Chapter 331: Sophora Leaf Yao
The two sides confronted each other, but the Yao family iron cavalry had been replaced by a Chen Pingan who had descended from the sky.
The sword cultivator softly uttered the words "no rush," and that "attendant" had to exercise patience, scuffing the muddy ground with his toes, utterly bored.
That middle-aged sword cultivator was dressed in plain white hemp clothes. A battle of vastly disparate strength had left him unstained by even a single drop of blood.
The man's features were handsome and refined, but his narrow, elongated eyes and thin lips gave his overall temperament a slightly harsh and mean look. He wore no sword on his person; his destined flying sword, equal in length to a swordsman's sword, coiled like a fire dragon when it left its sheath to kill enemies. The blades and spears of that Yao family iron cavalry, upon contact with it, couldn't withstand a single blow, as if they were tofu sliced by a knife.
The attendant standing beside him was a burly, pure martial artist, clad in a Divine-Bearer Dew-Armor, also known in the mountains as Sweet Dew Armor.
Chen Pingan was no stranger to this type of military armor pellet. He had once stripped one from that national advisor of the ancient Elm Kingdom, and later purchased a broken, high-grade Sweet Dew Armor at Inverted-Hanging Mountain, which Lu Tai had repaired to look like new. However, he had never had a chance to wear it, after all, the Golden Nectar Dharma Robe on Chen Pingan was far rarer.
The two coordinated skillfully. The sword cultivator wielded his destined flying sword to slay the enemy, while the martial artist guarded the sword cultivator's side, preventing any Yao family iron cavalry from slipping through to engage the sword cultivator in close combat, and also shielding him from hand-crossbow or horse-bow arrows. Several times, arrows shot in a volley from tricky angles, and this pure martial artist simply used his body to block the path of those few arrows. In the end, it only caused a few sparks to splash on the surface of the snow-white Sweet Dew Armor. The loss of stored spiritual energy in this armor pellet probably wouldn't even cost a single snowflake coin, yet the opponent often had to pay the price of a fresh life.
Wild cultivators of the mountains and marshes loved seeking fortune amidst danger the most. Whenever they encountered a stroke of luck, they dared to take risks. Those ancient real-person thatched huts, immortal mansions, cave heavens, and blessed lands that were suddenly discovered and excavated—whether small or large secret realms fragmented from them—once they appeared in the world, wild cultivators would swarm like bees. For the sake of snatching a single spiritual tool or dharma treasure, they would fight until brains splattered on both sides. What were they after? Wasn't it to obtain this feeling of crushing others? Either relying on divine weapons to kill, or relying on protective treasures to be impervious to blades and immune to spells, filling opponents with despair.
The sword cultivator strolled leisurely across the battlefield. Within a radius of a hundred zhang, his flying sword's sword light was like a rainbow, leaving trails of crimson fireflies.
The martial artist shadowed him closely, tightly guarding the middle-aged sword cultivator's every direction.
The middle-aged sword cultivator was like his sword: decisive and clean, without any superfluous movements.
But that burly martial artist was different. He was naturally violent-tempered, and since he couldn't cut loose to chase down the cavalry, the slaughter wasn't satisfying enough. So every time the sword cultivator heavily wounded a Yao family elite rider, knocking them off their horses—whether they died on the spot or not—as long as they were on the pair's path, he would either stomp their heads to mush or crush the rider's chest concave with a single step, mixing blurry flesh and blood with broken armor, a gruesome sight.
Someone fell from the sky?
The middle-aged sword cultivator looked at the one blocking the road, stopped, and asked with a smile in the continent's refined speech: "A new guest retainer of the Daquan Liu Clan?"
On Parasol Leaf Continent, mountains and rivers often formed barriers. According to that book of immortals, compared to Bottle Gourd Continent, the language varied every ten li, and customs every hundred li. Hence, upper-class figures from various countries were often proficient in the Parasol Leaf refined speech, especially officials from the Ministry of Rites.
The burly martial artist said irritably: "Master, why bother with this talk? Just kill him directly. He's no more than a martial artist below the seventh realm. Such a young martial arts genius makes for a more satisfying kill."
The sword cultivator laughed: "An unexpected big fish has appeared right in front of us. Isn't that exactly what I wanted?"
Although the sword cultivator stopped walking to converse with Chen Pingan, his flying sword hovered at the very front of the Yao family iron cavalry's escape route.
In this pursuit, aside from the initial joint ambush that perilously killed the military cultivator accompanying the Yao iron cavalry, the sword cultivator had since been solely controlling his flying sword, killing the outermost Yao iron cavalry first. Whoever tried to break out first would die first—that was his game rule.
The old man was wearing armor no different from the surrounding riders, probably the standard light armor of the Daquan Dynasty's border troops. He was clutching his abdomen, blood seeping through his fingers. Despite his dire situation, the old man remained calm and composed, showing no sign of dejection or cowardice. Even though the elites protecting him had suffered heavy casualties—fine young men who would not return home in triumph, nor even die gloriously at the border, but perishing in such dirty court factional strife—there was guilt and sorrow deep in the old man's eyes, but none of it showed on his face.
Having spent decades in military life, he was accustomed to life and death. As the saying goes, a general who is too kind cannot command troops. This old general, who wielded immense power over the southern border, was extraordinarily calm.
The remaining hundred or so Yao iron cavalry guarded the old man tightly, showing no fear despite the assassin's power.
The Yao family's military discipline was strict.
For example, all Yao clan members, whether legitimate or illegitimate, were proficient in archery and horsemanship from a young age. After fifteen, they had to enlist in the army, starting from the lowest scout positions. The number of Yao men who died in border battles was countless.
So much so that the saying "Yao family widows" had spread across several countries.
Chen Pingan did not turn around to look at the cavalry. Instead, he asked the old general a strange question: "General, your surname is Yao? Is your ancestor related to the Yao clan of the Great Li Dynasty in the northern part of Bottle Gourd Continent?"
The old man frowned: "Great Li Dynasty? Never heard of it."
After a moment's hesitation, the old general added: "However, it is true that the ancestors of my Daquan Yao clan came from Bottle Gourd Continent, but I don't know the exact place. Our ancestors were very secretive about it. When they had the family genealogy written, they only mentioned the origin of 'Dragon Kiln' and some local customs and traditions. They also explicitly forbade future generations from going to Bottle Gourd Continent to seek ancestral roots."
Chen Pingan asked again: "Did the general's ancestors ever mention any street names, or... a big willow tree with dense shade?"
Although the old man wanted very much to nod, perhaps to strike up a connection with this strange person and maybe gain a sliver of hope for survival, his upright and honest nature wouldn't allow it. Moreover, involving ancestral origins, how could later generations fabricate? He said solemnly: "No street names were mentioned, nor any willow tree. They only said that the locust blossoms in their hometown tasted good, a tradition passed down through generations. In the main courtyard of my Daquan Yao ancestral home, there is a thousand-year-old locust tree planted."
Chen Pingan then turned his head and smiled at the old man, nodding. "I understand."
The old man grew even more puzzled. Child, what exactly do you understand?
The sword cultivator seemed to be waiting for some news as well, his peripheral vision constantly shifting. As if he had gotten the answer he wanted, he teased: "Are you two done with your small talk? If so, let's get down to business."
Chen Pingan pressed his hands on the hilt of his sword, Heart's Obsession, and the hilt of his saber, Snowfall, and asked: "Is someone paying for murder? Are you receiving money to eliminate problems for people?"
The middle-aged sword cultivator said helplessly: "You talk a lot, don't you?"
Chen Pingan smiled. "You don't run into someone like me often. And this time, you just happened to."
Amongst the Yao iron cavalry, there was a young rider whose face resembled the old general's. He looked at that vicious sword cultivator who killed men like cutting wheat, then at the young man in white robes with sleeves billowing like a breeze. The young border soldier's mind was a bit overwhelmed.
A young valiant general, two generations removed from the old general, finally had a chance to catch his breath and say a few words to his commander. They had been fleeing all the way, watching their comrades die under the flying sword one by one, truly miserable. This young general, just past the age of capping, had a bloody gash cut across his face by the sword cultivator's flying sword, flesh and skin split open, a gruesome sight. Yet the young man didn't care at all, asking softly: "General, given the flying sword techniques that villain displayed, he shouldn't have let us send signals to Third Master and Ninth Maiden."
The old man had been staring at the back of that wanderer. Hearing his close confidant's question, he sneered: "We are both targets and bait."
The young valiant general was clearly a direct-line descendant of the Yao iron cavalry, knowing many inside stories of the border army and the court. He asked cautiously: "Then the court's secret transfer of most of our military cultivators earlier to participate in the dispute between Lord Jinhuang and the Spirit of Songzhen Lake?"
The old general said in a low voice: "This is also the open scheme of those behind the scenes. It both exhausts the strength of the enemy country to the south and lays the groundwork for this ambush. This is absolutely not something the Fanlu Ma Clan could accomplish..."
Chen Pingan turned his head and asked: "May I ask, General Yao, why are you being pursued by these two?"
The old man smiled. "Probably a matter of battlefield grudges."
This conspiracy involved some secrets and scandals of the Daquan court, which the old man naturally didn't want to elaborate on.
The Yao border troops had always been loyal to the Liu emperors of each generation, staying away from court strife. Whoever became emperor, they followed orders and never meddled in any turmoil.
However, in the last ten years, an unavoidable accident occurred.
According to ancestral precepts and family rules, Yao women were not to marry into powerful aristocratic houses, only to local gentry families.
But the old man's youngest daughter had fallen in love at first sight with a young man who had traveled to the border. The man was of excellent character and learning, and they had fought side by side, sharing life and death. It should have been a happy marriage, making them an enviable immortal couple. However, the old man adhered strictly to family rules and didn't approve. Being a true Yao woman, his daughter silently endured this longing and wrote him a letter of farewell. Unexpectedly, that top-tier scion of the Daquan Dynasty, the eldest legitimate son of the Minister of Personnel, came to the border again, kneeling for a whole day and night outside the Yao ancestral hall in heavy snow. The entire Yao family was deeply moved. In the end, there was no reason to tear the couple apart, so the old man agreed to his daughter's marriage to him. But none of the old man's generation attended the wedding banquet in the capital. After that, his daughter did return to her maiden home once.
The old man had never even exchanged letters with that powerful in-law who controlled the promotions of all officials in the realm.
Yet despite this "coldness," the fact that the woman's surname was Yao couldn't be erased.
Just one exception, and ten years later, it brought the danger of the family's destruction.
First, last year, the old general's in-law, the Minister of Personnel, was secretly incited by the Fanlu Ma clan, the mortal enemy in court, to have censors heavily impeach him. The Minister of Personnel was severely reprimanded by the enraged Emperor. Terrified, he went home and immediately wrote a memorial, with lamenting words: "Frail and weak, aging and decrepit, even less than a child; the teeth left are but two or three, long unacquainted with the word 'fresh'." He requested to retire and return home.
The Emperor refused, but the old minister's influence in the Ministry of Personnel plummeted to rock bottom.
But this time, besides the deep-rooted factional strife, the real trouble was that it involved the crown prince. Many unruly outsiders had entered the capital, occupying key positions in the court and fanning the flames. Interestingly, the three princes were all outstanding, each with their own strengths. In any era of the Daquan Dynasty, any one of them would be an undisputed crown prince candidate.
The rises and falls of capital officials, the shuffling and transfers of border generals, were dizzying.
Even the Yao iron cavalry, far away on the southern border, couldn't stay out of it. The undercurrents surging in the Daquan Dynasty in recent years, and the dangers therein, were imaginable.
The sword cultivator's killing was instantaneous.
That destined flying sword, hovering on the periphery of the Yao iron cavalry, streaked through the middle of the cavalry formation. Fortunately, the middle-aged sword cultivator, pursuing maximum speed, had chosen a path with no obstacles, otherwise this sword strike might have pierced several more heads.
Chen Pingan pushed his sword out of its sheath, joining two fingers to form a sword talisman, and controlled Dou Zizhi's dharma sword, Heart's Obsession, which had cost her considerable wealth, to withstand the sword cultivator's flying sword that came swiftly from behind.
The middle-aged sword cultivator's heart sank. This uninvited young guest was not only a swordmaster, but his sword could actually block his destined flying sword, "Candle." Could it be a concealed treasure? Otherwise, with Candle's sharpness, any so-called divine weapon in the martial world would not withstand a single blow from Candle. Yet that sword seemed not even to have chipped.
The burly attendant gloated: "Master, still no rush?"
The middle-aged sword cultivator didn't get angry, smiling: "Let's test his depth. Consider it playing with him for a while. I have the means to protect myself."
"Excellent!"
The pure martial artist, clad in Sweet Dew Armor, grinned ferociously, stomping a deep pit into the ground as he surged forward. From five or six zhang away, he threw a punch at the young man. The fist force surged like a torrent, the fist energy as thick as a bowl's mouth.
Chen Pingan kept one hand behind his back, hidden in his sleeve. While using Heart's Obsession to repeatedly fend off the sword cultivator's flying sword, he raised his other arm and faced the fist force with his palm.
He grabbed with five fingers.
The fist force was directly crushed by Chen Pingan.
The burly attendant laughed loudly, showing no panic at all. It had been just a probing punch, less than fifty percent of his strength. "Master, his cultivation is not shallow! But how deep..."
The man in white armor shouted softly, abruptly accelerating forward. In the blink of an eye, he was a few steps away from Chen Pingan. He swung his right arm with tremendous force. As the punch was delivered, as fast as thunder, the entire right shoulder of the burly man burst into a white radiance.
With a loud bang.
Chen Pingan again used his palm to block the armored man's punch.
A trace of confusion appeared in the assassin's eyes. This young man hadn't moved an inch?
Though puzzled, he didn't hesitate to follow up with a vicious knee strike. In the fight between martial artists, especially experts, while thoughts raced, every move had to be instinctual, even faster than "intentions and thoughts," to truly be considered a master.
Chen Pingan's hand behind his back left his sleeve. He lightly patted the white-armored attendant's knee, causing his body to lurch forward. Then, with his elbow, he hammered the man's chest.
The burly martial artist, clad in Divine-Bearer Sweet Dew Armor, was knocked backward by the elbow strike.
But his fist was still gripped in Chen Pingan's hand, so Chen Pingan pulled him back and smashed a punch onto the Sweet Dew Armor over his heart.
The burly man flew backward with a bang, crashing to the ground over ten zhang away.
However, protected by the military armor pellet, he was only lightly injured. The main damage was the turbulence in his internal qi, causing a trace of blood to seep from the corner of his mouth.
He slapped the ground with his hand, got up, spit out a wad of saliva tinged with blood, and grinned, complaining to the sword cultivator: "Master, is this bastard a swordmaster or an external sect master of body tempering?"
The middle-aged sword cultivator stood behind him, a playful smile on his lips: "Can't you allow a martial genius to be both?"
The man took a deep breath, turned his head to glance at Wei Xian on the hillside, his mood no longer light. He said to the sword cultivator: "Then this kid really deserves to die. Master, have you had enough fun? Let's not capsize in a ditch. This guy didn't come alone."
The sword cultivator nodded. "The bond of goodwill between Daquan Liu and old Yao should be about this much. If so, then it's time to start drawing the net."
The sword cultivator whistled sharply.
A moment later, the sword cultivator dashed swiftly to one side, waving his hand. His destined flying sword stopped harassing the young swordmaster, turning from solid to void and sinking into his chest, like a fish line plunging into a deep pool, disappearing in an instant. The destined flying sword returned to warm within his acupoints.
The burly martial artist attendant was stunned for a moment, then, without a word, followed the sword cultivator in fleeing into the distance.
Although Chen Pingan didn't know why the two assassins had left, he didn't stop them.
The surviving Yao iron cavalry, still in shock, looked at each other in bewilderment.
The old general weighed the situation, dismounted, and ordered the young valiant general supporting him: "Dispatch a squad of scouts to reconnoiter. The rest, rest and regroup here."
Five border cavalry scouts fanned out like a net, galloping in all directions.
Chen Pingan slowly walked back towards Wei Xian and Pei Qian.
Old General Yao hesitated, wanting to speak, but eventually held back. He wanted to thank him, but just as he opened his mouth, the wound on his abdomen pulled, so he had to shut it. However, he raised his hand in a distant fist-and-palm salute in the direction of the young man, a silent expression of thanks.
The other party had already done his utmost by stepping in and single-handedly holding off two assassins who had the upper hand. The old man wasn't shameless enough to make further demands.
Half an incense stick later, a cavalry unit arrived at full speed. Apart from a dozen or so blood-soaked Yao border soldiers, there were more than twenty unfamiliar faces, either cultivators with shining eyes and jade-like skin or martial arts grandmasters with domineering auras. These people, like stars surrounding the moon, tightly protected a man in brocade robes. He was about thirty years old, with a face like carved jade, clearly the master of these experts.
As they neared the Yao border troops, the man waved his hand. The cavalry quickly parted, and he rode out alone, first to arrive. He reined in his horse, stopped, and announced cheerfully: "General Yao, fortunately I'm not too late."
The old general was about to rise to respond, but the man had already dismounted and waved his horsewhip vigorously. "General, you are wounded, no need for formalities."
The old man insisted on standing up to greet him.
The man quickened his pace, leading his horse directly to the old man, and said softly: "This disaster for the Yao clan, at its root, is still due to me and Li Xiling. Since I happened to be at the border this time, I couldn't stand by. I hope the general understands. If the situation weren't urgent, I would never have shown my face."
The old general changed the subject, saying gravely: "Your Highness is worth a thousand gold. How can you easily risk yourself?"
The man smiled: "General Yao, as the Southern Expedition General, a high-ranking second-rank official of my Daquan, you've risked life and death for decades. Is that worthless?"
The old man smiled bitterly: "Your Highness!"
The man waved his hand, laughing. "Since I've come and done what I've done, and listened to the general's admonishment, can we now head back? These assassins might have backup plans."
The old general smiled helplessly. "I'll follow Your Highness's orders."
The man suddenly pointed his horsewhip at the opposite hillside. "Who are those people?"
The old man explained: "If they hadn't bought us time, I wouldn't have lasted until now. They have the bearing of Mohist wanderers. Your Highness needn't overthink it. We just met by chance; there's no need to add anything extra."
The man nodded.
He suddenly slapped his forehead, quickly took a small porcelain bottle from his sleeve, pulled out the stopper, and immediately a fragrance filled the air. He poured a dark green pill into his palm and handed it to the old man. "This is a healing secret medicine treasured in the imperial palace. Swallow it, General."
Without suspicion, the old man thanked this prince, nonchalantly threw the pill into his mouth, and swallowed it.
The man's smile deepened. He personally helped the old man and led him to a carriage he had brought.
At the top of the slope, Chen Pingan watched them leave.
He took out that military armor pellet and handed it to Wei Xian, who didn't take it immediately.
Chen Pingan explained: "This is a military armor pellet called Divine-Bearer Dew-Armor. Infuse it with true qi, and you can equip a suit of armor, similar to that martial artist just now. It can automatically resist blades, swords, and spells. Unless it is penetrated in one blow or repeatedly struck in the same spot, generally, before the spiritual energy is depleted, it acts as a protective talisman. It's quite effective against a sword cultivator's destined flying sword."
The grade of the armor pellet was usually directly linked to the amount of spiritual energy stored.
Thus, they were roughly divided into three types, jokingly called by mountain cultivators: puddle armor, pond armor, and lake armor.
Divine-Bearer Dew-Armor ranked in the third tier, almost always in the puddle armor category. However, this one from Lingzhi Pavilion on Inverted-Hanging Mountain was extremely special, very likely a progenitor armor—one of the earliest Sweet Dew Armors, meticulously crafted by a military grandmaster. It could be considered a poor family's noble child.
Wei Xian pushed Chen Pingan's hand back, smiling. "No reward for no merit. When I have some achievement later, I'll take it."
Chen Pingan smiled and put it away.
Pei Qian looked eagerly. "He doesn't want it. How about giving it to me?"
Chen Pingan completely ignored her.
Afterwards, the three of them took a route different from the Yao iron cavalry's direction, heading towards that border town whose outline was faintly visible.
On the way, Wei Xian uncharacteristically spoke a few more sentences.
He asked three questions in a row.
"Does Young Master want to be a moral sage, pursuing the Three Immortalities?"
Chen Pingan couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head. "Of course not."
If he really had such ambitions, Chen Pingan would have long recognized the Old Scholar of the Literary Sage as his teacher. The trip to Parasol Leaf Continent had only made him more determined.
Wei Xian asked again: "Then does Young Master want to seize the momentum, compete for supremacy?"
Chen Pingan laughed in disbelief, pointing at himself. "Just me?"
Wei Xian asked finally: "Then is it to cultivate oneself alone and attain the Dao of longevity?"
Chen Pingan retorted: "Why do you ask all this?"
Wei Xian fell silent.
Chen Pingan didn't want to say much more, and the three of them walked on in silence.