Morning light filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the winding path as Ling Yingjue and Liu Shan'er walked side by side. The soft thud of their steps mingled with the rustle of leaves, a faint breeze carrying the scent of damp earth and distant streams. Liu Shan'er moved ahead, her pale green skirt swaying with each step, the short sword at her waist glinting faintly under the sun. Her hair, pinned with a jade clasp, caught the light, a strand fluttering free in the wind. She glanced at Ling Yingjue, her voice light, "Brother Ling, you're so quiet—what's on your mind?"
Ling Yingjue followed, his coarse shirt still streaked with mud, the Soul-Piercing Cone a steady weight at his waist. His face, sharp and youthful, held a trace of weariness, though his eyes—clear as starlight—remained alert. "Just thinking about the road," he replied, his tone even, masking the unease stirring within. The clash with Zhang Lie replayed in his mind—those fierce blades, that crushing force. His Tidal Force had barely held, his cone's tricks giving him an edge, but against true skill, he felt the gap.
Liu Shan'er tilted her head, a playful glint in her eyes, "The road? Or those brutes from yesterday? You scared them off pretty good." She grinned, then softened, "Thanks again, Brother Ling. I'd have been in real trouble without you." Ling Yingjue nodded, a faint warmth easing his tension, "No need to thank me. You held your own back there." She puffed out her chest, "Of course! Father taught me a few tricks—not that they'd scare off Zhang Lie."
He raised a brow, "Zhang Lie?" Liu Shan'er frowned, "That big guy with the heavy knife—Blood Blade League's second-in-command. Father says he's trouble, always sniffing around for rare stuff." Ling Yingjue's hand brushed the jade pendant in his pocket, a flicker of suspicion rising—could it be tied to her father's "strange jade"? Before he could ask, a rustle broke the quiet, sharp and deliberate, like footsteps in the underbrush.
He stopped, hand on the cone, voice low, "Shan'er, step back." Liu Shan'er's eyes widened, her sword half-drawn as she edged closer to him, whispering, "Blood Blade again?" Ling Yingjue strained his ears—the wind carried a faint shuffle, too rhythmic for beasts. "Someone's watching," he murmured, peering through the trees. Shadows danced in the foliage, but no figures emerged—yet the air thickened with menace.
Beyond the trees, Zhang Lie sat astride his horse, his thick-backed blade resting across his lap, its dark red edge catching the morning sun. His broad frame strained his dark blue robe, a black cloak billowing behind, marked with a blood-red wolf's head. Five knife-wielding lackeys flanked him, their eyes gleaming with malice, blades etched with fishbone patterns—a crude signature of the Blood Blade League. Zhang Lie's gaze pierced the woods, voice a low growl, "That kid's tougher than he looks—Lis Village won't shield him long."
A lean scout, eyes sharp, muttered, "Boss, that shadow last night—who was it? Even you held back." Zhang Lie snorted, "No idea, but fast as hell—might be trouble. Keep an eye on Liu Village; the jade's with that brat." Hooves clattered as another rider approached, dismounting swiftly. "Boss, Liu Changfeng was spotted at Jiaxing docks last night—digging into something," the scout reported. Zhang Lie's eyes narrowed, "Liu Changfeng—he's quick. Third's watching Jiaxing?" The scout nodded, "Not yet word, but the docks buzzed about a swift shadow—same as yesterday."
Zhang Lie gripped his blade tighter, "Tell Third to lock down Jiaxing—Liu can't get ahead. Tonight, we hit Liu Village; Changfeng's gone, it's ours for the taking." His lips curled into a sneer, "That shadow shows up again, I'll test its steel." The scout galloped off, the wind swallowing the sound as Zhang Lie's men faded into the trees, their intent a dark stain on the morning.
In Liu Village's main hall, Liu Changfeng stood tall, his blue robe crisp despite the night's haste, the Liu Wind Sword at his waist a quiet threat. The hall was broad, a water-ink painting of rivers and willows adorning the wall, a purple sandalwood table bearing a steaming teapot, its fragrance mingling with the air. Two men flanked him—one wielding a spear, the other twin blades—both weathered and alert. Liu Changfeng's voice was steady, "Old man, what else did that shadow say?" The grizzled fisherman at the Jiaxing teahouse puffed his pipe, smoke curling upward, "Asked about the Swallow Jade—mentioned Blood Blade League moving fast."
Liu Changfeng's brow furrowed, "Swallow Jade… Blood Blade's on it too." He turned to the spearman, "If they hit the village, we're too late." The man nodded, "Boss, we need to ride hard." Liu Changfeng agreed, "One last question, then we go." He stepped closer, "Anything else?" The fisherman rasped, "Said Blood Blade won't stop—watch your back." Liu Changfeng murmured thanks, leading his men to the stables, their horses snorting as they mounted, hooves thundering into the mist.
By the fish pond behind Liu Village, Liu Shan'er knelt, her basket dipping into the clear water, a carp splashing as she caught it. "Brother Ling, look—this one's got red stripes!" Her voice danced with delight, her green skirt damp at the hem. Ling Yingjue stood nearby, watching the fish gleam under the sun, a faint smile tugging at his lips, "Pretty lively." The pond mirrored the sky, willows drooping into the water, their branches swaying like silk threads, the air thick with the scent of wet grass and river mud.
She stood, clapping water from her hands, "You were amazing yesterday—scared off Zhang Lie like that!" Ling Yingjue's smile faded, "Luck and a strange weapon. If he comes again, I'm not sure I'd hold." His eyes drifted to the woods, wind sharpening, unease creeping in. Liu Shan'er tilted her head, "Father's here—they wouldn't dare. He's checking that jade business; we'll be fine soon." She paused, "He left last night for Jiaxing—says the docks know everything."
Ling Yingjue's hand brushed the pendant, suspicion flickering—Liu Changfeng's jade and his own, tied somehow? Before he could ask, the wind surged, a low rumble of hooves breaking through. He grabbed her arm, "Shan'er, back!" She tensed, sword half-out, whispering, "Them again?" Ling Yingjue's grip tightened on the cone, peering through the trees—shadows moved, too precise for chance, the air heavy with threat.