Chapter 88: Sword Lake City

Chapter 88: Sword Lake City

Zhao Changhe’s charge completely crushed the enemies besieging Han Wubing.

They had already lost many men to Han Wubing’s lone stand, yet they clung to the belief that he was spent and must be killed, gritting their teeth to continue.

Then this brute came galloping in, his blade’s mere aura enough to make their legs go weak—what fight was left?

No one noticed that Zhao Changhe himself was utterly exhausted; all will to battle evaporated, and with a shout, they scattered like smoke.

Zhao Changhe had expected a bitter struggle, but seeing this, he stood dumbfounded, blade in hand: “Am I that terrifying?”

Han Wubing laughed: “Indeed, you are quite terrifying.”

“A bunch of fools, daring to besiege a fifth-layer Xuan Pass expert, only to be scared off by a fourth-layer one. Tch.” Zhao Changhe dismounted and sat wearily on the ground: “Hey, how many days until the Start of Summer?”

Han Wubing sat weakly beside him, calculating: “Seven days left. You’ve come early.”

“Seven days.” Zhao Changhe turned to study him: “Can you recover from these wounds in seven days?”

“Mostly superficial cuts; though they look bloody, with good medicine they’ll heal quickly. Three days is enough.”

Zhao Changhe clicked his tongue in annoyance: “So once you’re healed, we’ll have nothing to do but tough it out for four more days? The Start of Summer comes a bit late… uh…”

The thought brought his girlfriend to mind, and he fell silent.

Xia Chichi, spying from afar, suddenly broke into a grin.

Han Wubing, unaware why he’d stopped, said: “Waiting four more days is fine. Sword Lake City has some sights worth seeing. Or if you’re looking for a sword… oh, you use a blade, so probably not interested.”

“Even if I used a sword, I wouldn’t care. Yangyang said the Cui family can’t find it, so who else could? Those idiots from earlier?” Zhao Changhe said. “Your sword broke? I’d advise you not to search either. Just buy a good one in the city.”

Han Wubing replied: “I never planned to search.”

“Good.” Zhao Changhe stood up: “Mount up. I’ll take you into the city to rest first.”

Han Wubing didn’t stand on ceremony and climbed onto the horse.

Who would have guessed that these two, seemingly on good terms and sharing a mount, were each plotting a duel in a few days?

Stranger still, neither fool ever considered that since they were already here, the so-called duel time could be changed by mutual agreement. Why not advance it a few days? Why wait for the Start of Summer?

…

Sword Lake City.

Long ago, it was just a lakeside town. Now, needless to say, it’s a super metropolis, more prosperous than the prefectural capital itself. Yet, oddly, its administrative status remains that of a town—no city walls, no guards, no entry tax.

Thus, it thrives all the more.

Zhao Changhe rode in, gawking like a curious child, comparing the streetscape to Qinghe. Before he’d gone far, a whiff of perfume hit him, and a heavily made-up madam approached: “Oh, young master, won’t you rest at our Ten Thousand Flowers Pavilion? Our girls are the prettiest in the city, skilled in zither, chess, calligraphy, and painting…”

Zhao Changhe: “…Are they as skilled as Head Seat Tang?”

The madam was dumbfounded: “No, not that.”

Zhao Changhe nodded: “Then forget it. Practice more.”

Han Wubing laughed out loud.

Zhao Changhe spurred his horse forward, muttering: “These brothels are bold. We’re covered in blood, and they don’t care—still trying to reel us in.”

Han Wubing said: “Stay a couple of days, and you’ll see.”

He didn’t need two days. He saw it now.

Ahead, another brothel. People were fighting right at the entrance. By the time Zhao Changhe thought to watch the excitement, someone was already dead.

A few pimps came out, carried the body away, and the brothel resumed business as if nothing had happened.

Now it was Zhao Changhe’s turn to be dumbfounded: “What’s the local government doing?”

Han Wubing said leisurely: “Its status is still a town. Who knows what the Emperor is thinking?”

“…Then how do they collect taxes on all this prosperity? What a waste.”

Han Wubing was also dumbfounded. I’m just a wanderer; I don’t know.

Zhao Changhe rubbed his temples: “Is there a Demon Suppression Bureau?”

Han Wubing, at least, knew this: “Officially, no office is set up, but there must be one in practice. Could be in some civilian house, or even in a brothel or gambling den.”

Zhao Changhe nodded: “Where were you staying before?”

“I didn’t stay in the city. Afraid you wouldn’t find me, I built a hut by the lakeside bamboo grove, near the grave.”

“So anywhere will do?” Zhao Changhe spotted a large inn at the end of the street, with a sign reading “Welcome Home.” Someone was leading a horse through a side gate, suggesting stables in the back. He headed straight over: “This one, then. Innkeeper, do you have a private courtyard? And take good care of my horse.”

A waiter came up: “Good eye, sir! We have the finest stables and the best fodder. And I don’t just mean for horses—the ‘horses’ in bed are also top-notch grass.”

Zhao Changhe: “?”

Han Wubing: “…”

The waiter, reading their expressions, grinned: “Looking for a place without ‘horses’? Can’t be found. Everyone has them; if you don’t, how do you attract customers? Ah, you’re out on the road, since you’re here…”

“Alright, alright.” Zhao Changhe realized that finding a place without such services might truly be impossible, so he said: “Do you have a private courtyard?”

“Yes, yes. This way, sir. Rest first, and I’ll send some girls over for you to ‘inspect the horses.’”

Zhao Changhe said irritably: “No need. We want peace and quiet. Don’t let anyone disturb us.”

The waiter’s eyes darted between Zhao Changhe and Han Wubing, a knowing smirk spreading across his face: “I understand.”

Zhao Changhe froze for a moment, and the waiter had already withdrawn.

He turned woodenly to Han Wubing: “What did he mean by that?”

Han Wubing’s face was expressionless: “Nothing.”

“Damn.” Zhao Changhe pointed to the room next to the courtyard: “Get lost, get lost. My reputation is ruined because of you. Bad luck.”

Han Wubing, stone-faced, entered his room. Damn, if this gets out, your reputation might be ruined, but what about mine?

They say women associated with Zhao Changhe suffer misfortune in reputation—who knew even men couldn’t escape?

Come to think of it, this Zhao Changhe, with his bandit-chief swagger, was surprisingly innocent. He wouldn’t even touch a brothel girl, and his face seemed a little red.

Han Wubing found it amusing. Though he seemed cold, in his lonely wanderings, he’d occasionally visited brothels for relief. Who would have thought that Zhao Changhe, whom everyone took for a ruffian, was the purest wanderer of them all?

As he applied medicine to his wounds and rested, Han Wubing’s ears suddenly twitched. He gripped his broken sword.

Outside the courtyard, there were very light footsteps. His keen senses even caught a faint fragrance.

An enemy? Or…

Han Wubing peered through the window. He saw an extremely graceful female figure standing outside Zhao Changhe’s door, gently knocking.

From inside came Zhao Changhe’s annoyed voice: “Damn it, I said don’t disturb us. Get lost!”

The woman spoke softly: “I know you’re not fond of women, sir, so your brother here has changed into women’s clothes to give you some pleasure.”

Han Wubing’s hair stood on end.

What made his hair stand on end even more was the commotion from the opposite room—sounds of a table being knocked over, then the door banging open. Zhao Changhe poked his head out, his face lighting up with unmistakable delight. Then, with a wary glance toward Han Wubing’s room, he reached out and pulled the “cross-dressing brother” inside.

Han Wubing sat on the bed, hugging his knees, feeling that the place he was in now was more dangerous than being surrounded by enemies.

He had thought they were both victims of reputation damage—but it turned out you were the real deal!