Startled Pursuit

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Within the imperial palace, a vast army had assembled. Every soldier wore gleaming silver armor, and the formation was immense. Emperor Chen Liuren was no longer dressed in his usual resplendent yellow robes. Instead, he wore golden armor, with only a short sword at his waist. The contrast made his normally dragon-and-tiger vigor seem strangely incongruous. Had Zhang Ling been there, he would certainly have recognized the sword as the one that had once belonged to him.

Standing atop the pavilion, Chen Liuren looked down over the army below. Yan Han, commander of the Imperial Guards, ordered the Left and Right Assistant Commanders to inspect the troops. The two generals then proceeded in orderly fashion, assigning captains and squad leaders to direct each formation. In scarcely any time at all, the entire army had been counted and arranged.

The commander of the Imperial Guards, Yan Han, looked toward the emperor on the pavilion and called out in a loud voice, “Your Majesty, the seven thousand soldiers of the Imperial Guards are assembled.”

Chen Liuren raised his sword. “March.”

The palace army began moving toward the outer gates as soon as the word was given.

At the same time, the troops stationed outside the palace were changing shifts for various reasons. In particular, the commanders of the forces loyal to Chancellor Xiao Qinhe had been cut off from all news. They assumed only that they had been summoned in a moment of crisis. The loss of one contingent, they thought, could not affect the chancellor’s greater strategy.

They did not realize that, over the course of a month, they had been almost completely reassigned to different provinces, separated from one another and occupied with their own duties—as though the events of the past and the present had never involved them at all.

At the Chancellor’s residence, the birthday banquet was in full swing.

Music, dancing, and wine filled the hall. Guests laughed and chatted, entirely unaware of the storm about to break. The uproar inside was even louder than the pounding footsteps of the marching army outside. Before long, the silent tempest on one side would collide with the blazing turmoil on the other.

The chancellor moved from table to table, toasting the guests, before finally returning to the seat of honor. Only then did he notice the vacant place. He called over the attendant who had been serving there and asked, “Who was originally seated in that place?”

The maid respectfully replied, “My lord, it was a young gentleman from the academy. His name was Zhang Ling.”

The chancellor naturally remembered the young man he had stopped at the entrance earlier. His eyes narrowed slightly.

“What has he gone to do? And how long has he been gone?”

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The maid replied, “He said he had drunk too much and went to the privy. It has already been half an hour.”

The chancellor gave an insincere murmur of acknowledgment, then rose. “Perhaps he could not find his way. I shall go and see.”

Ren Pingsheng, who had been chatting merrily with the others nearby, turned his eyes toward the chancellor. Seeing him leave the main hall, he hurried after him and called, “My lord, where are you going?”

When the chancellor saw this promising young man, he felt both pleased and troubled. He was pleased because he might have another opportunity to guide him, and perhaps learn something unusual from him in return. Yet he was troubled because Ren Pingsheng, like Zhang Ling, came from the Way-Realization Academy. If he had stopped the chancellor now, perhaps he harbored some hidden motive.

Before arriving that day, Zhang Ling had instructed Ren Pingsheng to do everything he could to delay the chancellor. He had never explained what was going on, and Ren Pingsheng had not asked. He had simply taken it as a chance to repay an old debt of gratitude and agreed to help.

With a kindly smile, the chancellor said, “It is nothing. Zhang Ling, who came with you, has been gone to relieve himself for quite some time. I thought I would see whether something had happened. If he has encountered trouble in my residence, then I, as his host, have failed in my duty.”

Ren Pingsheng did not stop him outright and arouse suspicion. Instead, he walked beside him, speaking as they went and deliberately slowing their pace.

“Since we are fellow disciples, let me accompany you. It will also give me a chance to seek your advice on matters of state.”

Meanwhile, near the main residence of the chancellor’s estate, Zhang Ling had refrained from using his Falling Silver Needles, lest the chancellor trace the attack back to his elder brother. But all three needles had missed their mark, and he had no choice but to flee.

Rather than use his original movement art, Shadowstep, he employed Soaring Without Trace, which he had traded for from Wu Zhi. Its advantages were less conspicuous than those of Shadowstep. To the debauched man pursuing him, Zhang Ling’s astonishing speed looked merely like the result of extraordinary practice in escaping.

At his fastest pace, Zhang Ling vaulted over several buildings and vanished beneath the eyes of that First-Rank Grandmaster. He then relied on the second quality of Soaring Without Trace—concealing his presence and suppressing his turbulent internal energy as much as possible—while advancing slowly and evading the man’s line of sight.

The debauched man had pursued him only a few steps when he suddenly realized that Zhang Ling’s presence had disappeared completely. Surprise crossed his face, followed by an amused smile.

“How interesting. A petty thief with such abilities.”

With a cold laugh, the man drew the sword at his waist. Guiding it with his mind, he sent it screaming from its sheath. The instant it emerged, it gave off a deep, thunderous hum.

The flying sword tore recklessly through the surrounding buildings. Whenever it struck roof tiles and rubble, it exploded with a roar like a thunderclap beneath a clear sky. Within the houses, the sound rolled like muffled thunder, while arcs of light flashed back and forth among the nearby structures. Several buildings were reduced to ruins in a matter of moments.

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Zhang Ling was fortunate enough to evade the flying sword’s astonishing and utterly unreasonable method of searching. His left hand clenched tightly around Rushing Tide, and he thought grimly that with such destructive power, this opponent was surely no ordinary First-Rank Grandmaster. He probably possessed strength in the Dao-Consolidation Realm.

The term “Dao-Consolidation” began with the word “consolidation.” One branded one’s natal object with the Six Qi closest to Heaven and Earth. For those who used ordinary weapons as their natal objects, reaching this realm meant that guiding the object with the mind came as naturally as breathing, without the need for instruction.

Zhang Ling did everything he could to remain hidden, but he could not withstand such a relentless bombardment. The buildings around him were almost completely destroyed. When there was finally nowhere left to hide, Zhang Ling gathered his energy and shot out like an arrow released from a bow. At that moment, neither his presence nor his figure could remain concealed.

The debauched man’s gaze shifted.

“There you are.”

After only a few steps, Zhang Ling plunged into the crowd. But once his presence had been exposed, he could no longer escape his pursuer. The debauched man sent his flying sword directly into the mass of guests.

The crowd scattered in terror, wondering how attending a banquet had somehow brought them into such a disaster.

When Zhang Ling saw the flying sword less than five feet away, he hurriedly raised his blade to block it. But how could a flying sword controlled by the mind of a Grandmaster be so easily resisted?

The moment they collided, Zhang Ling was sent flying, a great mouthful of blood spraying from his lips. Yet with death hanging by a thread, he had no time to care about such a wound. He sprang to his feet and twisted aside, narrowly avoiding another strike. Given half a breath to recover, he immediately ran toward the densest part of the crowd.

Surely the Grandmaster would not dare slaughter these eminent nobles at random. Otherwise, how would he answer to the chancellor—and how would the chancellor answer to the emperor?

Yet Zhang Ling’s conduct infuriated the guests.

How could this man be so shameless? Someone was trying to kill him, and he still insisted on dragging everyone else into the mess.

Once Zhang Ling had hidden himself among the crowd, he was clearly in a safer position. He had no attention to spare for the guests’ resentment. Staying alive mattered more than anything else.

Because the crowd was surging in every direction, the debauched man’s flying sword was hindered from all sides. It could not move too quickly and had to weave around the people, while Zhang Ling’s agile movements made it impossible for the sword to accomplish much.

The debauched man shouted, “Come out on your own now, and you may suffer a little less later. Otherwise, once I catch you, I will tear out your tendons and strip the flesh from your bones.”

Zhang Ling’s eyes darted rapidly across the hall. He was trying to determine whether Dean Song truly was somewhere nearby. If so, he could act without restraint.

But after searching again and again, he still saw no sign of him.

This angered Zhang Ling even more than it did the guests. The man was a Grandmaster of his generation, after all. How could he be so utterly lacking in honor?