Chapter 14: The Weight Of That Saber Strike

Chapter 14 The Weight of That Blade

Both men, burdened with their own thoughts, slept uneasily. The next morning, when the servant came to deliver cornbread, the first knock sent them both springing from their beds like coiled springs. They steadied themselves, exchanged a glance, and Zhao Changhe smiled. "Morning."

Luo Qi ignored him, immediately looking down at his own body. The blanket was still wrapped tightly. He let out a soft breath and said nothing.

Zhao Changhe paid him no mind either, hopping off the bed to open the door. He took the cornbread and came back in, catching sight of Luo Qi sitting on the bed, smoothing his slightly tousled hair.

That posture... an unintentional allure.

Zhao Changhe’s heart skipped a beat. He looked away and changed the subject. "Damn, no toothbrush again. Nothing feels right here."

Luo Qi said lazily, "For someone from the countryside, you sure talk like a rich man’s son. You even know about brushing with willow twigs?"

Zhao Changhe gnawed on the cornbread, glancing sideways. "And you know about that? Willow twigs, huh... aren’t you just a house-born servant... ah, sorry."

"What’s there to be sorry about? You’ve said worse things that offended me plenty. You call me a country bumpkin, I call you a house-born servant—we’re even." Luo Qi rolled his eyes. "I’m off. You practice your skills. I’ll be slaving away to get us some meat."

"Uh, about last night..."

Luo Qi paused at the door and glanced back with a smile. "What you said was too naive. Probably won’t work. But... I’ll think of something else. We’ll see."

That backward glance was rather electrifying, but Zhao Changhe seemed oblivious. He nodded. "There’s always a way."

Such was his obliviousness that Luo Qi himself didn’t notice how his increasingly unintentional femininity was showing. He took the cornbread and left for his task.

In truth, Zhao Changhe was deliberately not looking. Male or female, it only slowed his training.

Once Luo Qi was gone, he headed straight for the training ground. He had planned to practice Blood Fiend Art in the morning and blade work in the afternoon, but he felt that even while practicing with the blade, the Blood Fiend Art was still running, making its progress seem a bit too fast. He wondered if there was a problem and decided to consult Instructor Sun.

"Fast? How far along? Try hitting me with a punch using the Blood Fiend Art’s energy flow," Instructor Sun said nonchalantly.

Zhao Changhe hesitated. "Full force?"

"Of course, full force." Instructor Sun rolled his eyes. "You think you can actually hurt me?"

Zhao Changhe figured that was true. He dropped into a horse stance and drew his fist back to his waist.

The blood and qi of the Blood Fiend Art surged through his body. He could feel his muscles brimming with power, fierce and ruthless.

With a shout, he threw a heavy punch with all his might.

Whether it was an illusion or not, as the punch flew, the world before his eyes seemed to turn red.

Instructor Sun casually raised a hand to block. Zhao Changhe felt an overwhelming, unfathomable force surge toward him, sending him stumbling back several steps before he could steady himself. The feeling of power drained away instantly, and the red tint in his vision vanished, as if he had been beaten down.

Zhao Changhe felt a grudging respect. He smiled apologetically. "As expected, an instructor is an instructor."

Instructor Sun clasped his hands behind his back and said flatly, "Your progress... is indeed a bit fast. But there’s no special reason. You have decent comprehension, and more importantly, your physique is exceptional—overflowing with blood and qi, perfectly suited to the Blood Fiend Art. Strange, a poor kid from a village—where did you get such good nourishment? How was this body of yours raised?"

He didn’t let Zhao Changhe see that his hands, clasped behind his back, were trembling slightly.

Too careless. He had blocked casually, never expecting this guy to be so fierce. It was ridiculous.

Zhao Changhe thought to himself that if it came to bodily nourishment, even their sect leader might not eat as well as an average modern office worker. And he himself was a bit of a fitness enthusiast, with a better physique than most of his classmates. Come to think of it, that "eye in the back" hadn’t been of much use yet. Maybe this physical condition was his biggest advantage all along?

"Of course, there’s another reason: you haven’t lost your virginity. Your essence is full, overflowing—truly in the prime of youth." Instructor Sun didn’t know whether he was praising or mocking. He looked Zhao Changhe up and down for a long time before finally blurting out, "Nineteen, right? How pitiful."

"Damn." Zhao Changhe stiffened his neck. "Does jerking off count as losing virginity?"

"On the surface, it’s similar. In martial arts theory, it doesn’t count—unless you do it too often. Damn, why am I even talking about this with you?"

Zhao Changhe: "..."

Instructor Sun’s face was expressionless. "As things stand, your Blood Fiend Art is almost at the entry level. Polish it well this month and try to break through to the first layer. Actually, once you break through the first layer, you should be close to the first Mystic Gate."

"One Mystic Gate in a month?" Zhao Changhe found it hard to believe. He remembered Luo Qi, who had trained since childhood and only reached the first Mystic Gate at sixteen or seventeen, feeling very proud. He wondered if Luo Qi would spit blood hearing this.

"This is demonic art. You’ll learn the price later. Even if you’re faster than most even among demonic arts, it’s still within understandable bounds." Instructor Sun said flatly, "Alright, your progress in the art far outstrips your blade work. Don’t neglect it. The three moves I taught you yesterday—vertical slash, horizontal slash, and spinning slash—how many times have you practiced each?"

Zhao Changhe answered honestly, "I set myself a thousand times, but I lost count while cutting. I think it’s close enough."

A thousand times? Instructor Sun nearly bulged his eyes, but forced a calm demeanor and pointed at a wooden post. "See that mark in the middle? Cut right there. Let me see one slash."

Zhao Changhe drew his blade.

"Shua!" The blade flashed and struck the mark Instructor Sun had indicated. It wasn’t perfectly aligned—off by a hair’s breadth. Instructor Sun took a deep breath and muttered, "Good enough."

"Not great," Zhao Changhe said. "I think I’ll get it with more practice today."

Still being modest? You think "good enough" means your cut was good? I meant it’s good that your blade talent is only average, not as freakish as your Blood Fiend Art. Otherwise, it would be too much.

Instructor Sun’s expression relaxed considerably. "Actually, in terms of pure talent, you’re not that high. Barely above mediocre. This is the simplest slash—any woodcutter could do it after a few days of chopping. A true blade prodigy wouldn’t still be off after a thousand tries. But the thing is, you know you’re off, and you still practice a thousand times. Most people wouldn’t."

Zhao Changhe: "Uh..."

"If you can keep up this thousand-times-a-day practice after learning the Blood Fiend Blade Art, your achievements will exceed my expectations." Instructor Sun said leisurely, "Of course, most people who learn advanced blade arts and break through the first Mystic Gate become fairly important leaders. Then it’s big bowls of wine, big chunks of meat, and plenty of loose women. Few keep up the hard work. I don’t know how you’ll turn out."

Zhao Changhe wasn’t sure himself what the future held. For now, he was dead serious, almost entirely focused on this. It wasn’t just about getting stronger or finding a way back. He genuinely found joy in it.

It was like back when he played games, dying over and over to a boss but refusing to give up, cursing when the server went down and reluctant to leave. Now it was similar. Damn it, couldn’t hit that spot? He wouldn’t accept it. He’d keep cutting until that "boss" did whatever he wanted.

The Blood Fiend Art was the same. He found joy in the growing power and secretly enjoyed the awe of those around him.

In the training ground, Zhao Changhe’s voice grew louder, more boisterous. Soon he was mingling with everyone.

The scholarly air from his university days was fading, replaced by a growing ruffian edge.

It had only been a few days...

A born outlaw.

"Slap!" As dusk fell, Zhao Changhe sheathed his blade after a day of practice and slapped a bandit beside him on the shoulder. "When I can go out and raise hell, I’ll treat you brothers to a drink!"

The bandit smiled ingratiatingly. "We should be the ones treating you, Boss Zhao. With the boldness you showed stabbing Luo Zhenwu to death, we all owe you a toast."

"Oh? Were you there that day?"

"We weren’t, but these past few days, I’ve heard from the senior brothers in the sect who were there. Boss Zhao, you’ve made a name for yourself in the martial world."

"Really? Killing a little dog from the Luo family—a gust of wind in the martial world, who remembers that?"

The bandit leaned in mysteriously. "They say that about a dozen years ago, the current emperor went on a tour and stayed at the Luo estate. That old turtle, the Luo manor lord, wanted to curry favor with the emperor, so he sent his wife to entertain the guest..."

Zhao Changhe was taken aback. He chewed over the words several times. "You don’t mean..."

The bandit clapped his hands. "Exactly! Luo Zhenwu might be the emperor’s son! That’s why the imperial family has always looked after the Luo family. That day, there were even imperial guards hidden in the Luo estate. If not for the Vermillion Sparrow Sovereign’s intervention, how could it have succeeded? Boss, tell me—does every family have imperial guards hidden away?"

Zhao Changhe was speechless for a long moment, then spat out a single word: "Damn!"

Strange. The way the Luo manor lord had spoken to his son that day didn’t seem like he was treating a prince. It felt more like a son. Could it be a mistake? Or had they just gotten used to their father-son dynamic over the years?

The bandit continued, "Everyone used to say the Luo family had ties to the imperial house, but no one could say exactly what. Not that they didn’t know—they just didn’t dare say it! But now, we’re the Sacred Sect. We rebel against this rotten court. Killing that bastard prince is our business. Why should we keep it a secret?"

Zhao Changhe sighed. He had thought this was some deep secret he’d only learn after joining the sect. But here it was, laid bare by accident.

It had been a secret before the deed, but after it was done, the Blood God Sect would want to shout it from the rooftops.

So that blade of his... had been something.

"I just killed an emperor’s bastard son. The fame will fade in a few days." Zhao Changhe tried to sound modest and end the conversation.

But the bandit’s eyes went wide. "Just a bastard son? No, Boss, you don’t understand. The crown prince is dead. The emperor has no sons left."

Zhao Changhe froze mid-turn, mouth agape.