Chapter 32
Chapter 32
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 32
Chapter Title: Nangong Ming
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Rumors spread quickly.
Even trivial gossip, like a young man from the next village over catching the eye of a married woman from the lower village, spreads like wildfire—what about news that the water bandits plaguing merchants coming and going through Zhongqing have vanished?
Merchants passing through Zhongqing to and from Sichuan Province gathered in twos and threes, swapping stories.
"Hey, you. See those Zhang Shang Band thugs on the way up by boat this time?"
"Nope. Why?"
"Normally, they'd be sniffing around the moment a boat hits Zhongqing harbor. But word is, they haven't shown up for days now."
"That so? Good riddance. That Zhang Shang Band leader bastard—always snatching and killing innocent folks—must've gotten struck by lightning."
"Nah, doesn't seem like lightning. Rumor has it a couple of young guys took him down."
"Young guys? Some promising disciples from a major sect, huh?"
"Doesn't sound like it. Overheard Master Song saying one was definitely a blacksmith surnamed Dang."
"A blacksmith? How the hell would a blacksmith pull that off?"
"Beats me..."
By the time rumors of Dang Mujin and Hong Geolgae began circulating among the pack-carrying peddlers coming and going to Zhongqing, Hong Geolgae had finally finished his recovery and gotten out of bed.
The worst injury had been the finger with the bone exposed, but luckily, it looked like there'd be no permanent damage.
"Time to head out?"
"Yep."
Yi Chung, Dang Mujin, and Hong Geolgae left Zhongqing and made for the Yangtze River, seeking a boat bound for Luoyang.
Yi Chung, as if it were the most natural thing, headed straight for the largest, roomiest vessel—the one bound to have the priciest fare.
Dang Mujin wasn't sweating the cost. Yi Chung had made off with most of the money they'd squeezed from the blacksmiths.
"Old timer, how much cash we got left?"
"Cash? None."
"What the hell?"
"Passion makes all things bloom, but ownership makes them wither and fade. I'm too young to fade."
"Cut the crap and spill it. You walked off with over a hundred taels of silver. Where'd it go?"
"Same reason you bunked for free at the New Moon Inn."
He'd blown it all on gambling in a matter of days.
Dang Mujin clenched his fist without thinking.
"Then what? How're we taking the boat?"
"How what? Saw the silver in your pocket last night. Just over seventy taels. Sixty'll cover fares to Luoyang for three."
Dang Mujin was reminded, yet again, just how terrifying Yi Chung was.
Plenty of folks might sneak a peek in the pockets of someone thirty years their junior.
Far fewer could admit it without shame, and even fewer could straight-up demand they hand it over.
The fare collector eyed Dang Mujin sourly.
The message was clear: pay up and board, or beat it.
As the only one in the group with money, Dang Mujin handed over the silver with trembling hands. First time passing that much cash to anyone.
In that instant, the man behind him nudged Dang Mujin's hand aside and proffered sixty taels to the boatman.
Dang Mujin turned to see the face of an unfamiliar merchant.
"You're Master Dang the smith, right? The blacksmiths sang your praises. Said swing by Zhongqing again if you get the chance. This is from them."
"Ah, much appreciated."
The merchant fished out another ten taels and tucked them into Dang Mujin's pocket.
"This one's from Master Feng. Said he owes you big time—next time you need a forge in Zhongqing, hit up the Feng family smithy."
"Please pass on my thanks."
"Not all yet."
In his hand gleamed three hefty gold lumps—sixty taels' worth in silver.
The merchant stuffed all three into Dang Mujin's pocket without a second thought.
"This is...?"
"Token from merchants bled dry by the Zhang Shang Band leader day in, day out."
"Such a fortune..."
"Way more than this got ripped off daily. This is still a steal—don't sweat it."
Sure enough, the merchants' gratitude dwarfed the blacksmiths'.
Dang Mujin boarded with a swell of pride, only for Yi Chung to poke his ribs.
"What?"
"Partner demands his cut. Half."
"Grow a conscience. If anyone's getting any, it's Hong Geolgae—why you, old timer?"
Yi Chung backed off at the firm refusal. Guess he had a shred of conscience left.
Moments later, the boat began to bob and sway.
Dang Mujin and Hong Geolgae glued themselves to the railing, gaping at the view.
"Wow."
First boat ride for both, and taking in the scenery from the rocking deck was a thrill all its own. The Three Gorges of the Yangtze were renowned for their beauty, after all.
But scenery from the deck lacked punch, so the novelty wore thin eventually.
Dang Mujin tired of it in under a day.
"How much longer?"
"Varies some, but figure a month at least."
Yi Chung replied evenly.
A month. Dang Mujin and Hong Geolgae's faces fell.
"Train on deck. Better gains than solid ground."
"Yeah?"
"Get used to fighting on a rocker, and you can unleash killer moves from shaky stances. Sword."
Dang Mujin proffered the blade at his waist; Yi Chung waved it away.
"Wooden sword. That's yours now."
"Why? Made it 'cause you asked."
"Swords bond to their first wielder. You swung it first—means it chose you."
"Oh, for real?"
"Yeah. Might as well name it."
"Soul-Cutting Sword?"
"Name jumps out like you had it queued up. Soul-Cutting Sword? No shame slapping that on your own make?"
Irked by the endless ribbing, Dang Mujin swung at Yi Chung.
No thought of landing it; Yi Chung sidestepped like it was nothing.
Suddenly, Yi Chung held Dang Mujin's wooden sword—subtle, blindingly quick hands.
Yi Chung wagged the wooden blade.
"Come on, kid."
No onlookers handy.
Dang Mujin slashed at Yi Chung a good long while but couldn't even nick cloth.
Yi Chung wrapped up by thwacking Dang Mujin's side with the wood.
"Swing feels off from land, yeah?"
"Yeah. Tricky."
"Get comfy with it. Deck drills'll save your skin someday. You too, Hong Geolgae."
"Got it."
Dang Mujin and Hong Geolgae picked up their training, stalled for a spell.
*
A night, some fifteen days aboard. Dang Mujin practiced Soul-Cutting Sword solo on deck.
'Feels right.'
Half a step forward, if not a full one.
Skill-wise, headspace too.
'Power hits when you least expect.'
Without that grind to Zhongqing, what then?
Dead on sight with the Zhang Shang Band leader. Or worse, to his thugs beforehand.
Soseon and the kids? Still cave-trapped, awaiting doom.
That sliver of insight from the deathmatch with the Zhang Shang Band leader. Hunger for martial arts.
Synergy kicked in, fueling Dang Mujin's grind.
Progress? Leaps and bounds.
Black Peony's qi decently absorbed; forms night-and-day from half a month back.
Hong Geolgae leveled up plenty sparring together, but Dang Mujin took five-of-ten now. Tonight? Knocked him cold.
'Win-lose secondary—training's just fun now.'
Moonlit solo swings, and Dang Mujin merged with the blade.
Not Sword Unity heights the masters rave.
Just... sword feel, swing motion—second nature.
Dang Mujin: full-fledged martial artist.
Naming it Soul-Cutting Sword? Smart call.
Attachment bred sincerity in every stroke.
How long? Then—eyes on him.
Handsome, sharp-featured man; stunning woman. Railing-leaned, watching.
Handsome guy flicked glances at the swordplay, met eyes, light fist-palm salute.
"Sorry. Out for moonlight, caught your training. Nangong Ming."
Martial folk loathe eyes on practice. Extreme cases? Death duels for peeping.
Dang Mujin? Exception.
Green at arts—no secrets. Solo drills rare; empty without company.
Annoyed or not, no beefing. Nangong Clan famous to him. Name-drop? Power play.
Dang Mujin waved it off.
"No sweat. Train knowing eyes might wander. Can't inconvenience folks, right? Ah, Dang Mujin."
"Generous of you, Great Hero Dang. Fate like this—cross blades?"
Nangong Ming brimmed expectation.
Dang Mujin clocked it: showboat urge. Prove superiority.
For who? Duh—the woman behind, nine times ten.
Truth? Dang Mujin itched for the clash too. Zhang Shang scrap, Hong Geolgae tussles advanced him; this promised gains.
Pure spar, though. Not prop for ego.
Dang Mujin demurred humbly.
"Appreciate it, but insights shallow. Late start—no deep qi."
"Fine. No-qi forms swap suffices."
"Plus, not skilled for live steel in spars. One wooden sword."
"No issue. You real; me wood. Works."
Dang Mujin scowled.
Got the lady-impress vibe.
Line exists, though. Wood on steel? Arrogant as hell, skill aside.
Pushy too—nagging borderline. Normal? Back off post-refusal.
What recourse? Village doc vs. clan scion.
Dang Mujin knew: unavoidable scraps, lose pretty, soothe. Patient wisdom.
Reluctant, Soul-Cutting Sword up.
"Show me a form, then."
Nangong Ming held, awaited attack.
Dang Mujin: handful real-vs-wood bouts. Always Yi Chung.
Yi Chung'd wrist-snap him kid-easy, schooling: qi basics, minding superiors, deflections, etc.
Expected same: light squash.
'Best effort regardless. Sloppy? Might piss him.'
High raise, crisp downward cleave. Honest but feinted—tip twist, shoulder slice not head.
Nangong Ming smirked approval. Show-off fodder.
'Mid-tier second-rate. Soft-catch steel for soft-beats-hard demo, then Longbow Without String Sword to crush. Slick.'
Wood soft-receive; wood-over-steel power slash.
Flawless.
Nangong Ming tilted wood crosswise.
Start, and scheme crumbled.
Soul-Cutting Sword sheared wood like reed—no snag, no slow.
Bore steady on Nangong Ming's shoulder.
'What?'
One breath in.
Nangong Clan's rising star, Nangong Ming: one-arm swordman brink.