The tall bamboo pole’s foot slipped, nearly losing his balance entirely. “Who — who who who who is a tall bamboo pole?!”

Lin Sui’an: “Oh. Then what is your name?”

Tall bamboo pole: “Why should I tell you?!”

“No matter — a name is just a thing one carries on the outside.” Lin Sui’an waved a hand. “Come over here.”

“What — what what what what what are you going to do?!”

“You came to see the Ten Purity Collection, didn’t you? Come over and we’ll study it together.”

Lin Sui’an sat cross-legged at the table, doing her utmost to produce a friendly smile — not knowing that a smile of that half-hearted variety, plastered onto her naturally severe face, looked even more unsettling than her usual expression.

The tall bamboo pole backed up several paces. Even through the face-wrap, his wariness was palpable. He had even quietly raised the straight sword in his hand, ready to lunge forward and stab Lin Sui’an if necessary.

Lin Sui’an gave an awkward scratch of the head, put away her counterproductive smile, and said with complete sincerity, “In truth, I can’t make sense of it, and I was hoping to ask you for help.”

A peculiar silence fell over the room. The tall bamboo pole’s eyes went wide. After a long moment, a sound emerged from beneath the face-wrap — barely audible.

Lin Sui’an’s eyebrow twitched.

Was this fellow sniggering at her?

“As I’d have thought — you’re an outer-lineage disciple and naturally you’d find it incomprehensible.” The tall bamboo pole muttered under his breath. He flipped aside his robe, sat down opposite Lin Sui’an, and held out a palm. “Hand it over. Let me have a look.”

Oh.

Lin Sui’an had gained another useful piece of information: she was an “outer-lineage disciple,” which by implication meant that the tall bamboo pole was an “inner-lineage disciple.” Did she truly belong to some kind of uncanny sect?

Lin Sui’an had no intention of actually handing the Ten Purity Collection to the tall bamboo pole. Instead, she slid sideways until she was sitting right beside him, snapped the scroll open with a flourish, and pressed her elbow down on the tall bamboo pole’s outstretched hand. “We’ll look together.”

The tall bamboo pole snatched his hand back as if scalded, shot Lin Sui’an a ferocious glare, and turned with composure to look at the Ten Purity Collection — the Collection… the Col…

He turned to stone. Starting from his eyeballs, the petrification spread gradually to his eyebrows, his face, his throat, his fingers, his toes — and then shattered into pieces, the fragments drifting away in the flickering candlelight, like moths drawn into flame.

Lin Sui’an could not contain herself and burst out laughing.

“What is this?!” He bellowed.

Lin Sui’an displayed the cover. “The Ten Purity Collection.”

“What kind of wretched excuse for a Ten Purity Collection is this?!” The tall bamboo pole slammed the table and shot to his feet. “The Ten Purity Collection is our school’s ancestral supreme blade manual — how could it possibly be this thing?!”

Oh. Supreme blade manual, is it.

Lin Sui’an showed no outward reaction. “Perhaps a supreme blade manual is precisely this unconventional in its expression?”

“Utter nonsense! I have seen a surviving fragment of the Ten Purity Collection preserved in the inner lineage, and the second technique of the Ten Purity Sword Art is ‘In substitute strikes, spare the livestock’ — how could it possibly be this ‘spare the living’ — this completely — unintelligible — thing—”

The tall bamboo pole had bellowed half a sentence when he stopped dead. Lin Sui’an stopped at exactly the same moment.

The written characters in the two versions were completely different — but their pronunciation was nearly identical.

The tall bamboo pole’s eye corner twitched violently. Lin Sui’an turned to the third page.

【The blade cuts again like soup.】

Combining the illustration, the pronunciation, and her earlier muscle memory — could the true name of this technique actually be “The blade and cauldron sever the intestine”?

With that thought, Lin Sui’an nearly laughed aloud. She had arrived at an absurd and yet hilarious possibility.

“Could it be that this Ten Purity Collection is a transcribed copy passed down through the outer lineage?” Lin Sui’an asked.

The tall bamboo pole’s forehead gave a violent twitch.

“And the original of the inner lineage’s Ten Purity Collection has been lost?”

“…”

Even with half his face covered, it required nothing more than the pulsing vein at his temple to conclude that Lin Sui’an had, with very high probability, guessed correctly.

The situation had now become abundantly clear. The person doing the transcription evidently had a limited education — copying by listening. Characters they didn’t know how to write were replaced either with homophones, or perhaps…

The fourth technique was the swift, annihilating “Rapid Wind, Chen Autumn Leaf.” Lin Sui’an thought of a more fitting description: “sweep fallen leaves like an autumn wind.” Perhaps it was “Swift Wind”? And as for “Chen” — could it be a visually similar character, like “shake”? In that case, the original name of this technique should be—

“So that’s it — it’s ‘Swift Wind Shakes Autumn Leaves’!” Lin Sui’an said, nodding.

The tall bamboo pole was evidently startled by Lin Sui’an’s capacity for inference. “Can you actually reconstruct the blade technique from what’s written in there?”

Lin Sui’an: “A bit.”

If her deduction was correct, the Ten Purity Collection was essentially an empty shell. The true blade techniques were transmitted orally, and the precise forms and names were secondary — actual combat experience was the foundation. In other words, the techniques had long since been engraved in this body’s muscle memory. What Lin Sui’an needed to do now was awaken that memory, and then re-integrate it with the Ten Purity Collection into her own conscious knowledge — only then could she fully master the Ten Purity Collection, and perhaps suppress the uncanny bloodlust — the “taming of Qian Jing” the tall bamboo pole had spoken of.

“Could it be that the Ten Purity Collection is written in cipher?” the tall bamboo pole asked — then found Lin Sui’an’s gaze turning toward him. Candlelight danced in the depths of her pupils, strange and unfathomable.

In the next instant, cold light flashed. Qian Jing’s blade skimmed past the tip of his nose. The tall bamboo pole recoiled in shock, stumbling in a desperate roll across the floor, long sword pressed across his chest, eyes wide with fury.

“What are you doing?!”

Lin Sui’an gave her wrist a shake. She had predicted correctly — this tall bamboo pole, though her subordinate in past encounters, was a far more capable fighter than those petty bandits and minor ruffians. If nothing else, being able to dodge that sudden ambush just now was no small feat. He was clearly the most suitable sparring partner currently available.

“Since you have seen the Ten Purity Collection, you have only two choices,” Lin Sui’an smiled fiercely. “Either leave your eyes behind, or leave your life.”

That line was so satisfying to deliver. Lin Sui’an felt she had quite a lot of potential as a villain.

The tall bamboo pole’s face changed. Sweat beaded finely across his forehead. He rose slowly to his feet, settled into a fighting stance. “Kill you, and the Ten Purity Collection and Qian Jing will both be mine!”

Lin Sui’an raised an eyebrow. Qian Jing spun a dazzling flourish in her palm; she lunged forward and swept her arm in a wide arc. Their blades clashed with a sharp ring — Qian Jing was unscathed, but his blade had gained a chip.

Lin Sui’an gave him no breathing room. She came in with an enormous overhead chop straight down toward his crown. The tall bamboo pole threw his sword aside, drew two daggers from his boots, ducked beneath Qian Jing, and hunched close to the ground, attacking Lin Sui’an’s lower body directly. His speed with the daggers was several times faster than with the long sword. Lin Sui’an was startled and retreated several rapid steps, sprang off the ground, and stabbed backward from mid-air directly at the tall bamboo pole’s spine. He rolled out of the way yet again, and then his legs — as if lying flat and pedaling a three-wheeled cart — spun him in a full one-hundred-and-eighty-degree rotation. Maintaining that near-ground posture, he slid at her once more, both daggers spinning like a windmill of fire and wind.

This fighting style was like a shameless dog rolling around in a brawl — compared to the techniques he had used before, it was almost painful to witness. But in terms of speed and the sheer deviousness of its angles, there was simply no comparison. He was half-prone and half-crawling — like an enormous, lightning-fast centipede — darting left, then right, the two daggers pressing dangerously along Lin Sui’an’s ankles with each pass. And every time he chose his moment, it was precisely when Lin Sui’an’s lower stance was most unstable.

Lin Sui’an was caught completely off guard, breaking into a cold sweat. She had never actually learned martial arts. Everything since crossing over had been carried by this body’s muscle memory — but the tall bamboo pole’s mode of attack was clearly something the original owner had never encountered. The muscle memory was not sufficient.

Indeed — she needed to integrate this body’s muscle memory into conscious control as quickly as possible; otherwise the future consequences would be severe.

Seeing that he had the upper hand, the tall bamboo pole’s footwork grew ever more entangling, and his attacks ever more ferocious. Lin Sui’an kept dodging and retreating, seemingly on the defensive — but gradually her mind grew clear. The techniques of the Ten Purity Collection flashed through her thoughts one by one, until she stopped at the page for “Break Certainty.”

The glowing stick figure and the tall bamboo pole slowly overlapped. The irregular radiating lines around the stick figure seemed to come alive and shift — transforming into the tall bamboo pole’s actual attack trajectories. Those lines were not random at all. They followed a pattern, a system — six o’clock, four o’clock, three o’clock, eight o’clock, twelve o’clock — and suddenly Lin Sui’an understood. This trajectory nearly matched the footwork pattern she herself had been unconsciously following. They were from the same school. In all likelihood, their footwork drills had been identical — and so the tall bamboo pole had been predicting her landing positions, which was how he had suppressed her at every turn.

So that was it.

Lin Sui’an narrowed her eyes. Her gaze locked on the tall bamboo pole’s next attack position: ten o’clock!

Lin Sui’an feinted a slash, leaned her body forward and to the left, as if she were about to plant her foot on the predicted spot. The tall bamboo pole’s dagger-light swept out like lightning — and at the last possible instant, Lin Sui’an’s body snapped bolt-upright and leapt backward. She drove Qian Jing into the floor and used it as a pivot; her whole body swung out from it, and she launched a sweeping kick that connected squarely with the tall bamboo pole’s backside.

The tall bamboo pole had been completely certain of this strike. He had not expected Lin Sui’an to simply vanish at the very last moment. Before he could even process what had happened, a tremendous force sent him flying — he saw a flash before his eyes and the next thing he knew he had gone clean through the window, smashing into a tree in the courtyard outside and barely managing to stop himself there, his back having taken the impact, and yet somehow it was his backside that felt as if it had burst into flower, the pain so acute he couldn’t even make a sound.

The tall bamboo pole crashing through the window had made quite a commotion. The thirty-odd people inside and outside the inn — not wanting to miss anything — came pouring out, with Mu Zhong’s group making sure to squeeze into the front-row seats.

Before them, a black-clad, face-wrapped man lay beneath a tree, covered in fallen leaves, his topknot undone — and a shoe-print on his backside. It was evident he had taken a thorough beating. Never mind what he was doing here: one look at his black clothes and covered face was enough to tell he was no virtuous individual — some kind of thief or villain. No one knew which hero had caught him for them.

A young woman walked into the courtyard, straight-bladed sword in hand, moving unhurriedly. The night wind stirred the sky into patches of deep and pale blue; clouds were parted by an exceedingly fine, exceedingly bright corona of light, which filtered down as a more delicate, luminous wash of moonlight. It fell across the young woman’s resolute, sharp-featured face. The straight blade gleamed with a poisonous ink-green luster, and her pitch-black eyes held the shifting shades of the sky above — light and dark, unresolved.

“How — how is this possible? How could you see through my techniques? Those are secret to the lineage!” The tall bamboo pole clutched his backside and climbed to his feet, blood vessels broken in both eyes, pointing at Lin Sui’an and trembling. “What technique did you just use?!”

Lin Sui’an raised her long brows. “Predict the predictor’s prediction — and that is called: Break Certainty.”

The tall bamboo pole gave a tremendous cough of blood, staining his face-wrap crimson. He pointed at Lin Sui’an, shaking incoherently for several seconds, then grabbed a branch, hauled himself into the tree, and fled in a headlong rout.

Broken branches and torn leaves rained down. Lin Sui’an watched, somewhere between amused and exasperated. She didn’t know whether lightness skill was a feature of this world, but the tall bamboo pole’s lightness skill was, at the very least, rather poor.

Though the tall bamboo pole had shown up both times with hostile intent, it was peculiar — Lin Sui’an found she felt no real dislike for him. After all, he brought her something worthwhile with every visit. The first time, he had revealed the importance of Qian Jing. The second time, he had introduced two crucial terms: “taming Qian Jing” and “the Ten Purity Collection” — practically a dedicated delivery service for clues. And by the sound of him tonight, the moves she had used might indeed be from the Ten Purity Collection. Lin Sui’an reflected — could the inexplicable phrases that kept surfacing in her mind be passages from the Collection? In other words, the Ten Purity Collection had been living inside this body’s muscle memory all along.

Every time her body had lost control had followed the appearance of those character-strings. Making a bold inference: the Ten Purity Collection might be precisely the key to taming Qian Jing.

“This is getting interesting,” Lin Sui’an sheathed her blade and smiled. “Welcome back anytime.”

*

【The old friend bade farewell at Yellow Crane Tower in the west,

And in the third month’s misty blossoms went down to Yangdu.

The lone sail’s far shadow vanishes in the blue emptiness,

And all I see is the Long River flowing to the sky.】

When Lin Sui’an stood on Wansui Bridge outside Yangdu, the only lines reverberating in her mind were these — from the Poet Immortal Li Bai’s celebrated verse.

It was breathtaking. Yangdu was less a city than an enormous inland island. Complex, wide waterways wrapped around the entire city like drifting white ribbons — and the most spectacular sight of all was the Long River to the south, which was nothing like the river she remembered. Here it was an inland sea of rippling green jade. Looking as far as the eye could reach, the view was immense — the sky above so clear and transparent it seemed like the purest glass. Great and small sails drifted amid the glittering waves; the calls of boatmen rose and echoed across the water and sky as one. She drew a deep breath, and the moist, cool air flowed through her nose and deep into her lungs, feeling as though the oxygen content had risen by thirty percent.

On Wansui Bridge, traffic moved in a busy stream. Beneath the bridge was Yangdu’s south water-gate, with boats large and small calling out as they pressed into the city — busier even than the overland traffic.

Following the crowds across Wansui Bridge and arriving beneath Yangdu’s south city gate, armor-clad soldiers were divided into six teams, methodically checking travel permits for the people and convoys entering the city. The Mu merchant convoy was clearly VIP-level; they passed through inspection swiftly and entered the city without difficulty.

A grand boulevard more than fifty meters wide opened before them. Ward districts, laid out like a chessboard, extended toward the horizon. Along the western side of the boulevard ran the Caoqu canal that cut through all of Yangdu — bridges arching like rainbows, masts and sails clustered thick. The number of boats far exceeded the carts and horses on land, resulting in smooth traffic on the roads and total congestion on the water. Wharves stretched along both banks without break, with canal workers loaded with freight weaving through them as busy as bees.

“Finally back,” Old Liu breathed deep. “Take a sniff — even the wind smells like twenty-six-brew!”

“Old Liu, Ah Long, Little Ma — come with me to deliver the goods first. Val knows the city — take Lin Niangzi to Furong Lou in Furong Ward, get a table and order food,” Mu Zhong tossed Val a red wood token. “Tonight is on me.”

“Don’t forget to order me two jars of twenty-six-brew!”

The cart had already rolled two li away, and Old Liu’s shout was still ringing in their ears. Val set off at a brisk pace, showing off the professional competence of a well-trained local guide.

“Do you remember that verse I taught you earlier?” Val asked.

Lin Sui’an: “…”

From childhood onward, reciting from memory had been her greatest nightmare. Of course she hadn’t retained it.

Val didn’t mind. He whipped a headband from his waist and tied it neatly. “Yangdu has six north-south main streets and twelve east-west roads. This road is Tongqu East Street — and across the river there is also a Tongqu West Street. Everything most fun, most delicious, most novel, and most fascinating in the world can be found here.”

“This river is Yangdu’s official canal — it runs from south to north through the entire city, with seventy-six wharves, two-thirds of which belong to our Mu merchant convoy. Persian, Arab, and Fusang ships are the most common.”

Shop banners and pennants swept past in an endless stream — a butchery, a meat shop, a cooked-food shop, a silk shop, a plain-weave shop, a hat shop… Lin Sui’an stared in wide-eyed wonder. She noticed that although the ward system was in effect here, it was clearly far more open than in Nanpu County — there was no strict separation of residential and commercial zones. Many shops fronted directly onto the streets. Some had even knocked holes in the ward walls to do business through them. Street vendors were beyond count: fresh fruit, daily goods, food stalls — every few paces another one. It was not a shade inferior to a modern pedestrian shopping street.

Val grew more pleased with himself. “Yangdu has two sections: to the north is the inner city, with only four wards — all the government offices are there. To the south is the outer city, with sixty-seven wards. Yangdu has no eastern market, southern market, or western market — the entire city of Yangdu is one great market. Lin Niangzi, if you like, come back after dark: the streets on both sides will be hung with lanterns of every color. It is a sight found nowhere else in the Tang Kingdom.”

Lin Sui’an was genuinely astonished. “No curfew? The ward gates don’t close?”

“A curfew? This is Yangdu — the city that never sleeps!” Val laughed.

Lin Sui’an: “…”

She had just crammed all that world knowledge into her head and it was already out of date?

Val guided Lin Sui’an across Guangji Bridge, through Qingchun Ward, over Zhongsan’er Bridge, and at last they arrived at Furong Ward on the banks of the Jiuchu River.

The Jiuchu River was the second busiest of the four major waterways in Yangdu’s inner city, and also the most beautiful — smooth as jade, green willows for shade. Nearly all of Yangdu’s most famous taverns, teahouses, and pleasure houses fronted the Jiuchu River. The Hongzhuang Ward to the south, for instance, was the well-known entertainment district. To the north, Yuyan Ward’s numerous popular eateries were Furong Ward’s largest competition. Juanyu Ward had the most teahouses and was the preferred haunt of literary men who liked to drink tea and compose verse.

Furong Lou was the most famous inn in Furong Ward — nearly impossible to get a table. It was just past the sixth hour of si, and the place was already packed to capacity. Val walked in with easy familiarity, handed the server Mu Zhong’s token, and the server showed them to a window table on the first floor. The view was somewhat cramped, but the scenery was excellent. Compared to the people still waiting in line outside, Lin Sui’an was already very satisfied.

Val busied himself ordering food and wine. Lin Sui’an had nothing to do. She detached Qian Jing and set it on the table beside her, idly fanning herself with her palm. Although it was already deep autumn, Yangdu’s climate had not cooled by much. The ambient temperature was over twenty degrees. The overall climate here was more humid and stifling than in the world Lin Sui’an had come from. Young men all over the streets were fanning themselves, dressed in almost uniform fashion — white robes, white boots, soft-winged scholar’s caps, a certain casual elegance in their bearing as they walked.

Compared to the men, Lin Sui’an found the women’s dress more to her liking: high-waisted pomegranate red skirts, bright-colored short jackets and sleeveless overshirts, and airy cloud-shoulder shawls draped across the shoulders, wound around snow-white wrists, drifting in the breeze — graceful beyond measure.

Likely owing to the humid air of Yangdu, both men and women had notably fair complexions. Under the brilliant sunshine, there was something almost translucent about them.

Lin Sui’an was enjoying the view when her gaze drifted with the crowd to the Jiuchu River’s Beisan’er Bridge. The pedestrians on the road seemed to have come to an agreement — they were clustering beneath and beside the bridge, leaving a clear path through the center, all of them looking excited and flushed.

Lin Sui’an knew this sort of formation well. It was exactly what you’d see at fans lining up to meet a celebrity at an airport.

Val was still deliberating with the server over the last dish. It would be a while before Mu Zhong’s group arrived. Lin Sui’an made a decisive choice, grabbed Qian Jing, and vaulted out the window, squeezing into the crowd of onlookers.

This world had no social media or neighborhood news boards — she hadn’t even seen a gazette — and the appetite for gossip that the age of the internet had cultivated in her had nowhere to go here, leaving her constantly starved for entertainment. The moment she spotted a spectacle, she naturally had to elbow her way in and get a proper look.

An event of this magnitude — at the very least it had to be a famous celebrity.

Sure enough, before long the crowd on the eastern side of the bridge stirred into motion. A group of men dressed all in white appeared on the bridge — each one immaculately groomed, eyes bright and spirits high. They clustered around someone: a man of notably tall stature, also in white, fan in hand, wearing a wide-brimmed veiled hat. Pale gauze hung from the hat all the way to his ankles, and the river wind caught it, making him seem half-transcendent.

The crowd broke into wave after wave of cheering.

“Hua Family’s Fourth Young Master! Hua Family’s Fourth Young Master!”

“So beautiful!”

“Truly Hua Family’s Fourth Young Master — the peerless young jade of the age — one look at just his back is enough to bewitch the soul.”

“Ancestors above — if the Fourth Young Master of the Hua Family were to look at me once, I could die content!”

The wide-brimmed veiled hat swaggered to the highest point of the bridge, snapped open his fan with a crack, raised his chin, and struck a pose. The crowd erupted. Apparently still not satisfied, he switched to three more affected poses in succession. Only after the cheering and applause had crested three full times did he saunter slowly off the bridge.

Lin Sui’an watched with barely suppressed laughter. She thought to herself: this person was a show-off taken to the absolute extreme. If someone had pointed a fan at him to create a dramatic wind effect, he would certainly have turned that veiled hat into a peacock fanning its tail.

But at that very moment, a sharp cry rang out from the crowd beneath the bridge:

“Hua Family’s Fourth Young Master — your life is forfeit!”

A white-clad man lunged from the crowd, wooden club in hand, and charged at the Fourth Young Master. The Fourth Young Master, still mid-pose, saw how things were going and took to his heels immediately. His speed was genuinely remarkable — those two long legs opened up a stride that covered three of his pursuer’s steps. The moment he ran, the watching crowd finally reacted. Good heavens — this had stirred up a hornet’s nest. Everyone surged forward at once, every mouth shouting “Fourth Young Master, watch out!”, “Protect the Fourth Young Master!”, “Fourth Young Master, move aside!” — the scene looked as though the Fourth Young Master would be trampled to death by his own supporters before the attacker could lay a hand on him.

Fortunately, the Fourth Young Master’s agility was considerable — practically reincarnated as a slippery eel. He threaded through the gaps in the crowd with two or three deft spins and broke free, still clutching the fan he’d been posing with. He came running straight toward Lin Sui’an’s position — and Lin Sui’an, unwilling to stand in the way of this particular force of nature, quickly stepped aside. The Fourth Young Master swept past her at speed; she barely caught a glimpse of his clean, smooth jaw — and at that instant, she heard the faint sound of a blade singing.

Her muscle memory activated in the same instant. Lin Sui’an seized the Fourth Young Master by his waistband and flung him backward. Using the momentum of the spin, she launched a kick that connected squarely with the chest of a black-clad figure. The man had been concealed within the crowd. He’d barely raised his blade and gotten his head above the surface when Lin Sui’an’s kick sent him flying — blade flying one way, person flying the other — and he plunged into the Jiuchu River with a splash.

Every sound vanished in that single instant. The copper bell under the eaves of Furong Lou swayed without wind and rang — ling, ling, ling — clear and bright.

Lin Sui’an felt something was slightly off, and turned her head frame by frame. She was holding an empty waistband. The owner of the waistband had been flung by her quite some distance away and lay facedown on the ground, hands clasped over his head, from crown to waist to feet forming a textbook “arch” shape.

Oh no!

Lin Sui’an stepped forward quickly, pulled aside her robe, and crouched down. “You… are you alright?”

The arch-shaped Hua Family Fourth Young Master wriggled — then, with a sudden carp-leap, sprang upright. His sleeve snapped out with a flourish; he settled into a free-and-easy seated posture, and with a crisp snap, flicked open his folding fan, holding it across his chest. He looked at Lin Sui’an with a faint smile. His lashes curved like fans; his eyes were bright.

“This one is Hua Yitang. Many thanks for saving my life.”

Above his head, the sky opened into a vast, bright blue — clear, boundless, without wind, without cloud.