Bound tightly and inconveniently tall, Murong De had to duck his head to enter the dilapidated house. When he saw his indisputable old acquaintance Liu Cheng, the latter was cutting fodder with the Gilt-Dyed Blade.
After cutting the fodder, he mixed in some precious beans, added clean water drawn from the well, stirred everything evenly, and only then poured it into the washed feeding trough. The two horses inside promptly buried their heads in it, unable to wait.
Only then did Liu Cheng turn around and wipe the blade with a rag whose previous use was anyone's guess.
You had to admit, the blade's quality held up. On such a rainy day, with only a makeshift torch indoors, a glint of gold still flashed along its spine.
Murong De finally could not hold back and prepared to say something about how yesterday Liu Cheng had been an honored guest, while today he himself was a prisoner beneath the steps. After all, a man had to stay alive to carry on his endeavors, did he not? Unexpectedly, Liu Cheng spoke first instead. "Xuanming, people usually give treasured blades to heroes. Since you gave this blade to me, though, it's hardly seen any blood. I haven't even killed many chickens or ducks with it. I've let your treasured blade gather dust."
It was good that he had spoken, and he sounded as though he still acknowledged their friendship.
"Yulong naturally has the bearing of a distinguished gentleman, unlike us in the North, fighting and killing all day." Murong De could not help breathing a sigh of relief and hurried to reply. "Besides, if being with you counts as gathering dust, what would being with me count as? Sinking into the mire? You already had your victories at Xuchang and Lantian, and last