Chapter 116: Revisiting Old Haunts

Returning to a familiar place naturally stirs different thoughts in each person. Though the scenery remains similar, time and circumstances have changed, and so have their perceptions and awareness. Just like Hantan Yi at this very moment, especially as he passes through the vast square—if in his youth his heart was filled with hatred, now, as he stomps his foot, a complex wave of sentiment and reflection rises within him. Perhaps this is for the better; the three years spent in the Northern Wilderness have not been in vain. Without such composure, it would have been difficult to evade the ever-watchful eyes of the Bright Moon Manor’s inhabitants.

It was clear that the guide held considerable status. No one approached to greet him, yet no one dared to hinder their passage. The only thing evident was the envy reflected in the eyes of passersby. Observing them, Hantan Yi suddenly felt a spark of joy within—a freedom from petty struggles for power and status that might grant a lighter existence. Yet, in truth, he was far from unburdened; the past lingered heavily on his mind. After all, rescuing the Flower Butterfly was the very purpose of his journey. Once accomplished, perhaps he would no longer owe anyone and could finally sever those ties. At the thought, a faint, almost mocking smile curved his lips—if only it were truly so simple.

“Master Drunkard, you seem to be laughing. May I be so bold as to ask if there is something amiss at Bright Moon Manor that you find so intolerable?” Assuming the name of the drunken madman was quite convenient—after all, many bore such nicknames, either to conceal their identity or merely as monikers. No one seemed to mind. Yet, beneath that smile, the slightest anomaly was detected, reminding Hantan Yi to exercise caution. If his true identity were exposed, talk of rescue would be the least of his concerns. The guide, however, could not discern his intentions. He presumed the couple before him were skilled artisans—indeed, those capable of forging a divine blade like the Azure Swan Sword were no ordinary folk. Such individuals, powerful and temperamental, often resorted to subtle schemes when displeased. And since he could ill afford to offend them, his tone carried a polite, conciliatory edge.

“I, the madman, laugh at these people who stand here diligently, hoping to cling to the sturdy tree of Bright Moon Manor to gain fame and fortune. Their hearts may not even favor such behavior; they may not find it truly joyful or free,” Hantan Yi said with a profound sincerity. At that moment, his gaze involuntarily flicked toward Shui Linglong’s direction, as if seeking some hint on her face. Yet disappointment subtly colored his expression. The woman always bore an inscrutable seriousness; she neither interrupted nor revealed emotion, as if these topics held no relevance to her. This made him feel that his words were shallow, prompting a faint, self-deprecating smile. “Perhaps I am the fool to mock them. After all, being called madmen, aren’t we no different from them?”

His words and expression matched perfectly—there was truth in them. Yet the guide could not agree. He neither wished to offend nor did he fully accept Hantan Yi’s view, as acknowledging it would mean branding himself, as the other said, a subject of ridicule. This unwillingness was not easily concealed, leaving him momentarily at a loss for reply. A man experienced in the world, he knew that the more one sees, the more one senses the truth behind others’ words. After a brief hesitation, he responded resignedly, “Master Drunkard, that may be so of them, but not of you. With your skills, even if you never set foot in Bright Moon Manor, there are many places that would recognize your talents.”

His words were less for others than for himself—a measure of reassurance, affirming that he possessed genuine ability and was not merely leaning on Bright Moon Manor. Hantan Yi understood this perfectly and chose not to engage further. In moments such as these, silence was often the wisest course. For a time, the three walked on in quiet, the only sounds the echoing footsteps and the faint whisper of the breeze.

Bright Moon Manor truly was the greatest sect in the Central Plains. Regardless of its people, its architecture alone was magnificent beyond measure. If the royal city of Chang’an was the most prosperous place in the world, then this manor was the equivalent for the entire martial world. The square itself, from its center to the outskirts, bore the weight of countless years. Beyond it lay the inner hall, surrounded by pavilions and towers in every direction—an immense construction demanding vast resources and labor. The grandeur was breathtaking, yet each building and structure bore intricate carvings and embellishments that, upon closer inspection, revealed subtle differences—eliciting profound emotion in the observer.

If Hantan Yi’s steps faltered with unease, it was only when he anticipated meeting Shen Wansan face to face. Though three years had passed and his appearance had changed greatly, even the aged and dim-eyed Shen might fail to recognize him. Yet the encounter remained a gamble. Still, his concerns were somewhat unfounded. The Azure Swan Sword was extraordinary, but it was not forged before the eyes of the guide. Even if the couple possessed such skills, Shen Wansan was no ordinary man and would hardly receive strangers without caution. This offered a measure of buffer and hope.

How long they walked was uncertain—turning corners and winding passages until half an hour had passed. Faint sounds of clashing metal reached them. Having hammered iron for years, Hantan Yi was intimately familiar with the sounds. From the subtle variations in tone and tempo, he could discern what was being forged and even the skill of the smith. Such knowledge was crucial; to gather information, one must stay, but to stay required skill—and at the critical moment, the ability to demonstrate one’s prowess. Too weak and one was dismissed; too strong and one drew unwanted attention, hindering the mission.

While Hantan Yi pondered these calculations, the guide paid little heed. As they passed the final gate, about a dozen burly men came into view. Forging was demanding physical labor, and their sweat-drenched, bare torsos gleamed under the fiery glow of the forge. Their muscles were well honed, their sun-darkened skin glistening with perspiration—a display of masculine vigor. At the sight of strangers, especially when their eyes fell upon Hantan Yi’s long sword, their gazes shone with unmistakable interest.

“Follow me!” The guide moved forward without pause, barely glancing at the men. He chose an open doorway, stepping inside, followed closely by the couple. The room was dim, unlit save for a charcoal brazier flickering faintly in the corner—seemingly for warmth, yet with an unsettling air. Before they could settle, a frail, aged voice spoke from the shadows:

“Old Qi, you’ve brought people here again. Do you take my temper for granted, thinking I won’t confront you? Don’t forget the thrashing you received last time for bringing that worthless pretender. If you do the same today, even if I wish to spare you, Shen Er’s face will turn sour. He’ll insist on dealing with you. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Compared to the grandeur of the manor, this voice only deepened the mystery. Though calm, it was tinged with coughing and wheezing, each word striking like a tremor to the soul—disturbing the steady flow of breath. Clearly, the speaker was a peerless master. More importantly, Old Qi’s demeanor shifted completely; his earlier arrogance vanished. Bowing respectfully, he replied, “I dare not, sir. This time I have brought someone truly worthy to meet you. Moreover, the punishment from Lord Shen was only suspended out of respect for you. I have never disrespected you in person, so I would not trouble you now. Even if you are magnanimous enough to overlook it, I would feel ashamed in my heart.”

The exchange was steeped in deference, hinting at a delicate balance of power and respect within the manor’s depths.