Volume One: Flames at the Frontier Chapter Forty: Duel of Swords

Listening to Master Faxian’s account, Murong Shanshan was but fifteen years old; yet, the Xianbei matured early, and by her appearance, she seemed already grown, possessing a beauty of unsurpassed grace.

The instinct to cherish life and fear death is common to all. Though Murong Shanshan was clever, in the end, she could not escape fear; two streams of tears slipped down her cheeks, like raindrops upon pear blossoms—touching to behold.

Ran Yu nodded slightly and said in a deep voice, “Today's actions are forced upon us; I will not break my word.” With a wave of his hand, his henchmen stepped forward, intending to take Murong Shanshan away.

Ran Min, born of the Beg-for-Life Army, died in battle; his young son Ran Yu was saved by the old soldiers, raised to adulthood, and now claimed the mountain as his domain, plotting to restore his country and avenge his family.

Most of the people on this mountain were descendants of Ran Min’s old troops, sons of generals, different from common bandits in conduct.

He Yu felt compassion stir in his heart and thought, “Ran Yu, blinded by hatred, has spent half his life unable to exact revenge, and now seeks to kill a helpless maiden as a cover for his shame. How outrageous.”

“Bandits are easy to kill. If Murong Shanshan dies, I, a nobody with mysterious origins, will surely be killed as well. That would be a grievous injustice. If I want to survive, I must cause a commotion and persuade Ran Yu not to kill Murong Shanshan.”

“Ha, ha, ha, ha...”

He Yu’s eyes darted as he resolved to risk everything, suddenly bursting into loud laughter.

Everyone was astonished, turning to look at He Yu, bound tightly like a rice dumpling, unable to fathom why he laughed.

Seeing he’d caught their attention, He Yu laughed even harder, his face flushed, tears and snot flowing, waiting for Ran Yu’s curiosity to get the better of him. Then he would argue and muddle the issue—a trick he’d learned from Wei Xiaobao in The Deer and the Cauldron, now put to use.

Unexpectedly, before Ran Yu could speak, a man beside him rose and said, “Commander, this fellow’s background is unknown. He killed one of our brothers with a single sword stroke. He seems to have lost his mind from fear. Let me kill him now.” With a swift sound, he drew his blade and strode toward He Yu.

He Yu’s clever plan had backfired, leading him straight to the edge of death. He sighed inwardly, “Damn it, my hundred and forty pounds are about to be accounted for here.” He closed his eyes, ready for the end.

The villain gripped his knife, advancing step by step, the shuffling footsteps like a countdown to He Yu’s life. He Yu felt his soul flee, his scalp tingled, throat dry and nauseous, his body limp and powerless.

“Hold!” Ran Yu recovered and asked, “Captain Bai, you say this fellow killed one of our brothers with a single sword stroke. Is that true?”

Captain Bai halted, turned back and replied, “Commander, it’s absolutely true. His swordsmanship is formidable—he killed Hu San with a single thrust. We all saw it with our own eyes.”

“Yes, that’s right,” others nodded in agreement.

Ran Yu continued, “In that case, spare him for now. I want to see his swordsmanship.” Obsessed with avenging his family and addicted to martial arts, Ran Yu was eager to witness He Yu’s skills.

With Ran Yu’s command, no one dared disobey. Someone came and loosened He Yu’s bonds.

Having passed through the gates of hell and returned, He Yu felt as though he lived anew.

The danger hadn’t passed. As soon as he was freed, He Yu circulated his internal energy to revive his blood, ready in case his opponents attacked suddenly.

Everyone watched as He Yu stood up at once, exchanging glances, thinking, “This fellow is truly uncanny. He’s been bound for so long, yet appears unharmed.”

Freed, He Yu’s heart settled. He thought, “Now even if I cannot save Murong Shanshan, escape should be possible.”

Ran Yu saw He Yu, bound for half a day, rise as if nothing happened, and was astonished. He called out, “I’ve heard your swordsmanship is excellent. Do you dare challenge me?”

He Yu’s martial arts came from the Lin family’s ancestral “Eighteen Formation-Breaking Techniques”—nine on horseback, nine on foot—later combined with modern thrusting techniques, refined into “Nine Formation-Breaking Moves,” three on horseback, six on foot, swift and ruthless, undefeated in real combat.

He Yu had always been confident in his skills, even secretly believing himself to be the best in Tianyi. The legacy of the Elder Taiping and modern special forces training gave him reason for such confidence.

He Yu looked at Ran Yu’s legs and thought, “I am whole—surely I can defeat this crippled old man. A sword match is just what I want, but I must name my terms.”

His eyes flickered as a plan formed. He called out loudly, “If you wish to duel swords, I have no objection. But you must agree to a condition: if I am fortunate enough to win, you must escort me down the mountain—and I will take Lady Murong with me.”

Murong Shanshan was startled at being mentioned, her bright eyes fixed on He Yu, puzzled as she could not recall knowing this handsome young man.

Ran Yu smiled at the corner of his eyes and asked, “And if I win? What do you offer in defeat?”

He Yu had anticipated this question and replied at once, “I carry a sword named Great Severance, an ancient divine weapon. Should I lose, I will present it to you with both hands.”

At this, someone brought Great Severance to Ran Yu. He drew the sword, waved it lightly; the wind from the blade was chilling to the touch. He praised, “Excellent sword, truly excellent!” Obsessed with martial arts, he appreciated such weapons.

Ran Yu pondered, “We are strangers. Taking your life is pointless. With Great Severance as the stake, it’s not a bad bargain.”

A tall, thin elder with triangular eyes rose on the left, cupping his hands and said, “Commander, this fellow is extremely sly. In a sword match, if you win, you gain a sword; if he wins, he not only leaves but takes the enemy’s daughter. That’s unfair.”

The elder’s meaning was clear: He Yu’s single wager matched Ran Yu’s double, an advantage. Sitting at the first seat on the left, he was clearly the mountain’s strategist.

Ran Yu uttered an “Oh” and looked at He Yu.

Before He Yu could respond, many voices cried out, “Master Han worries too much—with Commander’s skill, who in the world could win against him?”

“Yes, the Commander is invincible—how could he lose to this fellow!”

The crowd grumbled, blaming the elder Han.

He Yu thought with disdain, “It seems bootlicking leaders exists in every era. In a moment, I’ll show Ran Yu what’s what!”

A desire to win flared in his heart. He raised his brows and said, “Since that’s so, I am willing to duel Commander in two bouts—one on horseback, one on foot. If I lose both, besides offering Great Severance, I will sever my own arm in thanks to you all. But since your legs are troubled, Commander, can you still ride a horse?” He had intended to say he’d end his own life, but at the last moment thought it wiser; after all, his head was more valuable than his arm. This way, win or lose, he would at least survive—a better deal than almost being killed out of hand moments ago.

Ran Yu, unaware of He Yu’s scheming, laughed loudly, “No matter—very well!” With a wave, two people brought out swords, handing them to Ran Yu and He Yu.

The hall was spacious; the two could duel freely. Ran Yu pushed his four-wheeled cart to the center, raised his sword and said, “Please, draw your sword.” His composure was that of a grandmaster.

Murong Shanshan knew the duel’s outcome determined her fate. She watched He Yu without blinking, her mind swirling: “Who is this man? Did Father send him? Why does he want to take me away, and would even sever his own arm...?”

He Yu gripped his sword with both hands and advanced slowly. For some reason, sweat broke from his palms. Fear before battle—an unfamiliar feeling.

“Forgive—me—!”

He Yu shouted, deliberately lengthening the words to confuse Ran Yu. As the word “forgive” left his lips, his sword flashed like thunder, thrusting straight for Ran Yu’s upper body.

Show mercy, or strike mercilessly. A fight for life is nothing like the flashy duels of later dramas—often, victory or death is decided in a single move.

“Good lad, truly cunning!” Anger flickered across Ran Yu’s face. Rather than retreat, he suddenly leaped into the air, sword extended to counter He Yu’s thrust. Tall and long-armed, his sword angle was tricky; his blade reached first, its tip aimed at He Yu’s wrist and chest.

He Yu was shocked, hastily retracting and raising his sword to block. With a clanging sound, sparks flew; Ran Yu’s sword was snapped in two, his body stretched midair, landing steadily on his cart, breathing heavily.

He Yu’s arm tingled with numbness. Glancing at his chest, he saw a clear sword mark, revealing the soft armor beneath—a moment’s quick reaction had spared his life.

There are always greater heights and stronger men. Ran Yu’s swordsmanship was astonishingly strange; He Yu’s so-called Nine Formation-Breaking Moves were powerless under his blade.

He Yu, disheartened, tossed his sword to the ground, saying, “You win; Great Severance is yours.”

A smile flickered at Ran Yu’s lips. He raised the broken sword, examining it with a laugh. “To shatter my sword in a single move—you are truly gifted. But as for your swordsmanship, you have yet to meet a worthy master.”

The Lin family, military household for generations, accumulated strong martial arts; yet to Ran Yu, it seemed ordinary. He Yu felt his moves were swift and fierce, but Ran Yu’s sword was even more direct and quick. He could not fathom how Ran Yu generated such power.

Seeing He Yu’s crestfallen look, Ran Yu laughed, “Young man, don’t lose heart. There’s still another round.”

Ran Yu’s victory brought joy to all except Murong Shanshan, whose face was gloomy.

A boy pushed Ran Yu’s cart outside, and He Yu followed.

Atop the mountain, the summit was level, appearing to span seventy or eighty acres by modern standards. Such a flat peak amid rugged mountains was rare. Over twenty courtyards dotted the mountaintop; the grand hall they’d just left was at the northernmost, tallest and most imposing, bearing a plaque reading “Cloud Fortress.”

He Yu had heard of Cloud Fortress—home to some two thousand people, said to be Beg-for-Life Army migrants from Youzhou, who had done little harm locally.

The courtyards were scattered; to the west by the cliffs lay the stables and training grounds, floored with sand and yellow earth, clearly the usual drill site.

The crowd arrived at the training ground. Someone led out two warhorses, one yellow, one white.

The white horse was dazzling as snow, without a single stray hair, larger than ordinary warhorses by a quarter, its hooves gleaming gold, as if shod in gold, even more majestic than the white horse He Yu had seen shot.

The yellow horse was fine, but clearly inferior to the white.

Ran Yu chuckled, “My legs trouble me; I always ride the white horse. I suppose I gain an advantage over you.”

He Yu forced a smile, replied it was no matter, and leaped onto the yellow horse.

Ran Yu pressed the cart’s armrests, his body soaring to land firmly in the white saddle. Such a large man descending from the sky—ordinary horses could not bear it.

Soldiers brought two long spears for the duel.

The two took up their spears, horses circling, each riding away. Suddenly, fear flickered in He Yu’s heart—Ran Yu, upright with spear, seemed like a god.

He Yu thought, “Ran Yu’s strength is not weak, but perhaps a shade less than mine. If I focus on his weapon rather than his body, aim to shatter his spear, I’ll be invincible.”

Ran Yu’s skill was high; striking his body would be difficult, but targeting his weapon would be much easier. With this thought, He Yu’s confidence returned.