning to his horse. “Such a silver tongue.”

And with that, he let it go.

Ling Fengyao chuckled, unconcerned, following him cheerfully, his mood greatly lifted.

Comments section:

“Ah, I’ve really leveled up—I actually find this kind of… sweet?”

“As the saying goes: Under Brokeback Mountain, they sing of brotherly bonds!”

“In a sea of lilies, they sing of sisterly love!”

“Horizontal scroll: All love under heaven!”

“Good! Well said!! (clap) (clap) (clap)”

“No offense, but is this how brothers usually act? Something feels off, right??”

“?????????”

“How many chapters did the person above you skip? Still going on about brotherhood?”

“I skipped the middle fifty or so chapters. …what are they now? Bros on the surface? Enemies?”

“...”

“Well, how to put it... It’s probably heading toward the kind where—‘you know my length, I know your depth.’ (smile) (rose)”

“...huh?”

“...”

An Yi let out a faint, inexplicable laugh.

He thought about the plot of the original novel—the matter of Heroine Liu, due to the Li family’s deliberate low profile and An Yi’s intervention, did not stir up the same uproar as in the original novel, nor did it ignite a full-blown craze across the martial world for the *Youhuan Shu*.

Though those few pages of insights had circulated among some wandering martial artists, regarded as a curiosity, they were far from something everyone desperately sought.

However, the Fuyi Sect, due to the yin-cold nature of the *Heart-Eroding Art* and their long-standing infamy, remained a thorn in the side of many sects that claimed to be righteous.

Even if news that the Young Master was still alive came back via Yan Yu’s account, possibly staving off a large-scale siege, long-term hostility, constant provocations, and friction would still be hard to avoid.

Perhaps the outcome would turn out similarly to the original.

But for now, none of that had anything to do with him.

Ling Fengyao swung onto his horse, watching An Yi’s lean, upright figure ahead. He called out with a grin, “Ayi, let’s go! We’re off to Gusu for some good food! Who cares if the sky falls or the ground splits—let’s fill our stomachs first!”

An Yi didn’t look back; he simply tugged the reins, and his white horse stepped forward with a graceful, unhurried gait.

Ling Fengyao let out a loud laugh, spurred his horse to catch up, and rode side by side with him.

The martial world was fraught with danger, but at this moment, they seemed to create their own world, with only the sound of hooves to accompany them.

----------

Gusu City had always been a place of misty rains and bustling splendor—a land of gentle beauty and luxury.

Canals crisscrossed, boats shuttled back and forth, stone arches spanned the waterways, and soft Wu songs drifted on the wind. The very air was thick with a cloying sweetness and a faint mist.

Ling Fengyao was in his element, dragging An Yi through the lively streets, enthusiastically sampling all sorts of delicate Suzhou pastries and seasonal river fish.

An Yi walked beside him. Today, he was dressed in pure white, standing against the backdrop of Gusu’s whitewashed walls, black tiles, and vibrant colors, like a deliberate stroke of blank space in an ink painting—cool and striking, making passersby turn their heads.

He paid no attention to the looks—whether admiring or curious.

One day, the two were seated by a window on the second floor of the city’s largest teahouse, “Yingxiu Pavilion,” listening to *pingtan* storytelling.

The soft Wu dialect, accompanied by the pipa and a zither, told tales of romance between gifted scholars and lovely ladies.

But Ling Fengyao’s attention was not on the stage.

He rested his chin on his hand, his gaze nearly glued to An Yi’s profile across the table.

The light from the window, reflecting off the water, outlined An Yi’s perfect features—with long lashes lowered and a gentle expression, as if all the tender words and fragrant scents around him had nothing to do with him.

He had a quality that no one else in the martial world possessed.

What was it?

Hard to describe.

As Ling Fengyao watched, it was as if a feather were tickling his heart, making it itch unbearably.

Suddenly, he leaned in, lowering his voice with a hint of mischief. “Ayi, you think the sheltered young lady in these lyrics—if she met someone like you—would she still remember some bookish scholar? She’d probably lose her mind over you, no?”

He was so close that his warm breath nearly brushed An Yi’s ear, carrying a faint scent of wine—he had just sampled the local osmanthus liquor.

An Yi slowly turned his head, his gaze landing on Ling Fengyao’s face. He didn’t get angry at this near-flirtatious remark; instead, he smiled. “Looks like your drinking capacity, Little Ling, is pretty weak.”

Ling Fengyao was taken aback by his words, but instead of being upset, he let out a low, pleased laugh, as if he had discovered something wonderfully amusing.

Still leaning in, he stared intently into An Yi’s eyes, his voice dropping even lower, like a lover murmuring. “As for my drinking capacity—want to give it a try with me, Ayi?”

The implication was more than obvious, brimming with provocation and ambiguity.

Give it a try?

How?

An Yi’s eyes fell on Ling Fengyao’s slightly upturned lips, and he immediately understood—this guy was tempting him.

An Yi raised his eyes to meet his gaze calmly. They were so close they could almost feel each other’s lowered breaths.

An Yi remained still for a long moment. Just as Ling Fengyao expected him to push him away with cold indifference again, An Yi’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile. The movement was tiny, like a pebble dropped into a calm lake, instantly sending ripples through Ling Fengyao’s heart.

“We’ll talk about it once you’re sober,” An Yi said, his tone still flat, yet it seemed to carry an invisible thread, gently tugging at Ling Fengyao’s thoughts.

Ling Fengyao’s heart gave a violent thump, and a surge of heat shot through his entire body.

We’ll talk about it once he’s sober?

Talk about it?

The realization made his blood boil. He swallowed, his eyes growing deeper and hotter, and he was about to press further—

“Bang!”

Suddenly, a loud crash erupted from downstairs, accompanied by the sound of breaking furniture and shouts of alarm and anger, instantly shattering the elegant atmosphere of the teahouse!

The beautiful pingtan show came to an abrupt stop.

An Yi really laughed this time — classic jianghu: a brawl in an inn.

Ling Fengyao's brow immediately furrowed, a trace of extreme displeasure flashing across his face.

Who wouldn't be annoyed having such a cozy vibe interrupted so rudely? He clicked his tongue in annoyance and turned to look downstairs.

There, in the center of the first floor, two groups of people were locked in a tense standoff.

On one side were several tough-looking men in uniform, with small wave patterns on their lapels, seemingly disciples of some Canal Gang.

On the other side were only two people: an old man and a young girl. The old man was gaunt but his eyes were sharp; the girl was full of indignation, gripping a short knife in her hand. On the floor were scattered overturned tea snacks and broken tables and chairs.

"The Canal Gang is handling business! All idle people get out!" shouted a leading Canal Gang thug in a menacing tone.

The girl, however, stuck out her chin defiantly and shouted, her eyes red: "Your Canal Gang has gone too far! You stole our family's shipping route, injured my father, and now you want to wipe us out?!"

"You reckless girl, you're asking for death!" The furious Canal Gang thug shot out a palm strike at the girl, its fierce wind showing he meant to kill.

The old man shouted in alarm and tried to intervene, but another Canal Gang thug blocked him.