A Confrontation at the Teahouse

Morning, a ray of sunlight shone on the martial arts practice ground of Duke Zhenguo's Estate.

Several guards holding sabers leaned against the vermilion-lacquered pillars, their gazes fixed in unison on the cyan-robed figure in the center of the yard.

It turned out to be the Carefree Prince's Young Master Mu Bai holding a bamboo sword, the tip suspended three inches from his chest, his wrist flicking slightly to trace a half-arc.

And this is called practicing swordplay? One guard sneered aloud, He was drinking flower wine at Wanhua Tower the day before yesterday, and today he comes here to put on a show.

Ain't that the truth? Another guard lowered his voice, He doesn't even have the most basic true qi, and the sword tassel doesn't even twitch. Does he really think waving a couple of bamboo strips around will make him a sword arts expert?

Although the murmurs were very soft, they never stopped for an instant.

Mu Bai seemed completely oblivious to all of this.

His movements were three times slower than those of an ordinary sword practitioner, every transition seeming to be guided by invisible threads, the trajectory traced by the bamboo sword in the air looking soft yet containing an implicit rhythm.

Sweat trickled down his jawline, soaking his moon-white inner garment, yet he still looked straight ahead, his sword moving like a swimming dragon.

Half an hour later, Mu Bai finally sheathed his sword.

He raised a hand to wipe the light sweat from his brow, his action as elegant as if he were wiping a jade cup.

The guards immediately regained their vigor, their whispers mixed with teasing: I said he couldn't last an hour!

I'm afraid he'll sleep past noon again tomorrow.

If you ask me, let's make a bet. How many days can the Young Master keep up this sword practice?

I'll bet three days!

I wager no more than five days!

Amidst the laughter and banter, Mu Bai slowly walked away from the martial arts practice ground.

As his figure vanished behind the moon-shaped doorway, an older guard stared in the direction he had left, thoughtfully stroking his chin: Don't you guys feel like... the Young Master's sword path has a sense of strangeness to it?

"Hahahaha, your old eyes must be failing you, Brother Wang."

"Exactly, exactly. Just take this Young Master; I can take five of him with a single lift of my hand."

Meanwhile, swirling steam enshrouded the room, and Mu Bai leaned sideways in a sandalwood bathtub, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing the cloud patterns along the rim.

The fifth form, Tornado Rain Strike, practiced today, repeatedly hovered and spiraled in his mind. Those seemingly soft sword moves actually concealed profound mysteries--not guided by true qi, but following the momentum, like flowing water meeting a stone. Seemingly circuitous, they actually contained the secret method of breaking the deadlock.

No wonder it can be ranked as an Innate Secret Technique. He sighed softly, scooping up a ladle of warm water to pour over his shoulder, Just comprehending these two words cost me half a month of effort. So much painstaking work, yet achieving virtually nothing.

Ripples spread across the water surface, reflecting the focus between his brows.

Those flower-fists and embroidered kicks in the guards' eyes were actually the sword moves of the Fifth Sword among the Eight Swords of Lightness he had just acquired. This move emphasized overcoming the hard with the soft and subduing movement with stillness; without a true sword arts expert, one could not possibly discern the inner workings.

Changing into a dark-cyan long robe, Mu Bai strolled out of the estate.

The streets were bustling, the hawkers' cries and the clatter of horse hooves weaving together into a melody.

He turned two alleys, entered the market, and paused before Tingfeng Tower.

This three-story teahouse featured flying eaves and upturned corners with half-rolled bamboo curtains, and the storyteller's voice drifted out mixed with the fragrance of tea: Honored patrons, let us speak of that Blade Emperor. Though he appears leisurely and unrestrained, his saber techniques are truly astonishing...

Mu Bai ascended the steps and took a seat at a windowside table on the second floor.

The waiter immediately and eagerly served a pot of Biluochun Tea, the tea leaves unfolding like lotus flowers within the celadon cup.

He picked up the teacup, took a gentle sip, and let his gaze fall upon the storyteller.

That man wore a grey robe and held a folding fan, just reaching the most exciting part: That day, Master Dehua of Tianlong Temple heard that the temple's scriptures had been stolen, and he actually came out into the world himself to track down this unique skill of Tianlong Temple. Everyone assumed the Blade Emperor was bound to suffer, but they saw him unhurriedly draw a three-foot blade from his waist and go toe-to-toe with the renowned Grandmaster of Martial Arts, Master Dehua! In the end, with a hearty laugh, he tossed the scriptures to Master Dehua, saying aloud: 'Tianlong Temple is nothing much after all, and these scriptures are already utterly useless to me!' With that, he leaped away with dashing grace, and even someone as mighty as Master Dehua was completely powerless to stop him!

An outburst of cheers erupted from beneath the stage.

Mu Bai's lips curved upward slightly, his fingertips unconsciously tapping lightly against the tabletop in a rhythm that fortuitously matched the strikes of the storyteller's gavel.

Suddenly, the discussion from the neighboring table drifted into his ears: Have you guys heard? They say the Young Master of the Carefree Prince's Estate has been practicing swordplay lately?

That dissolute wastrel? Eight to ten it's just another game!

I actually heard that the Young Master's sword technique... seems to have some knack to it?

He lowered his gaze to conceal the smile in his eyes and took another sip of tea.

The tea fragrance lingered on the tip of his tongue, mingling with the scent of sugar-roasted chestnuts drifting from outside the window.

The storyteller's voice continued to echo: To know what unique skill the Blade Emperor actually employed, please listen to the next installment--

The gavel fell heavily. Mu Bai set down his teacup and placed a ingot of silver on the table.

As he stood up, he caught sight of a figure flashing across the street below--it was an old monk wearing a tattered kasaya.

This old monk was slowly spinning Buddhist prayer beads in his hand while walking toward the teahouse.

Mu Bai's gaze narrowed slightly as he turned and walked downstairs.

Yet at the entrance, he found the teahouse waiter looking troubled, his brows knit into a knot, blocking the path of an old monk straight on.

With cupped hands, the waiter offered an apologetic explanation: "Master, I truly apologize, but our teahouse has rules and has never permitted monks to enter."

That tone was laden with unquestionable firmness.

The old monk wore a tattered monk's robe, yet his expression remained completely calm, his gaze as peaceful as water. He spoke unhurriedly, his voice rich, mellow, and steady: "Little patron, this poor monk seeks nothing else; I merely wish to beg for a bowl of vegetarian alms, and hope you might grant this convenience."

The waiter's face showed hesitation. He bit his lower lip, yet still shook his head, his expression filled with helplessness and refusal.

At that exact moment, a clear voice echoed from within the building: "Let the Master in; he is my guest."

Everyone followed the sound, only to see Mu Bai in a dark-cyan long robe with an upright posture—it was indeed Mu Bai.

With those words, he turned and ascended the stairs with steady strides, returning to his own seat.

The old monk pressed his palms together, bowed slightly in greeting, and murmured a word of thanks before walking upstairs at a leisurely pace, coming slowly to Mu Bai's table to sit down in peace.

Mu Bai raised a hand to summon the waiter, ordering a few exquisite vegetarian dishes.

Then, he turned his head slightly, directing his gaze straight toward the old monk, a hint of probing in his eyes.

The old monk seemed to sense it, raising his head as well to lock gazes with Mu Bai.

In an instant, an invisible wind seemed to quietly stir between the two of them, causing the cups and saucers on the table to sway slightly.

Without warning, the surrounding guests felt their hearts tighten, inexplicably sensing a wave of palpitations, as though a dormant fierce beast was lurking nearby, ready to violently lash out and harm people at any moment.

Everyone instinctively held their breath, lowering their voices even when speaking.

Meanwhile, tiny beads of sweat quietly seeped from the foreheads of both Mu Bai and the old monk, slowly sliding down their cheeks while their gazes remained tightly locked, yielding not an inch.

Just at this moment of hair-trigger tension, when the atmosphere had grown bizarre to the extreme, the waiter hurried over carrying the vegetarian dishes, setting the food and plates down firmly upon the table with a sharp clatter.

This abrupt sound was like a sudden thunderclap, instantly shattering the tight, nearly frozen atmosphere between the two.

As if sharing a mutual understanding, Mu Bai and the old monk simultaneously closed their eyes.

In a flash, the surrounding guests felt the previously bone-chilling, terrifying ambiance scatter like wisps of smoke without a trace. Everyone let out a long breath, and the teahouse gradually returned to its earlier clamor.

Mu Bai slowly opened his eyes. His complexion was slightly pale, yet he still managed to pull a faint smile, speaking softly: "I have yet to ask the Master's Dharma name."

The old monk pressed his palms together, slightly lowered his head, and chanted: "Amitabha, this poor monk is Dehua."