Xie Huaqing swung her sword back, but Su Zhe caught it firmly with the golden rings of his Buddhist staff, then flung it upward, sending her flying onto the tavern’s eaves.
“Walk forward, don’t look back,” Su Zhe said gravely.
Su Muyu nodded slightly and continued onward.
“With me blocking the path, neither ghost nor god shall pass,” Su Zhe struck his staff heavily against the ground.
In the main hall of the Su family compound, Su Jinhui warmed a pot of wine for himself, with a plate of braised beef before him, drinking alone. The swordsmen stood behind him, watching the courtyard with predatory eyes.
In the center of the courtyard, a bald swordsman stood in the rain, glaring fiercely at the main gate.
A man wearing a straw rain cape arrived from outside, leaping onto the courtyard wall, and spoke softly: “Su Muyu has passed Clear River Street. He’ll be here in half an incense stick’s time.”
The bald swordsman rubbed his head: “Well now, is he coming alone?”
“He was with Su Zhe, but Su Zhe stayed behind to block the Xie family’s swordsmen,” the messenger replied.
“It seems he’s discovered our location and is coming specifically to find us,” Su Muqiu sat cross-legged beside Su Jinhui in the hall, smiling. “Coming alone—does he want to negotiate with us?”
“Would he want to negotiate with us?” Su Jinhui turned his head to ask someone in the inner hall.
In the inner hall, Su Changhe lay bandaged on a bamboo couch: “What could Su Muyu negotiate? It’s hard enough to get him to say a few words normally—you expect him to become suddenly eloquent?”
“Sometimes negotiations don’t require words, especially Su family negotiations.” Su Jinhui drank a cup of warm wine and continued slowly, “Swords will suffice.”
“By the time this pot of wine is finished, he should be here,” Su Muqiu said softly.
Su Changhe’s brows furrowed slightly—Su Muyu’s arrival wasn’t within his expectations. He gently touched the dagger at his waist, wondering what could have happened.
In the courtyard, the bald swordsman raised his head, looking at the curtain of rain, his sword hand trembling slightly: “I’ve waited long for this day.”
“A Ze, steady your hand,” Su Muqiu said slowly.
The bald swordsman lowered his head and sneered: “I’m not afraid, I’m just excited.”
At that moment, the main gate slowly opened.
Su Muyu entered holding his paper umbrella, its edge tilted low to cover half his face.
Su Jinhui raised his head slightly, and every swordsman behind him placed their hands on their sword hilts.
Su Muyu gently twisted his umbrella handle, shaking off the accumulated rainwater.
Su Changhe sat up on the bamboo couch, slightly turning the dagger in his hand, his lips curling: “Su Ze, against Su Muyu?”
The bald swordsman named Su Ze drew his sword, pointing it at Su Muyu: “I’ve waited long for you, Su Muyu.”
Su Muyu continued walking forward: “I’m here to see the Elder.”
“Stop!” Su Ze shouted.
Su Muyu stopped as commanded, raising his umbrella slightly, his gaze passing straight through Su Ze to Su Jinhui in the hall: “Elder.”
“It’s been a while, Lord Puppet.” Su Jinhui drank his last cup of wine. “I have nothing to discuss with you. A Ze, kill him.”
“Yes, sir!” Su Ze laughed loudly and thrust his sword at Su Muyu. Su Muyu quickly retreated, his left hand flicking to form a sword of rain aimed at Su Ze. Su Ze swung his sword, shattering the water blade completely.
“Mere tricks! Show us your Eighteen Sword Formation instead!” Su Ze leaped up, his sword bringing down rainwater with it. Su Muyu blocked with his umbrella, the stone tiles beneath his feet instantly shattering.
The rain in the courtyard seemed to fall harder.
“You want to see my sword?” Su Muyu asked calmly.
“Yes. Let’s see who truly is the strongest swordsman of this generation in the Su family!” Su Ze shouted.
Su Changhe stretched lazily, dissatisfied: “Why is the strongest Su family swordsman contest between them? Don’t I deserve mention?”
Su Muqiu smiled, speaking to Su Changhe in the inner hall: “You use a dagger. In A Ze’s mind, you’re not a swordsman.”
“An inch-long sword is still a sword,” Su Changhe twirled his dagger. “Care to bet on who’ll win?”
Su Muqiu shook his head: “A Ze is still too young. Muyu will win.”
“I’ll add a bet—Su Muyu won’t need the Eighteen Sword Formation to win,” Su Changhe smiled.
Su Muyu suddenly raised his umbrella upward, lifting Su Ze into the air: “I hear you practice the Soul-Destroying Sword technique. Killing with one stroke isn’t enough—you want to scatter their very soul. But while your sword carries killing intent, it lacks dominance. Dominance isn’t about being fierce or cruel.”
“Then what is it?” Su Ze flipped in the air, bringing down another sword strike that split the curtain of rain.
“It’s about looking down from above.” Su Muyu sidestepped, leaping to appear behind Su Ze. “It’s when your inner power is truly mighty that you can disregard others.” After speaking, Su Muyu pressed one finger against Su Ze’s spine.
With a “bang,” Su Ze was sent flying by that finger-sword into the hall, landing before Su Jinhui.
Su Jinhui remained expressionless, not even raising an eyebrow, and poured himself another cup of wine.
Su Muqiu sighed: “It seems your guess wasn’t bold enough—Su Muyu not only didn’t use the Eighteen Sword Formation, he didn’t even draw his sword.” As he finished speaking, a cold light flashed. Su Muqiu looked up to see Su Muyu holding his paper umbrella in his left hand and a sword in his right, flourishing it before planting it beside Su Ze’s head. Then Su Muyu looked at Su Jinhui and called out again: “Family Head.”
But Su Jinhui didn’t look at him, only at the sword on the ground. On the sword’s pommel coiled a long dragon, its eyes briefly flashing before falling back into dormancy.
Su Muqiu also looked at the sword, exclaiming softly: “The Sleeping Dragon Sword.”
“The Family Head’s poison has been cured. He sent me to bring the Sleeping Dragon Sword here, to give to the Su family head,” Su Muyu said slowly.
Throughout the hall, none of the Su family assassins dared speak a word, not even Su Ze, lying defeated on the ground.
Su Muqiu’s right cheek twitched slightly.
Seeing everyone’s silence, Su Muyu continued: “The Sleeping Dragon Sword is passed to the Su family head. From this day forward, the Family Head steps down, and the position of Dark River’s Family Head shall be held by the Su family head. Please, Elder, take the sword!”
Su Muqiu leaned forward slightly. As Su Changhe had said, Su Muyu was not skilled at negotiation—even for such an important matter, he spoke only a few words. Of course, he hadn’t come to negotiate, but to transfer power. The temptation of this power transfer was truly hard to refuse, but difficulty in refusing didn’t mean immediate acceptance.
Drawing that sword would make one Dark River’s Family Head.
But drawing that sword meant every non-Su family member in Nine Heavens City would turn their swords against him.