Why do I have so many masters?-Chapter 537 - 180: Flood Dragon Descends the Mountain (1/2)
Wang Anfeng didn't keep the remaining people waiting long; almost as soon as Yuchi Jie looked back, he had already emerged from the Eight Gates Sword Formation, appearing as if he had only been a step slower, thus emerging later.
Yuchi Jie breathed a deep sigh of relief, took a few steps toward Wang Anfeng, and walked alongside him. It was only after a moment that the eerie atmosphere slowly faded, giving Yuchi Jie a faint sense that Wang Anfeng seemed somewhat different, though he couldn't quite pinpoint what had changed.
After pondering for a long while without any conclusion, he simply pushed the thought out of his mind.
Gong Yu glanced at Wang Anfeng's back, her expression thoughtful.
Wang Anfeng smiled at her, hastened his pace, and caught up to walk shoulder to shoulder with Gong Yu. He was already prepared for her questions, but she didn't say anything, just quickened her steps and moved forward.
By their side, Lv Baiping muttered something about being slow.
Only Lin Qiaofu and Tai Shujian noticed the extra sword behind Wang Anfeng.
Tai Shujian had devoted his entire life to the Sword Dao and was discerning. He instantly recognized the sword's extraordinary quality. Combining this with Wang Anfeng's belated emergence, he somewhat guessed something, silently marveled, and felt a mix of envy and bitterness.
Lin Qiaofu, however, truly recognized that sword. Stored at Myriad Swords Peak, where she had spent over a decade, she could not possibly mistake it. After pausing for a moment, she felt utterly bewildered.
The swords stored on Myriad Swords Peak were all among the top-tier famous swords in the world. As a child, when tired of reading books, she often went to hear the stories of these swords, napping under the Sword Steles. She knew these 107 famous swords as well as the back of her hand.
People often use the sword's speed as a criterion to judge its quality, but in Qingfeng Edge, the value of a famous sword lay not in the material or blade but in its past.
Just like people, if someone had once survived countless battles, they deserved respect regardless of their current frailty due to age; the same applied to famous swords.
Even if the sword blade had chipped, its distinguished history made it impossible for Qingfeng Edge to easily bestow these swords upon others.
Only the Sect Leader and the Great Elder could have removed this sword from Qingfeng Edge, and the conditions required to take this sword down from the mountain were formidable indeed.
There were records of the Heavenly Mountain Sword Champion, who came to the mountain seeking a sword. He was said to be invincible in his time, and it was rumored he could even slash down an immortal. However, after lingering half a year, he had to leave without achieving his goal.
Reflecting on these records and again looking at the sword behind Wang Anfeng, Lin Qiaofu was slightly confused, wondering if she was still on the mountain, asleep by the stele of a famous sword.
Yet the coolness she felt when breathing reminded her that this was not a dream during a leisurely afternoon nap but a genuine journey down the mountain.
Could it be that the Great Elder believed Brother Wang already possessed the qualities to wield this sword?
This thought appeared and became impossible to dismiss.
After leaving Qingfeng Edge and the forest, there was a village town because it was not far from Jiu Zizai's courtyard. With Gong Yu and Wang Anfeng's pace, even Lv Baiping couldn't keep up, let alone Lin Qiaofu.
If just the two of them carried the others by flight, it would defeat the purpose of traveling and experiencing the world. The courtyard was where Jiu Zizai had once chosen to seclude himself, possibly to frequently visit Qingfeng Edge to partake in the wines brewed from the Sword Spring, which was not far from the entrance of Qingfeng Edge.
The group simply bought a cart in the town. Tai Shujian, shamelessly boasting his well-practiced skills in horse-driving from his travels, insisted that he should not let Wang Anfeng and Gong Yu, their lifesavers, engage in such tiring work. He jumped onto the cart, took the reins, and indeed, his skills lived up to his boast—both steady and fast.
Yuchi Jie gritted his teeth and also bought two fine horses, following behind the cart.
It wasn't that he wanted to follow.
But in an opportunity to accompany Gong Yu, if he dared to return in disgrace, even though his grandfather was already severely ill, he might still beat him to within an inch of his life and then drag his unfilial grandson down with him.
Thinking of the old man, who whilst old was excessively vigorous, once flamboyantly leading the charge, drawing his sword ahead in the front lines, and chopping heads as if harvesting wheat, who had a scholarly military background, Yuchi Jie could not help but find him excessively tough. //
Recalling how the old man, drunk, once loudly told him that he was nothing special, as there were thirty-seven others even tougher than him. //
There was the youngest, only about fifteen or sixteen years old, who looked tender but practiced a fierce Heavy Spear Technique; he wielded the Heluo Grand Spear with such ferocity that he had not seen anyone better in all these years. //
Speaking of which, the old man cursed him out, then continued to drink, curse, and cry all at once. All Yuchi Jie could do was to silently endure.
Who else could be called crazily old but his own grandfather?
The carriage ahead seemed to have reached the smooth official road. Yuchi Jie dared not let his thoughts wander anymore. Clenching his legs around the horse's belly, he urged the horse to speed up and catch up, while the family guard silently followed behind.
Wang Anfeng had just left Great Liang Village shortly after the New Year to ensure he would arrive at Qingfeng Edge on time—if he had been any later, he might have completely missed meeting Gong Yu and Lin Qiaofu, which truly would have been fateful.
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However, as the ancients said, "Heavenly Dao is constant," where there is gain, there is loss. With the coming of fate, there are others destined to miss their chance, and no matter how unwilling or discontented, they must endure it just as Yuchi Jie had.
It was barely past February according to the lunar calendar, and spring had not yet arrived at the base of Great Liang Mount. However, the snow on the mountain had already begun to melt, making the temperature even colder, as the saying goes, "After the Laba festival, it's the New Year."
After the fifteenth day of the first lunar month, life should have taken on a new course—those who should venture into the mountains did so, and those who should work in the homes of city dwellers began their tasks, but it was a pity spring had not yet arrived. The entire village appeared bleak, bare, and devoid of interest.
There were also women in the countryside whose pent-up anger from the holiday festivities erupted. As one walked along the road, the sounds of children's cries and wails could occasionally be heard.
Intermixed with these were a few rural curses, like reproaches about lack of resolve or causing disgrace—it could startle a passerby enough to make them shudder.
Wang Hongyi yawned.
Just after the festive season, his business as a butcher hadn't much to offer, yet he had profited nicely from the peak moment when every household was slaughtering pigs for the New Year; it didn't bother him too much since it was the same every year.
He then moved a bamboo chair and sat down in the courtyard.
When he was younger, he had trained a bit in martial arts, specifically external cultivation. When his vigor hadn't yet faded and hidden injuries were not visible, his physique was even fiercer than the black bears in the mountains. Such a slight chill had no effect on Wang Hongyi; he could even take a short nap with his eyes half-closed.
But as he napped, he suddenly woke with a start.
From the direction of his right ear, he heard the sound of horses galloping rapidly. Wang Hongyi furrowed his brow, inclined his ear, and quietly pondered. The sound did not seem to come from weak horses; weak horses did not have such strength. There must have been about a dozen riders.
The residents of Great Liang Village could already see the horsemen galloping along the official road.
Only about fifteen or sixteen horses, but even though this was fewer than the large merchant caravans that passed by the village before the festival, the sight of these horses galloping in unison with such uniformity had the imposing presence of the Heaven and Earth-bound Qiantang tidal wave.
This made one's complexion turn pale, the heart race, nearly unable to stand steady. Wang Hongyi swiftly got up to close his door and from the crack, he saw the troop of charging knights.
Each man rode a pure black horse with not a single white hair, majestic beyond ordinary.
Horses often produce rare breeds. The previous generation's Bo Weiyong wrote the "Horse Classic," documenting the famous horses of the world, listing thirty-four rare breeds and six superior ranks.
The remaining horse types were divided into one hundred and seventy of superior rank, and three hundred and forty-one of medium rank, spread across tens of thousands of miles of rivers and mountains in Great Qin, the rest being unworthy eyesores of inferior breeds.
And the medium rank horses were already capable of covering a thousand li, the best horses usually available to ordinary people of the Jianghu fell within these three hundred and forty-one categories—mention not those renowned as dragon beasts among horses and rare breeds, as superior rank horses were already extremely rare in Jianghu.
These black horses before him also belonged to the top tier among superior rare breeds, named Flood Dragon of the Black Waters, able to traverse water and remain unflinched in battle, their speed consistent, exceedingly rare, let alone sixteen of such top-tier horses.
Wang Hongyi could hardly imagine which power could afford such extravagance.
The men riding the horses were all tall, with steady expressions, almost as if they were carved from the same mold. They had swords on their backs, cloaks over their clothes, making it difficult to discern what they wore underneath.
Wang Hongyi subconsciously took a breath.
The air carried a sweet, tangy scent, similar to the flavor that lingered on the blade of the boning knife that had accompanied him for two to three decades—the aroma of layers of dried blood. Wang Hongyi placed a hand on his chest, feeling an eerie, violent thumping of his heart.
That line of Flood Dragon of the Black Waters was charging straight toward Great Liang Village.
Thundering like a storm.
PS: Today's first update... sorry for the delay, was really stuck, please be understanding (clasping hands).
