Everything that appeared first was prelude.

So when the figure in the plain blue robe appeared before him, Li Chi understood: the overture had ended. The main act had begun.

Minghong Blade — drawn.

A dragon’s cry.

Fang Zhuhou’s eyes opened slightly wider — not in surprise, not in shock. Within seven or eight parts of calm lay two or three parts of unrest, and what that looked like was two or three parts of recognition.

The blade fell — matchless, sovereign.

This was perhaps the most powerful slash Li Chi had ever delivered since he began training.

There were no ornate words that could describe this technique — all would be superfluous. And yet to call it merely “fast” seemed to fail to capture the dominance of this one strike.

Clang!

A crisp sound. Li Chi’s matchless, sovereign blade — was deflected.

And in the eyes of Fang Zhuhou, who had stopped it, the recognition grew heavier. It had been two or three parts just before; now it was five or six.

He offered a mild assessment: “Very strong.”

Li Chi’s wrist ached somewhat. The vibration along the blade had sent waves of numbness through his entire arm. What astonished him was that the opponent had broken apart his strike with what appeared to be an exceptionally light and nimble single sword motion.

The sword had tapped the blade at precisely the most advantageous point, and with that tap alone the path of Li Chi’s strike was forced off course, the unrestrained force spent harmlessly into the ground.

Before Li Chi, a straight sword scar appeared on the earth.

Looking again, a long sword had appeared in Fang Zhuhou’s hand — the sword’s form was ancient and plain, carrying none of the dazzling brilliance one might expect, yet it was perfect in every regard. No matter how exacting the eye, anyone who looked upon such a sword would find it perfect.

Length, breadth, form, weight — and a restrained edge that did not bare its keenness.

Li Chi was also astonished: that his Minghong Blade, as powerful as it was, had failed to shatter that sword — even without a direct strike, the sword should have broken.

Not long after Cen Jianjia had given the Minghong Blade to Li Chi, he had returned to the Tingwei’s office, and driven by a mixture of curiosity and reckless extravagance, he had tested the blade with three weapons — sword, saber, and axe.

He had fixed the Minghong Blade to a table, edge facing up.

He had taken a hundred-tempered military saber and brought it down in a chop — on the first contact, the saber broke apart.

He had tried a famous named sword he had seized before — it broke no slower than the saber.

He had found a great battle-axe to try next — the axe broke as well.

Yes, Li Chi was simply that reckless with rare things.

Not many people could have done what he did — testing his blade against other weapons was one thing, but he’d even tried a battle-axe.

It was precisely because of this that Li Chi now knew just how formidable the sword in the opponent’s hand truly was.

“Excellent sword.”

Li Chi couldn’t help voicing his admiration.

“It is indeed an excellent sword.”

Fang Zhuhou said: “Would you like to know this sword’s name?”

Li Chi asked with curiosity: “Aren’t you in a hurry to act?”

Fang Zhuhou looked around. A large number of Tingwei soldiers had appeared, and countless longbows and crossbows had all been trained on him.

But he was in no hurry.

“The sword has a beautiful name.”

Fang Zhuhou said: “Do you know that the Chu Emperor possesses three famous swords?”

Li Chi nodded: “When traveling, the承天 is carried; when passing the throne, the 帝运 is used; when at war, one relies on the…”

Before he finished, Fang Zhuhou had taken the words from him: “Yes. This is the Armor-Breaking Sword.”

Fang Zhuhou said: “Your blade carries the spirit of one who dominates all under heaven, yet you yourself do not yet carry that spirit. Do you understand?”

Li Chi was momentarily taken aback — was this person here to kill him?

Fang Zhuhou said: “What you lack is your own self-trust. You received a fine blade and felt yourself grow stronger, and you were pleased — but this is not worth being pleased about. You know your blade carries the spirit of one who dominates all, yet you yourself do not believe yourself invincible. Only the weak would borrow a weapon to bolster their courage.”

Li Chi’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Fang Zhuhou raised his long sword: “I am here to kill you. If I do not act, the blood that flows in my veins will not permit it. If I do act, the conscience within me will not permit it. Someone believed they could trick me into killing you — they are pitiable, thinking themselves successful in deceiving me.”

Li Chi understood: “You are a member of the Dachu imperial family.”

Fang Zhuhou said: “Let me teach you how to deflect my strikes. If you can deflect me, then naturally I cannot kill you.”

He looked at Li Chi: “A blade is a weapon. It is for the weapon to borrow the strength of a person, not for a person to borrow the power of a weapon. No matter how fine a weapon, the weapon has no strength of its own. When you swing your blade, the force in your arm is yours, and the force on the blade is still yours. You have crossed blades with the Black Martial warriors — have you ever heard of the sword-driving techniques of the Black Martial Sword Gate?”

Li Chi nodded: “I have heard of it. A person can drive a sword, but a sword can also carry a person.”

Fang Zhuhou said: “Something even Black Martial warriors have grasped — you should be able to grasp it too. You need only remember: the force on the blade is your force, not the power of the weapon. From the same blade manual, some who practice it become matchless in the world, and others remain utterly unremarkable — is it the manual’s fault?”

Li Chi shook his head.

Fang Zhuhou said: “Apply force where it is most rational. The more skilled one is at applying force rationally, the stronger one becomes.”

He looked at Li Chi: “In ten breaths I will come for you.”

Li Chi gave a sound of acknowledgment. He set aside the things Fang Zhuhou had said before and held only those four words in his mind — apply force rationally.

Fang Zhuhou, watching Li Chi in contemplation, spoke in a level tone: “The greatest force lies within the human body. If you direct force toward a single point — with three-tenths of physical strength alone, that amounts to a thousand jin. Whether it is rational or not depends on how well you understand your body’s strength. Do you think gripping the blade tighter with your wrist makes you stronger? Wrong. Knowing only to exert wrist strength actually hinders the full force of your arm. You have not yet considered the fact that your wrist is preventing your arm from releasing all of its power…”

His tone was even, but his pace was not slow.

When he finished, the ten breaths had already passed.

“I am going to strike.”

Fang Zhuhou’s long sword pointed at Li Chi. Li Chi breathed out slowly: “Come!”

Fang Zhuhou stepped forward. Li Chi’s eyes narrowed at once — no blocking, no evasion — and slashed his blade directly at Fang Zhuhou.

Fang Zhuhou’s sword was already so fast that in Li Chi’s previous understanding, at such speed, no one could possibly stop it once in motion.

Yet Fang Zhuhou stopped it. His long sword halted abruptly in mid-air, then changed direction and tapped the Minghong Blade.

It appeared to be the same light tap as before — yet this time Li Chi could not hold the blade. His five fingers could not maintain their grip on the hilt, and the blade was on the verge of flying from his hand.

In that instant, Li Chi’s mind flashed back to what the blue-robed man had just said: the force on the blade is your force — applying force rationally is not only about the force within your body, but the force you have put out, when brought back, is also something rational.

Li Chi’s feet suddenly left the ground. Following the momentum of the flying blade, his body lifted from the earth — and in that split second, something in his mind seemed to light up.

Twist at the waist, force to the shoulder, shoulder drives the arm…

The Minghong Blade swept out in a great arc.

Fang Zhuhou’s eyes flew open wide.

He did not use the Armor-Breaking Sword to directly block this strike, because he knew the force behind it — the Armor-Breaking Sword might very well be cleaved in two.

He thrust his long sword forward instead, and the sword tip, with uncanny precision, tapped against the very edge of the Minghong Blade.

Sword tip against blade’s edge.

Ding…

Fang Zhuhou’s feet slid back across the ground, the soles of his shoes grinding against the surface — and he was already six feet back.

In that moment, the recognition in Fang Zhuhou’s eyes was no longer five or six parts — but ten parts.

He had given Li Chi only ten breaths, and within those ten breaths said only those few words to convey what “rational” meant.

“Thank you, Master.”

Li Chi cupped his hands in a bow.

Not even an immortal could have foreseen: the one who had come to kill him would not kill him — and it was not the Sacred Blade Sect Master, but a member of the Yang imperial family.

And this person, in his attainment of martial technique, and in the height he had reached — was exactly what Li Chi understood the ultimate boundary of martial arts to be.

“Do you know why I will not kill you?”

Fang Zhuhou asked.

Li Chi shook his head.

Fang Zhuhou said: “Then do you know why the Emperor is so determined to kill you?”

Li Chi nodded this time.

Among all the people rebelling against Dachu, there were many greater in force than Li Chi — not only Li Xionghu and Yang Xuanji. So why was Emperor Yang Jing so determined specifically to kill Li Chi?

Fang Zhuhou said: “The reason he is determined to kill you is the very answer to why I cannot. The Central Plains have become what they are — this is not a disaster for a single branch of the Dachu imperial family. This is a disaster for the entire Central Plains people. I can be a man who betrays his family, yet I cannot be a man who betrays his people. As a member of the imperial family I have ten thousand reasons to kill you; but as a Central Plains person — from the moment you stopped contending for the empire and went instead to guard the border against the Black Martial forces, I had no reason left to kill you.”

Fang Zhuhou turned away, taking his Armor-Breaking Sword with him as he departed.

Li Chi raised his hand in a wave, signaling his men not to interfere.

“May I ask your name, Master?”

Li Chi called out.

Fang Zhuhou’s steps paused. His true surname was Yang — he was the current Dachu Emperor Yang Jing’s own uncle. But he had changed his surname to Fang, because his mother’s maiden name was Fang.

To commemorate his mother he had taken her surname — yet he knew that in the moment he had turned and walked away without killing Li Chi, Dachu was finished.

“My surname is Chu.”

Fang Zhuhou’s figure flashed, and he was already several zhang away.

Li Chi watched the figure vanish, his heart not yet at rest… A member of the Dachu imperial family — not surnamed Yang, yet calling himself surnamed Chu…

This was a royal’s surrender — and also a royal’s tribute to a vanished glory.

Perhaps it was precisely because he was a man of such clarity that he had been able to reach the ultimate boundary of martial art.

But what of his descendants?

If he had descendants who learned of their identity as members of the Dachu imperial family — would they possess his same clarity?

At that moment, someone came sweeping in from a distance — the young page boy who served at Mr. Wu’s side.

Upon seeing Li Chi, he called out urgently: “My lord, the young lady sent me back to ask you to come to Songhe Tower at once — the young lady has already gone there.”

A sharp gleam entered Li Chi’s eyes.

Cao Lie was at Songhe Tower. Cen Xiaoxiao was there. And the devoted corps of soldiers who stood by Cao Lie’s side.

Mr. Wu and Mr. Ye had gone to Songhe Tower — and even Lady Wu had rushed over.

Inside Songhe Tower…

Old Zhang Zhenren looked at Li Chi, a hint of worry already in his eyes. He looked at Li Chi and said: “It’s another… boundary of limits.”

Songhe Tower.

The Sect Master stood in the center of the ground floor, his eyes surveying those around him with cold contempt.

Mr. Wu and Mr. Ye had arrived — yet still his demeanor showed no change whatsoever.

All things in the world — beneath his notice.

Cao Lie lay collapsed behind him — not dead, struck unconscious by a single palm blow. Cen Xiaoxiao was there too, equally unconscious.

He had not killed these two, because he was still waiting for Prince Ning to come.

The world said Prince Ning was a man of benevolence and righteousness, that in his eyes the weight of loved ones and brothers far outstripped the weight of empire.

Therefore, as long as these two people did not die, Prince Ning Li Chi would certainly enter Songhe Tower.

He no longer looked at Mr. Wu or Mr. Ye, nor at the beautiful young woman who had just arrived. He only looked at the Jingzhe Blade in his hand.

Three zhang away, Little Zhang Zhenren was leaning against the wall, blood still seeping unceasing from the corner of his mouth, and his face — pale as a sheet.

Before coming here, he had been confident that among people all within “One,” how great could the gap between them be?

After coming, he finally understood how wrong he had been.

One-Low, One-Mid — it made no difference.

Below the boundary of limits, all are ants.

—