Chapter Thirty-Five: Unable to Withstand Three Moves

Chang’an is the heart of the world. In this metropolis of over a million souls, only the heavens know how many gifted and extraordinary people dwell here, how many heroes and talents remain hidden like pearls covered in dust, possessing abilities they cannot display.

At least in Houmochen Lin’s mind, he was one such hidden pearl—a man of prowess confined to the modest post of a military constable, unable to show his worth. His lineage was illustrious: descended from Houmochen Chong, one of the Eight Pillars of the Sui Dynasty, a Xianbei warrior famed for his courage and skill in battle. The histories record that Houmochen Chong “with fierce spirit, seized the advantage of war, led cavalry to open the gates of Gaoping, and, alone, won the victory at Chang Keng.” Lin’s grandfather, Houmochen Ying, was also a great general of the Sui, appointed as the governor of Gui Prefecture and commander over seventeen provinces.

Yet with the rise of the Tang, the Houmochen clan produced no new heroes and fell into decline. Today, this rare surname—one of the three most uncommon among the Hundred Families—lingers as ordinary folk, nearly vanished in the tide of history.

Houmochen Lin was determined from childhood to restore his family’s honor, pouring his passion into mastering the ancestral blade techniques. In Guanzhong, he was a renowned swordsman, acknowledged as a master by all. Yet, for reasons unknown, his official career never prospered. Despite his skill, he found no patron, nor trust, and could only remain a lowly constable charged with keeping order in Chang’an.

That night, he was on duty and saw Chang Hao, who, in order to avoid offending a minor official without real power, was feigning death beside He Zhizhang, while steering clear of the son of a high-ranking general who actually held command.

Unexpectedly, a young man appeared. Clearly trained, in a few swift moves, he dispatched the ten or so guards Chang Hao had brought, scattering them like leaves. Watching Chang Hao cower in terror, Houmochen Lin sensed opportunity. If he aided Chang Hao now, perhaps he could be introduced to Chang Yuan Kai and rise to prominence.

With this thought, Lin cared not for right or wrong; he drew his blade, eager to prove his strength by swiftly subduing the youth. He unleashed the family blade technique he had practiced for years—the very art with which Houmochen Chong had swept through enemies, refined further through Lin’s own bouts with local experts. It was not only lethal on the battlefield, but held subtle mysteries suited for duels.

Pei Min faced his opponent sword in hand, undefeated in every encounter. He never questioned the reason for battle; regardless of motives, he drew his sword and met force with force, wielding the short staff as if it were a blade.

Houmochen Lin smiled coldly, turning his curved blade to strike upward at Pei Min’s wrist. This move, a highlight of his ancestral art, exploited the peculiar shape of the Xianbei saber to attack unexpectedly—no matter how skilled, few could evade it.

Pei Min’s eyes brightened; this was no ordinary blow, not the work of a mediocre hand. Had he wielded the famed Autumn Water Sword, blocking it would be easy, but now he held only a short staff—surely it would be cleaved in two if he tried to block. As the blade flashed toward his wrist, in that crucial moment, he tossed the staff lightly into the air, twisting his wrist to narrowly avoid the strike—he could even feel the chill as the blade passed over his skin.

Dodging the attack, the staff fell back into his grip. He thrust it forward in an unconventional move, employing the Yue Maiden Sword stance, part of the eclectic swordplay that would make his name famous across the land.

Though he did not know the cause, his earlier wild assault on the guards had proven that his strength, speed, and explosive power had all increased, and he had quickly accepted this fact. Combined with his new abilities, even a simple wooden staff, thrust with force and precision, could pierce as surely as a sword.

Seeing the fierce attack, Lin dared not be careless. He flipped his blade upward to block, relying on the weapon’s power to gain the advantage.

Pei Min smiled and followed with an upward slash, his staff changing direction to strike back. The speed of his swordplay, the seamless flow from move to move, left no pause—Lin was forced to defend.

Within just a few exchanges, Lin broke out in cold sweat. He had attacked first, hoping to seize the initiative and subdue Pei Min quickly. But with a single gesture, Pei Min reversed the disadvantage, forcing Lin onto the defensive with his second move. All his advantage lost… When had Guanzhong produced such a formidable swordsman?

Pei Min cared nothing for Lin’s thoughts. Having succeeded once, he followed instantly with another move—this time his swordplay transformed into the Grass Sage Sword, its stance grand and powerful, amplified by his newfound strength and speed.

Lin cursed inwardly; after losing the initiative to Pei Min’s strange swordplay, he was preparing for another tricky move, but now the sword had changed again. Chang’an was full of hidden talents, and though Lin had mingled among them for twenty years, he had never met a youth with such varied and unpredictable swordsmanship. In panic, he could only retreat and block with his blade.

Staff and saber clashed—Lin’s wrist trembled with pain, his curved blade nearly slipping from his grasp as he was forced to retreat again.

Pei Min would not let him escape. The Grass Sage Sword was imbued with the spirit of the Yellow River’s roar and the Yangtze’s unstoppable flow; one move forced Lin back, and the true tidal wave followed.

The staff pressed the saber down and struck Lin’s chest. Even with the saber absorbing some of the force, Lin felt as if hammered, sent flying and crashing to the ground.

Their duel lasted barely three rounds, yet Pei Min displayed terrifyingly powerful swordsmanship. Together with his earlier effortless defeat of the guards, it was clear to those who came with Chang Hao that this youth was not to be trifled with—they retreated, not daring to advance.

Chang Hao was stunned, unable to believe such a fierce opponent had appeared, or that his own guards, who always boasted of bravery and loyalty, were so easily routed. Sensing danger, he turned and fled.

Pei Min was surprised that the mastermind had so little backbone, and was about to give chase.

He Zhizhang laughed, “Let it be, my friend. He’s nothing but a spoiled son; there’s no need to trouble yourself over him. Rather than bother with him, why not return to my residence and share a drink? I have good news for you…”

Pei Min’s eyes sparkled and he grinned, “You’re absolutely right, elder brother…” He tossed the staff aside, strolling leisurely toward He’s residence.

Seeing Zhang Xu nearby, watching the spectacle, Pei Min called, “Brother Zhang, you enjoyed quite the show!”

Zhang Xu replied shamelessly, “Of course, you handled it well! If you couldn’t manage, I’d certainly have stepped in. Though I might not win a fair fight, I could always hit someone from behind.”

Pei Min and He Zhizhang burst out laughing.

Houmochen Lin watched Pei Min’s departing figure, his eyes filled with shock. He could hardly believe that his own blade technique could not withstand even three moves from this young man…