Battle of the Sword Dao

The alley was so quiet one could hear their own heartbeat.

Chen Xin looked at Ning Rongrong, the worry in his eyes slowly turning into complexity.

"You aren't going back?" he repeated, his voice very soft. "Do you know how anxious your father is? Do you know how many days the entire sect has been searching for you?"

Ning Rongrong lowered her head, biting her lip.

Chen Xin took a step forward. The tip of Yang Wudi's spear moved with him, remaining aimed at his chest.

He stopped and looked at Yang Wudi.

"Kid from the Breaking Clan," he said, "are you really going to stop me?"

Yang Wudi grinned.

"A level 96 Title Douluo," he said. "I've never fought one in my life."

Chen Xin was silent for a second, then slowly reached out to grip the hilt of the sword on his back.

The Seven Kill Sword was unsheathed.

The blade was long and slender, entirely silver-white, with a faint light flowing along its edge. Nine Spirit Rings rose from beneath his feet—yellow, yellow, purple, purple, black, black, black, black, black—slowly revolving around him.

That aura was so heavy it made it hard to breathe.

Ning Rongrong's face turned pale. She had seen Grandpa Sword fight before, but she had never felt it from this close. That sense of oppression was like a mountain pressing down on her chest.

Yang Wudi's eyes, however, lit up.

"Good!" he shouted, shaking the Soul Breaking Spear as eight Spirit Rings lit up simultaneously.

Without a moment's hesitation, he thrust his spear.

Fast.

Fast as a beam of light.

The sound of the spear piercing the air was sharp and piercing, the tip aimed straight at Chen Xin's throat.

Chen Xin did not move.

When the spear tip was three inches from his face, he moved.

He shifted the Seven Kill Sword horizontally.

Clang—

Sparks flew in all directions.

Yang Wudi's spear was deflected, and he stumbled back two steps.

Chen Xin did not pursue. He stood where he was, looking at Yang Wudi with a slight frown.

"Level 83," he said. "You have quite the nerve to raise a hand against me."

Yang Wudi steadied himself and grinned.

"If I didn't have nerve, how would I fight?"

He charged forward again.

This thrust was faster and fiercer than the last. The spear left an afterimage in the air, stabbing straight at Chen Xin's heart.

Chen Xin sidestepped, letting the spear tip pass, and slashed diagonally with the Seven Kill Sword.

Yang Wudi retracted his spear to block.

Sword and spear collided with another crisp ring.

Yang Wudi was knocked back three steps, his palms numb.

But he did not retreat.

The third thrust.

The fourth thrust.

The fifth thrust.

Thrust after thrust, continuous and unending. Every strike used his full strength; every strike left no room for retreat.

Chen Xin parried them one by one.

His sword was not fast, but every move was perfectly timed. No matter how fast Yang Wudi's spear was, it could not strike him.

The alley rang with the dense sound of metal clashing.

Clang, clang, clang, clang, clang—

Ning Rongrong didn't even dare to blink.

She saw Yang Wudi drenched in sweat, his muscles taut, putting his entire strength into every strike. She saw Chen Xin moving with ease, his swordplay like flowing clouds and water, unhurried and steady.

She saw the gap between the two men.

Level 83 and level 96.

Soul Douluo and Title Douluo.

A full thirteen-level gap.

Yang Wudi suddenly stopped.

He stood where he was, gasping for air, his hand gripping the spear trembling.

Chen Xin looked at him, a trace of appreciation in his eyes.

"Not bad," he said. "Among the Soul Douluo I have met, you rank in the top three."

Yang Wudi smiled.

The smile was a bit wretched, but genuine.

"Level ninety-six," he said. "Indeed, I cannot beat you."

He turned his head to glance at Zhang Mo.

"Kid, watch closely," he said. "This is the final spear of my Breaking Clan."

He turned back around to face Chen Xin.

The hand gripping the spear no longer trembled.

His entire person was like a spear, standing straight and tall.

Chen Xin's gaze changed.

He could feel that this strike was different.

Yang Wudi moved.

It was not fast; it was slow.

So slow that every step could be seen clearly. So slow that time seemed to have frozen.

Yet that momentum grew stronger and stronger.

Chen Xin tightened his grip on the Seven Kill Sword.

The spear thrust out.

This strike had no sound of breaking through the air.

Silent.

It was so fast that it became soundless.

Chen Xin's pupils constricted slightly.

He held the Seven Kill Sword horizontally across his chest.

Clang—

This crisp sound was louder than any before it.

Fragments of stone shook loose from the walls on both sides of the alley.

Yang Wudi's spear struck the blade of the Seven Kill Sword.

The spear shaft bent into an arc.

Then it snapped.

The Soul Breaking Spear broke into two pieces.

The front half flew off, embedding itself into the wall, humming incessantly.

Yang Wudi stood where he was, staring at the half-shaft remaining in his hand, stunned.

Chen Xin sheathed his sword and looked at him.

"The spear of the Breaking Clan lives up to its reputation," he said. "It is a pity your level is not high enough."

Yang Wudi was silent for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed.

He tossed away the half-shaft in his hand and looked at Chen Xin.

"I lost."

Chen Xin nodded.

Yang Wudi turned around, walked to the wall, and sat down against it.

He looked at Zhang Mo and grinned.

"Kid, it's up to you now."

Zhang Mo did not speak.

Chen Xin's gaze fell upon him.

He stared at Zhang Mo for a few seconds, then looked at Ning Rongrong standing behind him.

Ning Rongrong was clutching Zhang Mo's sleeve, her knuckles turning white.

Chen Xin saw it.

His expression changed.

"Rongrong," he said, "come here."

Ning Rongrong shook her head.

Chen Xin was silent for a second, then took a step forward.

Zhang Mo blocked the path in front of Ning Rongrong.

Chen Xin stopped and looked at him.

"You are Zhang Mo?"

Zhang Mo nodded.

Chen Xin stared at him for a long time.

"Rongrong refuses to return," he said, "is it because of you?"

Zhang Mo thought for a moment and said:

"Yes."

Chen Xin's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword.

Ning Rongrong grew anxious, rushing out from behind Zhang Mo to stand in front of him.

"Grandpa Sword! It's not him!"

Chen Xin looked at her, his gaze complex.

"Rongrong, move aside."

Ning Rongrong shook her head, tears already swirling in her eyes.

"Grandpa Sword, listen to me—"

"Move aside." Chen Xin's voice dropped.

Ning Rongrong did not move.

She stood before Zhang Mo like a mother hen protecting her chick.

Chen Xin watched her, watched her red-rimmed eyes and her refusal to back down, watched that indescribable something between her and that man.

He suddenly sighed.

The Seven Kill Sword returned to its sheath.

"Three days," he said. "I will give you three days."

Ning Rongrong was stunned.

Chen Xin looked at her.

"After three days, you tell me whether you will come back with me."

He turned and walked toward the mouth of the alley.

After a few steps, he stopped and said without looking back:

"For these three days, I will be staying nearby."

His figure vanished at the alley entrance.

Sunlight poured in, shining on the stunned Ning Rongrong, on Yang Wudi who was leaning against the wall catching his breath, and on Zhang Mo.

In the alley, it was so quiet that only the sound of the wind remained.

Yang Wudi suddenly let out a laugh.

"Interesting," he said. "A Title Douluo, actually capable of a soft heart."

He stood up, picked up the broken half of his Soul Breaking Spear, looked at the jagged edge, and sighed.

"A pity for my spear."

Ning Rongrong remained where she was, unmoving.

Zhang Mo walked over and stood beside her.

She suddenly turned and threw herself into his arms.

She was trembling all over as she wept.

Zhang Mo held her, gently patting her back.

The sunlight shone down upon them both.

Yang Wudi glanced at them, curled his lip, and carried the broken spear toward the building.

"I'm heading up first," he said. "You two take your time hugging."

Ning Rongrong ignored him.

She held onto Zhang Mo for a long time.

When she finished crying, she looked up at him.

Her eyes were red and swollen, and tears still clung to her face.

"Zhang Mo."

"Hmm?"

"Grandpa Sword said he'd give me three days."

Zhang Mo nodded.

She looked at him, her eyes reddening again.

"What am I supposed to do after three days?"

Zhang Mo thought for a moment and said:

"Do whatever you want to do."

Ning Rongrong stared at him, tears welling up once more.

"Aren't you afraid I'll go back with him?"

Zhang Mo was silent for a few seconds, then said:

"I am."

Ning Rongrong was stunned.

Zhang Mo looked at her, his eyes calm.

"But that is your business," he said. "You choose for yourself."

Ning Rongrong stared at him for a long time.

Then, she suddenly smiled.

As she laughed, tears streamed down her face again.

She reached out and tugged at his sleeve.

"Zhang Mo."

"Hmm?"

"I've made my choice."

Zhang Mo looked at her.

She lifted her head, her eyes bright.

"In three days, I'll tell him."

Yang Wudi returned upstairs, tossed the two broken halves of his Soul Breaking Spear into the corner, and plopped down onto the sofa.

Ning Rongrong followed him inside; her eyes were still red, but she had stopped crying.

Zhang Mo went to the kitchen to boil water and make tea.

Yang Wudi stared at the two broken pieces of the spear in the corner for a long time, then suddenly said:

"Little girl."

Ning Rongrong looked up at him.

Yang Wudi said, "That strike from your Grandpa Sword—what did you see in it?"

Ning Rongrong thought for a moment and said, "He didn't use his full strength."

Yang Wudi nodded.

"He didn't use his full strength," he repeated. "Level 96 against Level 83, and he didn't even bring out half of his power."

He paused, then added:

"Do you know what that means?"

Ning Rongrong shook her head.

Yang Wudi said, "It means that if he wanted to kill me, one strike would have been enough."

Ning Rongrong fell silent.

Yang Wudi leaned back against the sofa, staring at the ceiling.

"I've practiced the spear for fifty years," he said. "The spear techniques of the Breaking Clan can only be passed down to one person per generation. I became clan head at thirty, broke through to Soul Douluo at forty, and reached Level 83 at fifty. I thought that even if I couldn't beat a Title Douluo, I could at least force a mutual destruction."

He laughed, a bitter sound.

"Only today did I realize that a thirteen-level gap is this vast."

Zhang Mo brought out the tea and poured him a cup.

Yang Wudi took it and drank a mouthful, grimacing as it burned his mouth.

"What is this stuff?"

"Tea."

Yang Wudi stared at the brown liquid in the cup, frowning.

"Is this all you people here drink?"

Zhang Mo said, "Mm."

Yang Wudi took another sip, this time savoring it slowly.

"It's alright," he said. "A bit bitter, but acceptable."

He set the cup down and looked at Zhang Mo.

"Kid, what do you plan to do?"

Zhang Mo said, "Wait three days."

Yang Wudi said, "Wait three days for what?"

Zhang Mo said, "Wait for her to think it through."

Yang Wudi glanced at Ning Rongrong, then back at Zhang Mo, and suddenly laughed.

"Interesting," he said. "I've finally figured it out. You kid really don't care whether you live or die."

Zhang Mo didn't speak.

Yang Wudi stood up, walked to the window, and looked outside.

"Three days from now, if that little girl says she's staying, your Grandpa Sword will definitely come to settle the score with you," he said without turning his head. "Can you handle it?"

Zhang Mo said, "Even if I can't, I have to."

Yang Wudi turned around and looked at him.

"What are you after?"

Zhang Mo thought for a moment and said:

"Nothing in particular."

Yang Wudi stared at him for a few seconds, then suddenly burst into loud laughter.

The laughter made the windows rattle.

"Interesting!" he said. "Truly interesting!"

He walked back to the Sofa, sat down, picked up his teacup, and took another sip.

"Fine," he said. "For these three days, I'll keep watch for you. If your Grandpa Sword comes to snatch her away in the middle of the night, I'll block him for you."

Ning Rongrong glared at him. "Grandpa Sword wouldn't snatch anyone!"

Yang Wudi chuckled twice and didn't say anything.

In the evening, Zhang Mo went out to buy groceries.

Ning Rongrong stood by the window, watching his back disappear at the end of the alley, and suddenly said:

"Uncle Yang."

Yang Wudi was stunned for a moment and looked up at her.

Ning Rongrong didn't turn around, still looking out the window.

"Where do you think Grandpa Sword is staying while he's out there alone?"

Yang Wudi said, "As a Title Douluo, he can stay anywhere he likes."

Ning Rongrong let out an "oh," was silent for a few seconds, and then said:

"Has he eaten?"

Yang Wudi rolled his eyes.

"Little girl, your Grandpa Sword is level ninety-six. He won't starve even if he doesn't eat for a few days."

Ning Rongrong didn't speak again.

But she remained standing by the window, looking outside.

Yang Wudi watched her and suddenly sighed.

"If you want to go find him, just go," he said. "I'll keep an eye on Zhang Mo for you."

Ning Rongrong shook her head.

"He won't let me go."

Yang Wudi was taken aback. "Who won't let you go? Zhang Mo?"

Ning Rongrong said, "I won't let myself go."

She turned around and looked at Yang Wudi.

"If I go, he'll definitely ask me if I've made my choice. I haven't decided yet, so what am I supposed to say?"

Yang Wudi fell silent.

Ning Rongrong walked back to the Sofa, sat down, hugged her knees, and buried her face in them.

Her voice was muffled:

"I miss my father, I miss Grandpa Sword, and I miss Grandpa Bone. I miss the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect, I miss my bed, and I miss the people who have served me since I was little."

She paused.

"But I want to stay, too."

Yang Wudi did not speak.

Ning Rongrong looked up at him, her eyes rimmed with red.

"Uncle Yang, what do you think I should do?"

Yang Wudi remained silent for a long time.

Then, he reached out and patted her on the head.

"What should you do?" he said. "Figure it out yourself."

Ning Rongrong was stunned.

Yang Wudi said, "This is your business. None of us can do it for you."

He stood up, walked to the corner of the room, picked up the two broken pieces of his spear, and examined the fractured ends.

"When I took over as clan head back then, I asked myself the same thing. My father had just died, the clan was in chaos, and outsiders were looking to swallow up our Breaking Clan. I asked my master, and he said the same thing—figure it out yourself."

He turned around to look at Ning Rongrong.

"I thought about it for three days. After three days, I decided to kill. I killed five invading Spirit Saints and three Soul Douluos. From that day on, no one dared to covet our Breaking Clan again."

Ning Rongrong stared at him, her eyes wide.

Yang Wudi said, "I'm not telling you to kill anyone. I'm telling you that you must decide your own affairs. Once you decide, don't regret it."

Ning Rongrong lowered her head and looked at the floor.

After a long while, she whispered:

"I'm afraid of choosing wrong."

Yang Wudi said, "If you choose wrong, change it. If you can't change it, endure it. If you can't endure it, die. What is there to be afraid of?"

Ning Rongrong looked up at him.

Yang Wudi's face was calm, as if he were discussing something perfectly ordinary.

She suddenly remembered what Zhang Mo had said—

"If you can't run, block. If you can't block, die."

She bit her lip and slowly stood up.

"I've decided," she said.

Yang Wudi looked at her.

Ning Rongrong said, "In three days, I will tell Grandpa Sword—I am not going back."

Yang Wudi was taken aback, then he smiled.

"Are you sure?"

Ning Rongrong nodded.

"I'm sure."

Just as the words left her lips, footsteps sounded at the door.

Zhang Mo pushed the door open, carrying groceries in his hands.

He saw the two of them standing there staring at each other and paused.

"What's wrong?"

Ning Rongrong ran over and threw her arms around him.

Zhang Mo was nearly knocked over by her embrace, and the groceries fell to the floor.

"Rongrong?"

Ning Rongrong buried her face in his chest, her voice muffled:

"It's nothing."

Zhang Mo looked down at her, then glanced at Yang Wudi.

Yang Wudi shrugged and turned to pick up the groceries on the floor.

"Don't ask me," he said. "I don't know."

Ning Rongrong held Zhang Mo for a long time.

Then she let go and crouched down to help him pick up the groceries.

Zhang Mo crouched down as well.

As they picked them up together, their fingers brushed against each other.

Ning Rongrong looked up at him, her face flushing, but she didn't pull her hand away.

Yang Wudi watched from the side and rolled his eyes.

"Alright, alright," he said, "hurry up and cook, I'm starving."

He carried the vegetables into the kitchen.

Ning Rongrong stood up and followed him.

As she reached the kitchen doorway, she suddenly turned back to look at Zhang Mo.

"Zhang Mo."

"Hm?"

"In three days, I'll tell Grandpa Sword I'm not going back."

Zhang Mo looked at her.

She stood at the kitchen entrance, the setting sun shining in through the window, dyeing her hair golden.

Her eyes were bright, and her face still held the blush from earlier.

He looked into those eyes, was silent for a few seconds, then said:

"Okay."

Ning Rongrong smiled.

That smile was more beautiful than the setting sun.

She turned and entered the kitchen, where Yang Wudi's loud voice could be heard:

"Little girl, give me that scallion!"

"This one?"

"Not that one, the thin one!"

"This one?"

"Yes! Bring it here!"

Zhang Mo stood in the living room, listening to the sounds from the kitchen, the corners of his mouth curving up slightly.

He walked to the window and looked outside.

The sun was setting, the horizon a fiery orange.

In the distance, a figure stood on a rooftop, a white robe fluttering in the wind.

Chen Xin.

He stood there, looking this way.

Across hundreds of meters, their gazes met.

Chen Xin looked at him for a few seconds, then turned and disappeared from the rooftop.

Zhang Mo withdrew his gaze and looked at the setting sun outside the window.

Three more days.