Chapter Twelve: The Rules of the Jianghu—One-on-One Duels

After several rounds of wine and a variety of dishes, Su Xinghe reluctantly picked up his chopsticks and ate a little, though he didn’t touch a drop of alcohol. Zhang Chengyi, on the other hand, was far more enthusiastic, indulging in meat and wine with great gusto, the accompanying folk tunes adding a uniquely delightful atmosphere.

Gradually, the people of the Qin Family Village began to lower their guard, realizing the two who had gone upstairs bore no hostile intentions. Only two remained vigilant; the rest resumed their eating, drinking, and merry-making.

“That night, where will the wine’s effect wane? By the willow-lined shore, with the dawn breeze and fading moon...” The singing girl strummed her pipa, suddenly shifting into a rare variation unique to the Northern Song Dynasty—a mournful farewell tune that now carried a tragic, heroic resonance.

Su Xinghe was the first to sense something amiss. His gaze shifted, noticing the singer’s hand gripping the pipa. Suddenly, with a sharp sound, her clear, melodious voice abruptly ceased mid-song. She forcefully withdrew her hand, drawing a long sword with a clatter and lunging toward Yao Bodang.

“Clink!” Though flushed from drink, Yao Bodang instinctively drew his blade to meet the attack, laughing heartily. “A clever move, the Golden Needle Crossing Calamity! Does the Infinite Sword Sect seek to stir trouble with the Qin Family Village again?”

He scrutinized the singer’s face with a teasing tone, “No wonder you seem familiar—you’re kin to that wretched woman, aren’t you?”

“Damn you, traitor!” The singer gritted her teeth and thrust again, her sword dancing fiercely. Chairs and tables shattered in her wake, scattered remnants of food and drink flying about.

Her movements were graceful and fierce, deadly in intent, yet to Yao Bodang, it resembled little more than a dance. The village chief deftly parried all attacks with casual ease, leading her in circles—using this ‘battle’ as a form of humiliation for the avenger.

“Infinite Sword Sect?” Zhang Chengyi furrowed his brow in confusion. The Qin Family Village was in Yunzhou, located in Shanxi, while the Infinite Sword Sect was based in Dali. How were the two connected?

He racked his memory and recalled that the Infinite Sword Sect was divided into three branches—Northeast, Southwest, and West. Every five years, they held sword duels to claim residence at the Sword Lake Palace on Infinite Mountain. Decades ago, the Northern branch, weakened, withdrew from the competition. Their leader relocated the entire Northern branch to Shanxi.

Since the Qin Family Village was also in Yunzhou, Shanxi, it was plausible some conflict had arisen. Judging by Yao Bodang’s words, a clash had indeed occurred before; after all, he said “stir trouble again.”

As for the reasons behind the discord, Zhang Chengyi began to form some speculations.

Yao Bodang was a thoroughly despicable character in the story. Leading the Qin Family Village’s best fighters, he ventured to Suzhou to provoke the Murong family of Gusu. The ostensible reason was that his junior brother Qin Boqi had been killed using some secret gatekeeper technique. Yet once in Suzhou, he claimed that the Murong ancestors owed the Yao family a fortune—one million taels of gold and five million taels of silver—and his true intent was to abduct Wang Yuyan to interrogate her about martial arts.

He was no cunning schemer; he openly boasted that whenever he saw gold, jewels, handsome youths, or beautiful women, he would take them by force—a genuine scoundrel.

Moreover, the Qin Family Village was nothing more than a band of mountain bandits. According to Elder Cha, they were outright thieves, a greenwood bandit camp. Witnessing the decline of the Northern branch of the Infinite Sword Sect retreating meekly to Shanxi, they naturally sought to take advantage.

As for the singer’s quest for revenge, it was just another commonplace tale from the martial world.

Zhang Chengyi’s thoughts shifted as he saw the singer faltering, on the verge of defeat. He suddenly spat out a chicken bone with a “pfft.”

“Whoosh!” With decades of streetwise experience, Yao Bodang heard the sound and instinctively raised his sword to block, attempting to dodge the singer’s desperate strike. The blade gleamed, and instantly, his hair bun was cleaved, gray strands scattering like snowflakes.

At that moment, the chicken bone struck true.

“Thud!” A dull sound followed as his body was thrown backward, smashing through several tables and knocking down five or six of his men before landing in a heap, utterly disheveled.

That tiny chicken bone was now deeply embedded in his blade. Had anyone taken the blow, they would likely have been pierced through.

“Clang!” Yao Bodang’s arms tingled with numbness as he let his sword drop to the ground, his face pale with lingering shock.

Meanwhile, the singer was surrounded by Qin Family Village members. Three or four burly men watched tensely, eyes fixed on the provocateurs, Zhang Chengyi and Su Xinghe.

“May I ask your names, sirs?” Yao Bodang slowly rose, trembling hands tucked inside his sleeves, voice cold.

At this moment, even knowing they were outmatched, there was no chance he would admit defeat.

Better to die.

Besides, underhanded strikes were no real skill.

“I am Zhang Chengyi, Wandering Hero of Jinshan,” Zhang Chengyi replied cheerfully.

Yao Bodang pondered deeply, unable to recall anyone of that name. The strangest part was that anyone would call themselves a ‘hero.’ Feeling mocked, he restrained his anger and asked, “Brother Zhang, do you bear a grudge against our Qin Family Village?”

“No,” Zhang Chengyi answered earnestly. “I just spat carelessly and hit you. My apologies.”

Though his words seemed apologetic, his expression clearly said, “I did it on purpose. What are you going to do about it?”

“You bastard thief, damn your grandmother—” A fat member of the Qin bandits heard this and cursed loudly.

“Shut your mouth!” Su Xinghe appeared before the fat man like a ghost, his face cold.

“Smack!” Teeth and half a tongue flew out; the fat man collapsed unconscious with a groan.

Su Xinghe pressed the boot on the man’s cheek, gradually applying pressure. His soles, just cleaned of horse manure from the stable, wiped the dirt away completely. He stared coldly at the surrounding blades, murder intent flashing.

To insult his master was an unforgivable enmity.

Even if his teacher Wuyaizi were here, he would support wiping out this band of bandits.

“Crack!” The sound of a broken neck was sharp and clear. The fat man died on the spot for that single word.

Yao Bodang’s eyes blazed with fury. “What do you two want? Make it clear!”

Zhang Chengyi laid down his chopsticks leisurely, pointed at the singer, and said to Yao Bodang, “Since you two have a grudge, then by the rules of the martial world, one-on-one.”

“Fine!” The singer, though knowing she was outmatched, still answered loudly, her eyes never leaving her enemy.

Yao Bodang sensed a trap but also realized his group was no match for these two sudden adversaries. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he could only stall a moment, channeling energy to ease the pain and numbness in his arm. When it became unbearable, he finally agreed, “Very well.”

He gave a signal to his men to seize the opportunity—to capture the leader first and deal with the man watching the scene unfold.

Taking a knife thrown to him, he exhaled deeply, his eyes gleaming with murderous intent.

What had been playful taunts and plans to bind the girl and return to Yunzhou were forgotten. Now, he desperately needed a scapegoat to vent his fury.