Volume One: The Turmoil of Yan and Yun Chapter Thirty: The Great Recluse Dwells Among the World (Part Three)

Though Feng Yue’s tone was full of surprise, his eyes betrayed no change, not even the smallest squint or raise of an eyebrow. This young man carried, faintly, the weariness of one who has witnessed the world’s splendors fade into sorrow.

The Shadow Guard saw most clearly. He had observed this same weariness once before, in another man—Yang Wanli. Could it be that those of Li Jingxing’s lineage were born with this melancholy? Otherwise, how could a man barely in his thirties possess such world-worn eyes?

He pondered this question until, from the distance, a streak of rainbow light cut across the sky, bringing him back to the substance of Feng Yue’s words.

The Snowcloud Sword was coming?

He frowned, sensing the situation was less than ideal. Though the Snowcloud Sword’s cultivation was not equal to the Craftsman God Qi Luozhu, he nevertheless felt a vague fear—a feeling he’d never had when facing Qi Luozhu.

As a disciple from the Snowcloud Sect, he knew well that, for all its normal appearances, the sect was filled with madness.

If Feng Yue relied solely on the Mountain and River Chess as his guarantee, he doubted he could survive against Xue Wuhen. If Feng Yue was clever enough, he’d likely have his own doubts.

Almost the instant the rainbow entered their sight, it arrived. Yet to say so was imprecise. More accurately, the rainbow halted five directions away.

Feng Yue finally raised an eyebrow, finding the matter intriguing.

The Mountain and River Chess, named for rivers and mountains, crowned with the honor of the Five Directions, was formally called the Five Directions—Mountain and River. That the Snowcloud Sword paused beyond the mountain and river meant Feng Yue could not again so easily overwhelm the Medicine Sage and the Craftsman God.

With his strength, he could slowly break through the Mountain and River Chess’s defenses, for the power of flying swords was never measured by ordinary grades.

Even if he could not breach the Five Directions—Mountain and River, the region was Yanbei, after all, and with time passing, the advantage would fall to the Snowcloud Sword.

At this thought, Feng Yue sighed once more.

"I’ve never understood one thing. You are the Snowcloud Sword—why descend upon such desolate lands? Even for travel, Xu Hai is a far better place. There you’ll find the Evil Cult, the Blood-Weeping Sword, the Soul-Seizing Bell, the Corpse-Taming Chime..."

"You don’t know? My precious disciple is at the Yanbei Prince’s residence. His father intends to drag him into the mortal world, and I cannot allow such a thing," Xue Wuhen replied languidly, then glanced at the two lying on the ground and the one standing, eyes narrowing slightly. "Is this… your doing?"

Feng Yue spread his hands. "Do you think I possess such skill?"

---

"You, with that power at your age, would shame us old fellows," said Xue Wuhen.

Feng Yue laughed softly. "Then why do you ask?"

Xue Wuhen said, "Your own strength wouldn’t suffice, but perhaps with something else."

Feng Yue found the situation troublesome.

Xue Wuhen continued, "Li Jingxing has been silent for centuries, and now, just as he steps into the world, he seeks to start a civil war among humanity?"

Feng Yue replied, "The Master harbors no such intentions. You know him—he’s always been benevolent..."

Xue Wuhen cut him off, cursing, "To hell with his benevolence! If Li Jingxing could be called benevolent, then I am a sage!"

Feng Yue offered a bitter smile. "Why trouble yourself, Sword Master?"

Xue Wuhen waved his hand dismissively. "Let me ask you—where is Li Jingxing now?"

Feng Yue said, "How could I know the Master’s whereabouts?"

Xue Wuhen snorted, "You don’t want to say? No matter. When the Five Directions—Mountain and River falls into the Sword-Sinking Pool, Li Jingxing will appear."

Feng Yue realized the situation was becoming even more complicated.

He turned to look at the Shadow Guard. "Is there any chance you could help me escape?"

Since Xue Wuhen’s arrival, the Shadow Guard had desperately tried to diminish his presence, terrified of attracting attention, his forehead slick with cold sweat. Now, hearing Feng Yue place the burden squarely upon him, he trembled, so frightened he could not speak.

Only then did Xue Wujin notice him. "Chen Yang, if you have the courage, draw your sword."

So the Shadow Guard’s true name was Chen Yang.

His face shifted between light and shadow, but at length, as if steeling himself, he slowly drew his sword, pointing it at the Snowcloud Sword from afar.

Feng Yue’s eyes held a trace of admiration.

The Snowcloud Sword raised an eyebrow, feeling his dignity slighted, and decided to act.

A clear, ringing sound of a sword.

A blade, wholly white as snow, appeared before Xue Wuhen.

With its arrival, the air grew several degrees colder.

White crystals began to fall from the sky.

The Shadow Guard shouted fiercely, slashing several times before him, sketching out an impenetrable sword formation. The snowflakes had not yet entered the formation before being sliced apart, dissolving into wisps of mist.

Snow was famed in the Snowcloud Sect—not because the sect’s name began with "Snow," but because Sword Saint Xue Qianzhang’s path to enlightenment had been through the sword of snow.

---

It was not the snow in the name that made the Snowcloud Sect famous, but the sword of snow that had brought Sword Saint Xue Qianzhang to enlightenment.

Shadows banished, the moon unseen, the world blanketed, all was snow.

The Shadow Guard dared not allow the delicate snow to approach.

Xue Wuhen looked at the sword formation and pointed with a finger.

The flying sword followed his gesture, in an instant crossing the Five Directions to arrive before the sword formation.

It was as if a hammer struck glass.

Or as a porcelain bowl fell from the table to the floor.

A crisp sound rang out.

The sword formation shattered at the sound.

At that moment, the Shadow Guard and Feng Yue vanished, reappearing atop a nearby boulder.

The Shadow Guard was pallid, gasping for air.

Two fingers on his right hand were broken, blood streaming forth.

Xue Wuhen’s expression deepened. By his estimation, even with the Mountain and River Chess’s help, Chen Yang should have lost at least an entire hand.

Feng Yue’s gaze grew darker. In his view, with the Mountain and River Chess in play, Chen Yang should not have been injured at all.

Both were dissatisfied with the outcome of this test, but ultimately, Xue Wuhen had gained more. For he confirmed that the Mountain and River Chess’s reversal speed could not match his flying sword.

And so he decided to act directly.

Just then, he suddenly froze.

A figure appeared in the scene.

The newcomer’s hair was mottled white, his blue scholar’s robe faded to pale from countless washings, one sleeve empty and fluttering in the wind, the other hand hanging at his side, looking altogether shabby.

Xue Wuhen’s face grew even heavier, his voice rising, "Li Shouli?"

...