A flock of white birds flew across the clear sky. The shadow of their wings swept cool across her face, then was carried away by the wind. The air was full of moisture and the smell of grass. Lin Sui’an breathed in with contentment and took a large bite of the flatbread.

The flatbread was a food resembling a Central Asian sesame bread — large and round. The first bite was a little dry. After a few chews, the flavor of clarified butter and sesame, catalyzed by saliva, released its distinctive aroma. It was the ideal food for satisfying hunger.

Most importantly, flatbread was easy to carry and slow to spoil — truly the essential provision for long travel.

Lin Sui’an had joined the Mu merchant convoy and set out on a journey. Their destination was the Mu convoy’s headquarters — Yangdu.

This parallel world’s Tang Kingdom had five capital cities: Andu, Dongdu, Guangdu, Yidu, and Yangdu. Over the more than three hundred years of the Tang Kingdom’s history, each capital had played a unique historical role.

Andu had served as the political and cultural center — the heart of power for over two hundred and thirty years — until seventy years ago, when Emperor Xuanzhao ascended the throne and moved the capital to Dongzhou. From that point on, Dongdu had been the seat of the Tang Kingdom’s political currents. Guangdu, Yidu, and Yangdu, by comparison, held less political weight, but all enjoyed high economic standing — as the saying went: “Yangdu first, Yidu second, and Guangdu won’t accept it.”

Yangdu and Guangdu were both primarily international trading hubs — renowned international port cities, criss-crossed by waterways, economically advanced, commercially thriving, and populous. Yidu was more famous for handicraft manufacturing and served as a waypoint along the Silk Road.

Mu Zhong’s visit to Nanpu County had two purposes: first, to negotiate a partnership with the Luo merchant convoy and open new trade routes; second, to audit the finances of the shops in the Eastern Market. He had therefore traveled light on the way out, bringing only four men, and on the return journey carried two cartloads of goods — modest enough. The distance from Nanpu County to Yangdu was only about two hundred li, and at the Mu convoy’s pace, they would arrive within ten days.

By the fifth day of travel, Lin Sui’an had fully settled into the rhythm of the road. When they were moving, she rode and watched the scenery, soaking up the sun. During rest stops, she drank spring water, gnawed flatbread, occasionally supplemented with roasted mutton, and listened to the convoy hands chat about everything under the sky. Life was pleasantly satisfying.

“In my opinion, when it comes to fine wine in this world, the very finest is Dongdu’s ‘Full Jade’ — the color is as clear as amber. Second would have to be our Yangdu twenty-six-brew — rich in layers on the palate but never muddled, mellow but never cloying, and the aftertaste goes on and on—” Old Liu lifted his water pouch, drank from it, and smacked his lips, as if what he was drinking were not spring water but nectar.

Old Liu, despite having the word “old” in his name, was actually only thirty-six — the second eldest in the convoy after Mu Zhong. The other three hands were: Ah Long at twenty-four, Little Ma at twenty-one, and Val, who had some foreign blood — high-bridged nose, deep-set eyes — only nineteen years old.

Old Liu was devoted to wine above all else, but unfortunately the convoy strictly prohibited alcohol during travel, so he could only indulge in idle talk.

“Why is it called twenty-six-brew?” Lin Sui’an asked. “Is it because it uses twenty-six different brewing methods?”

“Has Lin Niangzi ever heard the poem, ‘on the night of the twenty-six bridges in bright moonlight, where is the beauty who teaches the playing of the flute’?” Val asked.

Lin Sui’an: “… Isn’t it twenty-four bridges…?” She shut her mouth.

Mu Zhong gave a sudden laugh. The others all looked at Lin Sui’an with expressions of sympathy.

“Lin Niangzi must have been taught by a half-baked teacher!” Ah Long said, righteously indignant. “What sort of nonsense has he been filling your head with?”

Little Ma: “Exactly, exactly! This is nothing short of corrupting the young!”

Old Liu: “Outrageous! The tuition fees should be refunded!”

Lin Sui’an quietly wiped a bead of sweat from her brow.

That was the trouble with being transported into a parallel world — you constantly made basic errors. A world that ran parallel was especially treacherous, because some things coincided with the world she knew and some were completely different, while others were broadly similar but with small variations in the details — like that poem just now. In her world it was of course completely familiar, but in this one the number wasn’t twenty-four bridges but twenty-six. Lin Sui’an had no choice but to blame a conveniently invented “half-baked teacher” and play the part of a pitiable student who had been thoroughly misled.

“Yangdu is crisscrossed by waterways, with a total of twenty-six bridges in the city,” Val said. “As the saying goes: Nine Bend Lacquerware Workshop, Wash Horse, Climb Grandmother, Zhou Family Small Market, Guangji, Jade Bridge, Kaiming, Cai Family, and Tongtiping — south is Lixin, north is Tongtian — the Canzuo Bridge runs east-west — north three, center three, south three nine — four wards and sixty-seven: go out and see Yangdu.”

Lin Sui’an: “Ah, I see now!”

Val, with his tawny fringe hanging over his dark green eyes, blinked. “Every Yangdu person can recite that. If you can’t, people will know you’re an outsider and look down on you.”

Lin Sui’an: “…”

Those words carry quite a lot more conviction coming from you.

“Right then, rested — time to get moving,” Mu Zhong patted his robes and started toward the supply cart. Then he suddenly turned and glanced at the others. Old Liu, Val, and the rest immediately rushed to the cart, drawing their straight-bladed swords, scanning in all directions with fierce eyes. Ah Long waved urgently at Lin Sui’an. “Lin Niangzi, get to cover!”

“Hah — this mountain is ours, this tree we planted! If you want to pass through, leave behind your road toll!” A bellow rang out and dragged a string of mountain bandits from the undergrowth — about ten or so men, menacing and ferocious, their faces covered by masks. Their clothing was unremarkable, but the masks were strikingly uniform: carved from bark, with two black holes left for the eyes, so that from a distance they looked like a pair of broad beans. Somewhat comical, really.

The Mu merchant convoy had seen far bigger scenes than this, and remained composed. Mu Zhong pointed to the small banner mounted at the head of the cart — red ground, black characters, yellow border, with a large character for “Mu” inlaid in the center.

The lead bandit: “Mu merchant convoy?”

Mu Zhong shook out a few strings of coins and tossed them over. “A little something for the brothers to buy a drink.”

The bandit caught the coins, bounced them in his palm, and gave a whistle.

This scene Lin Sui’an had already witnessed three times on the journey. Each time the procedure was identical — bandits appear, Mu Zhong pays, bandits retreat — carried out with such practiced ease that it might have been rehearsed hundreds of times. Lin Sui’an had good reason to suspect that the bandits along this road had long since mastered the art of effortless income: the Mu merchant convoy is an easy mark — just bring the brothers out, strike a pose, no fighting, no killing, and the money comes.

So Lin Sui’an was quite unhurried. She finished wrapping up the half-eaten flatbread and tucked it away, then moved to fetch her horse. But at that moment, a rustling came from the trees. The bandits, having received their payment, not only failed to retreat — they called in reinforcements, roughly twenty men in total. Wearing their ridiculous masks and pressing the grass down slowly as they advanced, their blades caught the light and flashed in Lin Sui’an’s eyes.

It seemed the Mu convoy’s name wouldn’t help this time. Lin Sui’an thought.

Mu Zhong raised an eyebrow. “Lin Niangzi, time to pay the road toll.”

The “road toll” meant serving as the Mu convoy’s bodyguard — that was the condition Mu Zhong had agreed to in exchange for bringing Lin Sui’an along.

Lin Sui’an nodded. “Stand back.”

Mu Zhong stepped aside to the cart. Old Liu and the others looked astonished.

Lin Sui’an gripped Qian Jing’s hilt and walked toward the bandits. From beneath their various masks, a chorus of mocking laughter broke out. More than half the bandits simply ignored Lin Sui’an entirely and charged with drawn blades straight at Mu Zhong’s convoy.

Lin Sui’an moved.

Her toes barely skimmed the grass tips; the wind rushed past her ears. Qian Jing’s ink-green blade transformed in the sunlight into translucent jade-green — like a single thin leaf — threading itself into the gap between each bandit’s hand and weapon hilt.

【Rapid Wind, Chen Autumn Leaf】

This was a phrase Lin Sui’an had read in the Ten Purity Collection several days prior. At the time it had produced no particular feeling — she had simply thought it seemed like some kind of incantation. But at this moment, the phrase was like a beam of light, illuminating the blade technique sleeping inside this body, driving her to move with speed, efficiency, and precision through her opponents.

Her body was loose and agile; Qian Jing felt like an extension of her own wings, filled with inexhaustible power. She swept along a path invisible to the eye, like the wind, across the grass and through tree-shadows, gliding lightly — gliding through the blinding flash of blood.

Countless fragmented images flickered before her: the bandits’ panicked expressions, bloodshot eyes, the gleam of their blades, the spray of blood — gradually they assembled into a coherent picture. She held the blade, and with precision, severed the tendons in each man’s sword hand. Each wound was small — barely half an inch — with almost no blood, just a thin trickle. Yet the screams were immense, sharp enough to pierce Lin Sui’an’s eardrums. Her heartbeat quickened, like war drums rolling, and a tremor of exhilaration surged through her veins.

The last bandit fell to the ground. Lin Sui’an stood still and looked quietly at the writhing, howling men at her feet. Her heart was pounding; her arms were trembling with excitement. Qian Jing was driving this body’s bloodlust, and she wanted to keep going… keep cutting…

She suddenly raised Qian Jing. The cold gleam of the blade slid into the nearest bandit’s eyes.

“Spare me, hero!” The bandit’s scream sent Qian Jing ringing with a hum. Lin Sui’an felt a sting in her palm, and her arm halted in mid-air. The sunlight fell across her face, dispersing the icy killing-intent.

Lin Sui’an wiped the blood splatter from the corner of her eye and sheathed the blade. “Get out of here.”

The bandits fled, leaving a mess behind them.

The convoy stood dumbstruck. Val and Ah Long dropped their swords. Little Ma and Old Liu’s jaws dropped. The way they looked at Lin Sui’an — as if twenty-six moonlit bridges had appeared on her face. Mu Zhong, who had seen this before, simply gave Lin Sui’an a thumbs-up and said “worth every coin.”

For the rest of the journey, it was as though all the bandits had reformed — not so much as a shadow of half a bandit was seen. Mu Zhong remarked with feeling that he should have engaged Lin Sui’an’s services long ago; it would have saved him a great deal in road tolls. Lin Sui’an also noticed a distinct improvement in her standing within the group. If before the others had merely regarded her as a freeloader younger sister along for the ride, she was now the auspicious guardian deity of the convoy.

Ah Long contributed every hidden snack he’d been hoarding. Little Ma practically wanted to hold an umbrella over her head at every waking moment. Old Liu took every chance to curry favor. Even the “half-baked teacher” Lin Sui’an had invented out of thin air shed the label of “corrupting youth” and was suddenly elevated to the status of an “otherworldly master who transcends the mundane world.” Val even had the sudden inspiration to ask Lin Sui’an to take him as a disciple, which Lin Sui’an hurriedly refused.

This skill she’d inherited from no one knew where — it was better not to lead anyone astray with it.

Yes — uncanny.

That was how Lin Sui’an defined “Qian Jing” and “the Ten Purity Collection.”

*

By the time they reached the inn, it was past the first watch of the night. It was a rare treat to sleep under a proper roof. The watch rotation was arranged, and everyone went early to their rooms. Lin Sui’an finally had a room to herself. The moment she was back, she seized the opportunity to study the Ten Purity Collection in earnest.

She untied the binding cord and carefully unrolled the scroll. Pages the size of a palm unfurled one after another before her eyes, each curling up slightly at the corners like a carp lifting its scales — it was a style of binding common in this era known as the “dragon-scale” method, which gave reading it a certain luxurious, ornate feeling.

Unfortunately the contents were rather less luxurious. As the name suggested, the Ten Purity Collection was in fact the corresponding blade manual for Qian Jing. The first time Lin Sui’an had flipped through it, she had expected something imposing and profound. What she found was beyond all expectation.

Lin Sui’an looked at the “illustrated” blade manual before her and let out a deep sigh.

Only five pages of the manual contained any written content; the rest were blank. Each page followed the same format: on the right, characters representing an incantation; on the left, an illustration representing the technique. The first page’s incantation was “Slit the throat, blood ten zhang, the King of the Underworld raises his beckoning banner” — a line that had surfaced in her mind during her fight with the tall bamboo pole. And the accompanying illustration was… was… a stick figure.

Could anyone believe this? A supremely mysterious, profoundly abstruse, indisputably powerful blade manual, and it could not even meet the standard of a children’s picture book. It had only a stick figure.

A standing stick figure, with a horizontal line drawn across the neck, and then… nothing more. That was the illustration’s entire content.

To be completely honest, when Lin Sui’an had first opened to page one in a state of high anticipation, she had nearly had a heart attack on the spot.

She had even suspected it was a forgery drawn by Su Chengxian — but then, having seen Su Chengxian’s artistic abilities among his belongings… this absurd style was clearly beyond anything he could have understood or aspired to.

Second page: incantation — “In substitute strikes, spare the living first.” Illustration: a stick figure lying on the ground, with four horizontal lines across its hands and feet.

Third page: incantation — “The blade cuts again like soup.” Illustration: a stick figure lying on the ground, with a single horizontal line across its waist.

Fourth page: incantation — “Rapid Wind, Chen Autumn Leaf.” Illustration: one large stick figure and a group of small stick figures. The large stick figure holds something long, and radiating lines are drawn all around it. Lin Sui’an pressed her palm to her forehead. What was this supposed to represent — the Statue of Liberty?

She could only interpret the manual by combining it with her body’s reactions in actual combat. For instance, that day’s battle: one against many. Lin Sui’an replayed the attack path in her mind. She had zigzagged through the crowd in a jagged pattern, severing the tendons in one opponent’s sword hand with each pass, with no wasted movement or footwork whatsoever. This technique was likely a rapid, clean group engagement.

“Slit the throat” was self-evident — it was the throat-cutting technique. The one used in the foreign-girl tavern to sever tendons at the hands and ankles was likely “In substitute strikes, spare the living first.” The one that had nearly disemboweled a man was “The blade cuts again like soup.” Taken together, those three were probably the preparatory forms for “Rapid Wind, Chen Autumn Leaf” — meaning: one had to master the first three forms before one could deploy the fourth.

Lin Sui’an felt she was beginning to get a sense of things. She turned to the fifth page.

She stared blankly.

Fifth page. Incantation: Break Certainty. Illustration: a stick figure, with radiating lines drawn all the way around its body.

What was this supposed to be?! A glowing immortal? A Super Saiyan? A pirate king? An Ultraman?

“Just as I expected — the Ten Purity Collection is in your hands!” Someone dropped through the window upside-down, drifting in like a great black bat.

Lin Sui’an was immediately delighted. “Oh! Tall bamboo pole, you’re here — have you eaten?”