Strange Swordsmanship

The principles of the Wind Shadow Cavalry are as follows: First, safety; second, silence.

This well-trained team possesses extremely strong control. On regular days, no matter how much fun or chaos ensues in the mansion, they remain unseen. But once an outsider invades, the entire Prime Minister's residence turns into a hidden web of blades.

The person who had laughed as he passed by overestimated his abilities. Before he reached the west corner gate of the mansion, he was already surrounded by a web of blades.

He was a tall and strange man, wildly swinging his sword without any apparent technique. Despite this, he seemed neither anxious nor hurried. His expression was very rigid, as if all the muscles in his face were twisted. His entire face changed with each swing of his sword—fierce when slashing in all directions, furious when thrusting straight, and terrified when dodging. This grotesque combination of facial expressions and movements was seamless. His ever-changing expressions left the four men surrounding him visibly outmatched, forcing them to retreat repeatedly. The man's sword wind was fierce, chasing them step by step. From a smile, a shallow smile, to a broad grin, and finally a sinister grin, his lips and facial skin seemed like rubber, flipping back and forth at will.

He was smiling, though there was nothing funny, and his appearance did not evoke any desire to laugh. Yet Qi Jiafu couldn't help it; his mouth also began to curl upward.

The man's stiff eyes turned, his voice rough and unpleasant: "If you don't make them back off, I'll start killing."

Only then did Qi Jiafu notice that the expressions on the faces of the people attacking the man were also becoming strange. Each one was grimacing as if in discomfort. Three words flashed through Qi Jiafu's mind—Wooden Face Technique.

The Wooden Face Technique is an extremely ancient secret art, essentially a disfigurement technique. Practicing it is incredibly troublesome, requiring one to exert strength in the hands while controlling facial muscles. It demands high levels of mental and breath control. Moreover, once mastered, it leaves the practitioner looking haggard and extremely unattractive. Over time, very few people bothered to practice it. In Changxiang City, only one person was known to be skilled in the Wooden Face Technique.

Realizing this, Qi Jiafu understood the situation. He stepped forward and said, "Madam Shao's Wooden Face Style lives up to its reputation."

The man pointed his sword at Qi Jiafu and said, "I didn't come to fight. I'm here to take you. Come with me—"

After a brief hesitation, Qi Jiafu raised his hand and said, "Please."

Exiting through the west corner gate of the Prime Minister's residence, they turned diagonally down a street, exiting the inner city. There was a barren forest by the roadside. This area was called the Scholar's Grove. In the past, the bodies of officials who had committed serious crimes were hung here for seven days as a public display. Because of the wrongful execution of loyal officials, it was privately known as the Hero's Tomb. Although this law was later abolished, no one wanted to build residences here. The area, with its tree canopy blocking the sunlight, remained eerie and desolate, the only wasteland in the upper city.

Madam Shao turned back to look at Qi Jiafu. He was covered in blood, with his upper body clothes shredded, exposing torn flesh. Qi Jiafu also looked at this legendary Madam Shao—the only woman among the Four Young Masters of the capital. Well, she could barely be considered a woman. She had a nickname, "Missing Something," meaning she was like a man in every way except for lacking male genitalia. Those who called her this in her presence died horribly, so everyone started calling her "Madam Shao."

She was tall, thin, and dry, like a beautiful woman who had been half-drained. Only her thick eyebrows and large eyes stood out.

After a long moment of staring at each other, Madam Shao spoke, "I knew you were a lowly slave, but I didn't expect you to be this low."

Qi Jiafu couldn't be bothered to argue. "Did you come all this way just to insult me?"

Madam Shao drew her sword from behind her waist. "I heard Ling Zichong was no match for you. I want to try." As soon as she drew her sword, her facial expression began to change, her brow and muscles slowly protruding. Qi Jiafu quickly shouted, "Wait! Who said that? Nonsense! I've never fought Ling Zichong! I can't! I'm injured!"

Madam Shao looked visibly disappointed. "What did you say?"

Qi Jiafu laughed. "I'm not one of you. I don't like duels. If Ling Zichong and Ning Hutian want to come, let them. If they're not here, I'm not playing along."

The Wooden Face Style requires the practitioner to fully commit themselves. It's said that Madam Shao was once a beautiful girl, but practicing this sword technique turned her into this dry and strange figure. Over the years, she had slain countless foes, causing almost everyone in Changxiang City to fear her. Her opponents were often so terrified by her monstrous expressions that they lost their will to fight.

Madam Shao sighed. "Today, you can't negotiate. Qi Jiafu, to do business with Shao Yishi, you need gold. To do business with Ling Zichong, you need women. You have nothing. Speak with your sword!"

She swung her sword.

The world's most peculiar sword styles are all in the Eight Streams.

Every stream within the Eight Streams requires the practitioner to pay a steep price, often their body and mind. The cost for mastering the Wooden Face Style is one's appearance and joy.

Madam Shao's entire body seemed to have transformed into a long sword. Her waist and hips, hands and feet, brows and eyes—all her movements and rhythms aligned perfectly with the sword's edge. This was no longer a minor skirmish in the Prime Minister's residence.

The moment Qi Jiafu made his move, Madam Shao had become a bloodthirsty wolf.

Her eyes grew so wide they seemed to burst, filled with infinite killing intent and hostility. Her blue-purple lips stretched into a gaping maw, revealing desiccated gums and dark, worm-like veins. The sword's edge was everywhere, like layers of air being peeled away around Qi Jiafu, gradually closing in. Directly facing her, his mind almost got captivated by her gaze; but the moment he turned away, the sword tip was at his chest, his throat, his abdomen—every vital spot.

Qi Jiafu began to feel nauseous. He suddenly had the illusion that an invisible giant hand was tearing and pulling at his face. He couldn't help but move his facial muscles with each punch, knowing it was wrong but unable to control it.

Quick resolution was necessary.

When she swung again, Qi Jiafu flipped backward in mid-air, slid forward on his toes, supported himself with his elbows, and kicked both knees of Madam Shao in a chain of flying kicks. His force was strong enough to knock down even a zombie.

But Madam Shao did not fall. Instead, she jumped straight up. Her body seemed to be a tool for rebounding force. In mid-air, head down, feet up, her left hand curved like a hook, and her right hand thrust the sword straight down. Her mouth opened so wide you could see her throat, and a line of drool fell with the sword's edge.

Qi Jiafu rolled on the ground, the sword tip grazing his ear, pinning to the ground. The gaping maw was now an arm's length from his face. He couldn't hold back any longer. He closed his eyes and roared, punching out—

Almost simultaneously, Madam Shao also let out a scream.

Madam Shao finally squatted down, covering her mouth, tears and mucus streaming down her face, her hands full of blood.

Qi Jiafu also wailed. His arm and waist were clawed, leaving long, bloody gashes. His hand even had two broken teeth embedded in it, leaving inch-long cuts—what was this woman's head made of? He had used half his strength in that punch. Even though he held back a little, such a punch should have dented even iron. Yet, Madam Shao screamed with full energy.

Qi Jiafu picked out the teeth from his hand, grinning and grimacing. "Madam Shao, can we stop fighting now?"

Madam Shao stood up, staggering as if drunk. She was, after all, not a demon. The punch had her head buzzing, waves of nausea hitting her, and she nodded vaguely in agreement.

But someone in the forest laughed: "Why stop? Madam Shao, you're holding back."

Madam Shao cursed through her leaking mouth and stiff jaw.

The person laughed heartily: "Haha, since that's the case, Madam Shao, you step back. I'll join in the fun too."

Qi Jiafu was shocked. His back wound had long since torn open, his fist hurt so much he couldn't clench it, and his waist wound might have internal injuries. He was in severe pain all over, breaking into a cold sweat just by taking a breath. The person in the forest wanted a round-robin fight.

Madam Shao indeed held back. That claw could have disemboweled him if she had gone a bit harder.

Qi Jiafu slowly pulled out the sword stuck in the ground, holding his right hand over his left wrist. This was the Sword Etiquette of the Xiang Dao Ritual, meaning no need to fight to the death.

Madam Shao also extended her dry arm, holding her left hand over her right wrist. Qi Jiafu noticed a deep hollow on her left wrist, as if a large chunk of flesh had been gouged out.

Qi Jiafu held his sword horizontally: "Which one of the Four Young Masters of the capital is here? If you want to see my swordsmanship, then come forward."

The person in the forest seemed to mock him: "I've already made my move. Are you blind?"

Qi Jiafu was startled, finally noticing the forest was teeming with rats, each one fat and the size of a small dog.

Two soft drumbeats sounded from the forest, like a child's toy drum. A voice accompanied the drumbeats, seemingly chanting an ancient song. The voice grew hoarser, intertwining with the clear drumbeats, sending chills down one's spine.

Qi Jiafu immediately recognized it. Even if he didn't, it wouldn't matter. The first row of rats had already leaped up, squeaking and biting at his legs. Qi Jiafu swung his sword, slicing two rats into four pieces. The stench of blood filled the forest. Two dead rats were devoured clean by their kin, leaving behind white skeletons with wing-like bones that flew into the air.

The blood-soaked rats sprouted wings, like giant bats, screeching and charging at Qi Jiafu.

Using the sword as wings to break through the sky—Winged Sword Style!

What day was this, with the Eight Streams of Strange Blades converging in the capital?

Qi Jiafu didn't have time to marvel at this rare event. He had no escape, only the option to swing his sword.

As he drew his sword, several voices simultaneously went "Huh," and one low voice asked, "Isn't there a mistake? This kid isn't one of the Eight Streams."

The drum player was succinct: "I don't believe it."

The other person grew anxious: "He's using the Magnolia Falling Star Sword. Isn't that a bit too orthodox?"

The drum player was cautious: "I still don't believe it. The Magnolia Falling Star Sword is steady and balanced. This kid is only twenty. Not following the Eight Streams' path, he couldn't possibly become the best blade in Changxiang City."

After a moment of silence, the other person sneered, seemingly mocking and hating at the same time: "That's true."

The Eight Streams of Strange Blades are aberrations in swordsmanship, miracles of rapid mastery. Each stream's ultimate power is a lethal strike. This is not a style for friendly sparring; every move carries the risk of mutual destruction. It takes a heavy toll on the practitioner, a game of life for life. Yet in Changxiang City, everyone plays this game. In chaotic times, rapid mastery and swift death go hand in hand.

The Eight Streams rarely appear together, and the Four Young Masters of the capital seldom strike simultaneously.

If the Wooden Face Style and Winged Sword Style were both present, it was time to reveal one's cards.

But this didn't suit Qi Jiafu's habit. He preferred to be the last to reveal his hand. Ling Zichong and Ning Hutian had yet to show their ultimate skills.

He decided to stall a bit longer.

The sky was filled with bats, seemingly strengthened by something that made their bones incredibly hard. A single chop couldn't cut through them; they would come back immediately after being knocked away, their sharp fangs and wide mouths ready to bite and never let go once they latched onto something. When bone bats bit together, they formed chains that twisted around each other and attacked in unison. Feeling the wind behind him, Qi Jiafu dodged forward just in time to avoid a rat tail bone that scraped his back, causing excruciating pain—he feared it had injured his bones.

Unable to bear it any longer, Qi Jiafu turned, grabbed the spine of the rat bone, and with a swift horizontal chop, cut off its tail bone. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he struck three points in midair, causing the rat bones in his hand to collide with others, forming a long chain of bones in midair.

The bone dragon grew longer and longer, and after ten or so additions, it had become a formidable weapon. Swinging it diagonally through the air, it formed a long, arching strike, transforming into a whip technique.

Qi Jiafu's arm moved, and the white bone chain lashed out in all directions, whistling through the night wind like an ancient dragon roaring among the bats. The dragon seemed to gain tremendous power, smashing through the spines and wings of the rat bats. As the dragon continued to grow longer and heavier, Qi Jiafu struggled to maintain control. Finally, he put all his strength into one arm and hurled it toward the direction of the drum player—a torrent of winged blades flew through the air with a gust of wind. The drum player let out a cry, and the sound of the drum ceased abruptly, followed by a loud crash as a large tree fell in the distance, causing a series of creaking and crashing sounds as it fell onto other trees.

Qi Jiafu felt a surge of blood in his chest; he didn't have the strength to repeat such an attack. Panting, he defended himself against the remaining rats, shouting, "Will you stop already?"

The drum started again, "Dong-long, dong-long," and the rat swarm regrouped, ready to attack. The drum player, also panting, called out from afar, "Not done yet... we're far from done... you haven't seen the real deal yet."

Breathing heavily, Qi Jiafu leaned against a pine tree to rest, "What... what do you want to end this?"

The drum player sneered, "You either break my Winged Blade Stream or show your true skills."

Qi Jiafu nearly coughed up blood. If that wasn't breaking the Winged Blade Stream, then what was? The drum player, despite seeing his painstakingly raised rats fall, stubbornly continued his attempts.

Qi Jiafu roared to the sky, "You're a damn lunatic!"

Someone on a tree laughed, "You're right, he really is a lunatic."

Before Qi Jiafu could react, a flying rope whistled up, circling the tree trunk several times and binding him tightly to the pine tree.

Qi Jiafu suddenly remembered the voice, "Ling Zichong!"

To his surprise, the drum player was also displeased, "Ling Zichong, what are you doing? We're not done fighting. Don't gang up on him."

Ling Zichong spat, "Cut the crap. What's the difference between a round-robin and a group attack? This isn't our turf. If we don't take him now, we might get into trouble."

As soon as Qi Jiafu struggled, the long rope tightened painfully behind him. Ling Zichong's voice drifted above, casually admonishing him, "Hey, Commander Jiafu, don't make pointless struggles. Have you heard of the Rope Blade Stream?"

The drum player scoffed, "Pfft, never heard of it. Don't try to squeeze into our Eight Streams of Strange Blades."

Though there was no such thing as a "Rope Blade Stream," the long rope indeed had blades. Qi Jiafu felt warmth and wetness all over his chest and limbs, unsure how many cuts it had inflicted. He was now vaguely furious—Ling Zichong's ambush was utterly shameless. He had three thousand Wind Shadow Riders, but here he was, facing an ambush with single combat. The famed Four Young Masters of the capital should at least use some honorable methods.

Ling Zichong, still nonchalant, said, "Watching you guys fight all this time was killing me. Let me have a smoke, and then we'll go." He pulled out something, and a small flame flickered above.

One spark was enough. Although Qi Jiafu's arms were tightly bound to the tree, he still held the hilt of his sword. As soon as the flame lit up, a shadow seemed to form under the blade. The shadow danced lightly on the ground like a snake, then suddenly transformed into a bolt of lightning, shooting straight into the forest. There was a furious shout, "Ah—my drum—ah... put out the fire, Ling Zichong, you bastard!" Clearly, he had been wounded.

Just a bit more, just a bit... the flame was too weak, and the forest too dark. Qi Jiafu slowly lowered his hand, exhaling deeply, "Is this what you wanted to see?"

Madam Shao, supporting the drum player, came out. The earlier strike had shattered the copper drum and injured the drum player's internal organs. He was sweating profusely, "Quick, let's go... the drum's broken... these rats... they're about to..." He spat out mouthfuls of blood, his face full of fear as he looked at the swarm of waiting rats, bats, and bones on the ground.

Ling Zichong's expression changed too, "Go, go, go."

A loud crash echoed in the distance as something finally settled. The large tree that had been pressing on other trees finally fell.

The drum player, shouting to hurry, was still searching for his broken drum.

Ling Zichong yelled, "You're taking the broken drum with you?"

The drum player yelled back, "You dare scold me? You lit a fire big enough to cook!"

Madam Shao anxiously asked, "What now? What should we do?"

Without the drum's control, the rat swarm began to look for targets to attack.

Qi Jiafu whispered, "Hurry and untie me!"

Ling Zichong quickly loosened the rope. The four of them looked at each other, all eyes eventually falling on Ling Zichong—he was the only one still in decent shape.

Ling Zichong composed himself, "No problem, with me here, we'll get through. But, drum player, what about your pets?"

The drum player, looking like he had lost his mind, mumbled, "We'll deal with that after we get out... nobody comes to this cursed forest anyway."

Outside the forest, a young voice with a feminine tone called out, "Hey! I said I'd come to talk to you guys secretly, don't make me drink."

Then, a group of youths started to cheer, "Let's go inside and drink? No one will see us. Hey, Azheng, drink away your sorrows."

Outside the forest, the youths were still unaware of what was happening tens of meters away. Qingzhen shouted, "If you push me, I'll get mad! If anything happens, my mom will blame Ah Fu. You guys don't believe me? She almost beat him to death today... I mean it, let's stop messing around. Women are no fun; they always cause trouble."

The youths pushed Qingzhen towards the forest, "A little drink, some singing, what could happen... let's go, aren't you a bit old to be talking about your mom?"

Qi Jiafu, covered in blood, punched the tree heavily, almost in tears.

Ling Zichong had already raised the rope blade, forming a defensive circle around them. He looked back, "Hey, Commander, what do we do? The young master is here."

Qi Jiafu gripped his sword, "Lend me a light."

Ling Zichong was surprised, "You want to die?"

Qi Jiafu calmly repeated, "Lend me a light."

"I'll lead the way, you better keep up!" Ling Zichong let out a strange laugh. His rope blade coiled around the treetops as he flew through the forest, tossing seven or eight firecrackers along the way. Explosions erupted, and the forest became a sea of flames. Ling Zichong's drawn-out voice, half-crying, half-singing, echoed through the chaos: "Shao Genjin, go home and cry. This time, you're really done for—Qi Jiafu, don't just stand there like an idiot—"

Hundreds, thousands of bone bats soared from the flames, dense as burning clouds. Their bones glowed red-hot, but their winged blades remained icy and sharp, relentlessly pursuing Ling Zichong.

Qi Jiafu had already raised his sword steadily. The golden firelight reflected on the blade, as if it had come to life, spinning and whistling, radiating brilliance. The firelight gathered on the edge like strings of a fiery harp, with golden phoenix wings slicing through the sky. Gentle yet swift waves of light caught up with the winged bats.

Bone wings shattered above the flames, the winged blades falling like snowflakes.

A perfect annihilation.

"Run! There's a fire! Call the city garrison!" The youths scattered in panic.

Qi Jiafu slowly collapsed… he had finally used his ultimate technique.

Under the Nine Bear Snow Mountain, at the source of the Mulan River.

The foremost technique of the Eight Streams of Strange Blades, which once killed Sikong Zhilong in one strike at Changxiang City—the Shadow Blade Stream of the Eight Streams of Strange Swords.

"Move, move, the city garrison is coming!" Ling Zichong called out.

"What about him?" Shao Genjin stepped over Qi Jiafu's body. Madam Shao glanced at him, noticing that though he seemed unconscious, he still held his sword tightly—so long as he gripped his sword, he remained a formidable opponent.

"We can't take him. We'll deal with it another day." Avoiding direct confrontation with the surface world was an unchanging principle of the Diding Society.

"Wait, I'll go with you." Qi Jiafu opened his eyes.

Ling Zichong, Madam Shao, and Shao Genjin exchanged glances.

"I've wanted to see Shao for a long time." Qi Jiafu smiled, "I know he wants to see me too."