The Tangxi Sword’s Deception

The Tangxi Sword, long-rumored in the martial world’s tabloids, had indeed resurfaced within Jizhou territory.

This northern region was characterized by its biting cold.

Heavy snow fell ceaselessly, cloaking the entire landscape in a pristine silver.

Inside a small, age-old inn, several figures clad in cashmere felt coats huddled around a table. Their noses and cheeks were flushed crimson from the cold, and a pot of strong liquor simmered by the hearth, promising warmth.

Their similar attire made them nearly indistinguishable from a distance.

Each of them also bore a remarkably similar longsword.

One woman spoke, her voice clear and resonant. “When the time comes,” she instructed, “act according to the plan. Remember, securing the sword is the most crucial objective.”

The others responded with low murmurs of assent, then resumed their silent drinking. The only sounds left were the soft gurgles of liquor being swallowed; no one spoke another word.

Suddenly, the old, decaying wooden door creaked open.

The moment it swung inward, a blast of icy wind, laden with snow pellets, surged into the room.

His robes flapped violently, forcing him to lower his head and brush away the clinging ice shards.

Behind the counter, the proprietress, who had been absently chewing on her pen while tallying accounts, quickly scurried to the front. She shut the groaning wooden door behind the man, securing it against the relentless wind.

The biting wind and snow were instantly shut out, and the beast-like howls of the gale gradually subsided. Silence once again descended upon the inn.

The proprietress had been on the verge of muttering a complaint, but a glance at the man’s imposing stature—and the dark saber scar that slashed diagonally from his eye to his chin—made her heart pound with apprehension. She felt a sudden chill of fear.

Finally, she managed a strained smile. “Sir,” she asked, “it must be freezing out there. Why not take a seat and warm yourself with a cup of spirits?”

The towering man remained as silent as a mountain, offering no reply. He simply nodded and settled himself at a vacant table nearby.

Having run this inn for countless years, the proprietress had encountered every imaginable eccentric. Though a ripple of unease stirred within her, she merely shrugged it off as another peculiarity, turning to fetch the man his drink.

Upon seeing the newcomer, one of the felt-clad figures whispered, “Is that truly him?”

The woman with the clear voice shook her head. “I cannot be certain,” she replied. “The Zhaixing Pavilion Master rarely reveals their true self in public. We know precious little about them.”

Another voice chimed in, “Miss Lin, if the intelligence is accurate, this will be their chosen battleground. We should begin preparations.”

The clear-voiced woman, addressed as Lin Ke, tipped her head back and drained her cup in a single gulp. With a crisp *clink*, she set the goblet down, then pursed her lips. “Very well,” she declared. “Since they are so eager to make their move, we shall grant their wish.”

This, then, was Lin Ke, the revered master of the Tangxi Sword, once renowned throughout the martial world as the ‘Hundred Li Red Robe’.

In recent years, Lin Ke had remained absent from the martial world, dwelling instead on Penglai Island in the East Sea, where she cultivated her path alongside several loyal sword attendants.

However, Lin Ke eventually discerned a bottleneck in her cultivation, finding it increasingly difficult to advance her realm while confined to the island.

Thus, she embarked on a sea voyage with her sword attendants, returning to the Central Plains.

Their intention was to journey north, to the celestial pool on Kunlun Mountain—a place once imbued with the essence of the ‘Drinking Spring Blade’—to seek enlightenment in the way of the sword.

Yet, word of their return had spread with alarming speed. Within days, they found themselves ambushed repeatedly on their journey.

The reason was self-evident: all sought to seize the Tangxi Sword.

Subsequently, they uncovered reliable intelligence: the true mastermind behind these relentless attacks was none other than the Zhaixing Pavilion, widely known as the ‘Foremost Demonic Sect’ of the martial world.

The Zhaixing Pavilion boasted a long and sinister history, having been entangled with figures like the Sword Immortal Ye Di, Celestial Master Qin Lang, and Buddhist Son Dao Xuan as far back as a century ago.

Their methods were shadowy and utterly unconstrained, with disciples of the Pavilion openly disdaining association with righteous cultivators.

Consequently, the name of the Zhaixing Pavilion had always struck fear into the hearts of those in the martial world.

Upon hearing Lin Ke declare their readiness to act, a sword-wielding woman acknowledged with a nod, preparing to rise and depart.

Suddenly, the door swung open once more.

This time, two masked women entered, clad in form-fitting combat attire, each with a curved saber at her hip.

The moment they stepped inside, they promptly closed the door, much to the relief of the proprietress, who had been fretting over the escaping warmth of her charcoal fire.

The two women in combat attire cast a brief glance at Lin Ke and her companions, offering no further reaction before settling into an empty window-side booth.

After waving away the approaching server, they leaned back against the wall, quietly closing their eyes to rest.

One of the male sword attendants murmured to Lin Ke, “If they are the Zhaixing Pavilion Master…”

Lin Ke waved a dismissive hand, signaling him to say no more. “For now,” she instructed, “let us simply observe.”

Within the dilapidated inn, nestled amidst the frozen wilderness, an uncanny silence descended, carrying with it a faint, chilling aura of impending conflict.

****

The third group of guests pushed open the door and entered.

They were a mixed group of men and women, all cloaked in heavy capes. Leading them was a gaunt old man, upon whose shoulder perched a snow owl with black and white plumage and amber eyes.

Based on Lin Ke’s deductions, the current blizzard had rendered the vast wilderness utterly white. This inn, isolated from both village and town, presented the Zhaixing Pavilion with the perfect opportunity to make their move for the Tangxi Sword.

Yet, among these three distinct groups—the towering man, the two masked women in combat attire, and the ancient old man—who among them was the true Zhaixing Pavilion Master?

Lin Ke sifted through the scant intelligence she possessed regarding the Pavilion Master, desperately hoping to unearth a useful clue.

Before she could formulate a coherent thought, the inn’s main door repeatedly swung open, admitting several more groups of guests. Their varied clothing, appearances, and demeanors made it utterly impossible to discern their true affiliations.

A cold dread seized Lin Ke’s heart. ‘No, this is bad,’ she thought. ‘We’ve been tricked!’

She and her accompanying sword attendants had deliberately adopted identical attire and carried similar longswords to create confusion, hoping to prevent their enemies from easily pinpointing the true Tangxi Sword.

Yet, she had never anticipated that the Zhaixing Pavilion would deploy so many operatives, employing the exact same tactic of obfuscation.

Among this throng, who were merely ordinary martial artists, and who were the Zhaixing Pavilion’s assassins?

Lin Ke gritted her teeth, then transmitted a secret message to her remaining sword attendants. “It’s impossible to distinguish friend from foe now,” she conveyed. “Our only recourse is to shed our shells.”

At her words, the sword attendants’ expressions turned grim. They nodded in unison, each reaching for the fiery liquor before them and draining it in a single gulp.

First, a male and a female sword attendant rose, offering Lin Ke a subtle nod. Then, with longswords at their hips, they traversed the main hall, pushed open the door, and departed without a backward glance.

The silhouettes of the two sword attendants shimmered for a moment, then were gradually swallowed by the howling blizzard that surged to meet them.

Inside the inn, the previously silent martial artists exchanged knowing glances, a shared understanding passing between them.

The two masked women in combat attire likewise rose, tossing a few copper coins onto their table before following suit out the door.

‘Just as I suspected,’ Lin Ke mused. ‘These individuals are equally unaware of the true location of the Tangxi Sword.’

Thus, they were bound to split their forces, unwilling to let any piece of bait escape their grasp.

Three more sword attendants rose and departed, pushing open the main door and fanning out towards the east, west, and south.

Among the remaining guests, several individuals swiftly detached themselves, trailing the departing sword attendants like shadows.

Before long, Lin Ke’s immediate sword attendants had all vanished.

Within the inn, most of the other patrons had also departed, leaving behind only two young men and a hunched old woman.

After Lin Ke summoned the server for another pot of wine, her mood seemed remarkably light. She lifted the wine jar, tilted her head back, and began to drink deeply with loud gulps.

With yet another ‘creak’—the countless time that day—the door swung open again, admitting another guest.

This time, the remaining guests broke their silence. They hastily rose from their seats, kneeling before the door in a respectful bow. “Greetings, Mr. Xiao,” they chorused.

The newcomer, addressed as Mr. Xiao, simply asked, “How goes it?”

The hunched old woman replied, her voice a raspy croak like a crow’s. “Reporting, Mr. Xiao,” she said, “it appears to be correct.”

Mr. Xiao nodded. “Good,” he affirmed.

Ignoring the three figures still kneeling before him, he walked directly towards Lin Ke’s table.

Observing her flushed face, her cheeks blooming like peach blossoms, Mr. Xiao offered a faint smile. “You’ve had too much to drink,” he remarked. “It’s not good for your health.”

Lin Ke set down the wine jar and raised her gaze to meet Mr. Xiao’s. Her pupils immediately flickered, betraying profound surprise. “You… you…” she stammered.

Mr. Xiao chuckled. “Indeed, I am the Zhaixing Pavilion Master,” he revealed. “You’ve yearned for this meeting day and night. Now that you see my true face, I trust you aren’t too startled?”

Lin Ke queried, “Why do they address you as ‘Mr. Xiao’…”

Mr. Xiao explained, “In matters of learning, age is irrelevant; capability reigns supreme. The title ‘Mister’ is fitting for any individual of true ability.”

Lin Ke seemed to accept his explanation. “Then,” she stated, “you are here to claim the Tangxi Sword?”

Mr. Xiao lowered his gaze to look at the longsword on her back, then chuckled softly. “Correct,” he affirmed.

Lin Ke’s brows rose in surprise, then quickly furrowed, as if she were trying to suppress a surge of delight. “How can you be certain that the sword on my back is the true Tangxi?”

Mr. Xiao replied, “Who in the world doesn’t know that Lin Qingyi is infatuated with swords, and her swordsmanship has reached the pinnacle? I simply don’t believe you would entrust the Tangxi Sword to anyone else for safekeeping.”

Lin Ke sighed. “The Pavilion Master speaks true,” she conceded. “I had indeed misjudged. It’s true, the Tangxi Sword always feels safest when I bear it myself.”

Mr. Xiao offered no reply.

“However,” Lin Ke said, a cunning arc gracing her lips as she suddenly smiled. “It is true that the Tangxi is on Lin Ke. But, Pavilion Master, how can you be certain that *I* am the true Lin Ke?”