"All her meals are carried in by her personal maidservants. We tried asking those old women on the sly, but their mouths are sealed tight. Not a single word, and they even warned us not to go spreading gossip."
"Is she really that remarkable?"
"You bet. A person of such high breeding that she can't even stand in the sun. Not like us, out in the wind and rain every day."
The other farm woman let out a sigh. "Truth be told, we've got it pretty good. The crops from our village are sold regular to the Li clan down south, so we never lack a buyer. In a famine year like this, we can still scrape together enough to fill our bellies. Look at the rest of the township—folks there have nearly all fled."
Aunt Liu hissed thoughtfully. "That noble lady couldn't be from the Li clan, could she? Look at how the village head treats her like an honored ancestor."
The two had only chatted a bit longer when drops began pattering onto their heads. Looking up, they saw heavy, dark rain clouds pressing down low.
Mountain weather was as fickle as a toddler's temper, changing several times a day without warning. The two had no choice but to hastily gather their wash and hurry home.
They had barely taken a few steps along the mountain path when several dozen mounted riders came galloping toward them. The leading rider reined in his mount and looked down at them. "Aunties, which way to Benlei Village?"
Her companion parted her lips to answer, but Aunt Liu gave her a sharp tug, eyeing the riders warily. "Who are you?"
The rider produced a waist token and flashed it before their eyes. "Official business for Xiazhou Prefecture. Please cooperate."
A faint glow shimmered upon the token. Though neither Aunt Liu nor her companion could read, they had heard that government officials carried a handy, glowing treasure called a State Token.
The badge brandished by the rider carried an intimidating authority.
Seeing these thirty-odd riders armed to the teeth, Aunt Liu felt her courage waver. She could only point toward the west. "Follow the road for a li and you'll be there."
The rider let out a sharp whistle, and the thirty-odd riders bolted westward.
By now, the downpour broke in earnest, roaring down in torrents.
Hugging their washbasins with their heads tucked in, Aunt Liu and her companion splashed through the mud and water, rushing homeward.
The two of them were surprisingly quiet, without their usual stream of curses.
What were those thirty-odd riders heading into Benlei Village to do? Was it truly just official business?
Within breaths, the howling wind and driving rain beat down so fiercely they could barely keep their eyes open.
Their steps slowed despite themselves.
By the time they finally made it back to the village entrance, they saw the same troop of riders coming straight toward them, looking as though they had already completed their task and were preparing to depart Benlei Village.
Unlike before, there was now a carriage in their midst.
The carriage was surrounded by the riders, looking equally like an escort and a prisoner transport.
Despite the pouring rain, the villagers had gathered outside to watch the spectacle. Seeing that the thickest crowd was gathered outside the village head's home, Aunt Liu gasped in surprise. "They really did come for the village head!"
Everyone in Benlei Village knew one another. She caught hold of an onlooker at random. "Brother Li, what happened at the village head's place?"
"Seems like government men showed up. They dragged several people out of the village head's house, claiming they were harboring wanted criminals!"
"Criminals? What kind of criminals could they be?" Aunt Liu instantly thought of the so-called noble lady.
Another villager nearby chimed in, "Someone seemed to have died inside! I saw blood on the ground just now!"
Aunt Liu was shocked. "Someone died in the village head's house?"
"Didn't look like someone from his family, though..."
Yet as the rumor spread from mouth to mouth, it soon morphed into:
A whole bunch of people died in the village head's house.
***
At the frontline between the two armies, the rain poured down just as heavily.
The usually clamorous military camp had fallen dead quiet. Everyone hid inside their tents, leaving only the guards on rotation to stand dejectedly outside the canvas and upon the watchtowers, soaking in the deluge.
Thieves had a saying: *Steal in wind, not in moonlight; steal in rain, not in snow.* Military ambushes followed much the same principle.
A raging storm like this favored the enemy using the weather for cover, so one had to remain vigilant.
Thus, the Yuan army was strung tight, guarding the perimeter with extra care.
The waves of the Han River had grown turbulent since afternoon. Soldiers cautiously kept their distance from the waterline, terrified that the riverbank might suddenly collapse.
Only Eldest Young Master He—who never missed a chance to court disaster—let out a booming laugh at the sight of the rising waters and roaring surges, then took his saber and plunged straight into the river.
This sent a fright through everyone. The sentries rushed to report it, and Zhao Pan, terrified that Governor-General He's beloved son might die in his camp, hastily dispatched a messenger to alert him.
He Chunhua slammed his desk and rose to his feet, ready to haul the wretched boy back and give him a blistering tongue-lashing. Fortunately, Shan Youjun returned just in time to explain that the young master was on the verge of a breakthrough and needed to practice his saber technique in the river.
What kind of saber technique couldn't be practiced on the shore or on flat ground, that it had to be performed right in the teeth of raging waves?
"Is he serious? What saber technique is he practicing?"
Shan Youjun replied, "The young master said it's as real as it gets. He's practicing the Wave-Striking Saber."
He Chunhua pondered for a moment before slowly sitting back down. "Go keep watch over him. If anything happens, I'll hold you accountable!"
"The young master has a rope tied around his waist," Shan Youjun smiled. "If he gets swept away, we can haul him back ashore."
Left with no alternative, He Chunhua gave his consent.
When Zhao Pan heard of the outcome, he secretly shook his head.
Governor-General He was sharp and capable in handling affairs, so why was he so indulgent toward his own son?
Whatever. He had fulfilled his duty by giving warning; what happened next was none of his concern.
Down by the water, He Lingchuan had stripped off his upper garment upon seeing the violent waves, gripped his Fusheng saber, and waded in.
He wasn't acting purely on reckless impulse; he had found a solid rock to anchor his footing.
And what was the name of the saber technique he was practicing?
Wave Slash, of course.
Between reality and the dreamscape, he had drilled this technique relentlessly for several months, making significant strides in speed, stability, and precision. This was because Wave Slash could be merged with his Returning Swallow movement technique, transforming into the Returning Swallow Slash.
As nimble as a swallow, his saber could strike just as swiftly.
Yet the boundless, surging momentum inherent to the style eluded him.
After all, the technique was called "Wave Slash." If you insisted on slashing without waves, the results of your training would naturally fall short.
He Lingchuan had also brought his saber into the great lake of the Panlong dreamscape to test it out. The water was deep enough, but no matter how many times he tried, the waves were far too tame—not to mention bone-chillingly cold.
Now that heaven had presented him with such an opportunity, how could he fail to seize it?
The current grew increasingly fierce. His first few dozen chops against the water yielded nothing, throwing him off balance instead. His feet slipped repeatedly, and he choked down more than a few mouthfuls of river water.
The sentries on the bank pointed and snickered, laughing at the fool below.
Yet gradually, He Lingchuan stopped stumbling, even as the rock beneath his feet was washed slick as ice.
The true power nurtured within his dantian circulated with efficient vigor, sinking into his legs and locking his lower body as firm as a boulder.
Then, his swings began to slow.
Only with slowness came stability; only with slowness came continuity.
And the slower the swing, the greater the counterforce the blade absorbed from the current.
As swirling eddies rushed past him, He Lingchuan began recalling Commander Xiao Maoliang's spear thrusts against the giant Meng Shan back in Xiqing Valley—swift as thunder, utterly unstoppable.
He also thought of Nian Songyu, possessed by a deity, battling the black flood dragon in the Panlong illusion with wide, sweeping strokes radiating unbridled dominance.
And as he silently recited the mnemonic for Wave Slash, what he needed to comprehend through this environment was the turbulent rise and fall of the waves, continuous and unbroken, formless yet possessed of immense force.
Muddy-yellow surges battered him one after another. Never before had He Lingchuan endured the torment of being shoved, crushed, and torn from every direction at once.
Perhaps this was the very essence of Wave Slash:
The application of force.
When he persevered and cleaved his sixty-seventh strike, the wall of water rushing toward him seemed to stall for an instant, its impact against him diminishing drastically.
Up on the bank, however, Shan Youjun was already pointing westward and shouting, "Boss, get up here quick! A monster wave is coming!"
Immediately after, a surge slammed straight into He Lingchuan's head, completely submerging him.
*Pfft.* He swallowed a mouthful of water, sheathed his blade, and tugged the rope. He had come here to practice saber technique, not to drown himself.
The personal guards on the bank hauled together, dragging him up.
Drenched to the bone, He Lingchuan shook his head just as a massive surge swept across the riverbank. With a loud *bang*, it buried the very rock he had been standing on beneath the churning water.
The wave was monstrous, prompting everyone to scramble backward.
The Han River had originally run clear, but the enormous torrent rushing down from the west carried along endless silt, gravel, rocks, and broken branches, roaring like a frenzied yellow dragon.
The earth beneath their feet trembled from the sheer violence. He Lingchuan rested his saber against the ground, quietly taking in the river's fury. His heart surged with matching turbulence, almost vibrating in harmony with it.
Water had no fixed form, yet it possessed tremendous force—just like the saber intent he had grasped.
Rain streamed down from his forehead to his chin. Resting his hand against the hilt at his waist, He Lingchuan suddenly slashed diagonally forward.
The small sapling directly ahead continued to whip wildly in the gale, its branches flailing about, yet not a single twig fell.
His swing had not been particularly fast, and the motion appeared clumsy and crooked.
Shan Youjun and the others said nothing, but the sentries standing not far away couldn't hold back their chuckles.
Was this Young Master He merely a pewter-tipped spear—all show and no substance? Braving a torrential storm to chop at river water, only to climb back up and show off again, yet failing to cut down even a single leaf. It was truly comical.
They had thought standing guard by the river was both hazardous and dull, but who knew they would get a free performance today?
With a crisp *clink*, He Lingchuan sheathed his blade, flashed them a grin, and turned to walk away.
Once they had walked some twenty paces, the two sentries were still chatting and snickering when a dull *crack* rang out.
They glanced back, only to see a slab of riverbank larger than a round dining table suddenly fracture. First a hairline fissure opened, which deepened into a trench, and then the hardened mass of earth dropped straight into the surging river waters.
That section of the bank sat about ten feet behind the sapling He Lingchuan had slashed toward.
The laughter died on their lips as they stared at each other in disbelief.
Could it be that Young Master He's saber energy had slipped right through the flailing sapling and cleaved the bank behind it?
It hadn't rained all winter, so one could well imagine how hard the earth along the riverbank was. How much sheer force was required to shear clean through it?
Besides, with hundreds of branches thrashing about in the wind, could saber energy weave through them without clipping a single one?
A coincidence. It had to be a coincidence.
He Lingchuan couldn't care less what the two men thought. Having unleashed that strike in tune with the moment and the momentum, his mind felt clear and his spirit invigorated. Even his breathing flowed smoother, the heavy sluggishness from soaking in the torrent swept clean away.
Could he reproduce that strike?
Hard to say; he wasn't certain himself.
Thanks to this stroke of fortune, he couldn't claim his cultivation or realm had advanced, but he had at least broken through in his saber intent, rounding out his technique toward greater harmony.
His mastery of Wave Slash had taken a small step forward.
All that remained was to reinforce and consolidate it as quickly as possible.
Thus, he made his way back toward his tent with light steps, whistling a cheerful little tune.
Yet as he passed the central command tent, he seemed to catch the sounds of an argument from inside, among which was the voice of his father, He Chunhua.
Without a second thought, He Lingchuan moved to plunge right in.
The sentry barring the entrance stopped him. "Halt! No entry without a summons!"
He Lingchuan couldn't be bothered to argue with him and simply raised his voice, shouting, "Old Man!"
"Chuan'er?" He Chunhua's voice carried out from within. "Come in!"
Chapter 288