Chapter Thirty-Six: The Master of the Sword

Although Chuan Prefecture and Yi Prefecture are neighboring regions, there exists a vast stretch of unclaimed territory between their jurisdictions. These so-called “three-no” areas lack government offices, commerce, and towns. The terrain is rugged, monsters roam freely, and over time, such places have become breeding grounds for bandits and outlaws. Every province on the Central Plains continent has regions like this. Unless some major event occurs, even the imperial court and local authorities are reluctant to intervene, which is one reason why escort agencies can thrive in “Dynasty.”

In “Dynasty,” the profession of “forest outlaw” is not uncommon. Naturally, no one is born wishing to be a bandit or a robber; the downside of such a profession is being forever shunned, unable to enter cities, always on guard against enemies, constables, and soldiers. Yet there are advantages. If large mountain strongholds and gangs are well constructed, the system rewards martial arts. As for money, any bandit player who commits murder has a naturally high drop rate, especially for currency, though their own death is equally likely to cause them to lose valuables.

Feiyan Stronghold is rarely mentioned on player forums. After all, Yi Prefecture and Chuan Prefecture are not popular hotspots on the Central Plains, far from those martial hubs like Yangzhou, Jiangdu, Tianjin, and the capital. To outsiders, Feiyan Stronghold is shrouded in mystery, and even the nearby Shu Sword Sect from Chengdu seldom bothers with its affairs.

Thus, Zhang He and his companions proceeded with caution. By the time they reached this “three-no” zone, the vibrant sunset had draped each of them in golden silk, gilding the nearby greenery and grass. It was a remarkably flat mountain valley, appearing almost like a world of gold.

At the mouth of this golden valley, beneath an ancient pine, there was unexpectedly a noodle stall.

A few bamboo poles supported a white canopy, beneath which stood several rustic tables and chairs. The wooden tables, blackened, had obviously been stained by years of cooking smoke. The noodle vendor was alone, with white at his temples, the years spent selling noodles having eroded his youth.

“This boss is definitely not a player!” Xiao Lingling concluded, and her reasoning was sound. What life-skills player would dare set up a stall in a ‘three-no’ area, let alone within the bounds of Feiyan Stronghold?

Fatty lacked Xiao Lingling’s discernment; he was the sort who could neglect any need but never his stomach. “All I know is, when I’m hungry, I need to eat.” He muttered as he eyed the food at the stall.

Zhang He nodded. After such a long walk, he too was getting hungry.

Just then, the stall owner lifted the pot lid, steam rising like mist and dancing in the sunset like water sprites. He used two long bamboo chopsticks to lift noodles from the pot and place them in bowls already seasoned.

On the table were sliced pig’s ear, braised beef, marinated eggs, and shredded chicken. Beside the stall owner, a young woman in coarse cloth assisted him. She was not beautiful—tall, healthy, and dull, almost foolish in appearance, though her hands were remarkably deft.

She added greens, sesame paste, chili oil, and chopped scallions to the bowls, and thus a bowl of steaming, appetizing noodles was ready.

“Honored guests, I am Feng Youcai, the owner of this humble stall. What would you like?” Feng Youcai greeted them warmly. From his manner of address, Zhang He and his companions were certain this man was an NPC; NPCs are rare in “Dynasty,” and encounters often trigger quests.

Xiao Lingling sat down, curious, “And this young lady…”

Feng Youcai smiled, “Her name is Qiao Gu.”

Xiao Lingling smiled as well, “Is she your wife?”

Feng Youcai’s smile was gentle and approachable; he neither affirmed nor denied. Qiao Gu blushed and turned away to tend the fire.

Fatty paid no mind and ordered straight away, “Boss Feng, three bowls of noodles, one bottle of wine—preferably Ice Jade—and a plate of pig’s ear.”

“Right away!” Feng Youcai went to work cheerfully.

Fatty said, “Just looking at these noodles makes my mouth water. I guarantee I can eat five bowls.”

Xiao Lingling rolled her eyes, “All you ever think about is food.”

Fatty laughed, “To live in this world, eating and drinking are the essentials.”

Xiao Lingling scoffed, “No ambition at all.”

…

While Xiao Lingling and Fatty flirted merrily, Zhang He sat at the table, unable to share their joy. They were not the only patrons at the noodle stall; at another table sat a guest.

Judging by appearance, this man was not young. He wore a feathered robe and a tall hat, a blue shirt and short jacket. Though streaked with white hair, he was spirited, nothing like a man in his fifties or sixties.

He ate his noodles with measured composure, each bite slow and careful, as though the art of eating was of utmost importance.

But Zhang He dared not underestimate him, for beside his bowl lay a long, blue cloth-wrapped bundle, tied with fine brocade. Its contents were hidden, but if Zhang He guessed correctly, it was surely a sword—and not an ordinary one.

Whether this man was a player or an NPC, Zhang He could not say. In theory, few players ventured to such places.

Fatty remained unconcerned, eating and drinking heartily.

After some time, the blue-robed man finished, set down his chopsticks, left a handful of copper coins on the table, and took his bundle, strolling leisurely into the depths of the green mountains, disappearing at the edge of the sunset.

“This man is strange!” Zhang He frowned.

“Oh? What’s strange?” Fatty, sweating from his meal, was oblivious to the change.

Xiao Lingling’s expression grew serious, “He must be a master swordsman.”

Fatty asked, “How can you tell?”

Xiao Lingling shook her head, “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling. The moment I glanced at him, I felt cold.”

Fatty widened his eyes, “So you felt cold and decided he’s a swordsman? By that logic, do you feel hot when you look at me?”

Xiao Lingling stared back, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Fatty grinned, “If you feel hot looking at me, then I must be a master of the staff. In fact, my staff skills are really quite good.”

“You!” Xiao Lingling was both amused and exasperated.

Zhang He spoke softly, “Actually, Lingling isn’t wrong. There’s a good chance he’s a swordsman.”

“Oh?” Fatty and Xiao Lingling were both intrigued. “How so?”

Zhang He gazed at the direction the blue-robed man had gone. “Because of his hands.”

Fatty set down his chopsticks, “What about his hands?”

“Didn’t you notice?” Zhang He recalled the moment. “His hands were impeccably clean, nails trimmed smooth and neat. Even a woman’s hands wouldn’t be as clean.”

Fatty scratched his head, “I don’t get it. Even if his hands are clean, what does that have to do with swords?”

“It matters,” Zhang He said quietly. “A true master swordsman cannot afford any error when striking.”

Xiao Lingling nodded; as a swordswoman herself, she understood deeply.

“If your nails are uneven, it’ll affect your technique. So you trim them, and your hands are well cared for. Add the shape of the bundle he carried, and it’s not hard to deduce he’s likely a swordsman—and a skilled one.” Zhang He’s analysis was always logical.

Fatty was impressed, “Fifth Brother, I never realized how sharp your eye is.”

But Zhang He suddenly fell silent, staring intently at his bowl, his expression grave, as if there were gold ingots inside.

“What’s wrong?” Fatty looked at Zhang He’s noodle bowl and was surprised to see it quivering gently—not just Zhang He’s, but his own and Xiao Lingling’s bowls as well.

Even Fatty, with his limited experience, knew something was happening.

He had just stood when two or three dozen riders burst into the valley, raising clouds of dust. Thirty swift horses surged toward them, the tremors caused by pounding hooves.

Feng Youcai, seeing their fierce attire and saber at their waists, retreated behind the stall in fright, while Qiao Gu’s face turned pale, lips trembling.

“Are these the outlaws of Feiyan Stronghold?” Zhang He wondered aloud.

Feng Youcai dared not lift his head, bowing and trembling, “Honored guests… I’m just running a small business. My stall can’t withstand much trouble. Please… please don’t fight here…”

He hadn’t even finished speaking when the horses whinnied and stopped in unison before the stall. At the lead was a fierce-looking, one-eyed man with a saber at his waist. He stepped forward, “Hey, have you seen a man in blue robes carrying a long blue bundle pass by?”

Zhang He and his companions weren’t unwilling to answer; they just hadn’t figured out these men’s identities and continued eating as they thought.

“Hey, you ugly deaf fellow, didn’t you hear the boss talking to you?” the one-eyed man shouted at Fatty.

Fatty instantly flared up; he was the type who couldn’t stand insults. “Brat, you talking to your grandpa?”

The one-eyed man snarled, “This is Feiyan Valley! Don’t refuse a toast and ask for trouble instead!”

Fatty scoffed, “Feiyan Valley? What kind of dump is that?”

The one-eyed man boasted, “Listen well! This mountain is mine, this tree I planted. If you want to pass, pay the toll…”

He hadn’t finished before Fatty’s heavy spiked club swept out with a shrill whistling sound.

“Damn, how rustic. That slogan needs updating. Take a taste of my club!” Fatty swung, and the one-eyed man instinctively blocked with his saber. But any player wielding such a massive weapon had high strength; the saber bent instantly like a reed, and the spikes struck the one-eyed man’s shoulder.

Red damage value: “–121!”

Zhang He couldn’t help but laugh. For a level 35 whiteboard to have such brute force, Fatty was definitely a powerhouse. Yet, with the one-eyed man spouting such old-fashioned slogans, he was probably not a player either. But then, how could there be so many NPCs in this remote Feiyan Gorge?

Votes, favorites, rewards, and all sorts of requests! Vote for the book, be decent!