The Chancellor’s Birthday Banquet

Sword after sword, blade after blade, were unsheathed, one after another, leaving everyone in a state of growing shock. Even the rhythmic clanging of the smithy ground to a halt. Before these spirited blades are sharpened, they naturally exude a blade aura or sword intent. Like an octopus clinging tightly to its golden sheath, they only reveal themselves if they recognize a master or encounter someone with peerless skill in both arts. In the furnace room, aside from the low, muffled roar of the fire heating the molten iron, the only sound was the metallic ring of blades leaving their scabbards. While Zhang Ling maintained a serene smile, the other three men stood frozen in sheer astonishment.

Hong Siyan suddenly shouted, "Stop! That’s enough! Junior Brother, if you keep pulling them out, I’m afraid there will be nothing left in my shop but farming tools."

The two brothers finally snapped back to reality. Yi Yue, relieved that he hadn't finished his previous sentence, asked, "Could it be that you are actually a Sword Immortal? Did you just come to our academy to pass the time?"

His older brother, Yi Qian, smacked him hard on the head and scolded, "Have you ever seen a Sword Immortal as young as him? I suspect he is the legendary Master of Blades and Swords from the rumors, someone naturally connected to both types of weapons."

Yi Yue, still nursing his aching head, muttered, "Brother, the Demon Sword Immortal of the Northern Demon Sect became a Sword Immortal before he was thirty, didn't he? If you say he's the Master of Blades and Swords, what’s impossible about him also being a Sword Immortal?"

Yi Qian, seemingly enjoying the chance to bully his younger brother, gave him another flick to the forehead.

Zhang Ling chuckled, hanging the blades back one by one, save for a single saber he kept in his hand. "I am neither a Sword Immortal nor some Master of Blades and Swords. As for the real reason, I won't tell you. Senior Brother Hong, what is the name of this saber?"

Hong Siyan replied, "That one was finished just last month. It is called Tidal Surge."

Zhang Ling flicked the blade with his finger, feeling a refreshing, wave-like resonance. "Then I shall take this one and leave the rest with you. However, you must waive the fee for the armor and hidden weapons you’re forging for me, or else you’ll be the one at a loss if I take two more."

Hong Siyan nodded, but long after Zhang Ling had walked away, his mind finally caught up. He slapped his forehead. "Wait, no matter how I calculate it, I’m already at a loss!"

Zhang Ling headed toward Song Linjie’s courtyard with Tidal Surge in hand. He knew the man was there without even entering; on his first day, the young man had demolished his own courtyard while practicing, his wild sword qi causing the house to collapse four times. The other disciples of the academy dared not pass by, fearing they would fall victim to his stray blades.

The youth sat cross-legged in the courtyard, enjoying a rare moment of peace. Seeing someone approach, he opened his eyes and rose. Zhang Ling went straight to the point: "Teach me the Overbearing Blade Technique."

Song Linjie looked puzzled. "Don't you use a sword? Why the sudden change?"

Zhang Ling replied calmly, "Until one enters the Dao of the Sword, one cannot truly claim to use a sword. Besides, having many skills is never a burden. I am no grandmaster; there is no need for me to obsessively pursue only one path."

This was no impulsive decision, but the result of careful consideration. The sword technique he had been practicing, the Three Styles of the Gale, was profound. The first style, "Windless Stillness," was a fast-sword technique that moved with the wind, traveling far even when the air was stagnant. The second, "Sea-Quelling Ancient Cedar," was magnificent and vast, breaking the sky like a towering tree, shaking the four seas. Just imagining such a scene left Zhang Ling awestruck. It wasn't that he needed such godlike power to comprehend it, but he knew he could not master it in less than a month. As for the third style, "Lament of the Common People," the sheer scale was beyond imagination. He was certain this sword art was no less powerful than the Overbearing Blade Technique of Dean Song, and it was indeed worth pursuing. However, given his current situation, he wanted to test if he could grasp the first secret of the Overbearing Blade, "Swift Leaf"—a technique of seeking life through death, trading one's life for a sliver of progress. Even if he couldn't master it in time, having it as a trump card when facing an insurmountable foe was invaluable.

Song Linjie didn't press him further. After deep reflection with his grandfather, he finally understood why his own temperament had become so arrogant. Fortunately, he had learned to suppress it, preventing him from spouting nonsense every day. Though Song Linjie didn't care much for reputation, he wasn't entirely shameless.

With a descendant of the Blade King teaching him hand-in-hand, the blade techniques were far more convincing than the vague talk of a charlatan. Combined with Zhang Ling’s gift for perfect recall, he mastered the three essentials of the Overbearing Blade in no time, though polishing them into true comprehension would take time.

If one day was not enough, he would take two. If two were not enough, a month. If a month was not enough—well, there was no more time. Three days before the Prime Minister’s birthday banquet, invitations were already being delivered. It was not that the banquet was moved forward, but a matter of ancient etiquette: three days for the invitation, two for the reminder, and one for the follow-up. The academy held a special status, and even the Prime Minister held it in high regard.

Zhang Ling looked at the invitation delivered by Dean Song himself, feeling a mix of worry and joy. He worried about the inevitable difficulties ahead, yet found joy in the fact that he had this titan of martial arts by his side, so he wouldn't have to die a miserable death.

Song Qingtian asked, "Have you decided? You are still going?"

Zhang Ling smiled. "It’s not a death trap, and one cannot hide forever. If you hide for too long, you lose the courage to face yourself. Isn't that right, Dean?"

Song Qingtian slapped Zhang Ling on the back, causing his blood to surge. The older man retorted, "If you dare use metaphors on me again, see if I don't leave you to fend for yourself."

Zhang Ling hurriedly apologized. "Alright, I won't say another word."

...

At the Prime Minister's residence, the Prime Minister was busy all day, yet he always found time to practice his martial arts. He excelled in using a long halberd, a weapon passed down since his great-grandfather’s time. Having killed countless enemies and been nourished by blood for over a hundred years, it remained as sharp as ever. It was said that even the heavens would weep at the sight of this blood-stained weapon, hence its name: "Heaven's Weep." Unfortunately, in his hands, it had gathered dust. The Prime Minister did not feel aggrieved, however; he believed that having the Great General at the front was worth more than a hundred years of Heaven's Weep’s achievements. But now that the Great General was gone, Heaven's Weep would have to taste blood once more.

After practicing, drenched in sweat—a habit from his days on the battlefield—he rarely bathed. For over twenty years, this had not changed. Sometimes his servants found the smell pungent, but as the head of the house and the Chancellor of the State, no one dared to utter a word of complaint to his face. The Prime Minister wouldn't bathe immediately, either; he would head straight to his study to read. These past few days, with the birthday banquet preparations, he had finally snatched some leisure time away from his official duties.

As he read, the Prime Minister would occasionally glance at the calligraphy on the rice paper beside him. It was the poem "A Life's Ambition" written by Ren Pingsheng on the day of the Boat Poetry Gathering. The Prime Minister had been studying this poem for a month. He ignored the first couplet about the "afflictions of life," ignored the second about the chaotic times, and ignored the grand ambition of "treading upon the mountains and rivers" in the final couplet. He was obsessed only with the third couplet, whispering to himself from time to time: "Ren Pingsheng, I would like to see how you intend to shatter the Golden Gate, and by what right you claim to secure ten decades."

The Prime Minister spent three more days in this state. Only when the day of the banquet arrived did he finally prepare to bathe and dress, for as the Chancellor, he had to maintain the proper decorum in public.