A Perilous First Encounter in the Martial World

They say the dream of Rotten Axe is but an instant and a thousand years pass in a blink, yet I too can let my soul wander for thousands of miles, embracing the stars and the seas within my arms, gazing upon plateaus and deserts within my sight. Life is long and filled with countless hardships—better to roam freely between heaven and earth.

The moon was bright and the stars abundant; deep within the woods, the moonlight spilled like fireflies, casting a silvery glow upon the forest path. Two trails of moonlight moved gently: a young man with a blade rode on the left, while a youth in blue slumbered upon his white horse, relaxed and at ease. The white horse walked slowly, careful not to disturb his rest.

The youth in blue stirred, opening sleepy eyes to behold the splendid river of stars in the night, just as it appeared in his childhood—though now, the world pursued fleeting gains, neglecting what mattered, and so the night sky rarely revealed its full glory.

Zhang Ling sat upright on his horse. Song Linjie spoke, “We’ve passed three inns already, why don’t we stop? We’ve been riding five nights straight.”

Zhang Ling smiled lightly, took two flatbreads from the bag hanging at his saddle, bit into one, and handed the other to Song Linjie.

Song Linjie took it and tore off a chunk. Zhang Ling chewed and laughed, “Song Linjie, you lost before. By my rules, the defeated must call the victor ‘big brother.’ Come, let’s hear it.”

Song Linjie burst into laughter as if he’d heard a joke. “That doesn’t count. The place was too cramped, and besides, your punch was powerful, but it barely hurt me.”

Zhang Ling wasn’t offended, smiling as he replied, “Let’s make a pact. When I reach your level, we’ll have another bout. How about it?”

Song Linjie nodded, shouting, “Deal! But hurry up—I advance quickly. A gentleman’s word!”

He waited for Zhang Ling’s response, but none came. Song Linjie looked over; Zhang Ling grinned, “I am no gentleman. Promises mean little.”

Song Linjie felt helpless; he’d made the pact but dared not promise. Zhang Ling suddenly asked, “Tell me, why is it that, though there’s only one level difference between us and Yu Guan Qun, you two can spar evenly, but I am thoroughly suppressed by you?”

Song Linjie thought for a moment. “It’s likely because I’ve trained in my family’s unique body-forging arts. Disciples of major sects usually practice some secret method to temper their bodies. Even the best swordsmanship needs a solid foundation.”

Back at Hundred Flowers Manor, Yang Xiao had withstood Lin Rui’s full-force strike by relying on his sturdy physique and true energy, suffering only minor wounds thanks to the benefits of the Vajra Body. Thus, when one’s body is strong enough, fists and feet alone can stand firm as a mountain, even without inner force. Song Linjie’s words only deepened Zhang Ling’s respect for physical cultivation.

Zhang Ling was still pondering the indirect connections among these matters when Song Linjie suddenly urged his horse forward. Zhang Ling followed, and soon several bright flames appeared ahead.

About thirty people sat around three campfires, most dressed in coarse clothing. Only three, seated at the leftmost fire, wore finer garments. Beside a middle-aged man sat a young man and a girl; the young man was honest, slightly refined, while the girl was quite lovely—almond face and peach cheeks. All thirty wore swords or knives, their expressions grave, none chatting leisurely.

As the two approached, everyone rose in alert. The leading middle-aged man drew his blade and angrily pointed it at Song Linjie until he recognized their faces. He barked, “Who are you?”

Song Linjie immediately announced his family name, unembellished. When they learned he was the eldest son of the Song family of Liufeng City, the group sat back down, some offering ingratiating smiles. Zhang Ling explained their purpose and the middle-aged man exhaled heavily. The other five who’d sat near the three leaders joined the rest, crowding together and leaving two warm stones for Zhang Ling and Song Linjie.

The young man offered a courteous gesture; Song Linjie returned it, while Zhang Ling ignored such formalities, scanning the group before settling his gaze on the middle-aged man. The leader introduced himself, “I am Liao Yingdong, master of the Azure Falcon Gang. These are my son and daughter, Liao Wenqi and Liao Wenya. The rest are members of my gang.”

The gang members, hearing their leader’s introduction, saluted the pair, but Zhang Ling saw it as respect for the Song heir alone. Song Linjie, caught up in enthusiasm, was about to make a grand promise, “If you’re headed to Liufeng City, just—”

Before he could finish, Zhang Ling nudged him, quickly bowed, “I am Zhang Ling. Master Liao, it is an honor.”

Liao Yingdong asked softly, “May I ask, young master Zhang, which distinguished family are you from?”

Zhang Ling smiled, “I wouldn’t dare claim such. My family is merely in trade.”

The gang members turned away disdainfully; the girl’s brows revealed a hint of contempt. Zhang Ling smiled calmly, tossing a twig into the dying fire. Silence fell. The others wished to curry favor with the Song heir, but with Zhang Ling in their midst, conversation stalled.

Seeing the quiet, Zhang Ling broke the ice, asking, “Master Liao, may I ask the purpose of your journey?”

The girl didn’t turn, but muttered, “None of your business!”

Before Liao Yingdong could smooth things over, his son apologized, “My sister is young and ignorant. Please don’t take offense, young master Zhang.”

Zhang Ling shook his head, smiling, “No harm done.”

The rest naturally followed, answering Zhang Ling’s earlier question. Liao Yingdong said, “We’re headed to Liufeng City for a business deal, nothing more. Of course, we wouldn’t trouble the Song family. Our meeting tonight is fate—why not share a drink?”

The other gang members remained still. Only Liao Yingdong produced four wineskins, handing one to Liao Wenqi, another to Song Linjie. Song Linjie drank deeply at once. Liao Yingdong offered one to Zhang Ling, who declined, “I truly cannot drink. Please forgive me, Master Liao.”

Liao Yingdong laughed heartily, “No matter! But someone like you, traveling the world without drinking, is rare. Let me say—on the road, wine is indispensable. If you meet those who love drink and refuse to join them, they won’t even speak to you. I won’t force it now, but next time, you should practice your tolerance.”

Zhang Ling nodded, smiling, “Certainly.”

The three drank heartily. Zhang Ling glanced at the others—still silent, none joining in.

After a while, Zhang Ling happened to look toward the dark woods, where shadows flickered—figures in black moving stealthily, drawing closer to the camp. Their numbers grew, but when they reached a certain distance, they halted.

Zhang Ling sensed dozens of eyes watching, like lions waiting for prey to relax before delivering a fatal bite. Yet here they found their “prey” ever vigilant, unwilling to give the hunters an opening. In truth, the hunters had no need to exert themselves for such a kill.

Zhang Ling’s brows furrowed. He turned to Liao Yingdong, “Master Liao, what’s happening here?”

Liao Yingdong stood; the others followed, tense and upright. His face was as grave as the night, eyes fixed on the shadows. Zhang Ling and Song Linjie rose as well. Song Linjie, sensing danger, gripped his Forged Sky Blade.

The Azure Falcon Gang formed a defensive circle, standing back to back, ready for battle!