Chapter 104: Got A Nickname now...

Chapter 104: A Nickname at Last...

Zhao Changhe pondered that finger strike over and over, lost in thought.

If viewed from this angle, the gold foil's image replay at the Earth List level held little real meaning, since it could only reconstruct moves and techniques, not reveal how the inner energy circulated or how the light-bending marvel was achieved.

But that didn't mean it was worthless. At the very least, the finger sword's hand technique, angle, and even the whole body's coordination were pure artistry, worthy of deep study.

Her way of ultimate softness, the essence of spring water...

Zhao Changhe watched again and again, his hand unconsciously mimicking the sword's intent, feeling he might learn something, yet unable to grasp it fully.

After all, it ran counter to his usual path.

But if he could truly glean even a hint of that meaning, his blade dao would likely take a massive leap forward.

He stared for a full three or four hours, until he could nearly recall every whorl on Tang Wanzhuang's jade fingers, before suddenly realizing—earlier, when he watched his own battle with Han Wubing, the images were faint, but now they grew clearer, sharp enough to see the soft light in Tang Wanzhuang's eyes.

Was this... the gold foil slowly reviving over time?

Uh... in the real world, he'd never watched a video this long. He'd been staring at every pose and angle of Tang Wanzhuang's body for hours. Thank goodness no one saw him, or he'd look like a total creep.

He hadn't expected that the person whose physical details he knew best now wasn't Chichi, but Tang Wanzhuang. If she ever found out, how could he face her?

Zhao Changhe covered his face, packed his belongings, and left the room. He couldn't stay any longer.

He'd study on the road instead...

"Let's go." He patted the snow-treading black steed's head. "To Jiangnan."

As he left, he filled his gourd with wine out of habit.

Watching the waiter pour, Zhao Changhe felt a pang of melancholy and self-mockery.

During this meeting, Xia Chichi hadn't once glanced at the gourd. She never really remembered that casually bought wine gourd, nor did she think it would survive so many bloody storms. She probably assumed he'd replaced it long ago.

Only he kept building dams for himself, like a joke.

But it didn't matter. The memory was his own, not a show for her.

As long as the gourd wasn't broken, it would always be there.

...

If one mapped the location of Ancient Sword Lake to the geography Zhao Changhe knew from his world, it would roughly lie somewhere between the Huai River and the Yangtze. But this world seemed to lack the Huai, that crucial north-south divide.

Yet countless rivers and streams still crisscrossed the region, with waterways everywhere. A grand canal ran straight from the capital to Jiangnan. Along the rivers and coasts, prosperity reigned, with guilds like the Canal Guild and Salt Guild, along with various sects, dominating the land.

But that was the paper impression Zhao Changhe got from reading books and travelogues.

When he actually rode south, what he felt was a thousand miles of desolation.

Fresh from the bustling Qinghe Prefecture and Sword Lake City, he expected the journey to grow ever more beautiful and prosperous. Instead, the farther he went, the more stunned he became. Compared to Qinghe and Sword Lake, even Wei County seemed better. At least when he crossed the river there, he'd sensed the charm of fishermen singing at dusk—fake as it might have been, it wasn't entirely false. If the river hadn't looked that way normally, they wouldn't have staged it, right?

But now? What was this?

After days of riding south, Zhao Changhe hadn't seen a single moderately prosperous town. Every village he passed was dilapidated, the people gaunt and ragged, their thatched huts crumbling as if a breeze could topple them.

Was this what the canal region should look like?

Even that remote little town at the foot of Beimang wasn't this bad...

Facing a gang of starving bandits trying to steal his horse, Zhao Changhe didn't even want to draw his blade.

Wasn't he a bandit himself? He'd once nearly taken to robbery. Luo Qi had already done it.

Everyone was just trying to survive.

He shook his head, drew his saber, and lopped off a nearby sapling to show it wasn't just for show. As the bandits' eyes turned fearful, he sighed. "I won't kill you... Just a few questions."

Someone answered cautiously, "Sir, we have no money, and no women."

"..." Zhao Changhe pinched his brow. "This is Jianghuai? You're kidding me... Why is it like this?"

"Floods the year before last, locusts last year. This year's a bit better, but it's the lean season—what do you expect?"

"The government? No relief?"

"They came yesterday to collect the poll tax. That's why we took to the hills."

"..." Zhao Changhe looked up at the sky, silent for a long time.

He should have expected it. Everyone kept saying "chaos is coming," but aside from the Luo Family massacre, nothing he'd seen really proved that judgment. The martial world was bloody and chaotic, sure, but that was far from true upheaval.

Only now, seeing this scene, could he grasp the signs of a crumbling edifice, realizing the talk of impending chaos wasn't baseless.

This was Jianghuai!

If even here was like this, could Sword Lake City's tourism project save the day?

Xia Longyuan was clearly a great ruler, and decades after founding the dynasty, it should have been a golden age of order from chaos. Why had it turned out like this?

Zhao Changhe recalled Tang Wanzhuang toiling over her desk, cloak draped over her shoulders, and thought, you handle the martial world, but no matter how much you do, it's just treating symptoms, not the root. Your efforts are probably meaningless. You want me to become a prince and stabilize this realm, but I don't think I have that ability.

Maybe Chichi was right. Since the Xia dynasty was rotten, let it fall.

He thought for a long while, then suddenly asked, "The Canal Guild and such should still be important here, right? You have strength—why not try joining them? Are they having problems too?"

The bandits exchanged glances. Someone said, "We wanted to find work with the Canal Guild, but our families have elders..."

Just then, a man ran down from the hills, gasping, "Boss, boss! Second Uncle's asthma flared up again!"

The bandit's face changed drastically. "Do we still have the Maitreya Buddha's talismans?"

"Gone!"

"Quick, report to the Upper Buddha. We're joining the sect!"

No one paid Zhao Changhe any more attention, and he didn't stop them from joining the Maitreya Sect.

Because scenes like this must be playing out all over Jianghuai. Stopping them was pointless.

And from the looks of it, the Maitreya Sect was probably past the stage of spreading charity and winning hearts. They were likely close to showing their hand, or these villagers wouldn't have hesitated before joining.

He silently rode on, reaching a river.

On the river was a broken boat, an old fisherman laboriously casting his net. No beautiful boatwomen—that was a dream only for prosperous times.

"Stop, thief!" A shout rang out. Zhao Changhe turned to see a burly man chasing a lean fellow across the river. The lean man's lightness skill was excellent; he flipped through the air, touched the water, and crossed like a swallow skimming the surface, brushing past Zhao Changhe.

Zhao Changhe was about to applaud the skill, and he didn't want to meddle—who knew who was right or wrong?

But the lean man, as he passed, saw Zhao Changhe and his eyes lit up with greed. His light fingers reached for Zhao Changhe's chest, probably figuring the owner of such a fine horse must be wealthy.

Zhao Changhe sighed and slammed a fist the size of a vinegar pot into the lean man's face.

The lean man never expected a random passerby to be a Hidden Dragon List figure, nor that the punch carried a hint of the third-ranked Earth List's essence. Midair, with all his lightness skill, he couldn't dodge. His face exploded in a spray of blood, and he screamed, tumbling back into the river.

The burly man was wading across and, seeing this, grinned. He stepped forward and kicked the lean man's leg, breaking it.

Zhao Changhe narrowed his eyes at the move but said nothing.

This was a ruthless man too. He might not have chosen the right side.

The burly man cupped his hands. "Thanks for the help, brother! I'm Wan Dongliu of the Canal Guild. May I ask your name?"

The Canal Guild...

Zhao Changhe didn't want to deal with them yet and was about to brush it off when the thief, clutching his broken leg, screamed, "I... I remember! Black horse, white hooves, strange broadsword, scarred face... You're the Bloodthirsty Asura, Zhao Changhe!"

Zhao Changhe, who had been sunk deep in melancholy, suddenly had every shred of emotion collapse, so jarred out of the scene that he nearly tumbled from his horse.

Wait, hold on—what did you call me?

I'll give you money right now—can you please change that lousy nickname?