Chapter 29
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 28
Chapter Title: Sharp Edge - 1
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In the world of today, the spirited young heroes were gathered and called the Four Dragons and Five Phoenixes. One among them was the righteous swordsman known as the White-Clothed Azure Sword, who had single-handedly wiped out the infamous Nine Flower Village. The third grandson of Sword King Namgung Jincheon, who had arrived at Bul Mountain today, enjoyed resounding fame for both his swordsmanship and his striking looks.
The Huangfu Clan's guest reception master personally opened the gates for him, and as he walked, well-dressed commoners showered him with flowers and coins. If all he sought was to show himself, spread his name far and wide, and take a leisurely tour all the way to distant Bul Mountain, then Namgung Dan had already accomplished more than enough.
But he had not come merely to play today. Every step taken by the ruling bloodlines of the clans demanded utmost caution.
"It's Dan. I hope you're well."
"The little rascal who was scampering about ten years ago has grown into such a fine young man! Hahaha! What are you waiting for? Open up Huangzheng Tower! I need some time alone with my nephew to catch up!"
The visit of Namgung Clan's third young master to the Huangfu Clan—this announcement to the entire martial world was already the first move on the board. Huangfu Hu laughed heartily as he dismissed the attendants.
A natural private audience unfolded.
No one dared intrude. Atop the Huangfu Clan's pride, the nine-story tower that was the tallest on Bul Mountain, wine cups tilted. The rare vintage, worth enough for a house in a single drop, was poured to the brim. Namgung Dan received the cup with refined grace.
"Have a drink and take a look around."
The top of Huangzheng Tower was open on all sides. From there, the full vista of Bul Mountain lay revealed.
The founding clan head of the Huangfu Clan had built Huangzheng Tower in the hope that his descendants would never forget their roots, always able to gaze upon what their clan truly was and where their power came from.
"What do you see?"
"The great earth."
There, fields of gold stretched out.
Pavilions soared skyward as if piercing the heavens. Carts and carriages filled the main boulevards, overflowing with goods. Five massive granaries dotted across the city brimmed with rice harvested from all across Guangdong, guarded with unyielding vigilance by elite warriors.
In an era of successive poor harvests that bankrupted lesser clans and left even middling ones struggling to survive, Bul Mountain as seen by Namgung Dan bore not the slightest blemish. And that was precisely what made it one of the Five Great Clans—the Huangfu of Guangdong.
Some things could only be felt by seeing them firsthand. The view from Huangzheng Tower alone qualified the Huangfu to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the Namgung name.
"The land is alive. Have you ever dug into the soil?"
"No, sir."
"No soil crumbles alone. Weeds' roots and mud's moisture bind it all together firmly. That city is the same."
Raw power alone could not claim the world. Thus, they had mastered management—the handling of the earth's bounty.
Wealth and people, bound tightly together, formed an impregnable fortress.
But conversely, because so many were bound, even a minor flaw became a blemish on the whole.
"There was that business in Jiangming. A small, unremarkable city, but the ripples were far from small."
Huangfu Hu recalled it. How much had they invested in the Hua Clan? Martial arts manuals, spirit medicines, time across generations. Cultivating loyal retainers who would never betray them—he had considered it money well spent.
Yet.
Faced with the gruesome corpse of his golden child, Hua Zhongbin had lost his reason alongside his daughter. He had turned mad, eyes bloodshot with rage. Ugly rumors spread that he was selling off clan assets to contact assassins—hardly the conduct expected of one of the Five Phoenix Clans.
As a father who had lost a child, Huangfu Hu could understand. A wandering ronin would have done the same, rightfully so. But Hua Zhongbin was the head of a clan.
The crack in the Hua Clan rippled outward to the Five Phoenix Clans. And those waves subtly reached even the Huangfu Clan.
"Just when we need to begin our power struggle with the Nine Sects, this is ill news."
"Have you identified the culprits?"
"A man using a deathblow palm and a woman with pale skin. Not even nicknames to go on."
"They'll earn nicknames once they're cut down."
"Cold as ever, past and present."
A wind blew in from outside. Winter air brushed Namgung Dan's cheek.
"That's why the clan head sent me."
Huangfu Hu gazed at the envoy from his old friend. The silent message: finish this quickly and lend your strength. Overwhelming force. Sometimes, the aid of a single peak expert outvalued a hundred first-rate warriors.
The White-Clothed Divine Hero—people knew only the image of the tall, noble youth clad in pristine white with his azure sword at his side. But hidden within was the blade of the Namgung Clan.
The Namgung entrusted their most dangerous, dirtiest missions to a single kin. The peerless swordsman who had shouldered that yoke since youth was called the Shadow Sword.
A bold sacrifice for the greater cause. That was part of the righteousness they pursued.
"I've selected our swiftest to track them down. Don't dawdle—handle it swiftly and head back."
"Understood."
Even if it wasn't a plot by the Nine Sects, it didn't matter. With Namgung Dan dispatched, the truth of the Jiangming bloodbath would be reshaped and spread across the world. Huangfu Hu tilted his cup, gazing at the sunset over Bul Mountain.
The horizon beyond was dyed crimson by the falling sun.
For days, the Dragon Star Clan made no move. Rumors spread like wildfire. A rejuvenated elder expert had appeared among the refugees. A demon that tore men apart whole. The information was vague, veracity doubtful.
Incredible tales began to circulate bit by bit. The Dragon Star Clan had been defeated. The execution squad had fled. The scarred one was dead. Sounds too fantastical to believe.
Yet already, low-ranking members faced cold stares. Whispers spread of a new group emerging. A righteous faction free of fear—someone even hurled rotten eggs at a Dragon Star Clan gathering and escaped.
On the flip side, Dragon Star Clan thugs beat men to death over trifling disputes with alarming frequency. Restoring shattered pride. Atoning for insults, salvaging face. In the upper echelons' silence, the frustration boiled over; the petty enforcers grew more violent, and invisible pressure mounted slowly.
Bul Mountain heated up, foreshadowing the catastrophe to come. Unease hung in the air, tension leaping from street to street. People held their tongues, sensing something was about to erupt.
"My Lord."
And in the darkness, one rumor flowed.
The Divine Maiden had appeared. She healed the sick, raised the lame, freed them from oppression. Those with legs and strength flocked and prostrated themselves.
"My Lord, the people await."
The Girl turned to Zhang Ping. Her black eyes pierced straight into his heart, laced with gentle reproach.
You've been meddling needlessly.
Her gaze seemed to say as much, and Zhang Ping bowed his head deeply. But how could he have held back? The Girl before him was no different from a goddess.
Reading his heart, she offered no scolding. With a soft rustle, her skirt brushed the ground. Bai Hui walked at her side, bloodied longsword at his waist, shadowing her like a ghost.
The cramped clearing was packed tight with people, who hastily parted. Some bowed their heads; others groveled in supplication.
The Girl passed through the forest of humanity. Hundreds of eyes fixed upon her.
The emotions readable within... expectation, desperation, salvation. And hope.
The Girl remembered first meeting Bai Hui. The pain and anguish buried in those eyes, as he pretended nonchalance, deceived himself into believing he was unscathed.
The agony of a lifetime spent fleeing, crushed, trampled, despised—consoling himself as the only option. In a world where swords and blades were closer than anything, that was the weak's existence.
The strong crashed down like tidal waves. No matter the struggle, only impotent rage accumulated.
The Girl remembered first taking Bai Hui's pulse. Beyond the icy bars, those eyes staring at her with pure hatred and desperate yearning.
The heart of that day's Girl, who had lost everything and cast even hope into the abyss—no different from his.
Thus, the Girl thought: I'm nothing special.
The clearing brimmed with people.
Everywhere she looked, the same pain she had endured. The same agony she had suffered. They all bore relatable torments, enduring, surviving.
Beings ignored by gods and Buddhas—far too many. Someone had to become their savior, she resolved.
A presence to cry out for at life's very end.
That presence would not preach immortals' enlightenments. Nor expound Buddhas' mercies. For those cast into the world of asuras and hungry ghosts, what was needed were sharp fangs and sturdy arms.
The Girl asked.
"Do you want to become strong?"