Chapter 39: Wuxia Extra: Raising a Blade into the Storm

Chapter 39: Wuxia Side Story: Blade into the Storm

Part 1:

Wind.

Wind through the long street.

It swept up a fallen leaf, dropping it onto a wineshop banner.

The banner of Joyful Inn had hung for nearly twenty years, and the wine had been sold for just as long. The drinkers came and went in waves, but the stories remained the same.

The Weaponry List, the number one under heaven—who beats who.

Talked about again and again, never anything new.

And today?

A youth, seventeen or eighteen, in a coarse cloth robe and a straw hat, with mud on his shoes.

He pushed open the door. The wind rushed in after him, making the oil lamps flicker. No one looked up.

In the martial world, a youth walked into an inn every day, each one believing he could make a name for himself.

"A room for the night," the youth said. "Tomorrow at noon, I will challenge Zhaoxue Blade Qin Shu."

Silence fell.

Chopsticks froze in mid-air, wine bowls paused at lips. In the corner, a one-eyed swordsman sized him up with his one eye, then laughed.

He laughed until he coughed, pounded the table, laughed until the others joined in.

"What are you laughing at?"

"Laughing at you for not knowing the vastness of heaven and earth!"

"The Weaponry List has appeared; a real man should challenge the best under heaven."

"The best?" The swordsman swirled his wine. "Do you know of the Ghost Sword?"

"I do. Second on the Weaponry List."

"Then do you know why he doesn't strive for first place?"

The youth didn't answer.

A voice from the corner answered for him: "Because he doesn't want to."

The speaker was an old blade-wielder, his blade resting across his knees, a notch in its edge.

He said slowly, "The Ghost Sword is a blade for killing. If he wanted to contend, there'd be no need to rank the Weaponry List at all."

The youth gripped his own blade tightly: "Qin Shu has walked the world until now, and Zhaoxue has never needed a second strike. What gives you the right to say such things?"

"By my blade," the old blade-wielder said.

A duel began without warning, but that was how it should be.

Those who were drinking went back to drinking, those who were laughing went back to laughing. The innkeeper slowly tallied her accounts, paying no more attention.

This was the martial world.

-

Three months ago, the Weaponry List of Heaven and Earth had appeared out of nowhere, ranking two weapons as first and second.

One was a blade, the other a sword.

The blade was called Zhaoxue, the sword, Ghost.

Many knew the blade, but more feared the sword.

For Zhaoxue Blade would spare a man's life, but the Ghost Sword would not.

So Zhaoxue Blade had a name: Qin Shu.

The Ghost Sword had none.

People in the martial world simply called him Ghost Sword.

No one knew his martial lineage, no one knew his origins, and no one knew just how many people he had killed.

Because the dead do not speak.

Thus, the stories about the Ghost Sword multiplied.

Some said he lived in a mass grave, others said he crawled out of a tomb, and still others insisted he wasn't even human...

A reincarnation of the Seven Killings, a lone star of heavenly calamity, born when black light filled the heavens!

A storyteller in the tavern spoke with great eloquence.

A man in a straw hat listened for a long time, and only at this point did he finally couldn't hold it in anymore and let out a snort of laughter.

The storyteller was displeased: "Sir, if you're not listening, please don't disturb those who want to hear!"

The man made a placating bow, fished out two copper coins and placed them on the table, then slipped away.

He wove through the marketplace, dressed in coarse cloth, laughing and chatting, the hustle and bustle of daily life swirling around him. An old beggar from the Beggar’s Sect stretched out his foot by the roadside, trying to trip a passing woman. The man kicked him, scooped up his straw hat, and scolded him with a disdainful curse.

A glimpse of striking brows and bright eyes caught the attention of a quick-eyed pancake vendor.

"Hero Qin, two today as well?"

"Sounds good!"

The man in the straw hat—that is, Qin Shu—agreed readily, kicked the old man again, and walked to the street vendor to grab two pancakes.

He fumbled at his waist for his money pouch, paused dramatically, then said,

"Put it on my tab."

The vendor rolled his eyes: "The number one under heaven is still running a tab."

Qin Shu replied matter-of-factly: "Even the number one under heaven has to eat."

The wind swept through the long street, making his clothes flutter. Qin Shu removed his straw hat, stuffed the last piece of pancake into his mouth, his cheeks bulging.

As he was mumbling a farewell to the vendor, he suddenly stopped still.

He saw that shadow.

The black-cloaked figure stood silently in the crowd, and then a cold light flashed.

Qin Shu tilted his head slightly, a strand of hair at his temple barely moving as a dart struck the long wooden pillar beside his ear.

He pulled the dart free—a piece of paper, a gold flake, and a line of writing.

The handwriting was harsh and rigid, the ink so dark it looked ready to soak through the paper.

"Three days from now, noon, bring your blade, Green Cliff, fish."

Qin Shu looked up at the sky and laughed.

The pancake vendor laughed too. "Master Qin, something good happen?"

"Sort of? A buddy can't stand seeing me broke, so they're buying me dinner."

He casually tossed the gold flake to the pancake vendor.

"Hey, master, where'd you get that money..."

"Keep it!"

Qin Shu had already walked off.

-

Within an hour, a rumor spread through the martial world like wildfire.

Qin Shu had a date—three days from now, at noon, bringing his blade to Green Cliff!

Green Cliff!

A place that had been abandoned for decades. Even woodcutters couldn't be bothered to go there, let alone martial artists. But just a few days ago, a major incident had occurred: the Thousand-Eyed Bandit, ranked third on the Villain List, had died there with just one sword wound on his body.

The Ghost Sword only needed one strike to kill.

The Ghost Sword might now be at Green Cliff, and Qin Shu was heading there in three days—

No one could connect these two facts and remain calm.

The top-ranked showdown on the Weaponry List, the battle for honor between the blade and the sword, the long-awaited clash between the righteous Zhaoxue Blade and the sinister Ghost Sword—after the whole martial world had been waiting three months, was it finally about to happen?

The entire martial world was buzzing.

Bookmakers stayed up all night resetting the odds. Those betting on Qin Shu, those betting on the Ghost Sword—the odds were neck and neck. Some bet their whole fortunes, others half their lives. The taverns sold more booze in those few days than during New Year's, and the storyteller added four special sessions on the Weaponry List, each one packed full.

Major sects sent disciples out immediately. Those far away even sent carrier pigeons, telling nearby disciples to head to Green Cliff early and grab good spots.

The duel between the world's number one and number two—seeing it with your own eyes would be the best story of your life!

Within three days, the mountain paths around Green Cliff were crawling with hidden lookouts.

Sects that were usually at each other's throats now showed surprising cooperation. Hidden in bushes, behind rocks, in cracks—no one made a peep, no one showed themselves. They held their breath, just waiting for noon.

The third day, noon.

The sun was blazing. Qin Shu arrived.

Green Cliff was overgrown with weeds and littered with rubble. A crooked old pine leaned over the cliff's edge, its shade just barely covering a small flat spot.

Qin Shu stood on that flat spot, relaxed and carefree, looking totally at ease.

Then everyone's eyes turned in the same direction.

At the other end of Green Cliff, a figure in black.

Black robes, a long sword, no sheath.

No one saw him appear. One second the mountain path was empty, the next he was standing in front of Qin Shu.

The Ghost Sword was here.

Everyone stopped breathing. Number one and number two, blade and sword, light and shadow—the moment the martial world had been waiting three months for was finally right in front of them.

Qin Shu squatted down.

Everyone's eyes shifted downward.

On the ground was a pile of firewood, and next to it, two fish.

The fish were already gutted, scales scraped clean, wrapped in lotus leaves, with a small dish of coarse salt nearby.

The Daoist priest Cai, hiding behind a rock, stroked his beard. "Whoever prepped those fish knows what they're doing."

So Qin Shu lit a fire.

The sound of breathing across the entire Green Cliff vanished.

What? Lighting a fire?

Hundreds of people, hundreds of eyes, watched as the world's number one, the Zhaoxue Blade, squatted on the ground, earnestly using a fire starter to get the wood going. The Ghost Sword stood beside him, silently watching.

The fire caught. The Ghost Sword put the fish over it, and Qin Shu started sprinkling salt.

From deep in the bushes, a confused voice came: "...What the hell?"

Neither Qin Shu nor the Ghost Sword seemed to hear it.

They focused intently on flipping the fish. The skin turned golden under the flame's caress, oil dripped onto the firewood with a sizzling sound, and the aroma drifted across the cliff peak to the noses of hundreds of martial artists.

"Here?" Qin Shu said.

"Yeah," the Ghost Sword replied.

"The fish is almost done."

"Yeah."

Someone in the woods couldn't hold back anymore. A young, green swordsman in white robes jumped out from behind the big rock where he'd been hiding.

"Qin Shu! The Weaponry List issued a challenge—why aren't you two dueling?!"

Qin Shu looked puzzled. "What duel?"

The young swordsman was furious. He'd hidden behind that rock for two hours, only to be rewarded not with a legendary showdown but a fish roast. They were eating, but what about him?!

"You came out with your blade, heading to Green Cliff for the Ghost Sword's appointment—what else could it be but a duel?!"

Qin Shu said, "Uh, kid, hold on a moment."

The young swordsman did stop talking, because he felt the wind change.

The blade's wind cut through the air, flaring up from all directions simultaneously. Dozens of black-clad figures emerged from the dense forest behind Qin Shu, while even more shadows surged from the deeper dark.

The martial world knew the difference between a spar and a killing. Those black-clad figures were clearly the latter.

The Weaponry Ranking was a setup—who didn't know that?

The title of number one in the world was just a cage. As long as the Zhaoxue Blade remained at the top, and the Ghost Sword held steady at second, the martial world would stay dead water forever.

To stir up this dead water, both blades had to be broken together.

No one could take down the Ghost Sword alone, and no one could defeat the Zhaoxue Blade head-on. The only way was to lure them together and wipe them out in one sweep. That 'challenge letter' could draw in not just curious martial artists, but also those with darker motives.

Qin Shu stood up and patted his pants.

-

An odd atmosphere.

From the moment Qin Shu gripped his blade hilt, a certainty more chilling than any killing intent emerged.

Then he drew his blade and stepped into the fight.

It seemed everyone had forgotten why the Zhaoxue Blade was called Zhaoxue—because no one could hide their shadow in its light. They'd also forgotten why the Ghost Sword was called Ghost Sword—because no living person had ever seen his sword.

Sunlight blazed, and snow fell silently.

Wherever the blade passed, the sound of weapons breaking crackled like firecrackers. Every strike was so precise it sent enemies crashing to the ground. The young swordsman forgot to run, and the hundreds of hidden onlookers forgot to breathe too.

Some were stunned, others whispered, “Where’s the Ghost Sword?”

They looked toward the grilled fish—the Ghost Sword was indeed gone.

Someone said, “Next to Qin Shu.”

A razor-thin sword tip appeared out of nowhere. A man dropped for no reason, and then they saw the drop of blood on the sword's tip and the man holding it.

A ghostly shadow, silent and everywhere, with no killing intent at all. The next second, it disappeared again.

The watching crowd was totally stunned. They crouched in the bushes and behind the rocks, feeling a terrifying awe: Why were these two so perfectly in sync?

Like sunlight and its shadow, Qin Shu's blade illuminated the entire battlefield, while the Ghost Sword's shadow lurked in the snowy blade light. Everyone saw black-clad figures drop one after another, unable to tell who struck them or if it was a blade or sword wound.

Qin Shu smacked the last man with the flat of his blade, sending him and his sword flying.

The man slammed into the cliff and slid down. Qin Shu sheathed his blade and turned around.

From start to finish, it was effortless and calm. His clothes didn't even move, and his blade bore no blood.

A gust of wind blew away the bloody smell.

“The fish is burned,” he said.

“Mm,” the Ghost Sword said.

He walked over, crouched, flipped the fish, and shook the blood off his sword.

Qin Shu cupped his hands toward the surroundings: “Everyone watching, please head back. We were just grilling fish—didn't expect such a small fuss.”

He drew his blade again and pointed it at the black-clad figures.

“If anyone recognizes them, feel free to take them away.”

People awkwardly came out of their hiding spots and slowly recognized the faces of these black-clad men: Shadowless Hand Cheng Feng, Thousand-Handed Bandit Wu Youxue, Iron Mace Guan Yuandao... about fifty or sixty of them, all on the Weaponry Ranking, each at least a local master!

Only the sizzling fat from the grilled fish still crackled over the fire.

Later, rumors spread in the martial world: that day, the Zhaoxue Blade and the Ghost Sword joined forces to defeat nearly sixty fighters on the Weaponry Ranking. Heaven and earth dimmed, mountains and rivers changed color, and the blade light and sword shadow shaved half a foot off the Green Cliff!

Another rumor emerged: the Zhaoxue Blade and the Ghost Sword had known each other for a long time, their tacit understanding making them close friends. They often pretended to be strangers just to set up that one net!

More people regretted that the Zhaoxue Blade and the Ghost Sword never fought—they only grilled fish.

When would they ever have a duel, witnessed by the world?

A man in a bamboo hat, chewing on spiced beef, mumbled indistinctly: “Wuya, don’t they know we actually did fight that day?”

A voice came from the nearby shadows: “Mm.”

The only thing remembered was that it all started because Qin Shu suddenly wanted to eat grilled fish.

Wuya said “Mm,” then went to catch fish.

Wuya studied how to grill fish, tried a few times without much success, so they agreed to meet on the Green Cliff on the third day for a successful grilled fish.

And incidentally, lure out those flies that had been bothering him and A Shu.

The matter passed, but they never got to eat a successful grilled fish because it was burned.

Then A Shu invited him to a match.

“You were a bit faster with your sword that day. Shouldn’t you be the winner?”

“No, A Shu is the world’s number one.”

“Tch, no fun.” Qin Shu stood up, patted his pants, and said, “Back to the mountain!”

————

Part 2:

Qin Shu had lived on the mountain since childhood.

A mountain is famous not for its height but for its immortals. This mountain had no name and no immortals—at first, only an old man.

When the old man was alive, the martial world called him Soul-Severing Blade.

After he died, only a young man, a blade, and endless wild grass remained on the mountain.

The young man’s surname was Qin, given name Shu.

In life, one must learn to be forgiving—that’s what the old man said. But Qin Shu didn’t really understand what forgiveness meant. He only knew that the old man loved to drink, and when he was drunk, he would beat him, then hug him and cry, “Disciple, your master is sorry. Master lost again today.”

Lost to whom, Master?

To Li Yijian.

Who is Li Yijian?

The old man fell silent and took another gulp of wine.

Later, when Qin Shu grew up, he learned that Li Yijian was a renowned master of Sword Mountain, and the old man was called Soul-Severing Blade because every time he fought Li Yijian, he was beaten so badly that his soul scattered.

The first time breaks your soul; after a hundred times, it becomes a habit.

The old man said on his deathbed, "Kid, your master never won a single fight in his life. You gotta win one for me!"

Qin Shu said, "Alright, first we beat Li Yi Sword."

The old man mumbled, "Yes, first beat Li Yi Sword, then beat Ghost Sword!"

Who is this Ghost Sword?

The old man passed.

That year, Qin Shu was seventeen.

He carried the old man's blade down the mountain. Someone at the bottom asked, "Where you from?" He said, "The mountain." They asked, "Where you headed?" He said, "Where's Li Yi Sword?"

"What's that in your hand?"

"A blade."

"Wanna fight?"

"Bring it."

Qin Shu stepped into the jianghu.

The wind rustled his coat, the scabbard on his back silent.

Anyone who blocked his way got one slash, anyone who challenged him got one slash, and when he saw injustice, he still used one slash.

Under the blazing sun, the drawn blade was like snow. He didn't strike to kill, just to show the evil in people.

And so the Soul-Shattering Blade became the Zhaoxue Blade.

Word spread through the jianghu: the Soul-Shattering Blade's disciple was a hundred times stronger than his master. Some said a thousand times, ten thousand times. Others said, "How can this be the Soul-Shattering Blade's disciple? He's clearly from the heavens."

The jianghu was buzzing, wine in hand, blade at the ready. In the blink of an eye, he'd traveled a thousand miles, his blade pointed at Ten Thousand Sword Mountain.

"Where is Li Yi Sword?"

"Bad timing," sighed the Sword Mountain Sect Leader. "Li Yi Sword has been killed by Ghost Sword!"

"Not only killed, but his entire family was wiped out!"

"Young hero Qin, you must be careful. Ghost Sword is now killing everyone connected to Li Yi Sword..."

After a moment of thought, Qin Shu took out his blade and defeated the nine other renowned masters of Sword Mountain who were said to be stronger than Li Yi Sword. He figured his master underground would be satisfied, so he sheathed his blade and left.

To find Ghost Sword.

He met Ghost Sword that very night.

In a ruined temple, a broken Buddha, and a pile of wet straw.

Ghost Sword was warming himself by a fire. The light at the doorway was blocked.

A man stood there, his black clothes soaked, holding a sword without a scabbard, rainwater dripping down the blade.

He didn't say a word, didn't come in, just stood there.

"Come in," Qin Shu said. "The rain's heavy outside."

The man stepped in without a sound, sat on the other side of the fire, and Qin Shu handed him a flatbread.

Later, Qin Shu learned he was the Ghost Sword. For the first twenty years of his life, he had lived under Li Yijian's control—the more noble and upright Li Yijian appeared to the world, the filthier the tasks the Ghost Sword had to handle.

The moment he broke free from the parasite's grip, his first act was to slay Li Yijian, along with everyone connected to him.

Only two remained: one was Duanhun Blade, once Li Yijian's close friend, and the other was Duanhun Blade's beloved disciple, Qin Shu.

But Duanhun Blade was already dead. On that rainy night, Qin Shu handed him a flatbread.

Then Qin Shu suddenly asked, "What's your name?"

The Ghost Sword said, "Ghost Sword."

Qin Shu said, "That's too unlucky. Don't you have another name?"

Qin Shu said, "Then I'll call you Wuya."

The Ghost Sword asked, "Why?"

"Because you're dressed all in black, like a crow. But crows have names; you can't be without one. Wuya sounds nice—without rules, without bounds, free and carefree."

-

Wuya had eyes that were truly dark and deep.

Sunlight couldn't pierce them, nor could the light of blood reflect in them. Qin Shu drew the Zhaoxue Blade and held it before his eyes; only then could he see a faint reflection of the blade's gleam.

Wuya docilely pressed his eyes against the blade's tip.

Well, no choice then.

Qin Shu said, "Why are you following me?" Wuya said, "I don't know." Qin Shu said, "Think about it again?" Wuya said, "Your blade is polished so bright, like a mirror."

In short, one flatbread in exchange for a Ghost Sword.

Wuya followed him as they roamed the martial world.

Aside from dueling blade masters from all over, Qin Shu excelled at making life rich and colorful—one day fixing an old farmer's roof, the next carving a wooden sword for a child, the day after that taking on a delivery escort.

He would strike with his blade, Wuya with his sword; he would strike, Wuya would finish; he would strike, and they'd flee together.

Wuya disliked appearing before others, always lurking in the shadows, while Qin Shu was too conspicuous. Most people in their travels only ever saw Qin Shu.

Qin Shu also found it baffling how Wuya could vanish as if he didn't exist, while Qin Shu's every elaborate disguise and stealth attempt somehow got him recognized.

Yet Wuya had a handsome face too.

Wuya said, "A Shu is the most handsome."

Qin Shu said proudly: "Of course I'm handsome—how else would I attract the ladies?"

Wuya said, "By 'attract the ladies,' do you mean yesterday when a female thief swiped all your money?"

"Stop, stop, stop! Don't say that!"

"A Shu, don't attract the ladies. Spend your whole life with me, alright?"

Qin Shu said, "Why do you make it sound like you're in love with me? No sworn brother would ever say something like that."

"Not sure," Wuya said. "Is it love if all my feelings are tied to you? A Shu, don't go after girls—I don't know what I'd do otherwise."

Qin Shu commented, "Terrible personality."

The two fell silent.

Night, on the river, a small boat, stars hanging low, a gentle breeze.

"Remember what I said back then?"

Out of nowhere, Wuya seamlessly picked up: "Boundless and free, wandering at ease."

"Now it seems, boundless indeed, but not quite free and easy."

"Why do you say that, A Shu?"

"All your feelings are on me—I'm your cage. No matter how vast the world, you can't wander freely wherever you go." Qin Shu said softly. "Who would have thought the Ghost Sword could be so pitiable?"

Wuya frowned. "Not a cage. Not pitiful."

Qin Shu looked at him.

"I walked in myself, willingly. A Shu never bound me," Wuya said. "To me, any place where I can't see you—no matter how wide the sky or vast the land—is a cage."

Suddenly, Qin Shu slapped his bamboo hat over his face, lay back, and sprawled motionless in the boat.

"A Shu?"

Wuya leaned in, lifted Qin Shu's hat, and his dark, heavy gaze fell into those bright, sparkling eyes.

A long silence.

Qin Shu said, "I suddenly realize I've got a terrible personality too."

"What?"

"I can't imagine you having a life outside of me. I can't accept us being apart for long, or going our separate ways because of someone else..." Qin Shu rambled on, then summed up, "I guess I'm selfish—I can only have you revolve around me."

"...Wuya, are you scared?"

He looked up and saw a strange flush on Wuya's ears.

"A Shu, are you... confessing your feelings to me?"

Qin Shu: ??

What the hell!

-

Twenty minutes later, Qin Shu, with slightly disheveled hair and clothes, angrily jumped off the boat, skimming across the water like a dragonfly and landing lightly on the shore.

The next moment, a shadow silently appeared beside him.

Up close, one could see a trace of blood on Qin Shu's lips—oh, the wound was on the other person's mouth.

The man with the sword on his back whispered something in Qin Shu's ear. Qin Shu's face alternated between pale and red, then gradually softened.

Somewhat awkwardly, he reached out his hand. The other grabbed it immediately, their fingers interlaced.

Qin Shu's face grew even more strange.

"So you've been wanting to do this with me all along?" he muttered.

"More than a thousand days ago."

Qin Shu covered his face. "Forget it, don't be so specific! Let's just go back to the mountain and sleep!"

Wuya nodded, changing the subject. "What do you want to eat tomorrow, A Shu? I'll cook for you."

Qin Shu brightened up. "Oh, let me think."

He pondered for three seconds. "The moon is really bright and round tonight."

"Yeah."

"So how about big plate chicken tomorrow?"

"Alright, A Shu."

The martial world is vast, the mountain path long, the moon bright, the stars above.

Moonlight shone on two figures walking side by side—one sword, one blade—and two hands clasped together.

Qin Shu's thoughts jumped. "Speaking of which, the Hundred Scholars' weapon ranking has me at number one. Why? We've never sparred in front of others."

"Maybe the Hundred Scholars knew that if you were ranked below me, I'd come looking for trouble."

"..."