The former Duke of Dingguo's mansion, whose imperial plaque was shyly removed with the fall of the dynasty, was replaced by a new chapter, still famous in the capital—the Quan Manor.
The former grandeur had reached its end.
Even so, the Quan family still held immense power, with their relatives among the high-ranking members of the largest merchant guilds in the world. It was no exaggeration to say they were as rich as a nation.
The deep courtyards combined the precise symmetry of northern siheyuans with the elegance of southern gardens. Within the eighteen-courtyard compound, hundreds of servants bustled like ants.
Simon and Mo Yun were arranged in the Junxian Residence, which faced the Eastern Main Street of the capital. A few hundred steps would take them out a side door. The Eastern Main Street primarily sold antiques and curios, with a rich cultural atmosphere, often featuring shopkeepers dressed as scholars shouting and exclaiming into the street.
The Junxian Residence was backed by a lush bamboo grove that remained green and upright even in winter, though its fallen leaves scattered like feathers, evoking a sense of melancholy. A stream gurgled through the grove, passed under an arched bridge, flowed into a hidden culvert, and converged into a pond in the adjacent courtyard. The pond featured a strangely magnificent rockery, imposing in its presence, and weeping willows by its edge, their long branches reluctantly touching the water.
In front of the Junxian Residence was a pavilion where the butler played chess with Mo Yun, while Simon chatted with Quan Suhuan on a stone bench.
"This humble monk, to be frank, I felt a deep sense of familiarity when I heard your voice in the carriage, which is why I invited you as a guest."
Simon smiled, "Since the benefactor recites the name of Lu Yuan Bodhisattva, he must have entered the Pure Land."
Quan Suhuan revealed a devout and blissful smile, "That is natural. The Bodhisattva's divine powers are vast, and the Maha Immeasurable Merit Pure Land is exceedingly wondrous. I wonder if This humble monk has also joined the Pure Land?"
This long string of prefixes was likely the boastful claims of those monks when they preached. Simon remained noncommittal, his tone perfunctory: "Of course."
"No wonder, so we are fellow Buddhists… This humble monk, please stay here comfortably. Come and go as you please; no one will stop you. If you have any requests, just tell the servants, and they will arrange everything." Quan Suhuan's tone was calm, exuding boundless confidence.
"When a noble speaks, This humble monk dares not disobey. However, there is always a balance; having received the benefactor's alms today, This humble monk must do something in return."
Quan Suhuan chuckled, "This humble monk is being too formal. My Quan Manor has countless offerings; supporting you for your entire life until you are old and frail is no problem. But your thoughtfulness is truly rare and commendable. How about you predict tomorrow's weather for me?"
Simon shook his head, "Even a village farmer can make a decent guess at such a small matter. How can This humble monk's abilities be used so casually? In three months, you will encounter a difficult situation, and then This humble monk will resolve it, and our edge will end there."
These words carried a hint of showing off. Quan Suhuan frowned upon hearing them, her expression displeased, but she ultimately said nothing more, excusing herself due to feeling unwell and rising to bid farewell.
The butler, who had been hastily placing pieces, saw that the outcome of the game was still uncertain. He shook his head regretfully and also rose to take his leave. Before departing, he specifically said, "Outside the city is the Sword Casting Villa, a subordinate of the Quan Manor, where many reclusive masters reside. You two are welcome to visit if you are interested. Furthermore, there are also several distinguished guests staying within the manor. Should there be any conflict, please be sure to let us handle it."
Finally, he hunched his shoulders and scurried after Quan Suhuan, following her step by step.
Mo Yun still wore his face covering; he was afraid of losing face, so he hadn't removed it.
"Little Monk Miaoji, how long do you plan to stay here?"
"As long as the food and drink are good, three months is perfectly fine."
"But not only am I living as a dependant, I've lost all my belongings! Why don't you borrow some money from that Madam Quan? I'll buy a weapon and go look for trouble with those bandits. I must get my Broken Sword back!"
"With your meager martial arts, don't go out and make a fool of yourself!"
Mo Yun immediately stood up, "How can my martial arts be considered low? Even if dozens of skilled fighters attacked, they couldn't get close to me. If I hadn't been ambushed and harmed by that group of bandits, I would certainly have escaped unscathed! And I wouldn't be stranded here!"
"Hey," Simon retorted, "don't use 'stranded'—to describe this good place to live!" He stood up, hands behind his back at the edge of the pavilion. Though his body was small, his presence was imposing.
"What are you boasting about with your amateurish skills? Without that broken sword, you are nothing," Simon sneered, "Let me guess, the relic of an ancient swordsman, the Divine Grade Mo Yu Broken Sword, and a fragmented Divine Grade cultivation method, the Xin Jian Jing (Heart Sword Sutra)—are these your reliance?"
Mo Yun frowned, not rushing to refute.
"Disbelieving? That's right, you started learning the sword at sixteen, reached the realm of Human-Sword Unity at seventeen, and at eighteen, without any internal energy foundation, you fully comprehended the Xin Jian Jing (Heart Sword Sutra), developing internal energy overnight. These are also deeds you are very proud of."
Simon smiled, "Indeed, you can be considered a genius. Give you a few hundred more years, and you might truly dominate the martial world."
The young swordsman immediately felt indignant, "If I am a genius, why would it take a few hundred years to dominate the martial world?"
"Leaving aside that your fragmented Xin Jian Jing (Heart Sword Sutra) is at most a fourth-tier internal cultivation method, and completing it is as difficult as ascending to heaven, the biggest problem is that Broken Sword."
"Why do you say that?"
"That sword is not yours, but that ancient swordsman's. It retains his will. If you cannot break free from his influence, you will never possess the invincible breadth of spirit, and you will never become the number one under heaven!"
Number one under heaven!
These four words seemed to possess a terrifying magic. Upon hearing them, Mo Yun's breathing hitched.
Under heaven, number one under heaven, supreme.
Intense longing was followed by endless despondency. The swordsman stammered, "I don't need to be number one under heaven; I just want to make a name for myself. I don't need an invincible demeanor."
"Foolish! Foolish!" Simon cried out in distress, "In close combat, do you still expect to not have to swing your sword, and for your opponent to kindly play chess and chat with you? With hesitation in your heart, how can you still hold the sword in your hand?!"
"That's right, that's right, even if I can't become the number one under heaven, I must at least dominate a region." The swordsman's gaze became solemn. He removed his face covering, revealing his handsome and refined face. "I, Mo Yun, will surely use the sword in my hand to cut down countless powerful enemies!"
A resounding sword chant echoed in his chest, as if a nine-day soaring dragon eager to emerge was hidden within his heart.
The will to be supreme, bursting forth in an instant.
Simon looked at the spirited man before him and pouted.
So easily fooled.
…
"How did you practice your sword at home?"
"I swung my sword three thousand times in the morning, five thousand times in the afternoon, and meditated on the sword at night. After four years of this, I finally set out on my journey."
"Words alone are not enough. Take this sword and attack me!" Simon threw a gleaming, cold, fourth-grade Dragon-Slaying Sword to Mo Yun.
This sword, three feet eight inches long, came from the Sword Casting Villa. It could cut through gold and jade as if through soft earth and hung in the Junxian Residence's Pavilion of Rare Treasures, available for casual use.
Mo Yun raised his hand to catch the Dragon-Slaying Sword, thinking, now is a good time to test just how skilled this little monk is.
He drew the sword, stepped forward, and thrust.
Moonlight flowed lightly along the sword's spine, like a layer of clear frost.
The blade cut through the dull winter air, like a white stream fish swimming upstream in a tranquil current.
The sword tip, indistinct in the wind, was dim and unlit, completely swallowed by the night, as if the long sword had suddenly shortened by three inches. When it pierced the heart, the hot blood would coat it with the most fervent brilliance.
Mo Yun's body and mind went with this single thrust. The sword's momentum had reached a flawless state. If the opponent could not break through the momentum, they could not grasp his form, making him effectively invincible.
A stunning sword, an understated sword.
With just a slight touch to the body, the sharp and dense Primal Chaos Sword Qi would rush up the heart meridians, tearing apart the internal organs.
Even a fragmented Divine Grade technique possessed Divine Grade power.
As it neared the young monk's body, the sword tip became visible, three more inches and it would reach his Jianjing acupoint.
Mo Yun looked at the unmoving Simon and couldn't help but feel pity.
Poor boy, he doesn't even know he's in imminent danger.
The sword tip continued forward. The swordsman was confident he could pierce the monk's robes without harming a single hair on Simon.
Ding—
A clear sound, like a copper bell on a corridor, echoed through the bamboo grove under the moon.
The arrogant long sword was clamped between a clean, tender thumb and forefinger, and its owner, the proud swordsman, was suspended a foot in the air, his entire essence, energy, and spirit supported by that tiny sword tip. Now, he was trapped by the smiling young monk, unable to move.
"Still far from enough, you loser."
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