Prologue

A man shouted it so, and the vast crowd gathered all around erupted in a roar.

There was one man who climbed onto the sparring stage with that roar resting on his shoulders.

Gwak Jong, the Autumn Cloud Sword. Thirty years old, he was a man whose skill and renown both ran deep enough to hold a seat ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in the Murim Alliance, though he had come from only a mid-to-small sect. Because of that, the crowd assembled at Jeokhyang-gwan was far larger than on an ordinary day. Perhaps today, at last, they might see that Hong Yeon lose. Perhaps the pavilion had finally met its match. Such were the hearts they had brought.

And so Gwak Jong came up, pressed his hands together, and offered a bow to those around him. When the courtesy was done, the crowd turned as one to look toward a single side. He had ascended; now Hong Yeon would appear.

Tung— tiring— tuung— toong—

From one side came the plucked voice of a qin, and the crowd held its breath together.

The Jeokhyang-gwan Annex, joined to the sparring stage. Its doors opened, and from between the beaded curtains a single pale, lovely hand emerged and swept them aside. A woman appeared, and a low murmur of awe rolled through the onlookers.

"The Brothel Sword Empress..."

More than one voice breathed it.

Hong Yeon, the Brothel Sword Empress. She ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠herself disliked the name, but her fame had already spread too far, and so the people called her that. As she stepped forth, their eyes followed as if bewitched.

A peerless beauty. A face to topple kingdoms. One who shames the moon and outshines the flowers. One at whose glance fish sink and geese fall. The foremost beauty beneath heaven...

Some wondered whether Xi Shi, the famed beauty of the State of Yue, might not have looked just so. Others thought that if Yang Guifei were born again, she would look like this. Talk of Wang Zhaojun and Diaochan, of course, was never absent.

Such was Hong Yeon's beauty. She could set her name beside those who had stood in the ranks of beauties through every age, and not a soul would find her wanting. Hair like polished ebony. Skin white as pure jade. Brows as if drawn in a single sweeping stroke, and cheeks the color of peach blossom.

Walking out, she turned her eyes and slowly regarded the crowd. Then she smiled, soft and slight. In that instant, those who met her pale crimson eyes felt — only for a heartbeat — as if their hearts had stopped. And they prayed, fervently, that Gwak Jong would lose. Even if they themselves could never have her, they could not bear to watch her taken into another man's arms. Was that not the shape of it?

Hong Yeon stepped onto the sparring stage. Toward the Gwak Jong before her she pressed her hands together and offered a graceful bow.

"This humble maiden offers her gratitude to the Autumn Cloud Sword, who has taken such precious steps for the sake of so lowly a girl."

There is a saying: the sound of jade pearls rolling across a silver tray. Hearing her voice, every soul in the crowd found that very image rising in the mind. Clear, and yet soft — a warmth as if one were being wrapped in a quilt of silk.

"Haha! What need for such words, Young Lady! And I did not come merely to take a few steps! Today I mean to cross swords with you and enter the annex of Jeokhyang-gwan!"

A voice brimming with confidence. This time cheers and jeers burst out together. Before Hong Yeon had appeared, the cheers had clearly been the louder. But once they had seen her, their hearts had changed. However one looked at it, she was too precious to lose.

Hong Yeon inclined her head deeply once, then spoke again.

"Then allow me to speak once more of the customs of Jeokhyang-gwan."

Gwak Jong wanted to duel this very moment, and to win at once. Only then could he take the Hong Yeon before his eyes into his arms. But there was such a thing as procedure, and so he feigned composure and listened to her voice.

"For this duel, the Autumn Cloud Sword has laid down one thousand taels of silver. You have also made it known to all under heaven that you yourself have entered the Jeokhyang Banquet. Lastly, should the result of the Jeokhyang Banquet not fall as you wish, you have pledged that — regardless of circumstance — you will once answer a request to grace this place with your presence. Is that so?"

"It is so!"

Gwak Jong answered without a flicker of shame. It was a matter all the world already ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠knew, and so he had no reason not to stand tall. And yet, in truth, these were considerable constraints.

One thousand taels of silver. By no means a small sum. It was enough to buy a proper tile-roofed house in Suzhou, where prices ran high — enough to purchase two thousand bushels of rice. And to announce publicly, before all under heaven, that one was entering the Jeokhyang Banquet was no small thing either. For those of social standing and renown, the mere act of taking part could become a blemish on the name. To issue a challenge like this merely to win a single courtesan was, by any reasonable measure, absurd.

And if, on top of that, one were to lose? That could close off the road ahead. A man might be pointed at as the fool who had lost to a courtesan. Above all, the final condition loomed largest. Hong Yeon had phrased it in a roundabout way, but the meaning was simple: lose the duel, and thereafter, whenever Jeokhyang-gwan called, one must come and render aid once. A Jianghu brimming with debts of gratitude and grudges. A martial world where no one could know what the next day might bring. In such ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a place, this pledge was precious indeed. It was a world where a single word could turn an enemy into a benefactor, and so a right of summons like this became a great weapon in Jeokhyang-gwan's hands.

"Very well. The honored guests gathered here have stood as guarantors of this pledge. And so the Jeokhyang Banquet shall now begin."

With those words, Hong Yeon offered another graceful bow. Then she slowly drew the sword at her waist and let it hang toward the floor. Seeing that, Gwak Jong thought, At last, it begins, and hastily drew his own. Steel sang, high and clear — a blade anyone would have taken for a treasured sword.

"I shall yield you three moves! Come!"

And Gwak Jong said what he ought not to have said. He had likely spoken while picturing his own gallant figure, but there were few acts more pathetic. Even among the watching crowd, weary sighs and the click of tongues could be heard.

"Since the Great Hero has said so, this humble maiden will not refuse. Then..."

Hong Yeon took up an elegant opening stance, laid her hand upon the sword, and smiled. Clad in light red robes cut like martial dress, she became a single blossom and launched herself at him. The blade she cast was light. Not the slightest breath of threat clung to it, and so Gwak Jong turned it aside with ease — easily enough that he even thought, Her pride must have been badly stung. Does she mean to throw the three moves away for nothing?

But at the second sword that followed, he hastily discarded that thought. Unlike the first, swept plainly from side to side, a blade bearing a fierce air came chopping down from above. Kang! A clamorous ring of metal rolled out in every direction. Gwak Jong urgently corrected his stance. And this time Hong Yeon spun where she stood; the hem of her skirt opened like petals, and the sword thrust in at a terrifying speed.

"Ngh!"

Gwak Jong ground his teeth and barely slipped the thrust.

The most ordinary of sword methods — in truth, so basic it was awkward even to call it a sword art. The foundation of foundations. What Hong Yeon had shown were precisely those three moves. And yet they were swords that ran on an entirely different track from any such Three Powers Sword Technique: blades swung as if to say that, since three moves had been yielded, she had merely waved them. The problem was that their power had been anything but ordinary. Had the final thrust been late by even an instant, his solar plexus would have been run through.

And so Gwak Jong clenched his teeth and resolved to bring out the whole of his true skill. In truth, that was what he ought to have done from the start. Had Hong Yeon been weak — had her martial arts been shallow — she could not still have been holding these Jeokhyang Banquets. The conceit every man possesses. No — the heart any person of Jianghu would hold, man or not. I am special. Or, She still lives only because she has yet to meet me. Arrogance, pride, and reckless courage of that sort.

Gwak Jong repented of having harbored such thoughts, and he emptied his mind entirely. He was a man worthy of being called a Great Hero. And so, once he came to his senses and properly displayed the skill of his own body, his momentum was truly formidable.

The Jangpa Sect of Hubei — a mid-to-small sect, and yet the sect that had raised Gwak Jong to the First-Rate Realm. The sword in his hand drew a gentle arc, then reached toward Hong Yeon.

A form in which the heavy sword and the swift sword were aptly mingled. With a sharp whistle, the blade went for Hong Yeon's throat. He had no thought of truly piercing her. He meant to halt it precisely one inch short, and smile in triumph. But that thought was a little early.

Hong Yeon lightly struck the sword aside, then spun her body once more and swung into Gwak Jong's blind spot. In her sword there was none of his complacency, none of his carelessness. The blade grazed his collar, and Gwak Jong, badly startled, yanked himself back. But her sword chased after him and came around again. He had not even set his stance before he desperately beat it away, and the difference in raw strength let him right himself before long. Yet in the instant before his posture was fully settled, Hong Yeon's sword, on a subtle beat, thrust in toward his body.

"Hah—!"

The Gwak Jong who had only just been trying to steady himself found hands and feet thrown into disorder by that single sword. His stance grew unsteady once more, and her blade sought the blind angle yet again.

"Haah!"

If this continued, his loss was plain. Gwak Jong was not so incompetent as to fail to see it. He could at least read the state of the match, and he knew her skill was not something to dismiss. This was no time to cling to face. If he was to be disgraced anyway, better to win and be disgraced — for then, at least, he could still hold that Hong Yeon.

It was a realm in which even a sword beaten from common scrap iron, once wrapped in Sword Qi, could cleave a famed blade clean in two. Even if Gwak Jong won, he would likely not escape the pointing of fingers. Word would remain that he had used Sword Qi merely to defeat a single courtesan. Without a doubt. But this was not the time to weigh such things, and so he swung, in all sincerity, the sword wrapped in Sword Qi.

The problem was that Hong Yeon avoided it far too simply — turning her body once around — and thrust. That sword struck the edge of Gwak Jong's blade hard, and from the shock he lost his grip.

Clang.

Gwak Jong's sword tumbled across the sparring stage, and the hem of Hong Yeon's skirt settled, light as a breath.

"This humble maiden was fortunate. Great Hero, do you acknowledge that you have not achieved your aim?"

Gwak Jong was no fool. Nor was this the first time he had tasted defeat. Hong Yeon had said she was lucky, but that was absolutely not so. He knew with perfect clarity that he had lost.

"Ha. The day was not mine. I lost. I'll acknowledge it cleanly."

At that the crowd roared. Around the sparring stage, delighted onlookers hurled up cheers without restraint.

"To Great Hero Gwak, who has taken part in the Jeokhyang Banquet, Ja-un of Jeokhyang-gwan will attend. This humble maiden earnestly begs that you remain."

If he left the place as he was, the crowd would jeer him. A place had to be made for him until they had all departed — and, since he had been defeated, a sincere consolation befitting that defeat ought to be given as well.

"Ha. Kind, aren't you. Then I won't refuse."

Gwak Jong answered, and Hong Yeon smiled. Thus the Jeokhyang Banquet ended once more. As ever, in Hong Yeon's victory.