Both Zhao Ming and Fu Tinghan listened calmly without interfering. Zhao Cheng took it even less to heart.
Lu Le looked between those in the courtyard and the composed Zhao Cheng beside him, couldn’t help asking quietly: “Aren’t you going to stop this?”
That was a glass workshop!
Zhao Cheng was calm. “Why stop it?”
“Fine, you regard wealth as dirt—I fall far short of you.”
Would Zhao Hanzhang regard wealth as dirt?
Of course not.
Just a glass workshop. Xiahou Ren couldn’t actually keep the workshop in Shangcai and Xiping. Once he took the craftsmen and formulas away, they could retrain personnel.
She didn’t believe Xiahou Ren could monopolize the entire glass market. Glass production was already excessive, prices were dropping—that was certain. The workshop no longer researched new glass styles but focused energy on controlling costs and success rates.
So Zhao Hanzhang wasn’t afraid of losing. Understanding her, Zhao Ming and Fu Tinghan also thought of this and stood calmly watching.
Of course, Zhao Hanzhang wouldn’t lose, even though she didn’t fear it.
Xiahou Ren had just said “please” when Zhao Hanzhang struck. His spine went cold—unable to see Zhao Hanzhang’s movements clearly, he instinctively raised his sword to block, but was still too late. Zhao Hanzhang’s wooden sword pointed straight at his throat.
Though it only lightly touched, cold sweat still poured down him, his whole body chilling.
If this were a battlefield, or if using real swords…
Xiahou Ren swallowed, looking at Zhao Hanzhang.
Zhao Hanzhang smiled slightly, withdrew her sword. “Uncle, you’ve died once.”
Xiahou Ren’s psychological quality was decent. Though his forehead sweated, his expression quickly normalized. He changed his sword-holding posture. “Again.”
This time, he decided to strike first. Zhao Hanzhang let him—waiting until his sword thrust forward before raising hers to parry. Then her body smoothly turned, swiftly striking. Xiahou Ren still couldn’t see clearly before Zhao Hanzhang’s wooden sword stabbed his heart, pointing at the vital spot.
Xiahou Ren: …
He seemed to have competed, yet also seemed not to have.
Zhao Hanzhang withdrew her sword, cupping her fists. “Uncle, I concede victory to you.”
Xiahou Ren’s expression finally changed somewhat, looking rather dark. He had many words to say but couldn’t speak them.
He Cheng spoke for him: “This isn’t a gentleman’s sword—it’s a scoundrel’s sword.”
“That’s not right,” Zhao Ming descended from the corridor, defending Zhao Hanzhang. “They’re all swords for killing. What gentleman’s sword versus scoundrel’s sword?”
Zhao Hanzhang nodded in deep agreement.
He Cheng frowned. “Her sword strikes are lethal, angles cunning and vicious—truly ungentlemanly.”
Zhao Ming snorted coldly. “Gentlemen don’t fight. Anyone who fights isn’t a gentleman.”
“The ancient sages all practiced the six arts. Martial skills were among them. How does that make them ungentlemanly?”
Zhao Ming: “The ancient sages wouldn’t rely on age and strength to try stealing others’ property.”
He was wary of the Xiahou family, but that didn’t mean he feared them. When Zhao Hanzhang proposed wagering the glass workshop and the other party agreed, it showed he’d been eyeing it all along.
That’s right—he was this hypocritical.
Zhao Hanzhang could covet others’ manuscripts, but Xiahou Ren couldn’t covet the Zhao family’s glass workshop.
These words made not only Xiahou Ren but also He Cheng’s expressions change.
Xiahou Ren finally broke his silence, saying sternly: “What does Zinian mean? The match and wager were both proposed by Zhao Sanniang. If you won’t honor it, then…”
“Honor, honor, honor,” Zhao Hanzhang quickly interrupted. “How could we not honor it? Uncle, you mustn’t argue. Isn’t it just gentleman’s sword versus scoundrel’s sword? I know a bit of scoundrel’s sword—how about I show it to you uncles?”
She feared if they continued, her wager would disappear.
Zhao Ming turned to glare at Zhao Hanzhang. “What scoundrel’s sword do you know?”
Zhao Hanzhang quickly placated him. “Uncle, knowing scoundrel’s sword doesn’t make me a scoundrel. Just as knowing gentleman’s sword doesn’t make me a gentleman.”
Xiahou Ren felt she was implying him. He Cheng thought so too. Displeased at her insulting his friend, his expression darkened. “What is this scoundrel’s sword you speak of?”
Zhao Hanzhang grinned. “I can practice it, but a solo performance wouldn’t show whether it’s scoundrel or gentleman. So I’ll have to trouble Uncle Xiahou to cross swords with me again—only then can everyone see whether it’s scoundrel or gentleman.”
The four elders were intrigued by her words, curious what she called scoundrel’s sword.
Xiahou Ren thought he’d already lost, twice in such quick, embarrassing fashion. Losing once more made no difference. So he calmly took up the wooden sword and stepped back, nodding. “Then let’s begin.”
Fu Tinghan’s gaze uncontrollably drifted to his lower body. He felt he might be overthinking, but…
With his modern mindset and understanding of Zhao Hanzhang, this so-called scoundrel’s sword probably…
Before his thought finished, Zhao Hanzhang was already engaging Xiahou Ren. Perhaps to let everyone see clearly what scoundrel’s sword meant, she struck slowly, even seeming weak, so initially Xiahou Ren appeared to have the advantage.
Even Xiahou Ren had the illusion he might win. Then Zhao Hanzhang’s attacks shifted course, swooping toward his lower body with sharp, fierce strikes. Frightened, Xiahou Ren quickly switched from offense to defense, pulling his sword back to block.
All three—Zhao Cheng and the others—widened their eyes. Zhao Ming reached up to cover his face, then feeling this undignified, lowered his hand.
Only Fu Tinghan couldn’t help laughing aloud.
Just as Xiahou Ren’s mind faltered, Zhao Hanzhang withdrew her sword and thrust—aimed straight at his heart. Not fast, even somewhat soft and leisurely. Normally Xiahou Ren could have blocked it, but his mind had just been shocked, his reaction delayed by a breath.
In that one second, Xiahou Ren lost.
Xiahou Ren: …
Zhao Hanzhang grinned. “Uncle, this is scoundrel’s sword—useful when the weak face the strong.”
Xiahou Ren looked blankly at Zhao Ming and Zhao Cheng. “Your Zhao family… is this how you teach clan youth?”
Zhao Ming rarely failed to argue back. Zhao Cheng frowned at Zhao Hanzhang.
Zhao Hanzhang couldn’t let Zhao family youth share her reputation. She grinned. “Uncle, I didn’t learn this scoundrel’s sword from the clan—I learned it outside.”
She smiled. “Uncle, was that scoundrel’s sword?”
Xiahou Ren: “Absolutely scoundrel!”
Zhao Hanzhang clapped. “So what I used before was gentleman’s sword—this is scoundrel’s sword.”
No—both were scoundrel’s swords. This one was just more scoundrelous.
But Xiahou Ren didn’t argue further, fearing she’d drag him into another scoundrel’s sword match. That last move not only humiliated him but shocked him into cold sweat.
How could one attack there? And Zhao Hanzhang was a young lady—if she struck carelessly without control…
Xiahou Ren’s expression grew darker. Zhao Ming saw trouble brewing and quickly said: “Since the match is over, this wager…”
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