Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Grandmaster's Pursuit

Night had fallen.

Within the Zhang estate, brilliant red lanterns had long been kindled, casting their glow in and out of the residence and illuminating it like day.

In the guest hall, atop a small table, three pairs of bowls and chopsticks were neatly arranged, accompanied by a jug of cloudy wine and several plates of simple home-cooked fare.

Zhang Zongcheng had changed into plain clothes, setting aside his earlier air of authority. Now, he resembled a kindly elder, sitting at the head of the table. Zhang Niankang and Liu Xiyue sat at his left and right, keeping him company. Several maidservants stood quietly to the side, wine jugs in hand.

Yet for some reason, an odd tension lingered in the air.

“Xiyue, this is a family dinner, there’s no need to be so reserved! Drink this cup with me!” Zhang Zongcheng stroked his beard and smiled, his words breaking the oppressive silence.

As he spoke, he gestured for a maid to fill Liu Xiyue’s cup with wine.

The wine in the cup glimmered amber, its unique fragrance wafting through the air, shimmering in the candlelight with a captivating allure.

Zhang Niankang’s gaze grew somewhat evasive at the sight. He too raised his cup, urging, “Junior Sister, let us drink together! You’ve suffered these past days in the mountains. Tonight, Uncle hosts this family banquet specially to welcome and honor you!”

Liu Xiyue could not refuse. She picked up her cup and took a gentle sip.

The fine liquor slid down her throat, and instantly two rosy patches bloomed on her cheeks.

Zhang Niankang’s heart fluttered at the sight.

Setting down her cup, Liu Xiyue then turned to Zhang Zongcheng at the head of the table. “Thank you, Uncle, for your hospitality. But there is a matter I wish to seek your guidance on.”

Zhang Zongcheng smiled lightly. “Speak freely, my niece. Whatever troubles you, I will answer.”

“It concerns Mister Jiang Liunian. I believe there must be some misunderstanding. I met him once in the mountains—he is by no means a notorious outlaw given to every evil deed,” Liu Xiyue explained.

From the moment she arrived at the Zhang estate, she had wanted to ask Zhang Zongcheng about this. But she had been told by a maid that the master was busy with official duties and could not see guests. So she had waited patiently until evening, hoping to raise the matter over dinner.

Having listened, Zhang Zongcheng shook his head and smiled. “Xiyue, your experience is still shallow, and it is easy for you to be deceived. As the head of a household, would I ever wrong someone without cause? This man is truly vicious. He once relied on forbidden arts to commit grave crimes in Suiyang and has long been a target of the imperial authorities.”

Zhang Zongcheng’s actions had always been flawless. He had already set his men to investigate Jiang Liunian’s background thoroughly.

Zhang Niankang seized the opportunity to add, “Indeed! The warrant for his arrest is still at the yamen. If you do not believe it, I can have someone fetch it at once!”

He had always resented Jiang Liunian for spoiling his plans before; now, he took the chance to heap slander upon him. With his exaggerated embellishments, Jiang Liunian was painted as a monstrous villain, guilty of every imaginable crime.

Yet what Zhang Niankang did not know was that while he was busy blackening the man’s name, a paper bird lay quietly on the eaves above, listening intently.

…

The paper bird, light as it was, made no sound as it settled on the rooftop. Even Zhang Zongcheng, a master in his own right, sensed nothing amiss.

A faint breeze stirred, causing the candlelight to flicker and sway.

Within, Liu Xiyue’s heart was equally unsettled. Doubts began to take root—had even Daoist Master Yuchen been deceived? Or was there some other mystery at play?

As she pondered, Liu Xiyue suddenly felt dizziness wash over her. The world before her eyes began to blur, and in the next moment, darkness claimed her as she slumped unconscious onto the table.

“I leave the rest to you,” Zhang Zongcheng said, glancing at her before turning to his nephew, whose face was alight with excitement.

The latter nodded eagerly, hoisted Liu Xiyue onto his shoulder, and strode toward the side chamber.

…

Outside, the moon shone cold and clear, as if intent on illuminating every speck of earthly filth.

Zhang Zongcheng’s gaze grew distant as he toyed with a jade wine cup. In his cup, the moon reflected the one in the sky. He drained his wine in a single gulp, as though he might swallow the celestial moon along with it.

“Brother Zichu, it seems I have won this round after all,” he murmured with a trace of mockery, letting the haze of wine conjure memories of two young scholars in their prime.

Lost in reverie, he was startled by a sudden, piercing clang of sword from the direction of the study—a sound that sliced through the night like the wail of a ghost.

The intoxication vanished instantly from Zhang Zongcheng’s eyes. His presence became fierce and formidable, true energy surging from him like an unsheathed blade. In that instant, the table and chairs before him were sliced cleanly in two.

“What a brazen thief! Truly insolent!” he spat, laughing from rage as he transformed into a blur and sped toward the study.

At the same time, elsewhere in the Zhang estate, another surge of masterly power erupted into the sky. A middle-aged scholar, his expression cold as water, let loose a wave of martial energy, shattering a nearby rockery with a single punch. Hidden within was a paper figure, which was instantly torn to shreds.

“Nothing but mice,” he snorted, his aura domineering as he hunted down and destroyed the scattering paper figures, ensuring none escaped.

Having verified that none remained, the middle-aged scholar turned and entered Zhang Zongcheng’s study.

The study was a scene of utter chaos, a fresh pool of blood staining the floor. Zhang Zongcheng stared at the empty desk, his face dark as thunder.

He had not expected anyone to be so bold as to sneak into his study right under his nose.

When the scholar entered, Zhang Zongcheng ground out, “The prince’s letter is gone!”

“What!” the man barked, his face paling. “Zhang Zongcheng, this is no trivial matter!”

“After him! He is wounded—he cannot have gone far!” Zhang Zongcheng growled, each word squeezed out between clenched teeth, every syllable heavy with fury.

The middle-aged scholar, knowing the gravity of the situation, gave a cold snort and launched himself skyward like a cannonball. His forceful energy swept over the entire Zhang estate, searching every inch.

Zhang Zongcheng did likewise, his hawk-like eyes scanning the darkness. Spotting a shadowy figure in the distance, his eyes blazed. His killing intent surged as he drew his sword, becoming a streak of light in pursuit.

Not to be outdone, the middle-aged scholar stamped his foot, collapsing the roof beneath him as he shot forward like an arrow loosed from the bowstring.

A flash of sword, a burst of fist-light—both struck at once.

The shadowed figure was hurled back, crashing through several roadside trees. But when the two men arrived, they discovered only another paper puppet.

Having been fooled again and again, their faces had grown unspeakably grim.

Just then, a heartrending scream rang out from within the Zhang estate.

“No! Niankang!” Zhang Zongcheng’s eyes went bloodshot. With a furious roar, all composure forgotten, he turned and raced back to the estate.

When he arrived, he found Zhang Niankang curled on the ground, howling in agony, hands clamped between his legs, a pool of blood spreading beneath him.

On the wall, four bloody characters were carved: “A small punishment, a stern warning.”

“Damn you, Jiang Liunian! I’ll tear you to pieces!” Zhang Zongcheng’s rage erupted, sword energy shredding the surrounding furniture to splinters.

“Seal off the city! If anyone dares enter or leave, kill them on sight!”

His words dripped with murderous intent, making even the middle-aged scholar beside him flinch.

…

In a narrow city alley, Jiang Liunian’s face was pale, a long gash across his chest soaking his clothes with blood.

“What a terrifying demon blade,” he muttered between gritted teeth. Producing a bottle of healing pills, he swallowed one, feeling his wounds ease somewhat.

But seeing Liu Xiyue still asleep beside him, he could not help but frown.

If he were alone, escape would not be difficult. But with a burden, things became far more complicated.

Yet he had always been one to distinguish gratitude and grudges. This woman had spoken on his behalf at the table—how could he abandon her now?

So be it. I will risk life and limb for a gentleman’s sake.

Had not Daoist Yuchen assured him that even if he offended a master, so long as he reached Mount Chisong, he would find safety?

“Daoist Yuchen, may I live to see you again,” Jiang Liunian murmured with a wry smile.

Without further hesitation, he drew out a jade shears, pouring his own life’s blood into it. As the shears shimmered with a hazy, seven-colored light, his face grew ever paler...