An He Zhuan: Act Four – Chapter 1
No flowers, no wine in Qingming rain,
Where blades and swords cut the soul’s domain.
…
Another spring rain fell, shrouding Nine Heavens City in mist. On one side of the street, a child held an umbrella for his father, who crouched silently burning spirit money. On the other side, a crowded tavern occasionally erupted with the sounds of drinking and revelry. Joy and sorrow mingled in the Qingming mist, falling with the rain upon this northern city.
After all, honoring ancestors had become merely a custom—true grief had long since been diluted by time.
On such a spring day, as frost gradually retreated, drinking warm wine was the proper way.
Su Muyu opened his oil-paper umbrella, walking unhurriedly along the street. His brow carried a trace of melancholy, so faint it barely registered as emotion, yet it seemed embedded in his very bones—gentle and lingering, impossible to disperse, matching perfectly with the Qingming scenery. Golden spirit money drifted down from above, landing on his paper umbrella. He gripped the handle and gave it a gentle twist, shaking off the paper.
In the tavern, Bai Hehuai had just finished a cup of wine, feeling the warmth spread through her body. She smiled: “Waiter, this wine tastes excellent. What’s it called?”
The waiter threw a towel over his shoulder and smiled: “This is Tusu wine.”
“Tusu.” Bai Hehuai swirled her wine cup, her gaze shifting slightly to Su Muyu passing below with his umbrella. She spoke softly: “Father, this name doesn’t bode well for him.”
Su Zhe shrugged: “It doesn’t bode well for me either.”
On the opposite eaves appeared four figures wearing bamboo hats. Except for the leader, the other three wore swords at their waists—unsheathed blades.
“Xie family members,” Su Zhe shrugged.
Bai Hehuai put down her wine cup: “What does Father think?”
Su Zhe smiled: “Su Muyu said he would present his conditions to Su Jinhui, one of which was allowing me to leave Dark River. I don’t trust the Family Head or Su Jinhui, but I trust Su Muyu.”
“Be careful,” Bai Hehuai sighed softly.
“Don’t worry, I’m just escorting Su Muyu for a short distance.” Su Zhe stood up, his Buddhist staff jingling like death bells in the Qingming season.
The Xie family swordsmen on the opposite eaves heard the rings’ sound and raised their heads slightly, seeing Su Zhe across the way.
“It’s Su Zhe of the Su family,” the lead swordsman said slowly, her voice clear and melodious yet carrying an air of dominance.
“Ah, it’s this young lady.” Su Zhe put a betel nut in his mouth, looking at the face partially visible beneath the bamboo hat. “Xie Huaqing of the Xie family.”
“Eat too much of that stuff, and you won’t feel even boiling water down your throat—eventually your whole mouth will rot,” Bai Hehuai advised.
“Just warming up—I’ll quit after this fight.” Su Zhe leaped up, raising his Buddhist staff and bringing it down heavily toward the four swordsmen opposite.
“Block!” Xie Huaqing shouted.
Immediately two swordsmen jumped forward, swinging their long swords to clash heavily with Su Zhe’s staff.
“Lock!” Xie Huaqing called again.
The two swordsmen suddenly twisted their blades, and as the three landed, they pinned Su Zhe’s staff against the eaves with their swords.
“End!” Xie Huaqing looked at Su Zhe, her eyes flashing with deadly intent.
“That’s about enough.” Su Zhe sneered, suddenly twisting his hand and releasing the staff. It continued spinning several times, sending the two long swords flying. He immediately gripped it again and flourished it at Xie Huaqing. Three golden rings flew toward her.
A flash of cold light.
Xie Huaqing’s sword had drawn and resheathed in an instant.
The three rings were deflected, flying toward Su Muyu below.
Su Muyu didn’t even look back—his paper umbrella twirled, cascading rain that knocked the three rings to the ground.
Xie Huaqing lowered her head slightly, activating her Hundred Eyes Divine Sight. She saw the long sword at Su Muyu’s waist, with a dragon’s head on its hilt, eyes tightly closed as if in eternal slumber.
“The Sleeping Dragon Sword!” Xie Huaqing exclaimed.
“Indeed it is.” Su Zhe arrived before Xie Huaqing with his staff, showing no chivalry as he struck down at her. Xie Huaqing dodged sideways as Su Zhe’s strike collapsed half the eaves. Another flash of cold light and Su Zhe leaped back, his robe slashed across his chest. He flipped down to the street, splashing rainwater.
“Stop him,” Xie Huaqing commanded.
The other three swordsmen immediately attacked, their blades cutting through the rain curtain, all striking at Su Zhe.
Su Zhe rolled and struck the ground heavily with his staff. Dozens of golden rings sprang up, forcing the three swords from attack to defense. The three swordsmen were skilled—they instantly created a net of sword strikes. With clear ringing sounds, all the golden rings were deflected back. Su Zhe paid no attention, turning to see Xie Huaqing had already caught up to Su Muyu.
“The Family Head gave you the Sleeping Dragon Sword?” Xie Huaqing asked softly.
“The Sleeping Dragon Sword is in my hands now, but it’s not meant for the Xie family,” Su Muyu replied calmly.
“Hand it over!” Xie Huaqing reached for the Sleeping Dragon Sword.
Su Muyu stepped aside, turning to face her as he raised his paper umbrella slightly. “Go back and tell Elder Xie: stop now, and all will be forgiven.”
Xie Huaqing gave a cold laugh and swung her sword. This time her blade was fully revealed to everyone—a narrow Tang sword with a subtle reddish tint. She practiced the art of sword drawing, where drawing and resheathing determined cause and effect. But she knew that against Su Muyu, hoping to decide the battle in one draw was impossible, so she switched to a different sword style.
The style was called Wild Geese Return.
Spring startles northern geese to return, frozen swallows sound like thunder!
Su Muyu stepped back three paces as Xie Huaqing’s sword swept past his throat. She changed her sword momentum, instantly striking three more times. Su Muyu still held his umbrella, relying on the Su family’s Ghost Trace Steps to dodge her blade.
“Dare you not fight me? Where is your sword?” Xie Huaqing demanded.
Su Muyu raised his paper umbrella slightly again, his left hand spinning gently to gather a stream of rainwater. He flicked two fingers, sending it toward Xie Huaqing. She froze, unable to dodge—the water stream split her bamboo hat in two and sent it flying, revealing her beautiful yet commanding face, her eyes still showing surprise.
To casually gather rainwater and make it a sword?
Su Muyu turned and continued walking.
Xie Huaqing quickly recovered and moved to pursue, but a Buddhist staff blocked her shoulder.
“Young lady, defeat me first,” Su Zhe smiled.