The tenth day of the sixth month, a tedious, cicada-loud afternoon.

The long, drawn-out cry of “Aaah—” swept across the sky near the Princess Imperial’s residence like a sudden thunderclap. In the legendary tales that traveled up from the Southwest, when a great master of the martial world achieved a breakthrough and pushed himself to the very limit, the long cry that came from his mouth could sweep across several li in just this way — and if placed within the legends of later ages, this would be the moment the great master of the Princess Imperial’s residence, in a spirit of magnanimity, issued a challenge to another invading grandmaster.

Throughout that day, in the city and beyond it, disturbances had already been breaking out one after another; and now, within the seemingly unwatched confines of the Princess Imperial’s residence, perhaps the most violent scene of all had suddenly erupted.

Though a great many guards had been dispatched elsewhere to hold their posts, the residence still naturally retained a sufficient number of hands. The moment the long cry rang out, everyone was startled into motion — the guards up high swung their muskets around, scanning the surroundings, while the sentries scattered through the various courtyards below rushed out of their rooms, looking about.

Few, of course, were able to pinpoint the location right away.

In the courtyard behind the residence, where the great banyan tree towered overhead, only Ning Ji’s body had been driven to the very peak state of his life. As his roar died away, a faint echo still hummed in the air around him; beneath his feet, he had already summoned his full strength, his body moving from stillness to motion, bursting through the countless shafts of sunlight scattered through the gaps in the leaves. At the edge of his vision, a gray-robed figure had already come crashing down on the far side of the courtyard.

Two courtyards away, the girl in the gray-white dress turned her head in confusion. She had no idea that, just three courtyards from where she stood, Tunyun’s figure was already tearing through the corridors at ghostly, inhuman speed.

Next door, beneath the great banyan tree, dust exploded up from the ground — thud, thud, thud, thud — surging toward the small gate at the corner of the courtyard. Ning Ji’s figure burst out through it, snatching up, as he went, an axe he’d casually left by the weapons rack. He’d barely stepped through the gate when, at the edge of his vision, the gray-robed figure — like some gray war-chariot — had already closed the distance of a dozen-odd zhang in an instant. Ning Ji swung his axe, striking down with all his strength to intercept him, while Tunyun’s body coiled and spun, hugging close to the wall like clinging to a mountain slope.

With a tremendous crash, iron fragments flew and the axe handle shattered. From behind his iron armor, Tunyun’s fist punched out; Ning Ji, beneath him, staggered back four or five steps, thud thud thud thud, the blue bricks by the courtyard gate trembling with each impact. Tunyun’s fist technique, combined with his iron sleeves, whirled like a tornado gone wild, while Ning Ji, for his part, immediately bent low, trying to dissipate the force through footwork and elbow strikes, all while blocking the straight line of the other man’s charge.

The instant the two of them collided, the violent angle of their clash was forced sharply askew, and then stone fragments burst skyward at the junction of the two courtyards. Ning Ji crashed through a round archway made of blue brick nearby, his body, trailing a great cloud of dust, thrown back a full three zhang, slamming his back into a huge ceramic water vat in this courtyard. The vat shattered, and under the noonday sun, a great gush of water came roaring from his back, spreading out across the whole courtyard.

Sounds of commotion rose up; someone blew a warning whistle of bamboo.

Ning Ji planted himself in a horse stance, ripped off his soaked shirt with a single tearing motion. The courtyard gate was collapsing; Tunyun’s figure hid beneath the corridor there, a savage grin showing through the gloom, before he cut sideways and vanished behind the buildings beyond.

All around, the heat pressed down, his heart pounding like thunder. Ning Ji, too, moved off to the side. “Everyone — spread out, pull back the distance, box him in from afar—”

“Boxed in — from a distance?” Tunyun’s mocking laugh drifted over, carrying with it an astonishing depth of inner breath.

“Whoever should flee — flee—”

In this moment, Ning Ji had no thought left for banter. A great terror was brewing in the depths of his heart.

Just then, in the courtyard behind him, Qu Longjun seemed to be looking this way.

His martial skill already showed the first signs of a fresh breakthrough, and yet, after the great battle, he’d had no chance to rest — the wounds he’d taken were still faintly sending back their pain. On a battlefield against the Jurchen, such injuries wouldn’t have been worth mentioning; but in a confrontation against a grandmaster, even the smallest flaw or weakness could decide victory or death.

And even had his body been whole, his own attainments would still, most likely, have fallen a notch short of the other man’s.

But in a fight with no way back, there was no room to weigh such things.

His blood burning, he threw himself through the window of the building opposite, and the next instant burst out through the door on the far side. By now, his strength and speed had been driven to the very limit of what he had — but the lightness-skill grandmaster on the other side was faster still, and in the blink of an eye had slipped along the roofed corridor to another courtyard off to the side.

Somewhere in the sky to the side, a gunshot rang out; Ning Ji ran on with everything he had. One of the Princess Imperial’s guards ran into the other man, blade flashing, and was struck down in an instant; Ning Ji seized the chance to close in, snatched up a blade and slashed. Tunyun’s figure twisted and dodged, and only twice — where he couldn’t dodge entirely — did he block the edge of the blade with the hard technique of his iron sleeves. In the next courtyard over, some guards seemed to be gathering, moving to close in along the wall; as Tunyun leapt and shifted, he flung something toward them. Ning Ji flipped up a slab of blue brick from the ground and used it to knock the object partway open, shouting as he did, “Get away—”

The bundle of gunpowder landed on the ground, and under the afternoon sun, thunder rang out once more, smoke and dust billowing.

“You’re the one who inspired me — this world isn’t the only place with gunpowder—”

Ning Ji drew a breath, and his long blade suddenly slashed upward.

This was the “Crossing the Years” form of the Overlord Blade.

In the past, whenever Ning Ji practiced with the blade, he had always started from the basic strokes of horizontal slashes and vertical cuts, and as his skill gradually matured, he had come to believe ever more firmly in the principle of returning to simplicity. But in this moment, as the blood and breath within his body surged to a point near explosion, he seemed to catch, faintly, a glimpse of the level his grandfather Liu Dabiao had once reached. As the long blade swept out, it shifted and transformed at its most violent point; his footwork below, in tandem with his blood and breath, combined with the method of star-treading footwork, wove the speed of his whole body together with the dazzling arc of the blade’s light — and when the strike truly landed, the force of his blood seemed to gather on the blade’s edge like an explosion.

With a crash, wood chips flew from the pillar beside them, and Tunyun’s body pulled back. Ning Ji’s blade was already pointed at Tunyun’s throat, closing the distance further, while Tunyun, moving like a peacock spreading its tail, deflected this vicious strike of blade-light. The blade in Ning Ji’s hand transformed into the “Sealing the River, Pacifying the Sea” form of the Overlord Blade, roaring back around; Tunyun’s iron sleeves met it, carrying their own tornado-like roar, and the two figures leapt and shifted, trading several more exchanges.

Dust was gradually settling, iron shards flying through the air; Tunyun forced Ning Ji back for an instant, then, in the gardens, spread both arms wide.

“—What’s the use of it!?”

The guards Ning Ji had just warned and saved, spared from the blast, had already appeared at the courtyard gate to the side, but Tunyun’s voice roared out just as loudly.

“You can save them for a moment, but can you save them for a lifetime!”

Ning Ji’s long blade slashed in; Tunyun lowered one arm, and behind him the sunlight shone straight into Ning Ji’s eyes. Ning Ji’s blade dipped, light coiling in his hand; straight ahead, the whistle of wind screamed, and with a boom, Tunyun’s palm struck one of the corridor pillars, and that section of the walkway began to collapse. Tunyun’s figure coiled away, while Ning Ji’s body crashed straight through the collapsing corridor, charging on.

“—You’ve shown me your weakness!”

“—Do you really think you can save that little girl too!”

The clash of blade-light and iron sleeve swept through this stretch of courtyards; the two of them tore through buildings, smashed through walls. The long blade in Ning Ji’s hand was ruined several times over, and he took up whatever else was at hand to keep fighting, at one point hurling blue bricks, which Tunyun casually shattered to powder with a strike. And as a grandmaster who had roamed the martial world for many years on the strength of his lightness skill alone, in this moment of true anger in his heart, Tunyun finally brought out his most guarded techniques as well — amid the thunder of his own booming words, he never once let Ning Ji gain the slightest advantage.

The handful of the Princess Imperial’s guards who arrived belatedly hadn’t yet had the chance to join the fight; they drew their blades and charged into the room where the two were battling, only to see the sheer violence of these two men clashing, like the rampage of giant beasts — smashing the tables, chairs, and bed in the room to pieces, flying stone chips cracking the windows in spots. By the time the guards burst in, the back wall of the house had already been forced clean open, dust and smoke spreading everywhere.

Beyond the breach in the wall, Tunyun laughed loudly. “If that girl lives, then count it as your win—” His body borrowed leverage off the building and shot upward with a whoosh.

“Today, this old monk! Will show you a mountain—”

“Stop him—”

Ning Ji shouted and gave chase, calling out as he ran, “Run—”

…

The sunlight was blinding.

Above the Princess Imperial’s residence, gunfire rang out again.

Amid the scattered gardens, Qu Longjun, escorted by two guards, was fleeing for her life with everything she had.

Tunyun’s figure streaked across the blue-gray rooftops of the residence, like some enormous spider, rising and falling as he ran, now appearing, now vanishing, while Ning Ji followed behind, occasionally hurling stones or roof tiles at him.

Two soldiers closed in on the rooftop, raising their long muskets to take aim, but Tunyun’s figure zigzagged at tremendous speed, and just as one of them was about to pull the trigger, that figure suddenly vanished over the ridge of the roof.

“Get out of the way—”

Ning Ji shouted from behind and charged straight in. The two men with muskets looked around; from beneath the roof tiles, a gray figure suddenly burst upward, and the explosion of dust and flying blue tiles engulfed both riflemen. Ning Ji closed the distance and slashed in with his blade; Tunyun swung the musket he’d snatched to meet the strike, and between the two of them, the gun was smashed to pieces in midair.

The whole of the residence’s defenses had been dragged into disarray by this single charge of his.

“Ha ha ha ha! Good, very good—”

Tunyun’s figure leapt several zhang away in an instant, still calling out praise as he went.

“No wonder I thought so highly of you — such skill, at such a young age. The world to come is yours—”

“Waaah—” Ning Ji chased after him with everything he had, blood spraying from his mouth, but he still cleared the several-zhang gap between the roofs and slammed hard down onto the roof opposite, chasing him.

With a crash, this time he couldn’t keep his footing, and crashed straight through the roof into the building below.

Inside, the top of a wooden bed was smashed through, and then the frame beneath it was crushed as well. Ning Ji clambered up, covered in blood, looked toward the window behind him, and threw himself through it.

“But if you can’t keep me here today! I’ll make sure you suffer for the rest of your life—”

Ning Ji lifted his head; sunlight poured down from the eaves. The distance between them had already widened. He drove himself on again, fixing in his memory the last spot he’d seen Qu Longjun, and ran full-out.

He knew everything Tunyun had said was true.

He also knew that, often enough, when a grandmaster faced an ordinary person, the power over life and death needed only that single instant.

And he had already fallen behind.

Images of his family elders flashed through his mind.

Aunt Hong, Aunt Gua, Chen Fan, Du Sha, Fang Shuchang, Uncle Zheng, Qian Luoning… He thought of their skill, and of the things they had said, their assessments of the great heroes of the world.

In the era of the Bamboo Chronicle, Sikong Nan had once been the most troublesome expert of all, precisely because if a master of that caliber was truly willing to throw his life away, there was no guarding against him.

And Qu Longjun had already been spotted by the enemy…

You little rascal…

Two years ago in Chengdu, fresh off the battlefield, he had swum around the city’s waterways like a stray dog, prying into the secrets of this world, and had stumbled, without meaning to, upon that girl sighing to herself by the water’s edge.

He had spied on her bathing, and had also witnessed the schemes of many bad men.

At the very outset of his youth, from that point on, there had been something added to his life that made him happier than fighting ever had…

“Why do you… call me a little rascal…”

“Can’t you… just take me with you…”

“So are you going to… have a child to bring back with you?”

…

“Aaaaaaaaah—”

Though he had already fallen a step behind…

He still hoped fate would grant him salvation…

Even though, on the battlefield, he had already witnessed countless people torn apart from each other in an instant, forever…

The two feelings tore and roared at each other in the depths of his subconscious.

And in the courtyard before him, in reality, he pushed his speed to the very limit of this life.

Not far off, Tunyun laughed loudly.

“Does numbers even matter?”

He hurled something into the courtyard ahead.

Someone seemed to be dodging out of the way; someone else fired from a distance.

It had no effect.

Across two courtyards, Tunyun’s gaze slipped through the gap toward him.

“You’re too slow…”

His figure surged forward.

Ning Ji was still running at full speed. He tore through one courtyard, then another; there weren’t many people about. Ning Ji looked ahead toward that building’s window — Tunyun had already gone in — his own footsteps carrying him across half the courtyard in an instant. Inside, past the shattered window, sounds were breaking out, like echoes from hell itself. Ning Ji was about to throw himself through that window.

With a crash, the wall to the side shook violently, and bricks and stone burst outward, revealing the raised, twisted outline of a man’s height — someone, thrown savagely by Tunyun, had been smashed into this wall…

It felt to Ning Ji as if a pit had suddenly opened in his chest, and his footing faltered beneath him.

He heard someone shout.

“Yue Pengju.”

For a moment, he couldn’t even make sense of what the name meant.

…

On the tenth day of the sixth month, on that scorching afternoon, the grandmaster’s battle that suddenly erupted within the Princess Imperial’s residence didn’t, in fact, last very long.

The two grandmasters fought fiercely, and both were supreme in lightness skill besides — dragging the residence’s less-than-full complement of guards along in their wake, keeping them from taking any direct part in the fighting for a time. This was the very thing that made the grandmaster Tunyun most terrifying of all, and the very thing he had relied upon throughout his life to run wild across the land.

On this day, he had pushed his own power of intimidation to its very peak — even at the risk of injury to himself — all to give a thorough, deep lesson to the young man he had once hoped to take as his own successor.

To kill an ordinary person, for him, took only the span of a single moment, up close. And even were he then surrounded by a group of guards afterward, he was confident enough in his own ability to break through and escape.

He had gotten his moment.

And in the very next instant, people heard, coming from within that room, the hysterical, grandmaster’s roar.

He cried out:

“Yue— Peng— Ju—”

A vast, terrible wave of sound rose to blot out the sky, sweeping out in every direction across the Princess Imperial’s residence—

I originally meant to say that if I didn’t get ten thousand votes I’d kill off Qu Longjun, but honestly there isn’t much point to that — it might just create the illusion that the plot changes because of monthly votes.

A book exists to express some meaning or some feeling; if I ever need to use a character’s death to convey something truly moving, someone like Fu Duanyun, Xue Jin, or Meng Zhutao, say — I wouldn’t hesitate to do it either.

But most of the time, I think, if comedy will do, then there’s no need for tragedy.