The Young Thug Had a Flying Sword

He An and Fan Dazhi passed the Knowledge and Practice Institute's entrance assessment without the slightest difficulty. Once the results were posted, all the students who had passed had ten days before they were due to move into the institute.

The two counted every bit of silver in their bundles at the inn: fifty-two taels and six mace. If Fan Dazhi had not been eating and drinking so extravagantly lately, they would probably have had more.

He An and Fan Dazhi had gone out that morning and bought plenty of things. Having grown up enduring hard times with his uncle, He An spent little beyond brushes, ink, paper, and an inkstone for practicing calligraphy, along with everyday necessities.

Fan Dazhi had an extraordinary passion for food. In less than two months, he could already tell He An which shop in Luoyang City served the most fragrant pig's head meat and whose lamb stew had the richest flavor, rattling them off like treasures in his own collection. He had squandered most of the silver his father had pressed on him before he left home.

"Once we enter the Knowledge and Practice Institute, we'll be official disciples. We might even get a chance to meet that legendary director, the Imperial Preceptor. Late autumn is almost here, and the weather will get colder. We still need to buy a couple of decent outfits. Feifei's mother always says clothes make the man, just as a saddle makes the horse. Dazhi, you can't keep wearing those crumpled clothes and embarrassing your father." He An straightened the books on the bed as he spoke solemnly to Fan Dazhi.

"No matter how well someone dresses, if his character is rotten, he's still gold and jade on the outside, rotten stuffing within. You can't judge some people by appearances alone. Take me, for example... no matter what I wear, there's no hiding this damn irresistible charm..." Fan Dazhi wagged his head as he spoke.

Seeing no response from He An, he rubbed his hands together with a cheeky grin. "Uh... An, well... we're about to enter the Knowledge and Practice Institute, and with all that studying, we probably won't get many chances to come out and wander around. I hear the institute's kitchen serves nothing but watery broth and bland food. So for dinner tonight, shouldn't we... hmm... I know a place in Spring Splendor Ward called Ye Family Pig Trotters... it's really good!"

Fan Dazhi's smile was rather ingratiating. He could not help it. Although he and He An were about the same age, they had grown up together, and he was willing to listen to He An on everything. He An was more mature than he was, knew where to draw the line, and had a mind of his own.

Sure enough, He An smiled, deliberately heaved a world-weary sigh, and said, "Dazhi, you're a genius held back by eating and drinking. Sometimes I even wonder whether you starved to death in your last life, so now you have to eat twice as much to make up for it!"

Although it was already afternoon, the streets were still bustling with pedestrians. In a crowded alley, a carriage and a peddler's handcart were wedged together, neither willing to give way. The alley grew even more congested. The impatient crowd shouted curses, and a vegetable-selling woman hurled a rotten egg at the carriage. Broken shell clung to the brownish-yellow liquid as it crept down the carriage's side panels.

The driver waved his whip, his head drenched in sweat, while the scraggly old horse pulling the carriage stamped its hooves with all its strength. Several burly men rolled up their sleeves and lifted the peddler's cart. The old horse's hooves clopped over the alley's bluestone paving, and the carriage creaked away. Like water released through an opened sluice, the crowd began moving again.

He An and Fan Dazhi followed the crowd out of the alley. After crossing three streets, they finally reached a row of shops hung with bolts of cloth and clothing. Every shop was lively, with an endless stream of people coming and going: hurried merchants in expensive attire, young women holding handkerchiefs and whispering to their companions, and many new students who looked much like He An and Fan Dazhi.

They reached the entrance of a ready-made clothing shop bearing a sign that read "Changhao Clothing Shop." Its broad storefront had two lanterns hanging on either side and looked exceedingly grand.

Seven or eight youths about He An's age had gathered outside the shop. One wore lavish clothes and was handsome, though the overly long, narrow corners of his eyes gave him a cold, sinister look.

The others clustered around him like stars surrounding the moon, all talking at once. Seeing He An and Fan Dazhi approach, the richly dressed youth cast them a cold glance, pressed his thin lips together, and sneered.

Fan Dazhi looked at the shop's enormous sign, then at the two lanterns by the entrance, and involuntarily recalled their last visit to the Lotus Pavilion. Frowning, he said this place was bound to be expensive. They should look elsewhere rather than go inside.

Before He An could answer, a mocking laugh came from beside them. The richly dressed youth spat on the ground and said contemptuously, "Paupers!"

Then he pointed at the shop and told the youths surrounding him, "This is the place. Pick whatever you want. It's all on me!" His expression was arrogant, and he spat toward He An and Fan Dazhi again as though challenging them.

This domineering youth was Cui Mengshu, a member of the main branch of the Cui Family of Fanyang Commandery. His father was Cui Lishen, vice minister of the Ministry of Revenue. Although his father was only a third-rank court official, the Cui Family of Fanyang Commandery was now blazing like the midday sun at court. The reigning empress came from the Cui Family, and the family had also earned merit by supporting the late emperor during his uprising. The Cui Family had all but become the foremost great clan of Great Chen.

Cui Mengshu had been in a foul mood lately. His lineage had founded Dragon Gate Academy, and even His Majesty had personally inscribed its name. What an honor that was.

He had wanted to enter Dragon Gate Academy, but his father had forced him to apply to the Knowledge and Practice Institute instead. His father had said something about the institute's deep foundations and the military maxim of knowing oneself and one's enemy, leaving him lost in clouds and mist, unable to make sense of it.

With his family background, he could have had a hundred people answering his call at Dragon Gate Academy and strutted about in all his glory. Instead, he had been forced into this wretched, increasingly desolate Knowledge and Practice Institute, which had not even half as many students.

Worse, they were all children of insignificant minor officials or penniless commoners. By the look of it, his lineage's Dragon Gate Academy would squeeze this place out of existence sooner or later. What fun could there possibly be here? Just thinking about it made him angry.

Seeing that the other boy was a richly dressed wastrel, He An could not be bothered to argue with someone like him. He pulled Fan Dazhi along and walked on without a word. Cui Mengshu seethed inwardly when these two country bumpkins treated him as though he did not exist.

The youths surrounding him were also applicants admitted to the Knowledge and Practice Institute. Their families had less influence than Cui Mengshu's, so they followed him around all day, flattering and fawning over him. Their fathers allowed it, hoping the younger generation could help them forge ties with the Cui Family. These boys were adept at reading expressions, and some could hardly wait to fan the flames.

"Well, well... these two brats don't seem to think much of Young Master Cui, do they? What gall!" one said, feigning anger.

"Exactly. That little fatty looks pretty defiant. He's still chewing something, too. Maybe he's cursing Young Master Cui!" another chimed in.

"One look tells you they're country bumpkins who don't know how high heaven is or how deep the earth runs!" another mocked.

"If they dare disrespect Young Master Cui, they're disrespecting all of us. Those two little bastards are asking for a beating!" another declared, borrowing the tiger's might like a fox.

"Daring to provoke our Young Master Cui? I'd say he doesn't know how many eyes Lord Ma has!" another echoed.

Cui Mengshu could no longer restrain himself. He viciously forced a few words through clenched teeth: "Stop them! Beat-them-for-me!"

At Cui Mengshu's command, the young thugs lunged at He An and Fan Dazhi, baring their claws and fangs. One clenched his fist and drove a vicious punch at the back of He An's neck. Another bent down and picked up half a blue brick from the ground. They had been stealing and brawling since childhood and were well practiced at it.

He An was walking along, pulling Fan Dazhi with him, when two boys suddenly sprang in front of them and blocked their way. They grinned maliciously. "You little brats think you can leave after offending our Young Master Cui?"

He An was about to speak when he heard the rush of wind behind his head. He hurriedly ducked. The sneak attacker's punch missed, and the boy raised his leg for a flying kick. All three attacked He An at once with fists and feet.

They were fast, but He An's fists were faster. Before they could react, he met fist with fist and leg with leg, their punches colliding and their flashing legs crashing head-on.

Smack! Smack! Smack! Three sharp cracks rang out. One thug doubled over like a shrimp in pain, while the other two fell straight to the ground. Seeing that they were about his age and seemed to be students who had taken the institute's assessment, He An had used only thirty percent of his strength. He had not expected them to be so feeble.

Just then, Fan Dazhi cried out in pain. He An turned and saw the other four thugs surrounding him. Two held his arms tightly, one locked an arm around his neck from behind, and another brandished half a blue brick and leaped up to smash it into his forehead.

Fan Dazhi's face flushed red as he struggled desperately. The brick struck his shoulder, sending fragments flying.

He An's anger flared.

Cui Mengshu saw that the plainly dressed boy-handsome enough to make even him a little jealous-had knocked down his followers with just a few punches and kicks. A vicious gleam flashed in his eyes. So the brat knows martial arts. No wonder he doesn't take me seriously. He felt the flexible gold-thread whip coiled around his waist and quietly approached.

In his fury, He An pushed his speed to the limit and reached Fan Dazhi's side almost instantly. The thug holding Fan Dazhi's neck heard the rush of wind and had barely raised his head when he saw a fist swelling larger and larger before his eyes. His vision suddenly went black. Excruciating pain, tears, and snot assailed his senses.

He An delivered a backhanded slap that sent another thug holding Fan Dazhi's arm spinning in place like a top. Before the boy could recover from his dizziness, He An kicked the brick-wielding thug flying.

He An swung at the last boy. Suddenly, a piercing whistle sounded behind him. A flexible gold-thread whip swept toward him like a mottled venomous snake, carrying a fierce gust of wind.

He An hurriedly lunged toward Fan Dazhi, simultaneously springing into a hawk-like midair roll and narrowly dodging the strike.

The whip's tip grazed Fan Dazhi's headcloth and swiftly whipped back like a striking snake. It cracked in the air with a heart-stopping report, then lashed at He An again like lightning.

He An's sword-like brows drew together slightly. He narrowed his eyes at the whip flickering like a rattlesnake and the richly dressed figure holding its other end.

He An stepped back, then swiftly forward. In that retreat and advance, with an inconceivable burst of speed, he pinned the whip beneath his foot in the flash of a spark, like stamping on a snake's vital spot.

Cui Mengshu's face went pale. Even exerting every ounce of strength he possessed, he could not budge it. The long whip in his hand was pinned firmly to the ground like a mottled snake.

Several of his followers staggered over to him. He An suddenly moved his foot away, and Cui Mengshu, caught unprepared, toppled backward and landed hard on the ground.

"Young Master Cui!"

His disreputable friends hurriedly helped him up. The fall had left him covered in dust and utterly bedraggled. Never in his life had he made such a spectacle of himself. As he stared at He An's back while He An helped Fan Dazhi up, a savage expression crept onto his face.

Cui Mengshu furrowed his brows and silently began circulating his cultivation technique. A moment later, a faint, rapid buzzing came from inside his sleeve, a strange scraping sound much like a cicada incessantly beating its wings.

Sweat soon beaded on his forehead. He flicked his sleeve, and a tiny golden sword suddenly flew out.

The golden sword was two inches long and about a finger wide. As Cui Mengshu gestured from afar, it wheeled and danced with extraordinary agility, then abruptly became a streak of golden light, hurtling toward He An's heart with incredible speed.

One of his followers recognized it and cried out in shock, "A Spirit Sword from the Vertical Sword Sect!"

The Vertical Sword Sect was renowned throughout the world for its swordsmanship and forging arts. Its sect master, Dongfang Shikai, was one of the four great grandmasters. His sword followed his will, killing without a trace.

Rumor in the martial world held that Dongfang Shikai might be slightly inferior to Meng Xinghe, sect master of the True Martial Sect, in a friendly contest. But in a fight to the death, Dongfang Shikai would certainly be the one left alive.

Weapons forged by the Vertical Sword Sect could slice through iron like mud. Even the Great Chen Empire and the Western Liang Kingdom coveted its forging arts. Despite Han Zongwang's immense martial prowess, even he lavished praise on the Vertical Sword Sect's treasured blades whenever he encountered them.

The forging arts had always been the Vertical Sword Sect's closely guarded secret, and its Spirit Swords in particular were without equal. By nurturing one with spiritual thought over a long period, its bearer could make it follow his will with extraordinary agility.

Cui Mengshu's Spirit Sword shot out as swiftly as lightning. He An could not dodge in time.

From the corner of his eye, Fan Dazhi caught a flash of golden radiance bearing down on them in an instant. In desperation, he gave He An a shove.

He An tilted to one side. With a wet piercing sound, the Spirit Sword struck his upper arm, and blood immediately spurted out. Fury erupted within him. This boy had attacked repeatedly and provoked him first, forcing him to fight back, yet now he had resorted to such a lethal move. The wound went deep enough to expose bone, and the pain was unbearable. In his pain and anger, He An pulled the tiny sword from his arm, hurled it to the ground, and charged at Cui Mengshu with his full strength.

He An moved with astonishing speed, striking Cui Mengshu's chest with his palm. Unable to dodge, Cui Mengshu was sent flying backward. His breastbone caved in, and he spat out a great mouthful of blood before landing in the dust, motionless.

Everything had happened far too suddenly. Only after Fan Dazhi and He An had left, supporting each other, did Cui Mengshu's followers recover from their shock. In a frantic jumble of hands and feet, they lifted their leader and fled in terror like dogs driven from their home.