Seeking benefit and avoiding harm

After many bouts with the guest experts from the great clans, Song Linjie continually absorbed the strengths of others to overcome his own weaknesses, refining his technique again and again until he finally grasped the first essential secret of the profound blade art.

The Forging Heaven Blade suddenly accelerated, descending like a thunderbolt. Wu Zhixin, previously at ease, felt a surge of urgency in his qi. He exerted himself, slipping away from the table and leaping backwards, barely avoiding a blow that would have left him gravely wounded.

The fierce slash struck the square table, shattering it into pieces with a thunderous crack. The handsome young man standing to the side instinctively retreated several steps, while Wu Zhi, who had leapt away, landed atop another table. He patted his chest, his heart still racing from the sudden danger. Song Linjie’s momentary insight had truly surprised him, but fortunately, his own agility was superior.

Song Linjie straightened his collar, his gaze rising to meet Wu Zhi’s. His expression was dazed, clearly not expecting his opponent to evade yet again. He asked, “What sort of agility technique is that? How can it be so extraordinarily swift?”

Wu Zhi did not answer, merely beckoning him with a finger. Song Linjie, infuriated, leapt high and slashed down once more.

Seated calmly by the railing, Zhang Ling glanced at the woman in red. She paid him no heed, intent on tying a knot in her crimson sash. The woman remarked, “That is the exclusive agility technique of our Bright Hall—Soaring Shadow. Its hallmarks are speed and stealth. With that boy’s current skill, it’s impossible for him to catch up. But you might give it a try.”

Song Linjie’s blade now moved much faster than before, but for Wu Zhi, whose agility was remarkable, it was like fishing in murky waters—no matter how quickly the blade struck, Wu Zhi, a slippery fish, could always dodge with ease. As both men landed atop tables and exchanged blows, Song Linjie’s slash missed, and with a swift return, he executed a Swallow’s Reversal. The Forging Heaven Blade hugged his arm, seamlessly recoiling before stabbing toward Wu Zhi. Wu Zhi spread his arms with a flourish, his body arching backward, legs glued to the table so he was nearly parallel to its surface. Seeing two attacks fail, Song Linjie instinctively swung the scabbard in his left hand from his waist. Wu Zhi, one foot planted on the tabletop, suddenly sprang up, kicking at Song Linjie’s abdomen. Both men left the table at the same moment; the wooden table shook violently before settling, and after stepping back several paces, they forced themselves to stand still through sheer internal strength.

Song Linjie, unwilling to yield, was about to charge forward when a hand blocked his path. Zhang Ling moved Song Linjie aside, and before Song Linjie could react, Zhang Ling had already closed the gap. With a floating palm, he advanced toward Wu Zhi. Wu Zhi raised his hand to counter, but when his palm struck only air, he realized Zhang Ling had already thrown a punch from the right. Wu Zhi, regaining his composure, blocked with a lowered hand. A surge of raging inner force climbed from his palm to envelop his body, then dispersed within, sending him flying backward. He struggled to stabilize himself, only coming to a halt when his hand caught the edge of a table.

Witnessing this sudden, decisive punch that left the masked man battered, the onlookers were shocked. Ever since Song Linjie began his assault, the scions of noble families had withdrawn to either side, leaving ample space for the duel—not only to avoid accidental injury, but also to preserve their dignity. No one wished to join the fray simultaneously; victory would not taste honorable that way.

Before Wu Zhi could regain his balance, Zhang Ling paused for a moment, then shot forward. He retrieved his short sword, spinning it in midair. After his punch missed, he seized the falling scabbard, slicing at Wu Zhi’s head. Wu Zhi, bracing himself on the table, tried to leap upward, but Zhang Ling caught his ankle and flung him backward. Before landing, Wu Zhi tapped lightly on a wooden chair, coming to a stable halt, only to see Zhang Ling, who had been ten steps away, instantly close in. With a flying kick, Zhang Ling sent him sprawling to the ground.

Wu Zhi, landing hard, pressed his palms to the floor, but before he could muster his strength, a scabbard was already pressed against his neck.

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Wu Zhi, defeated, turned his palms upward and called out, “I concede.”

Seeing the masked man lose, some cheered loudly, glad to have finally caught this rogue. Others, frustrated, had hoped to display their own skills, but someone else had stolen the spotlight, leaving them ill at ease.

Zhang Ling glanced at Mingyue, who sat calmly at the side, giving her a meaningful look. Around them, some were already impatient to unveil the thief’s face, but Zhang Ling withdrew the scabbard. Freed from restraint, Wu Zhi sprang up from the ground, leaping across the shoulders of several men to reach the loft.

He looked at Zhang Ling, smiling, “Thank you, Brother Zhang. Let’s compete in agility another day.”

Wu Zhi turned and entered the room behind him, slipping out through the window. Seeing Zhang Ling let him go, a young man in a white robe stepped forward and demanded, “Brother, what’s the meaning of this? That thief has repeatedly broken into Mingyue Pavilion to steal—not that the losses are significant, but his actions tarnish the reputation of the Pavilion’s ladies. He hardly deserves sympathy.”

Zhang Ling feigned ignorance, grinning, “Oh! So he’s a flower thief. I truly had no idea. You’re right, brother. I’ll go bring him back at once.”

Zhang Ling pushed through the crowd, using his agility technique to leap out of Mingyue Pavilion in a few swift steps. The young men watched his retreating figure; some knew he was pretending, but before they could speak, he was gone. Others, slower to catch on, still admired his righteous spirit.

In time, the excitement faded. Aside from a few who lingered for the Pavilion’s ladies, the rest departed, brushing dust from their sleeves. Mingyue stood and said, “Today’s matter is settled. Please take your leave.”

No one dared linger after Mingyue spoke. Even if their elders arrived, they would have to leave quietly; these nameless, titleless youths could only swallow their frustration.

As the crowd dispersed, the previously silent Ren Pingsheng and Song Linjie also walked out. Mingyue called after them, “The fight’s over—let’s discuss the damages.”

Ren Pingsheng replied calmly, “I take responsibility for my own actions. I never laid a hand from start to finish, and as a humble scholar, I have no silver to compensate.”

He continued on, and Mingyue made no effort to stop him. Her alluring gaze shifted to Song Linjie, who scratched his head and said with an awkward smile, “I didn’t bring any money, but earlier I helped Zhang Ling win ten thousand taels from the Ye family. Name your price, Miss Mingyue. I’ll deliver it afterward.”

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Mingyue walked beside him, gazing toward the doorway. “I’ll go with you to collect it.”

Song Linjie was momentarily at a loss but nodded. Mingyue spoke with the Pavilion’s ladies, instructing them to find someone for repairs, then accompanied Song Linjie onto the long street.

Ren Pingsheng thought Zhang Ling had gone off on his own and planned to return to his humble abode. Halfway there, he noticed Zhang Ling seated by a carriage, just outside Zhou’s Pastry Shop. Zhang Ling held a bag of mung bean cakes, eating two before seeing the scholar approach. He handed over the rest, gesturing behind him with a smile, “Get in.”

The scholar took one, biting into it. The whole cake was a bit dry, but he didn’t mind. Once he boarded the carriage, Zhang Ling asked, “Shall I take you home, or to Sunset Cave?”

The scholar swallowed the cake and replied, “To the Yu Residence.”

Zhang Ling flicked the reins, steering toward the Yu Residence. Along the way, Zhang Ling asked, “What are you doing there?”

Inside the carriage, the scholar lifted the curtain and explained, “The civil exam isn’t like your martial exam; we scholars need recommendations to take the imperial examination. Apart from knowing Lü Qingci, I have no other connections. Aren’t you at the Yu Residence? Help me speak to Yu Chang.”

Zhang Ling asked, “Why not ask Lü Qingci? He’s not an official, but surely he knows people at court and could recommend you.”

The scholar took another small bite of the cake, finding it more pleasant this time, though he still thumped his chest, prompting Zhang Ling’s concern, “Should we stop and buy some sour plum soup?”

The scholar shook his head, “No need. Lü Qingci is clever—don’t be fooled by his constant aid to poor scholars. If one fails the exams, he’ll be cast out from Sunset Cave. Asking him for help would complicate matters later. Yu the Commandant is upright. Even if I become an official, a man like him, though he may help others, will never demand undue favors.”

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