Whispers of the Emperor Sword
A cool breeze fluttered by, soothing my sweat-drenched shoulders. Watching the scenery whip past nonstop from the rattling carriage hurtling down the road was its own kind of fun. Beyond the carriage window stretched vibrant countryside, thick with the fresh scent of earth. The carriage was barreling through a small rural village straddling the border between Hubei and Anhui. Hubei—home turf of the Wudang Sect, the martial world's beating heart—had Sichuan off to the left and Anhui to the right. Omit either from a wuxia tale, and fans would wail in despair. Sichuan goes without saying: the Sichuan Tang Clan, infamous alongside the Poison Palace as one of the elite assassin groups with a storied legacy in toxins. As far as I knew, no wuxia novel skipped the Tangs—they had that irresistible poison gimmick.
If we're naming sects, there's the ancient Emei Sect, all nuns; then the minor players like Jeungcheong Sect and Cheongsung Sect, which most novels just name-drop—if at all. Still, any true wuxia buff knows 'em; they're majors among the minors. They even pop up as the protagonist's sect sometimes. But stack 'em against the Nine Great Sects or Eight Great Powers, and yeah, their presence is pretty damn thin.
Anhui, off Hubei's right flank, was Nangong Family territory. Lightning symbols, martial arts with that ballsy "Emperor" tag—they're wuxia royalty. Their signature moves, the Heavenly Thunder Heart-Shattering Qi Gong and Emperor Sword Technique, rivaled Wudang's own Taiji Sword in fame. The imperial court turning a blind eye to "Emperor" in their names? That screamed Nangong prestige.
"We'll rest here a bit."
The coachman pulled the carriage to a halt. After nearly half a shichen of nonstop rattling, it finally ground to a stop with a jolt. The two horses were beat, tongues lolling as they panted. My body ached too. Sure, it was a fancy carriage, but compared to a modern car? My whole frame throbbed.
I climbed out. We'd stopped in some nameless village on the Hubei-Anhui border. From the novel? Nah, didn't ring a bell—probably never even got a one-liner.
"Two geng of rest. If anyone's got urgent business, handle it now."
The coachman fetched a leather waterskin and hay from the luggage compartment, feeding the horses. Damn, they chowed down like pros. Watching them munch made my stomach growl. I headed into the village. Hope there's a decent inn. Road trips are all about hitting those rest-stop gems, and in the Central Plains, inn-hopping was the real thrill. But in a backwater like this? Finding an inn was like hunting a needle in a sand dune—especially if everyone's just farmers. Set up shop there, and you'd go bust fast. Wuxia novels made it seem like every village had a swanky inn, though.
Luckily, my worries were for nothing. I followed the steam wafting up and spotted a place with a "Wine" sign swinging out front.
Zhu Ye Qing from wuxia tales packed too much kick for my taste, but after that long ride, a drink sounded perfect. Nothing washes away fatigue like booze—especially the strong stuff.
The half-open door let out a promising food aroma. Probably just my hunger talking, but whatever.
"Welcome!"
I brushed aside the noren curtain and stepped in. A sly-looking waiter bowed his head in greeting. I instinctively scanned the place. You never know—might bump into a novel character. Inns were where martial artists crossed paths. But no other customers. Made sense for a podunk village inn.
I grabbed a corner seat. "Bring your best dish. Cold water instead of tea."
"Huangshan Stewed Pigeon it is."
The waiter brought a cool glass of water. In Central Plains inns, you had to specify cold water or you'd get hot tea by default. I didn't hate tea, but for cooling the mouth? Ice-cold water won.
"Oho. Smells like a decent joint."
While waiting for food, another customer strolled in. I glanced over. Lean build, sharp features—narrow, slit eyes radiating a serpentine edge. Like a sly, cunning fox turned human.
He took the center table. "Welcome. Order up?"
"Fastest thing you've got."
"Huangshan Stewed Pigeon, no question. Right out."
He ordered the same as me. With just us two in the empty inn, an awkward vibe hung in the air. I eyed him discreetly, racking my brain for novel matches. Extreme Sword Heavenly Immortal wasn't big on pinpointing folks by looks alone.
Hmm. No clue. Some random?
Makes sense—in this vast Central Plains, stumbling on novel characters wasn't gonna happen easy. Meeting Dan Yuha before was a legit miracle.
I sipped my water, gaze shifting to the wall. Zero interior design effort; nothing to see. Just eat and bounce.
Then the door swung open again, booming laughter echoing. "Haha! There it is! Inn ho!"
"Right away~ Welcome!"
This guy was Zhang Fei reincarnate: burly martial artist with a massive spear slung on his back—six chi long, like the eighteen-foot snake spear from Romance of the Three Kingdoms. The tip snagged the doorframe, so he tilted it to squeeze through.
"Hit me with your biggest spread!"
"Huangshan Stewed Pigeon it is. Coming right up."
He talked down to folks like it was breathing. Wuxia waiter—hot kitchen line cook of the era—took the condescension in stride. Dude plopped down between me and Snake-Eyes.
"Place is dead. Mealtime, and only this many customers?"
Unlike Snake-Eyes, he blurted thoughts unfiltered, livening the dead air. I ignored him, sipping water. Waiter brought tea for the new guys. Then Burly stood abruptly.
"Brother, mind if I join ya?"
He'd already sat before Snake-Eyes could reply. Bold as hell—matched his look. Waiter eyed them nervously. Giant with a peasant-crushing spear? Martial artist. Opposite's vibe screamed the same. Martial artists + inn = trouble. Waiter gospel.
Snake-Eyes glanced, nodded. Approval. Burly chuckled, sipped tea, then launched intros.
"Name's Bang Geukcheon. From Henan. You?"
Cliché-smashing brevity. Norm martial artist spiel: "This humble one is so-and-so from whatever peak, nth-gen disciple of whatever sect." Helps readers ID the rando. But Bang? Just name, origin—suspiciously fitting.
"Paeng Dorim."
Even more bare-bones. Bang didn't care, laughed on. "Henan Paeng Clan?"
"Nope."
"Where from?"
"The west."
Nutrient-free chit-chat. Meanwhile, my hearty meal arrived. Huangshan Stewed Pigeon: Anhui-style samgyetang, oily steam rising. Pigeon and hemp seed stew, per waiter. Generous portion, tasty as hell.
"What brings you to this backwater? Heading to Anhui like me?"
"Yep."
"Oho! So Paeng bro's chasing that too?"
Burly dropped "that." I perked ears, tearing into pigeon. Prime foreshadowing.
"Guessing you're off to Nangong Family for it too."
"Haha! Yeah. Can't sit on rumors that juicy!"
Paeng spat "Nangong Family." I skimmed the novel plot. Anything Nangong-related this timeline? Extreme Sword Heavenly Immortal stuck to protag Gong Wuseon's POV, so off-screen events were fuzzy. Plus, this was pre-novel—past events unfolding now. Like Moon Shadow Cult Lord's schemes.
As I dug through memories, Burly dropped a hint. "Hope the rumors are true. I'd love a wedding. Nangong's little miss? Perfect bride material."
Nangong's little miss: Nangong Biyeon. With that nudge, it clicked why they were headed there.
The Emperor Sword incident!
Emperor Sword: Nangong heirloom, Excalibur stuck in their ancestral shrine. Tradition: yank it to claim house head creds. But current head Nangong Mosan couldn't. He inherited sans heir, but failing the sword haunted him. So he declares to the jianghu: Pull the sword, marry in, inherit the family.
Jianghu hotbloods swarm. Gong Wuseon tries later too. Way down the line, but he heads to Anhui—not for the house, but to peep the famed beauty Nangong Biyeon. Gets tangled with bandits, never arrives.
Twist: Biyeon's an ugly hag!
Folks assume elite clan kids are lookers. In this world, it held—top families bred hotties, beauty scaling with power. Rare ugly male powerhouses, but women? Beauty = strength. So they fantasize Biyeon—never seen publicly—and grind for the sword. Mosan's ploy: snag a strong son-in-law and offload his troll daughter. Eat the pheasant, keep the egg.
I filed the Emperor Sword away. Top-tier opportunity for me. And Biyeon too. I'm picky with women—no uggos on my list. But her? She's no real troll; just playing one. Prime catch.
Plenty of time anyway—years till it gets pulled canonically. No rush.
Food gone. I paid, stood. The other two rose too—wolfed their pigeon in one go. We exited together, heading same way. My carriage now flanked by theirs. Coachmen chatting.
"Hey, ain't it time to roll?"
Bang yelled at the scrawny, yellow-robed coachman, who flinched. Rubbing hands, he explained. "Uh... problem. Wheel's cracked—needs fixing."
Bang scowled. Rarin' for Anhui, now this. Coachman preempted rage. "S-so I scouted! This one's headed to Anhui too—switch here!"
Bang cooled. All roads lead to Rome. The swap? My carriage.
"Fine. Departure?"
"Soon."
Just like that, Bang and I were travel buddies. He didn't ask my say-so. I shrugged—didn't wanna beef with a martial artist. Plus, bored of scenery; company was welcome.
"Departing."
Carriage lurched off. Seat felt cramped with Burly, but he behaved—conked out snoring.
"When's Anhui?" I asked the coachman.
"One more day to enter. Two more to Cheonju Mountain, Nangong seat."
At least two days with this guy. I closed eyes, letting the jolts rock me.