Xiao Yu was silently sweeping the leaves outside the wooden shack, while nearby, a few disciples huddled, poin…
Xiao Yu was silently sweeping the leaves outside the wooden shack, while nearby, a few disciples huddled, pointing and snickering without the slightest pretense of privacy.
"So this is the 'top blade' of our sect? Look at him now, reduced to a woodshed servant."
"Haven't you heard? He dabbled in some dark arts and backfired his Qi. Now? He's nothing but a spent husk!"
"I knew it. A low-born stray like him reaching those heights? Must be some crooked trickery. Bah! A total disgrace to the Fierce Blade name."
Xiao Yu shot them a cold glance, and even now, the weight of his former name was enough to shut them up. Just as he bent down to keep sweeping, a voice cut in from behind.
"Hmph. A toothless cur, still barking to scare the juniors?"
It was Song Baishu, the senior disciple. The spineless lot rushed to Song's side, showering him with sycophantic praise. Xiao Yu ignored them all and kept sweeping.
Song Baishu sneered. "Your Senior Brother is here. Where is your salute?"
Xiao Yu replied flatly, without even looking up. "We are both disciples, and I've been struck from the scrolls. Why should I bow to you?"
In the blink of an eye, Song Baishu blurred forward like a bolt of lightning. He clamped a hand over Xiao's face and slammed his head into the dirt. Xiao Yu, already too weak to fight back, hit the dirt hard. Blood seeped from every orifice. A brutal sight.
"You think you're in any position to lecture me? You pathetic cripple!"
Song pulled back, wiping his fingers with a white handkerchief in feigned disgust. Then he ground his boot into Xiao's head as if he were nothing but a stray dog.
Xiao was barely holding on. His breath grew even shallower. His lips quivered as if struggling to force out a final word. Curious, Song leaned in closer. Bad move. Xiao spat a mouthful of blood right in his face, followed by a roar of defiant laughter.
Song lost it. He was about to end Xiao right then and there when a girl rushed into the courtyard and threw herself in front of him. It was Wang Xun'er, the Sect Master's daughter. She'd just gotten medicine for Xiao.
"Junior Sister, the man is a renegade. Why shield him?"
Wang helped Xiao to his feet, fury burning in her eyes. "Xiao Yu and I are betrothed. And this is how you treat my fiancé, Senior Brother? Leave now, or do not blame me if my blade shows no mercy!"
Song's face darkened. "The Master has annulled that marriage pact! Why cling to this shell of a man? I shall petition Master to grant your hand to me instead!"
He was about to keep pushing when he noticed Wang's hand moving toward the sword at her waist, and the killing intent suddenly locked onto him. Forced to yield, he feigned retreat, only to whirl around with a sudden strike, aiming to knock Xun'er senseless. Though his powers are gone, Xiao Yu's eyes remain keen. He shouted a warning just in time, and Wang barely managed to dodge.
Song stopped holding back. "Xun'er, enough! This traitor corrupted our sacred styles and leaked them to outsiders. His execution is Master's direct command!"
Xiao furrowed his brow. When had he ever committed such a crime? But Wang didn't care. She grabbed his hand and bolted toward the back mountain. The Sect's intent was now bared for all to see. A tide of pursuers swarmed the mountain paths. Outnumbered and overwhelmed, Xun'er fought a desperate retreat toward the edge of a cliff.
The pursuers didn't want to risk hurting the Sect Master's daughter, so they held back, but blades had no eyes. Xun'er was soon trailing blood from several shallow gashes. A fierce wind whipped around them, Xiao's blood-soaked robes snapping in the gusts. He looked at Wang, guilt and anguish written all over his face.
"This is far enough."
Before she could utter a word, Xiao flung himself into the abyss. In that final moment, everything clicked into place. His shattered meridians were no accident; it was the Master's design. His honesty in pointing out the flaws of their style had been his own death warrant.
The Fierce Blade Sect was never worthy of him. If fate granted him another life, he would show that stagnant old Master the meaning of true mastery!
After Xiao's fall, Master Wang sought to betroth Xun'er to Song Baishu. But she would sooner die than submit, leaving Wang with no choice but to drop the matter. As the years weighed heavily on Master Wang, the reins of the sect slowly slipped into Song's grasp. Before Song attained the secret legacy, he seethed with envy as Xiao Yu surpassed him and mastered the core techniques first. Yet once the techniques were finally his, he found them... underwhelming. He grew slothful, using sect business as a pretext to abandon his training. He became a frequent, if secret, guest of the entertainment quarters. Neglecting his inner cultivation, he relied on gold to buy hollow prestige. It was a house of cards, a brilliant blaze fed by nothing but oil. The old sect master tried to admonish him. At first, Song maintained a respectful front. Eventually, he dropped the mask entirely, snarling that the old man was a fossil who had achieved nothing, a failure who couldn't even rule his own daughter. In fits of rage, he would even withhold the Master's meals. Cowering under the abuse, Old Master Wang fell into a fearful silence. Three years slipped by in that strained, suffocating silence.
One day, a youth in straw sandals came to challenge the most "renowned" sect in the land. Seeing only a nameless nobody who looked easy to bully, the disciples scrambled to be the first to strike. Yet none could withstand a single blow. Before long, the courtyard was littered with fallen men. No one dared to rise.
Just when the sect's reputation had taken a serious hit, things went from bad to worse. The Heavenly Sword Sect, irked by Fierce Blade's unearned fame, came to issue a formal challenge.
Song Baishu couldn't stand for that and stepped forward to face their warrior. Seeing the hosts were occupied, the boy in straw sandals retreated with an easy grace, clapping his hands in amusement:
"A clash of masters... Seems my journey wasn't in vain after all."
But while Song held the legacy, he didn't grasp the soul of the technique. His forms were incomplete, his strikes unable to find their mark. And due to years of slacking off, his stamina was giving out. A split-second lapse in concentration, and his opponent's blade sent him reeling.
"I haven't even drawn upon my Sword Intent, yet you are already at your wit's end. This 'Fierce Blade' is all bark and no bite. How dare you even fly a sect banner?"
Song's face went pale with rage.
"Lies and slander!" Despite his clear defeat, Song launched a desperate, dishonorable strike. The Heavenly Sword warrior's eyes turned cold. The Intent manifested. In a flash of cold steel, the blade cleaved through Song's arm in one clean stroke. Before Song could even cry out, the blade was already arcing toward his throat.
In a blur of motion, their blades clashed. The youth in straw sandals had snatched the fallen blade, parrying the lethal blow with effortless precision.
"Steady now, brother. Mercy is a virtue of the great. Why stoop to killing blows in the jianghu?"
The Heavenly Sword warrior eyed him warily, sensing this boy was no ordinary fighter. Reluctantly, the warrior lowered his sword. "The man is a craven; he struck after his defeat. And this sect? It's a fraud, lacking true mastery, yet preying on the hopes of young aspirants."
The youth thought for a moment. "The style itself is not without merit, but this man has missed the mark. Allow me to demonstrate the true essence of the Fierce Blade."
He took up the Fierce Blade stance, and it was like watching an entirely different martial art. Every strike felt like a mountain crashing down. The warrior found no opening to counter, his very spirit crushed by the overwhelming pressure. Had the boy not stayed his hand, the man would be a corpse by now.
The warrior bowed in genuine submission, humbled to have witnessed such mastery. Song Baishu, gritting his teeth against the pain, was about to stammer out his thanks when another figure appeared at the gate. At the sight of the newcomer, the boy's formidable aura vanished, replaced by a childlike glee as he rushed to greet his master.
"How did you know I would be passing this way?" The young man in the bamboo hat asked, his voice soft as he ruffled the boy's hair. The boy grinned; he hadn't. Left to his own devices, he simply grew restless for a fight and sought out this sect to test his mettle. The man shook his head with a faint, resigned smile. He surveyed the wreckage of the courtyard as his disciple filled him in.
Song Baishu, one arm lost, his spirit shattered, finally recognized the man. A hollow, bitter laugh escaped him as he collapsed to his knees.
It was indeed Xiao Yu. Against all odds, he had survived the fall and chanced upon a mystical method to recover his shattered meridians. After three years of cultivation, he had returned. Revenge was never his aim; he came only for Wang Xun'er. He had plucked a beggar boy from the wayside and taken him as his disciple, the very youth in straw sandals.
Xiao had no heart for vengeance: he came here for Xun'er, and her alone. And who was Song Baishu to stand in his way? The old Master wept tears of bitter regret. He lamented the day he traded his honor for lies, all for the fear that exposing the flaws in his craft would cost him his legacy. But the dust of the past had already settled; Xiao no longer cared for old grievances. In the years that followed, many sought his tutelage. He and Xun'er roamed the jianghu, righting wrongs and leaving a legacy that would be whispered in every tavern for generations.