Chapter 37: Like a Flower, Like a Dragon—A Long Cry in the Sky (Part One)

The Changsheng River in Luyang City was not broad. Crossing it was simple, whether by building a bridge or taking a boat. In the very center of its narrow waters lay a slender peninsula stretching from the bank, and beyond the peninsula were scattered islets, which faintly enclosed the water into a circular shape.

There was neither wind nor ripple; the surface was perfectly still.

After rain, the water formed a terrace, thus it was called the Rain Terrace.

It was not yet noon, but already someone sat cross-legged above the water, suspended in the air. He embraced a heavy iron sword, eyes closed. On this placid, unbroken surface, only beneath him did slow, steady ripples spread outward in circles.

He was a large man, thick-armed, half his face hidden by black, oily hair. One could not help but wonder how a man managed his days without shampoo, especially with such long hair.

This man was, of course, Fan Ling.

Aside from him, Ma Yuan was also present, not far away. He hid aboard a two-story pleasure barge, having spent silver to fill the vessel with clusters of lavishly colored flowers.

There were three other such decorated boats drifting on the river.

As noon approached, more onlookers gathered along the banks of the Luyang River. Many finally lost patience and made their way toward the Rain Terrace.

In the Luyang Academy, the mistress of the Seventeenth Floor led a young girl by the hand from the house. She took Chen Mingguang and Wu Gang with her, inviting them to watch the match.

On a windowsill of the peninsula, Little Moon gently drew back the curtain. Though Fan Ling still did not open his eyes, Lady Ye was certain he knew she had arrived, and so she offered a slight bow, not neglecting courtesy.

“Since my childhood, I have been an orphan, seeking my kin for more than ten years. Heaven has finally shown mercy, and now I have found them. Yet my younger brother, long absent from home, is somewhat unruly. I hope, Master Fan, that you will show restraint.”

She spoke these words before many. Though rumors swirled, she, a maiden, was not cowed by gossip.

Fan Ling, for his part, gave no reply.

“You have come. But where is he?”

There was no trace of Gu Yi in the room.

The peninsula and the islets upon the river teemed with people; the banks were crowded with the curious, and even in the distant sky a cultivator or two could be sensed, watching intently.

They waited, eyes searching for the slender figure to appear—one even more spare than Fan Ling.

Lady Ye searched as well, and at last she saw a figure on the shore, pushing off in a wooden boat, paddling slowly with an oar.

Gu Yi thought: What a devious man, to choose a place like this!

So it was, man and boat merged with the painted scene of water and sky.

He stood out, and many pointed at him.

Fan Ling opened his eyes. “Have you been well these days?”

“Quite well. On many mornings, I awoke not knowing what to do. But today is different—there is something for me, and I am happy.”

Coming by boat—this, Fan Ling had not expected.

“You cannot even walk the air, yet you are happy?” Fan Ling stretched out his legs; he had always flown. A mocking smile played at his lips. “You should have told me earlier. Had I known your cultivation was so meager, I would not have chosen the Rain Terrace. Never mind, let us move to solid ground.”

But Gu Yi had already seen the four pleasure boats Ma Yuan had prepared, and now was not the time to stray far.

Feigning a cough, he declared with boldness, “I will not go. We fight here!”

Fan Ling burst out laughing in anger. “Why? You are truly the most foolish man I have met.”

Gu Yi laughed aloud, then his face turned cold in an instant. “Since you ask why, then of course I choose not to tell you.”

Several veins appeared on Fan Ling’s forehead.

“Wretched boy!”

What Ma Yuan had said, and what Lady Ye had learned, agreed: Fan Ling was a master of the sword, his style bold and expansive.

His sword, broad and thick, hummed and vibrated before leaving its scabbard. Under Fan Ling’s control, it seemed to move with a will of its own, swiftly circling about him.

So, the wind rose.

So, the water stirred.

Waves splashed.

The little boat rocked beneath Gu Yi’s feet, the swaying telling him Fan Ling was about to strike.

With a simple gesture, the heavy black sword sliced out a purple sword beam, reflected in the water so that the fish scattered in terror.

Gu Yi pushed off with his right foot, and with a splash, boat and man veered aside to the left.

A tremendous roar followed as the sword beam kissed the water, sending up a spray that soaked Gu Yi’s shoes.

“Not a bad dodge!”

Hovering above, Fan Ling even offered praise. “Though my sword is heavy, it is no slower for it. Boy, will you not state your name? Surely you are not unknown.”

“In a fight, I care nothing for your origins. I want to strike you, and so I will.”

“It would be rude not to return the courtesy. How about you take one of my strikes?”

“Come!”

Gu Yi’s sword was an ordinary long blade, appearing all the plainer beside the broad black one. He closed his eyes; in that moment, the hair at his temples, as if caught by the wind, lifted and danced.

From his blade came a piercing, high-pitched cry.

The sword is the gentleman’s weapon: it can be rigid or supple.

Little Yiyi once said that when rigid, the sword goes straight—better a broken straight sword than a whole, curved hook!

This was a strike of straight swords—not just one, but a multitude, beams of light shooting directly at Fan Ling.

Little Yiyi also said that when supple, the sword bends—though soft, a curved sword endures without end!

This was a strike of curved swords—ethereal arcs of light encircling Gu Yi’s waist in an unbroken flow. At a certain moment, he leaped into the air, sword light winding and coiling about him.

Swish, swish, swish!

All the curved sword lights, following Gu Yi’s spinning body, pressed Fan Ling from every direction.

...

“His technique truly is curious—within the intent of his sword, strength and suppleness blend. Is this the so-called Highland Sword?”

“No, mistress, the Highland Sword is not nearly so formidable.”

...

Fan Ling’s face shifted; the sword intent was extraordinary, and so was Gu Yi. He had already reached the Meditative Realm.

The sword light was fierce and magnificent.

Magnificent, because where Fan Ling delivered a single sword beam, this fellow, by some unknown art, unleashed a thousand rays in wild confusion.

Fan Ling thrust his palm forward; violet spiritual energy split the world around him, enclosing him within. At the same time, sword light came from behind, so he swung his blade back, and the point flared, devouring all sword intent.

He was a master of the Spirit Guarding Realm, spiritual energy shielding him completely. Gu Yi’s exquisite swordplay could not harm him with these two attacks.

Fan Ling closed his right hand into a fist, drawing all spiritual energy back into his body with effortless grace.

His towering figure descended slowly until he was level with Gu Yi.

“Was it not to be a single strike? Why two?”

Gu Yi replied, “Do not mistake your ignorance for pride. That was one strike.”

“Your swordsmanship is indeed remarkable—what is this sword technique called?”

“The Mud Array Sword,” Gu Yi replied solemnly.

The subtlety of the technique compelled Fan Ling to ponder. He muttered, “Mud Array Sword? Does it conceal the intent of an array? But what array is the Mud Array… Mud Array… You—! You wretch!”

Suddenly, his eyes bulged wide as copper bells.

Scoundrel! How dare you mock me!