Chapter 363: The Fish Has Taken the Bait (Requesting Monthly Tickets)

Chapter 363: The Fish is Hooked (Please Vote for the Monthly Ticket)

The next day.

The rain had ceased, and the gloomy clouds gradually dispersed.

Mist and haze lingered, with hues of dawn spreading across the sky, illuminating the prefectural city of Shu Zhou.

From an aerial perspective, one would behold a scene of tranquility.

From the outskirts inwards.

The more remote villagers, having risen early, set about tidying their homes with swift efficiency.

They swept the floors, washed their clothes, lit fires, and prepared their meals.

Soon, the entire city was dotted with wisps of smoke rising from kitchens.

Some carried the scent of roasted meat, others the pungent aroma of spices drifting on the breeze, while others bore only the curling smoke, devoid of any discernible fragrance.

After partaking of their morning meal, most families rested in their courtyards.

A few carried baskets or handfuls of soybeans, venturing into the streets to chat about the trivial matters of daily life.

Stories of this and that—who had a plump son, who had a beautiful daughter, who had a scholar in the family—would draw many visitors seeking connections.

And if a family of similar standing had produced a learned man, envy would surely follow.

Even those who spoke of the previous day's tragedy—the assassination of the prefectural magistrate Xu Jitong by Ma Xuehan—mostly offered mere speculation.

Some lamented that Ma Xuehan, unaware of the reasons, had framed Xu Jitong, leading to his beheading by the magistrate's office.

Others muttered that Ma's crimes were too grave to warrant such a fate, or that he had been killed for his transgressions.

These idle musings from the outskirts, naturally, could not resolve the matter, but served only to pass the time with idle gossip.

Yet in the bustling districts between the two markets, where information flowed freely, some whispered conjectures about the cause of Ma Xuehan's demise.

Some claimed he had previously oppressed Xu Jitong's former classmates, turning ten years of scholarly toil into nothing but a fleeting dream.

Others alleged he had bullied Xu...

Still others suggested Ma's death was tied to this year's imperial examination.

"Why do I say that the late Scholar Ma died because of the examination? Because of the question he posed—asking His Majesty whether, should he wish to recall the army, it should attack the barbarians to the south or march northward into the wilderness?"

One countered: "Even if the question was flawed, the consequence was merely debate. Why kill him for it?"

"The question seemed innocuous on the surface, but it sought to provoke the warrior faction among the scholars. Ma's heart was one that should be purged."

"I wonder why some say Ma died before targeting the late Scholar Qian?"

"Because Qian's essay offered no solution to the question, nor advocated a southern expedition. Instead, he spoke plainly, urging the court to refrain from war, sparing the people from turmoil."

"Such an essay, had it been written by any well-versed individual, would not have drawn such ire. Yet Ma erupted on the spot, berating Qian for his lack of literary skill, even tearing up his examination paper before the assembly."

"And you claim Ma's death has nothing to do with the examination?"

Amid the clamor of voices, the true cause of Ma's death remained unspoken.

Instead, Chen Yi's essay spread like wildfire.

It inspired countless scholars to copy it by hand, especially the line: "Water can carry boats or drown them—when one respects Heaven and loves the people..."

Some praised Chen for embodying the spirit of ancient sages, unbound by convention, a scholar of great learning.

Soon, such praise spread far and wide.

By the time the rooster crowed, the streets and alleys buzzed with talk of the late Scholar Qian and his essay.

Those intrigued would pause to discuss it at length.

Those unmoved, such as the wandering warriors fresh from the Central Plains, paid it no heed.

They were more concerned with the previous night's sparring match between Shu Hesong and the "Dragon-Tiger" Liu Wu.

Precisely, they cared about the outcome—who had won, who had lost.

Though the "Little Road Lord" Hua Huiyang declared Liu Wu the victor, most wandering warriors in Shu Zhou believed the mighty "Fist Dominating the Thousand Li of Mountains and Rivers" Shu Hesong was clearly superior.

After all, Liu Wu's reputation was confined to Shu Zhou, his achievements limited to slaying Du Cang and Yan Jingchen—far beneath Shu Hesong's renown.

Thus, the celebrants cited Shu Hesong's past deeds to prove his superiority over Liu Wu.

"'Little Road Lord' himself declared the result of last night's sparring—do you think your strength surpasses his?"

"'Little Road Lord' is naturally more skilled, yet sparring is not a matter of life and death. It was merely a brief contest."

"If it were a true battle to the death, Shu Hesong, whose fists dominate the thousand li of mountains and rivers, would surely prevail!"

"So, by your logic, the White Immortal had triumphed over countless years, and many of the elders still walking the earth must surpass him?"

"Hmph!"

"In Shu Zhou's domain, could someone of four-tier rank defeat one of two-tier?"

"You misunderstand—it's not that we don't respect the 'Dragon-Tiger,' but that we look down upon those from Shu Zhou's martial world!"

"And what of it..."

Visitors from the Central Plains, proud as they were, generally deemed Shu Zhou remote, with few formidable martial artists beyond the mountain clans.

Yet such brawls would lead to no resolution.

It was merely a contest of whose voice boomed louder, with few actually daring to draw near.

Eventually, all turned their attention to the sparring between the elders, the White Immortal and the "Snow Sword Lord."

Each one sighed in frustration.

For most wandering warriors lacked the standing to observe such a contest, leaving them lamenting their own inadequacy.

Bai Caotong.

Liu Rong sat on the steps of the entrance hall, a stalk of dogtail grass in his mouth, occasionally glancing toward the Cloud Qing Lou across the courtyard.

"Has the master gone sparring last night?"

"Or is it the White Immortal's disciple, Shu Hesong?"

"Hmph, how unfortunate. I missed it."

Liu Rong felt a pang of regret, for witnessing the White Immortal and "Snow Sword Lord" spar would have been a great gain.

And seeing his master spar with Shu Hesong would have yielded even more insight.

"All because those scoundrels from the Mount Hua sect didn't train properly, I could have accompanied the master to gain some knowledge."

In truth, Liu Rong's regret stemmed from the fact that he was close to breaking through.

His sword techniques had reached perfection, yet progress remained agonizingly slow.

Either he had to endure life-and-death battles, feeling the terror within, to slowly accumulate strength.

Or he needed to witness more skilled fighters, where sparring was the most fitting path.

Liu Lang thought it over, then stood up, ready to go ask Wang Ji when the boss would return. But before he could step through the door, a man blocked his path.

Liu Lang eyed the stranger up and down, his hand instinctively going to his waist where his knife was sheathed. "Brother, what business brings you here?" he asked, his voice laced with cautious reserve.

The man's presence was sharp, his aura stronger than Liu Lang's. Not someone he knew, but a man dressed in simple, elegant blue robes—Shui Hetong.

Shui Hetong studied him, then glanced at the crowd packed inside the teahouse, and smiled. "Knife Crazy?"

Liu Lang's lip twitched, his palm already gripping the hilt of his blade. "Who are you?"

His face was masked, a disguise crafted by Zhang Bao. Even those who knew him well couldn't make out his features. Yet here stood this handsome, unruly fellow, and somehow he'd been recognized.

Outside, a few disciples from the Tianshan Sect noticed the tension and gathered behind Liu Lang, forming a protective circle.

Shui Hetong chuckled, gesturing inside. "At your service... the boss sent me to pay you a visit."

"The boss?" Liu Lang's grip on his knife loosened slightly. "Who are you, exactly?"

"Shui Hetong."

"You..."

The name made Liu Lang and his companions pause. It was a name they knew all too well.

Shui Hetong scanned the room, his smile widening as he nodded toward the teahouse. "This place is too crowded. Shall we go inside and speak?"

Before the Tianshan disciples could speak, Liu Lang's eyes gleamed with excitement. He shook his head firmly. "No way. Unless you agree to a duel, I won't let you in."

Shui Hetong's smile faltered. As he studied Liu Lang, his expression softened. "Knife Crazy, you're bold... but..."

"But what?"

"But I thought I'd chance a spar with you."

Liu Lang's lips curved into a grin. "So you've agreed, brother?"

Shui Hetong sighed, nodding. "Your boss asked me to give you some guidance."

"You and us?"

"You, and those Tianshan disciples behind you."

Liu Lang opened his mouth, the thrill of his earlier excitement draining away. He muttered something under his breath and led Shui Hetong inside.

After settling in, Shui Hetong took stock of the room, then smiled. "This teahouse is bustling. All for tea and refreshments?"

Liu Lang nodded, pointing to the main hall. "Brother, if you look closely, most come here for the tea and snacks."

"Only half for cheap medicinal herbs."

"How long has the teahouse been open?"

"Less than three months."

"And how's business?"

"I don't know."

"Well then..."

Shui Hetong chuckled, realizing he'd asked too many questions. Liu Lang, a rugged man of the streets, wouldn't know such details.

He then proposed they sample the tea, taking a few barrels and tasting them. For someone of his cultivation, the effects were minimal. But after a careful examination of his body, he admitted to himself that what Chen Yi had told him the night before was true.

"Not bad. The tea is novel, and it has a faint tonic effect. For ordinary folk, it's quite sufficient."

Liu Lang looked puzzled. "Brother, do you like this tea?"

"Not really. Just that I've got a plan."

Though he said so, Shui Hetong had already made up his mind. He'd heard whispers about the teahouse when he first arrived in the capital. Now, seeing the crowd's enthusiasm, he understood why Chen Yi had been so confident.

"Looks like I'll need to send a few of the manager's men over soon."

As he thought this, he led Liu Lang back to find Wang Ji to discuss the next steps, then made his way to where the Tianshan disciples were.

On the way, Liu Lang chattered beside him. "Did you spar with the boss last night? Did he win?"

Shui Hetong nodded. "He did."

"Had I known that, I wouldn't have come here today."

After a night of reflection, he'd gained some insights and wasn't afraid to admit it.

Liu Lang grinned, thinking to himself, the boss was indeed the boss—he'd turned even Shui Hetong into a subordinate general.

Then another thought struck him. "Brother, what about your master? The old Bai ancestor—will he really challenge the 'Sword Saint' soon?"

"Yes."

"Then... might I have the honor to witness it?"

Shui Hetong met Liu Lang's eager gaze, neither accepting nor refusing. "If your presence can help me take a step forward, I'll bring you along."

"Is that true?"

"A gentleman's word."

"Then... well..."

Liu Lang knew exactly what he was in for. He hadn't even laid a finger on Shui Hetong—let alone helped him move an inch. He'd been all over the place, stumbling and falling.

If not for Shui Hetong's subordinates holding back, he'd have lain helpless on the ground.

But Liu Lang wasn't disheartened. Instead, he pressed on, hacking away with renewed vigor.

“Again!”

“Again!”

“Again…”

……

Xiao Family, Spring Lotus Garden.

Chen Yi didn’t even realize that Liu Lang had been crushed by someone in a single move, yet he seemed quite content. He stood by the pond, holding the newly acquired fishing rod, casting his line with lazy ease.

With the season’s exams finally over, he could afford to spend his days idly.

But alas, after half a day of dozing by the water’s edge, not a single golden-scaled koi would bite. Worse yet, they kept spitting out their saliva at him in increasingly vexing ways.

Annoyed, Chen Yi nearly let his cultivation breakthrough slip away, stomping his foot and startling all the fish into a dazed stupor.

Meanwhile, Xiao Biao had grown accustomed to this scene. She poured tea and water for him without a second thought, leaning on her cheek as he fished, utterly unbothered by the monotony.

In her recollection, she hadn’t been treated so kindly by her uncle in a long time, and a faint smile tugged at her lips.

Yet Xiao Biao couldn’t linger in the pavilion forever. From time to time, she would wander off to tend the courtyard or visit the bamboo grove to watch Pei Mu’er, Yuan Liu’er, and Xiao Wu’ge practicing their martial arts.

Xiao Wu’ge had originally planned to head to the martial arts arena early, but when Wang Li’xing arrived to report that Xiao Sheng’ao had urgent matters, he too joined Pei Mu’er in refining his movements.

Fists, palms, footwork—all set the bamboo swaying with rhythmic rustles.

Chen Yi heard the sounds and felt his spirits lift.

“It must be Tiger Girl, Xiao Wu’ge, and Liu’er—they’re so noisy, startling those golden koi into biting.”

With that thought, his mood naturally lightened.

Still, Chen Yi wasn’t entirely pleased. After tossing a handful of worms, he muttered under his breath:

“If you don’t bite again, don’t blame me for being unfriendly!”

Perhaps he spoke too confidently, for as soon as his words faded, his fishing rod trembled slightly.

Chen Yi’s eyes widened, pupils dilating as he pressed his lips together, whispering to himself:

“Hold steady, bite and don’t loosen… yes, that’s it…”

Then, with a sudden yank, he hauled in his line.

A single golden-red koi surfaced, its mouth open in a silent shout, its eyes glaring up at him.

Chen Yi paid it no mind. He twisted his wrist, plucked the fish from the water, and snapped its neck with a grin.

“No matter how many tricks you have, you’ll never escape my grasp!”

It was no surprise he was so elated.

Since breaking his restrictions half a year ago, this was his first successful catch.

And what a catch—those elusive golden koi.

Xiao Biao clapped and cheered beside him. “Master, you’ve finally caught a fish from the pond.”

“Of course. I’ve been letting those fish go all along. Otherwise, they’d have been hooked long ago.”

Chen Yi then called toward the bamboo grove: “Wu’ge, Tiger Girl, Liu’er—come see this!”

The three of them ran over upon hearing the commotion.

When they saw the golden koi in Chen Yi’s hands, Pei Mu’er and Xiao Wu’ge broke into smiles.

Seeing their joy, Yuan Liu’er, though unaware of the cause, smiled too.

“Master, why so happy?”

“My disciple and nephew—you don’t understand. Master Chen here… he’s never been good at fishing. In all my years, I’ve never seen him catch anything.”

“Is that so? Master also has his shortcomings…”

Chen Yi’s face darkened, nearly snapping the koi’s neck as he glared at Pei Mu’er:

“Mu’er, I just remembered something. Earlier, you promised to send a message to the mountain clans about the medicinal herbs. How about you skip the letter and go in person instead?”

Pei Mu’er instantly understood his meaning, chuckling as he hurried over.

The large bronze bell on his belt jingled as he approached.

“Brother, your fishing skills—unmatched under heaven!”

Pei Mu’er not only praised him himself but also gave a nod to Xiao Wu’ge, urging him to join in the compliment.

“Brother, you’re better than me.”

Chen Yi beamed with delight at the praise.

Then, he held the golden koi up, staring into its dark, unblinking eyes.

“What are you staring at? Look at me—I’ll roast you and eat you myself!”

Of course, Chen Yi wouldn’t actually do such a thing.

After basking in the admiration, he casually tossed the koi back into the pond, patting his palm with satisfaction.

Just as he was about to speak, his gaze shifted to Xiao Wu’ge.

Today, in the Spring Lotus Garden, that koi had taken the bait…

(Chapter End)