Before the little page boy's voice had even faded, Ye Fan pressed his fingertips a bit harder against the Jiuxiao Huanpei at his waist. Inside the phantom mountains and rivers on the surface of the jade pendant, a wisp of black Qi was writhing like a living creature, and the sharp pain from when he was backstabbed in his past life suddenly surged up from the depths of his memory—back then, he had been the same, cornered and killed in a secret room under the pretext of treasure hunting.
"What are you panicking for?" He flicked the page boy's trembling forehead with his crooked finger, turned around, and pushed the Martial Discourses of the Ye Family across the desk, the scabbard of the Dark Iron Saber striking a crisp sound against the bluestone floor. "If Young Master Zhao wants to search, he naturally has to pick a well-lit place."
Just as his voice fell, a kick came from outside the courtyard. With a loud crash, the carved wooden door slammed against the wall, the resulting gust of wind flipping over the pages of paper on the desk. The leading young man wore dark martial attire, with a gilded Tiger Tally hanging at his waist; he was none other than Zhao Wuji, the son of the City Lord of Qinglan City. Behind him followed six men carrying sabers, the scabbards wrapped in crimson silk ribbons from the City Lord's Mansion, their blades gleaming coldly in the light filtering through the corridor.
"Third Young Master Ye is in such high spirits." Zhao Wuji glanced at the martial manual on the desk, his gaze falling on the Jiuxiao Huanpei at Ye Fan's waist as his Adam's apple bobbed. "I heard you acquired a treasure? My father says that anything in Qinglan City must be brought out for the City Lord to have a look."
Ye Fan lowered his gaze to look at his green robe, which still bore a fist print, and suddenly smiled. "If Young Master Zhao wants to admire the treasure, he should go to the martial arts arena." He tapped his finger against the character "Zhen" engraved on the Dark Iron Saber. "This treasure needs to be tested with real combat to show its true worth."
"The martial arts arena?" Zhao Wuji narrowed his eyes, sweeping his gaze across the saber at Ye Fan's waist, then glancing at the watching Ye Family servants. Those people shrank their necks and hid behind the corridor pillars, causing the corners of his mouth to curl upward. "Very well, I'd like to see what tricks you can pull off."
The Blue Stone Slab of the martial arts arena was baked scorching hot by the noon sun. The clansmen of the Ye Family had gotten wind of the news early, squeezing in twos and threes outside the railing, and even the old servant in charge of cleaning stood in the corner holding a broom. Ye Fan stood in the center of the arena, the Dark Iron Saber hanging obliquely at his side, the character "Zhen" on the scabbard gleaming with dark patterns in the sunlight. Zhao Wuji had stripped off his outer robe, revealing his sturdy chest, and was holding a wild goose feather saber, the blade reflecting his tense jawline.
"Make your move," Ye Fan said, his voice sounding like spring water soaked in a mountain stream. "I'll let you strike first."
"Arrogant!" Zhao Wuji let out a furious roar, the wild goose feather saber bringing a rush of wind as it slashed downward. He practiced the "Cloud-Breaking Saber Technique" from the City Lord's Mansion, and its first form, "Parting the Clouds to See the Sun," was specifically designed to break external martial arts. Before the blade even arrived, the fierce Qi was already making Ye Fan's stray bangs flutter wildly across his forehead. Yet Ye Fan did not move. It was only when the blade was a mere three inches from his throat that he suddenly sidestepped, raising the scabbard of the Dark Iron Saber horizontally to block—not taking it head-on, but guiding it along the saber's momentum. Seven-tenths of Zhao Wuji's force was neutralized, and just as he was about to change his stance, he saw Ye Fan's left fist suddenly burst forward.
Wrapped within the fist wind was a faint, lingering Qinglan Qi. This was the "Zhen Qi" he had practiced a hundred times on the sandbag over the past three days: the Qi circulated around the Zhangmen acupoint for half a breath, its outer layer being crushing force, while the inside was vibrational force. The moment his fist grazed Zhao Wuji's chest, the surface crushing force only caused the other man to groan, but that wispy, circulating Qi drilled straight through his lapels and exploded between his ribs.
"You!" Zhao Wuji stumbled backward, pressing a hand to his chest as blood seeped between his fingers. Only then did he realize that Ye Fan's fist hadn't even broken his skin, yet the injury was far deeper than being slashed by a blade.
"Young Master Zhao's saber is too slow." Ye Fan stepped forward, and the Dark Iron Saber finally left its scabbard. The blade was unsharpened, yet it was wrapped in a pale cyan halo of Qinglan Qi. "Again."
This time Zhao Wuji learned his lesson, his saber strikes as dense as a rainstorm. Knowing that Ye Fan excelled at close combat, he stuck entirely to agile maneuvers, directing his blade specifically at vulnerable joints like wrists and ankles. Yet no matter how he changed his moves, Ye Fan's scabbard seemed to have eyes, always managing to tap the back of his saber precisely when his old strength was exhausted and his new strength had yet to form. Even more bizarrely, whenever the scabbard touched his weapon, a wisp of Qi would vibrate through the metal and drill into his meridians, churning his vital energy into chaos.
"Is this... the Ye Family's Qinglan Qi?" Someone in the crowd shouted out.
"Bulls***!" Veins bulged on Zhao Wuji's forehead as the wild goose feather saber suddenly shifted direction, stabbing straight at Ye Fan's throat—this was the lethal move "Cloud Throat-Lock" from the "Cloud-Breaking Saber Technique." His father had told him that this move could break all defenses below the Gang Transformation Realm.
Yet Ye Fan's fist arrived once more. This punch was even faster than before, the Qinglan Qi on his knuckles condensing into substance, piercing through the gap in the blades like a thin needle. Zhao Wuji felt his tiger's mouth go numb, and the wild goose feather saber dropped to the ground with a clatter. Before he could even react, Ye Fan's knee had already driven into his lower abdomen—not delivering a hard impact, but sending him off with the momentum of his retreat. His entire body flew three zhang away, crashing heavily against the stone pier at the edge of the martial arts arena, doubling over in pain like a shrimp.
"Do you concede?" Ye Fan sheathed his saber, the character "Zhen" on the scabbard glistening with sweat.
Zhao Wuji stared at the wild goose feather saber by his feet, his Adam's apple bobbing as he suddenly shouted at the top of his lungs, "You... you used evil arts! My father is the City Lord, I'm going to report you!"
"Report what?" Ye Fan bent down to pick up his saber, the blade reflecting his calm brows and eyes. "Report that I was sparring with you in the martial arts arena?" He flicked his fingertips lightly against the back of the blade, causing it to vibrate and hum. "Or report yourself for failing to withstand even the punches and kicks of the Ye Family's third young master?"
The watching clansmen burst into laughter. Several young disciples quietly clenched their fists—they had long despised Zhao Wuji for throwing his weight around in Qinglan City under the guise of being the City Lord's son, and today they finally got to see someone puncture his arrogance.
Zhao Wuji's face turned beet red, and he suddenly fumbled for the City Lord's token at his waist. Engraved on the back of that token was a dark pattern that he had accidentally seen yesterday in the City Lord's study—the mark of Hanmei Pavilion. He recalled the words his father had lowered his voice to say last night: "There is something inside that Jiuxiao Huanpei, and we must get our hands on it."
"You just wait!" He stumbled to his feet, snatched up his saber, and turned to leave, deliberately bumping his shoulder against Ye Fan as he passed by.
Ye Fan stood in place without moving, his gaze falling instead on the token at Zhao Wuji's waist. The dark pattern loomed vaguely in the sunlight, resembling a dormant snake. He touched the Jiuxiao Huanpei again; the black Qi inside the pendant was thicker than before, even faintly exuding a fishy stench—this wasn't ordinary karma, but someone using the hands of the City Lord's Mansion to lure him into exposing himself.
"Third Young Master!" The little page boy squeezed out from the crowd, holding a blue-and-white porcelain jar in his hands. "The Nu'erhong you wanted is warmed up!"
Ye Fan took the wine jar and tilted his head back to take a large gulp. The burning liquid scorched his throat, yet it made his gaze even brighter. He looked in the direction where Zhao Wuji had left, a faint smile curving at the corner of his mouth—what was meant to come would always come, only he hadn't expected that the hand behind the scenes reached much further than he had imagined.
The wine liquid in the jar sloshed, reflecting the churning black Qi within the Jiuxiao Huanpei at his waist, as if eager to devour someone.