7. The Clash

Chapter 7

Yun Ran abruptly changed the subject, refusing to continue talking about the earlier matter of the fan. Shen Yihan knew that although his friend appeared indifferent, he was actually quite sensitive and couldn’t stand hearing overly flattering words. Amused, Shen Yihan didn’t expose him but instead rolled his eyes and followed Yun Ran’s lead.

“Back then, during the sect’s grand competition, did you always come to watch? I don’t recall you ever mentioning it,” Shen Yihan asked.

“Not always. Occasionally, I accompanied my master to observe,” Yun Ran replied.

“Then why have you come to watch now?” Shen Yihan smiled slyly. “Could it be that you’re here to keep me company?”

He said this so openly and without a hint of guilt that even Yan Zixu, who was listening nearby, couldn’t help but blush on behalf of his master. He thought to himself that the master was really shameless, having written to Yun Zhenren himself, asking to watch the sword competition together, only to now turn the story upside down.

Yun Ran glanced at him faintly and did not deny it. He even grunted affirmatively, which caught Shen Yihan slightly off guard.

Before he could ponder further, Yun Ran said, “I intend to take disciples.”

Shen Yihan’s heart immediately sounded alarm bells. Of course—his dream friend’s sudden influx of disciples wasn’t because the senior disciple Helan Ting had opened the door for it, but because Yun Ran himself had decided to take on students.

“You never mentioned this plan before,” Shen Yihan said. “But taking disciples depends on fate; it can’t be rushed.”

Yun Ran nodded but offered no further explanation.

As Shen Yihan was about to speak again, they suddenly heard from a seat on Qingxiao Peak the voice of Chu Yuzhou, who was circulating his true energy, his words ringing across the entire Sword Performance Terrace.

“Fellow disciples, the competition is to be brief and decisive. Rely solely on your own skill, and no one is to be harmed.”

The disciples participating on the terrace responded in unison with clear, loud voices: “Yes, disciple respectfully follows the instructions of the Sect Leader Zhenren.”

Thus, the grand competition officially began.

Yun Ran’s brow twitched. “Master sent word that he’s observing the competition with the Everlasting Spring Sword Lord and won’t be sitting with us.”

The Everlasting Spring Sword Lord was a rising star who had just reached the nascent foundation stage this century. Because his sword intent was similar to that of Mei Zhenren, who practiced the Benevolence Sword, the two had a good rapport.

Shen Yihan wasn’t particularly concerned, busy scanning the several dueling platforms below, searching for the presence of Xie Xiaofeng.

Although he had never truly met Xie Xiaofeng, he already knew the appearance of the Wind Manipulator Demon Lord after possession from that dream. If Xie Xiaofeng appeared among the competing disciples, he would certainly recognize him at a glance.

After sweeping the platforms, however, Shen Yihan did not find any sign of Xie Xiaofeng.

Frowning slightly, he wondered if Xie Xiaofeng might not be participating in today’s competition. He didn’t yet know how many rounds the Kunwu Sword Sect’s competition encompassed.

Besides Xie Xiaofeng, there was also the third disciple surnamed Yan from Yun Ran’s dream to watch out for.

Though appearing meek and silent, he was the most sinister in heart. If not for his secret machinations, Xie Xiaofeng would not have conceived the vile scheme to frame Yun Ran for consorting with demon cultivators.

None of them were good people.

As he pondered this, Yun Ran suddenly said beside him, “The sword technique used by the blue-clad disciple is called Flowing Wind and Returning Snow Sword, created two thousand years ago by the eleventh generation Sword Master of Qingxiao.”

Yun Ran had noticed Shen Yihan’s gaze fixed on that platform and assumed he was interested in the swordplay of the two competitors, so he began explaining.

“This sword technique is graceful and agile. Though the sword strikes are not fast, the footwork is perilous and exquisite. The thirteen sword moves correspond to thirteen footwork patterns, encasing the opponent in an impenetrable sword formation, whether advancing or retreating. When complemented by spiritual energy, it achieves a leverage effect, allowing the slower to overcome the faster, the gentler to overcome the urgent.”

Before Shen Yihan could respond, Yan Zixu, listening nearby, suddenly understood and said, “No wonder. I saw that brown-clad disciple clearly has a higher realm than the blue-clad senior brother. His sword strikes are urgent and fierce, yet he seems powerless, always led by the blue-clad one. Now, his strikes are growing more frantic; soon he will lose his composure. In a few moves, his spiritual energy will be exhausted, and he will be defeated.”

Yun Ran nodded. “You are very perceptive. If you cultivate swordsmanship, you will surely make achievements.”

Yan Zixu blushed and became shy.

The Myooyin Sect disciples behind them, noticing their senior brother receiving guidance from Yun Zhenren, gathered around eagerly. The disciples of Myooyin Sect were mostly lively and informal, so they did not feel embarrassed standing in a circle without seats; instead, they chattered and asked questions.

Yun Ran was in a very good mood and patiently answered each inquiry.

Though he was taciturn, his words were concise and profound, and his understanding of swordsmanship and insight into sword techniques were unmatched in the current age. Even the senior sword masters of Kunwu Sword Sect dared not easily debate him, fearing to lose face and their reputation.

After a few brief explanations, the disciples fell into contemplative silence or sudden realization, each gaining something.

Snapping back to reality, Shen Yihan found the scene somewhat amusing.

It seemed his friend had indeed cultivated for many years and now wished to nurture the younger generation and guide disciples, hence the desire to take students.

Well then, if he carefully chose and kept an eye on things, avoiding those troublemakers, it might not be impossible.

After a brief period of humble questioning to Yun Zhenren, the Myooyin disciples soon revealed their novice nature, noisily sharing their opinions on the swordplay of the competitors.

“I think that purple-clad senior brother, though losing to the one in blue, has a light and elegant sword technique. Given time, he will surely surpass that bulky blue-clad fellow!”

“Tch, this is swordplay, not a beauty contest. Who says good-looking means strong? It could just be showy posturing!”

“There’s no rule that ugly means stronger either. Among us, the senior brother who plays the qin is the most refined, and he’s the strongest among our young disciples here. Yun Zhenren even praises him!”

“The senior brother’s grace is unmatched; he can’t be compared to these wooden sword cultivators!”

Yan Zixu, overhearing this, felt uneasy. He recalled that the “wooden sword cultivator” was sitting with their sect leader at that moment. He quickly coughed twice and signaled the offending disciple with his eyes, who then realized their mistake and hastily shut up.

Shen Yihan was quite helpless but relieved to see Yun Ran’s expression remained calm, apparently not offended. He explained, “They’re young and a bit rash. Don’t mind them.”

Yun Ran shifted his gaze from the competing disciples to Shen Yihan, looking at him and replying off-topic.

“You called me that back then too.”

Shen Yihan was stunned. “What?”

Yun Ran said no more. Shen Yihan thought for a moment, then a flash of memory vaguely surfaced.

When he had first accompanied his maternal grandfather to visit the Kunwu Sword Sect, he was a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old youth. Yun Ran was a few years younger then, already showing signs of quietness and reticence. When bullied, he never complained to his master. Shen Yihan had taught those bullies a lesson, listening as they swore revenge before running away in tears. Only then did he help Yun Ran up from the ground.

What had he said to Yun Ran back then?

“Little wooden block, why don’t you say anything when you’re bullied?”

Recalling this, Shen Sect Leader felt somewhat embarrassed and cleared his throat. “That was nearly a thousand years ago. Why do you still remember? I was just teasing you back then.”

Yun Ran said nothing further.

*

The sword sect’s grand competition lasted seven days.

On the seventh day, the Sword Performance Terrace was densely packed with disciples, three layers deep. As the top three were about to be decided, Shen Yihan finally spotted Xie Xiaofeng on the terrace.

Xie Xiaofeng was one of the three disciples about to duel for victory.

Looking at the boy of only fourteen or fifteen years, with delicate eyebrows and almond-shaped eyes, scholarly and handsome, Shen Yihan noticed he had not even established his foundation yet.

The mighty Wind Manipulator Demon Lord had once been a formidable figure in the tribulation stage. When more than a dozen orthodox sects banded together to suppress him, not only did they fail, but he slaughtered nearly half their cultivators. Only with the combined forces of Kunwu Sword Sect, Changqing Valley, Jialan Temple, the Cui clan of Shu, and the He clan of Yingzhou—“the two surnames and three sects”—were they able to subdue him, completely annihilating his physical and spiritual form.

A dying camel is still bigger than a horse. Shen Yihan could not determine how much demonic power Xie Xiaofeng still possessed, but it was certain that breaking through to the Golden Core stage within a few years would be no problem. Yet he was still at the Qi refining stage—likely deliberately suppressing himself.

For what purpose, needless to say. He truly had the patience to cast a long line and catch a big fish.

As Shen Yihan pondered, Xie Xiaofeng seemed to sense something from within the crowd. Smiling, he raised his head and glanced their way.

Shen Yihan’s heart skipped a beat. He had been too careless. After all, the other was once a tribulation-stage cultivator. Even with a changed body through possession, his spiritual awareness was beyond ordinary comprehension. It was no wonder he felt Shen Yihan’s gaze.

Before Shen Yihan could lower his eyes, the steward disciple on the Sword Performance Terrace waved a flag, signaling the match to begin. Xie Xiaofeng turned back, twirling the long sword behind his back into a floral sword pattern before bringing it forward. With two fingers forming a seal, he drove the sword ahead, smiling softly.

“Senior Brother Wu, please instruct me.”