The wind and snow grew fiercer.
Ji Ye walked along the bluestone road leading to the county yamen. His pace was slow, yet every step was measured with ruler-like precision.
He was adapting to this body.
Weak, depleted, with damaged lung meridians. An ordinary person would struggle even to walk to the county yamen in this shell of a body. Yet under the microscopic control of [Martial Arts Through Divinity x3], Ji Ye adjusted his breathing rhythm, controlling every muscle to exert force only at the instant his foot touched down, reducing his physical expenditure to the absolute minimum.
He walked in a manner akin to "turtle breathing."
When he passed the notice recruiting constables, he did not even spare it a glance.
In his previous life, he had relied on brute strength to lift stone locks, become a constable, and serve as a thug. In the end, he had been nothing more than a blade used until it broke.
In this life, he did not want to be a blade.
He wanted to be the one holding it.
County yamen, training grounds.
"Hah!"
A thunderous roar shook the snow from the treetops in rustling cascades.
Wang Meng stood bare-chested, steam rising from his body. The Wild Goose Feather Saber in his hand became a mass of silver light, so dense not even water could penetrate it.
This was his famed ultimate technique, the Severing Gate Saber. Though it had only nine moves, throughout Black Stone County, fewer than five people could withstand three of his strikes.
"Excellent!"
The surrounding constables cheered in unison, their eyes full of admiration.
"Boss's 'Splitting Mount Hua' strike must carry a thousand pounds of force, right?"
"Of course! That river-and-lake bandit last time was chopped in half, man and weapon alike, by Boss's blade!"
Wang Meng sheathed his saber and exhaled a long breath of stale air, a trace of smugness on his face. Though his leg bore an old injury, the skill in his hands had not fallen behind for even a single day.
He accepted the cloth handed over by a subordinate and was about to wipe away his sweat when his peripheral vision caught sight of someone standing beside the training grounds.
A scholar in a tattered single-layered robe, his face pale as paper.
The scholar had both hands tucked into his sleeves and watched him quietly. That gaze was strange. It lacked the awe of common folk watching a spectacle; rather, it was as though he were looking at... a child playing in mud.
There was even a faint, almost imperceptible smile at the corner of the scholar's lips.
It was mockery.
Wang Meng frowned.
"Where did this Sour Scholar come from?" Wang Meng hurled the cloth to the ground and strode over. "This is an important yamen compound. Is it somewhere you can barge into as you please? Get out!"
The surrounding constables immediately closed in, hands resting on their saber hilts, looking as vicious as demons and gods.
Ji Ye did not move.
He merely looked at Wang Meng and said softly:
"Your saber was too slow."
His voice was not loud, but amid the noisy training grounds, it was like a needle falling onto a porcelain plate—crisp and piercing.
The entire place fell deathly silent.
Wang Meng froze for a moment, then laughed in fury. "What did you say? Slow?"
"Not only slow. Wrong, too."
Ji Ye extended one pale hand and pointed at Wang Meng's left leg. "Because your left leg is injured, you do not dare put your full strength into it when exerting force, leaving your lower body unstable. To maintain balance, your shoulder unconsciously tilts right whenever you strike."
"This causes your blade's path to deviate by half an inch."
"If this were a fight to the death..." Ji Ye looked into Wang Meng's eyes, his tone as calm as if stating a fact. "When you made your ninth strike just now, someone would already have pierced your throat."
Wang Meng's pupils abruptly contracted.
Because Ji Ye had hit every point.
His left leg truly was an old injury. It ached whenever the weather turned rainy, making him hold back whenever he exerted force. Not even his old brothers who had followed him for years had noticed it. How had this unfamiliar scholar known?
"You have some eyesight."
The disdain in Wang Meng's eyes receded somewhat, replaced by even heavier Killing Intent. "But eyesight alone cannot save your life. Since you see so clearly, why not lend a hand?"
He kicked up a wooden saber from the ground, caught it in midair, and casually tossed one toward Ji Ye.
"Don't say I bullied you. I won't use Internal Strength; we'll only compare moves. If you can take three of my strikes, I'll reward you with ten taels of silver. If you cannot..."
Wang Meng grinned savagely. "Consider a broken arm your tuition fee."
The surrounding constables looked at Ji Ye with glee at his misfortune. This scholar looked like a gust of wind could knock him over. Forget receiving a strike—he probably could not even hold a wooden saber steady.
Ji Ye caught the wooden saber.
It was light, almost floating.
He casually swung it twice, then shook his head.
"No need."
Ji Ye tossed the wooden saber back onto the weapon rack, then bent down and picked up a dead branch from the ground.
It was as thick as a finger and would snap with a single bend.
"This will do."
"You're courting death!"
Wang Meng was thoroughly enraged. This was naked humiliation!
He stopped wasting words. He stamped down hard, charging like a fierce tiger descending the mountain. The wooden saber in his hand howled through the air as it shot straight for Ji Ye's right shoulder.
Though this strike contained no Internal Strength, Wang Meng's arm power alone was enough to shatter bones and snap tendons on impact.
But in Ji Ye's eyes, this strike... was far too slow.
[Martial Dao Heavenly Eye] activated.
It was as if the world had pressed a slow-motion button. Every movement Wang Meng made was broken down into countless lines. Red lines represented the flow of force, while gray lines represented useless movements.
And beneath Wang Meng's armpit was a glaring red point.
That was the opening.
Ji Ye stood where he was, utterly motionless. Only when the wooden saber was three inches from his shoulder, and the forceful wind had already tousled his hair—
He moved.
It was still that supremely simple motion.
Turning sideways, stepping forward, flicking his wrist.
The dead branch in his hand became like a nimble serpent, striking after yet arriving first, precisely piercing the gap in Wang Meng's move.
"Pak."
A soft sound rang out.
The dead branch struck the Lieque Acupoint on Wang Meng's right wrist.
With microscopic-level control, Ji Ye gathered every last bit of strength in his body at the tip of the branch and unleashed it in an instant.
Like a needle puncturing a balloon.
Wang Meng only felt a sharp pain explode through his wrist. Half his body instantly went numb, and he could no longer hold the wooden saber. It fell to the ground with a clatter.
Meanwhile, the dead branch stopped exactly an inch from his throat.
If Ji Ye pushed forward just a little more, the branch might not pierce his throat, but it would be enough to leave him utterly disgraced.
A silence as deep as death descended.
The constables who had been waiting to watch a joke now stood with their mouths agape, their eyes practically popping out.
One move?
No, it did not even count as one move.
It had been only a single exchange.
Black Stone County's foremost saber wielder, Wang Meng, had lost to a sickly scholar holding a dead branch?
Ji Ye withdrew the branch and casually tossed it to the ground.
When it landed, it snapped into three pieces.
"Your saber technique follows military methods, emphasizing broad, open movements." Ji Ye coughed twice, a sickly flush appearing on his pale face. "But you have trained it into a jianghu performance, adding far too many useless flourishes."
"A killing blade does not need to look good."
Wang Meng stared blankly at his wrist, which was already red and swollen. He then looked at the broken branch on the ground before finally raising his head, his expression incomparably complicated.
Shock, shame, confusion... and finally, profound awe.
This was an expert.
A true expert.
"Who... exactly are you?" Wang Meng's voice was dry.
"Ji Ye."
Ji Ye adjusted his worn collar. Though his clothes were ragged, at that moment his bearing gave Wang Meng the illusion that he faced some great figure from the prefectural city.
"I studied for a few years, and practiced the sword for a few days as well."
"I came here because I wish to make a deal with Constable Wang."
"A deal?" Wang Meng asked instinctively.
"I can help you complete this set of Severing Gate Saber techniques, and even take it a step further," Ji Ye said blandly. "I can also heal this leg of yours."
Wang Meng's breathing immediately grew heavy.
Advancing his saber technique and healing his old wound—these were the two greatest burdens on his heart for his entire life.
"What do you want?" Wang Meng stared fixedly at Ji Ye.
"I want your position."
Ji Ye pointed at the grand armchair behind Wang Meng.
The surrounding constables sucked in breaths of cold air. This scholar had an enormous appetite!
Wang Meng's gaze turned cold. "You want to be a constable captain?"
"No."
Ji Ye shook his head, a meaningful smile curling across his lips.
"I mean, I want to borrow your position."
"I will not serve on duty, answer roll call, or wear this doghide uniform."
"But my words here must carry more weight than yours."
"In return..."
Ji Ye walked before Wang Meng and lowered his voice until only the two of them could hear.
"I will let you take the position of County Lieutenant within three years."
Wang Meng's whole body trembled.
County Lieutenant. That was a Principal Ninth Rank military official—a true official appointment, rather than an unranked yamen clerk like a constable captain.
He looked at the sickly scholar before him. Ji Ye appeared so weak that a breeze could topple him, yet it was as though a million armored soldiers were hidden within his chest.
After a long while.
Wang Meng suddenly grinned. His smile was somewhat savage, yet also somewhat relieved.
He bent down, picked up the wooden saber from the ground, and presented it to Ji Ye with both hands.
This was the highest courtesy of a martial man.
"Mr. Ji."
Wang Meng changed his form of address, his tone respectful.
"Please, sit inside."
"I will brew this tea for you personally."
Ji Ye did not take the saber. With his hands behind his back, he simply walked toward the main hall.
Wind and snow fell upon his shoulders, yet seemed to dare not linger.
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