The Blade Chooses Its Own Master

At the third quarter of the Hour of the Rat, the moon shone bright and the stars were few.

Staring at the bright moon hanging high in the sky, Du Chengfeng was struck speechless.

He swore that this time, he had truly adjusted his schedule. He had even deliberately added more training during the day so he could get a good night's sleep—and the result had been just as he expected. Exhausted all over, he had showered and then fallen asleep the instant his head touched the pillow.

But no matter how thoroughly he prepared, he could not stop someone from knocking on his door.

"Who is it?!"

Du Chengfeng immediately flew into a rage at being woken in the middle of the night.

He knew his own courtyard well. If it were one of his own people, like Carpenter Li, they would not need to knock. In other words, some outsider had to be disturbing his peaceful sleep.

What Du Chengfeng had not expected was that the person standing outside his door might not even possess full civil capacity.

"What are you here for again?"

Looking at Yang Sanlang before him, Du Chengfeng was already struggling to contain his anger.

Should I just stab him to death? This lunatic disturbing the peace was hardly a first or second offense. That heavy broadsword was inconvenient to use, but he still had seventeen blades hanging from his body.

The daggers used by those bandits and thugs were all low-grade weapons, but they were more than suitable for dealing with Yang Sanlang.

Yet just as Du Chengfeng was about to draw a blade and give Yang Sanlang a taste of it, Yang Sanlang suddenly dropped to his knees with a thud.

"What happened before was my fault. Kill me or carve me up, do as you please!"

As he spoke, Yang Sanlang bowed like a mountain collapsing and jade pillars toppling, banging his head against the ground three times before Du Chengfeng.

"Every mistake was mine alone. It has nothing to do with the Yang Clan of Jizhou. So even if you take my life, I beg you to leave my Yang Clan of Jizhou's ancestral treasured blade behind!"

"Uh..."

Du Chengfeng had nothing to say.

As the saying went, one did not strike a smiling face. When Yang Sanlang had been throwing tantrums and rolling about before, Du Chengfeng had wanted to kill him. But now that he was being so formal, even kneeling and knocking his head on the ground, Du Chengfeng found it somewhat difficult to simply stab him.

Even so, he was not the sort to be morally coerced. A few words were hardly enough to make him give up the most important source of combat power in his hands. To expect that would be treating him like a lunatic too.

"I'm definitely not giving you the blade. Go home. If you don't, I'll call your family elders over."

"...Do you really look down on me that much?"

Hearing Du Chengfeng openly treat him as an ignorant child, Yang Sanlang's face finally showed a measure of grief and indignation.

Yet facing the red-faced Yang Sanlang, Du Chengfeng merely nodded.

"Yes. I do."

"You..."

Even though Yang Sanlang had long prepared himself to be humiliated, he still could not help clenching his fists.

But before Yang Sanlang could say anything, two slaps had already cracked across his face.

"So what if I look down on you? How many things have you done that deserve anyone's respect?"

As he spoke, Du Chengfeng grabbed Yang Sanlang by the collar and hauled him up.

"You never stop talking about your ancestors. If you care so much about them, why don't you learn from them? Take up a blade yourself and carve out your own fearsome name with bloodshed!"

"I... this... but..."

Dazed by the two slaps, Yang Sanlang could not speak for a long while.

Take up a blade? Easier said than done. The ancestral treasured blade of his Yang Clan had already fallen into someone else's hands. Where was he supposed to find another blade?

"Still looking? Still looking!"

Seeing Yang Sanlang still craning his neck to peek into the room, Du Chengfeng slapped him twice more.

"That's my blade! What are you looking at? Besides, it's only a pig-sticking knife. Can't you find one yourself?"

After the two slaps, Du Chengfeng threw Yang Sanlang into the darkness in the distance with a wrestling toss.

"Learn from your ancestors! Useless good-for-nothing!"

Only after watching Yang Sanlang crawl to his feet and stagger away in a daze did Du Chengfeng let out a long breath.

Thankfully, after dealing with swordsman Cui Yuan last time, he had become increasingly skilled at handling lunatics. Facing people whose minds were not quite right, going head-to-head with them only disgusted him—so rather than spending the middle of the night disposing of a corpse and scrubbing blood off his doorstep, it was better to go along with them and throw the problem back at them. That way, the lunatics would run off to grind themselves down in their own minds instead of reappearing to annoy people.

"It's still early. I'll get some more sleep."

With that thought, Du Chengfeng shut the courtyard gate and returned to bed.

Du Chengfeng could sleep, but Yang Sanlang could not.

Four slaps had left both his cheeks burning with pain. Yet more painful than his face was what had just happened.

He had clearly tried his best. He had tried his best to imitate his clan uncle Yang Xuan and become a mature man. That was why he had been willing to steal, rob, and deceive. He had even imitated his clan uncle by bowing in apology, knocking his head on the ground to plead guilty, and going so far as to offer up his own life for another to take. He had thought it might work. He had thought he could do something for the Yang Clan of Jizhou.

But reality proved that he could do nothing.

That drifter's words still echoed in his ears. Perhaps he truly was a useless coward. He could not defeat that drifter and seize the blade back, nor could he beg that drifter to return it. This was not something that could be solved by kneeling and kowtowing. So-called dignity meant nothing.

Water stained Yang Sanlang's clothes.

Rain poured down in sheets, just as tears streamed across Yang Sanlang's face.

Stumbling through the rain, Yang Sanlang could no longer tell which way he was going. He only knew that he no longer had the face to return to the fort. Because of one wrong judgment from him, the Yang Clan had been utterly disgraced. Even their ancestral treasured blade had fallen into an outsider's hands. How could he possibly go back?

"Maybe I should just find a place and die."

With every hope shattered, Yang Sanlang was prepared to end it all.

It was then that he noticed an old crooked-necked tree by the roadside.

A crooked-necked tree was simply a tree whose trunk had grown crooked, with a branch jutting sideways from the main trunk like a crossbeam—perfect for hanging a rope or something similar. So Yang Sanlang untied his belt, used it as a noose, and hanged himself from it.

He did hang himself, but when a person neared death, they struggled instinctively. It had nothing to do with courage; it was simply the body's instinctive physiological response.

Then, with a sharp crack, Yang Sanlang and half the split tree trunk crashed to the ground together.

Lying in the soft mud, Yang Sanlang felt even more regretful. It had been the same when he had fought desperately with a throwing spear. Clearly, it had been the moment to lay down his life for righteousness, the moment to die calmly like a man, yet he could not overcome his instinctive reaction. He could not even manage to die!

"I... ah... ahhh..."

Yang Sanlang wanted to howl at the sky, but his parched throat could no longer produce much sound.

Back then, he, Yang Sanlang, had once been counted among the local heroes. Had he truly fallen to such a state now? Was that drifter right? Was he really so worthless?

"Ahhh..."

Kneeling on the ground, Yang Sanlang clawed fiercely at the mud, as though he could grasp some shred of hope that way.

Yet with that desperate grasp, he really did seize something.

"...Hm?"

Feeling the object in his hand, Yang Sanlang instinctively rose to his feet.

He pulled an old curved blade from the mud.

"Why don't you learn from your ancestors? Take up a blade yourself and carve out your own fearsome name with bloodshed?"

The drifter's words still lingered by Yang Sanlang's ear.

Looking at the curved blade being washed clean by the rain in his hand, Yang Sanlang was certain.

The ancestors of the Yang Clan of Jizhou were still watching over their descendants.

Thanks to Smoke Stain and Dawn Fist for their monthly passes and recommendation votes. Thanks to Santian for the monthly pass. Thanks to The Back of the Past, KAkaBoy, Sea Mountain Book Friend, Wang Feiran, xiaoxyy, and Book Friend 2022093230735693 for their recommendation votes. Thank you all for your encouragement and support. Also, please bookmark and recommend the new book. Thank you, everyone.