Chapter Thirty: Life and Death Revealed in an Inch of Space

How could there be someone in Peshawar capable of resonating with my sword intent?

This thought flashed through the mind of the elderly man in crimson robes.

A moment later, he realized who had arrived and stood up with solemn respect.

The bustling noise of the Green Bamboo Inn began to shift, and then, those voices faded further and further away. It was not just the inn; even the nearby granaries fell into absolute silence. It seemed as if even the soldiers guarding them had been cleared away.

Pei Yunchu, Gu Liubai, and Yin Shiniang walked into the Green Bamboo Inn.

The old man in crimson had already opened the door, waiting with a grave expression. The sword case behind him began to glow incessantly, and above the wooden frame, sword energy surged a foot high, manifesting as if it were tangible.

The instant he saw Yin Shiniang, his face remained as calm as an ancient well, but a tempest raged within his heart. A duel with the master of the Frost Sword was inevitable, but by all logic, it should not have been tonight.

Pei Yunchu possessed an innate aura that made her the protagonist wherever she stood. Looking at the old man, she spoke first, her tone haughty: "I am Pei Yunchu."

The old man was startled, then involuntarily replied, "Feng Shuqing."

Seeing that Feng Shuqing was reasonably compliant, Pei Yunchu waved her hand and said, "Regarding tonight, if the Xie clan asks, tell them it was I who felt a sudden urge for a challenge and came specifically to see what tricks you had up your sleeve."

Feng Shuqing looked at Yin Shiniang in bewilderment. He knew she was the master of the Frost Sword, but he could not understand why she would arrive with the Second Lady of the Pei family, nor did he understand the intent behind her words. He was skilled with a sword, but not with schemes.

"Feng Shuqing, disciple of Wei Chaoyuan of Chenjun, training at the Listening Waves Sword Academy," Yin Shiniang said, watching him calmly. "How many years have you practiced the sword?"

When the topic turned to swords, Feng Shuqing’s mind sharpened. He took a deep breath and said, "Forty-one years."

Yin Shiniang looked at the sword case behind him, nodded, and said, "I will grant you the chance for a true duel first. Regardless of victory or defeat, it will be worthy of your forty-one years of practice."

At these words, the look in Feng Shuqing’s eyes changed entirely. He bowed deeply to Yin Shiniang and said, "My thanks!"

Yin Shiniang returned the bow and said, "Please."

As she spoke, the world seemed to freeze. An extraordinarily sharp aura radiated from her, pointing straight toward the sky.

"I..." Pei Yunchu nearly cried out. Her heart was pounding violently. A thought kept surfacing in her mind: a true master is a true master; people like Li Xizhi and their lot, despite all their years of training, could not compare to a single toe of someone like her. Even before the two had officially drawn their swords, she felt entirely numb.

With a soft *snap*, the sword case standing beside Feng Shuqing split open.

A sword that had been honed for many years, yet had never been able to truly find its spirit and soar, finally broke free from its casing!

The sword light was pale yellow, not fierce, yet in Pei Yunchu's eyes, it was as if a painting had suddenly appeared: a branch of winter plum blossoms covered in snow, yet the buds beneath the frost blossomed violently in a single breath; before the petals could fully open and the snow could fall, the faint fragrance had already overwhelmed the senses.

There was no terrifying surge of true energy from Feng Shuqing, yet Pei Yunchu felt a stinging sensation across her skin. The air seemed to be filled with countless invisible miniature blades.

Feng Shuqing’s chest swelled with surging sword intent; he felt an indescribable sense of liberation. Fairness! From the very first day he began to truly practice the sword, he, like most swordsmen, dreamed of swift justice and striking down the unjust.

However, the longer he practiced and the more he saw, the more he realized that there was little fairness in this world. Even in Chenjun, he had seen many talented and rebellious swordsmen wither away in frustration. It was only by relying on the power of the Xie clan that he had been able to rise above his peers in the way of the sword. After forty-one years, how many times had he truly experienced swift justice? In the end, facing the master of the Frost Sword, he had been mired in conspiracy, never knowing the meaning of fairness.

But tonight, the master of the Frost Sword had given him the chance for a fair fight.

How refreshing!

The sword light swept up, and every wisp of sword energy seemed to feel its master’s heart, singing in chorus. Pei Yunchu was completely captivated by the light. The world around her seemed to vanish, and she felt as if her hair was standing on end.

Yin Shiniang’s eyes narrowed slightly. Against the foremost swordsman of Chenjun, her "Void Sword" was meaningless. Thus, she went straight for the Frost Sword.

She moved toward Feng Shuqing, her eyes seemingly ignoring the sword light flying from the case, as if she cared nothing for the jubilant blade in his hand. She extended her left hand—it appeared empty—but in an instant, a faint, frost-colored light erupted!

The chill pierced straight for his throat.

Feng Shuqing’s heart seemed to have stopped. He had never seen a sword so fast. The physical blade seemed to have left its own light behind. But he had struck first, and the sword intent and air currents he had cultivated over forty-one years reminded him that his opponent’s blade was short; his own should reach her flesh first. There was no need to change, and given the opponent’s choice, there was no time to change anyway.

Pei Yunchu tried to keep her eyes wide open. She felt fear. Her heart beat violently, involuntarily. Yet she could see nothing clearly, only two figures and two streaks of light seemingly crossing paths.

*Snap.*

The split sword case shattered completely, turning into mere threads.

Yin Shiniang stood to the left of Feng Shuqing. Her hands hung at her sides, empty. Feng Shuqing’s sword dropped, its tip striking the ground with a crisp *ding*.

"Is it over?"

Pei Yunchu could not discern the outcome. She only slowly noticed a red mark on Feng Shuqing’s throat—not a wound, but like a mark left by someone pressing hard against his skin. Only then did she realize her back was drenched in cold sweat, as if worms were crawling down her spine.

Then she noticed Gu Liubai standing two steps in front of her.

"Why did you move in front of me?" she asked subconsciously.

"I was so mesmerized that I took a few steps forward without realizing," Gu Liubai said with an embarrassed smile. "I just felt I could see more clearly if I were closer."

Pei Yunchu felt a sudden pang of guilt. She realized Gu Liubai was lying. It wasn't that he had stepped forward, but that she had stepped back. This scoundrel had the audacity to lie! But the sword intent had been so piercing that she had retreated instinctively, and he hadn't moved an inch?

Feng Shuqing’s face was devoid of joy or sorrow. The foundation of swordsmanship was nothing more than the harmony of intent, internal strength, flesh, bone, and the blade. In that last strike, although the opponent had deceived his perception and used the movement of her body to reach the target faster, the principle was simple. Yet, to execute it with such fluidity and to maintain such absolute stability of mind in the face of his own blade was a realm beyond the reach of ordinary men. Even if they fought again, the result would not change. In a real battle to the death, he was destined to die.

Though he had lost, he had obtained what he wanted: he had seen the gap between himself and the master of the Frost Sword.

"My thanks!" He expressed his sincere gratitude to Yin Shiniang once more.

"Empty fame is not what I desire, and I do not enjoy performing for those nobles," Yin Shiniang said calmly. "If you are ordered by the Xie clan to duel me next, I would like to ask you for a favor."

Feng Shuqing nodded. After forty-one years of practice, he had finally reached a state of fulfillment, his heart’s desire satisfied. He suspected that Yin Shiniang understood this sentiment well. Had she not come tonight, even if he had won through the Xie clan's schemes, he would have spent the rest of his life in humiliation and unease.

"You were originally going to put on a show for the Xie clan and bear an empty name, but now you must act for me," Yin Shiniang said. "I want people to believe that I died in this city during our duel."

Feng Shuqing agreed earnestly: "Very well."

"So that's how it is!" Whether it was the cold sweat or not, Pei Yunchu still felt chilled to the bone, as if submerged in icy water. The female corpse Xu Tuibei had found was indeed intended to create the illusion of her death in this city. According to Yin Shiniang's plan, it would likely involve faking a mortal blow during the duel and then using some method to deceive the onlookers and leave the body behind.

Pei Yunchu straightened up, wanting to take a few steps forward, but found her muscles too tense. She had expected a battle of this level to last for a while, but it had been decided in the blink of an eye—so fast she couldn't even see it. Yet the pressure of that sword intent was like the potent grape wine brought to Chang'an from the Western Regions; the aftereffect was overwhelming.

"Scoundrel... oh, Gu Fifteen, is there anything else you need my help with?" As the Second Lady of the Pei family, she couldn't let anyone see how terrified she was, so she asked Gu Liubai as if nothing were wrong.

Gu Liubai replied, "None for now."

Pei Yunchu was immediately displeased. The matter was stimulating, but the time was too short—it wasn't satisfying enough!

"Do you really not need me to help you secure travel passes?" she asked, her face stern.

Gu Liubai smiled slightly and said, "I wouldn't dare trouble the Second Lady Pei."

"Ungrateful!"

Pei Yunchu nearly erupted on the spot, but Yin Shiniang walked slowly toward her, and she was intimidated by her presence. Yin Shiniang was already tall, but after the duel, she seemed even more imposing in Pei Yunchu's eyes.

"A group of useless things! Practicing the same sword, how can the difference be so vast!" She thought of Peng Qingshan and Li Xizhi’s group and felt ashamed. "This scoundrel is interesting, but so insufferably tactless!"

As she turned away with a sullen face, a thought occurred to her, and she sneered, "Gu Fifteen, you're terrified that the Xie clan will trouble you, especially since her identity as a great sword master will bring more disaster, so you want her to fake her death. But have you considered that, aside from the questionable origin of the corpse, there is an even more terrifying flaw in your scheme?"

"I hadn't thought about the origin of the corpse," Gu Liubai said, his brows knitting. "Is there an even more serious problem?"

Pei Yunchu said indifferently, "Think about it. The road to Yangguan is sparsely populated. Her figure is quite striking; even if you can make people believe she died here, her height will surely attract attention. On her way out of Peshawar, it will be very easy for your efforts to fall short."

Gu Liubai gave a bitter smile. "The Second Lady is truly brilliant to spot this fatal oversight at a glance. But since it has already been arranged, I can only take it one step at a time."

"I will help you erase the trace of the corpse's origin. Aside from Xu Tuibei and the two or three people he entrusted, even the Xie clan won't discover that anyone ever transported a body in," Pei Yunchu said coolly. "Once you leave Peshawar, it will be up to your own luck."

Gu Liubai nodded. "I suppose it is up to luck. Fortunately, most people are not as clever as the Second Lady, so they might not make the connection."

Pei Yunchu nodded and left, satisfied. Yin Shiniang watched her retreating back with a touch of pity. With just a few words, she had been tricked by Gu Liubai into destroying the evidence.

"Li Xizhi, you bunch of useless trash!"

From the deep alleyway came the cold, sharp scolding of Pei Yunchu.

Li Xizhi and the others stood trembling like cicadas in winter. Wasn't that scoundrel Gu Fifteen? How did it suddenly become them?