Su Majestad

Capítulo 51

I've lived in this waterside pavilion for over ten years, and nothing has changed.

This person has been together for over ten years, and despite all the changes, they remain the same.

Tang Congrong is still Tang Congrong, and Tang Qiefang is still Tang Qiefang.

There have been several thousand days so far, and there are tens of thousands more to come.

Nothing will change.

—The End—

Part Two: Hair Like Snow

Xuyu Temple has a little bit of fame, mainly due to the peach blossoms in the temple.

While peach trees elsewhere still appear as bare branches, the peach blossoms at Xuyu Temple are already in full bloom, resembling rosy clouds.

Chapter Ninety-Two

Peach blossoms themselves have no fragrance, but when they bloom in large swathes together, a wonderful, delicate fragrance fills the air, slowly seeping into the skin and clothing, making one feel as if enveloped in a light mist.

Without a closer look, onlookers could tell he was returning from flower viewing. A petal clung to his hair. His hair was so smooth and translucent that the petal couldn't hold on, slipping gently down through the strands until it finally fell to the tip. The hem of his white and blue robes brushed against it, and a subtle breeze caused it to swirl in the air.

He held a herb in his hand and handed it to the young novice, saying, "Boil it in three large bowls of water until it reduces to one bowl. Call me when it's done."

It was dusk when the medicine was ready. The temple and the peach blossoms behind the mountain were bathed in a soft glow, making them appear even more vibrant than during the day. His fair and pure skin also seemed to be faintly tinged with a pale red by the setting sun, making him look somewhat like a peach blossom.

Where is your master?

“At the mountain gate,” the novice monk replied.

"Bring your medicine and blankets, and come with me."

Xuyu Temple was built against the mountain, with the temple halfway up the mountain and the gate at the foot. The young novice monk, carrying a bowl of medicine and a cotton quilt on his shoulder, followed him down the stone steps, looking completely bewildered.

He walked ahead, his white and blue robes seemingly untouched by the dust of the world, his long hair draped behind his head, not combed up, swaying gently in the mountain breeze.

The mountain gate was bathed in the setting sun, and a carriage was parked beside it. Two women in red dresses and skirts stood out conspicuously beside the carriage. Long swords hung at their waists, indicating they were martial arts practitioners. They lifted the carriage curtain, and one of them stepped out.

It was a woman, also dressed in red. But as soon as she appeared, the red of the two girls beside her seemed to turn pale pink.

Her red was like a phoenix rising from the ashes, but her face was like the ice and snow on the summit of Kunlun Mountain. Her eyebrows and eyes seemed frozen, without a trace of expression. She held a long box in her arms, nodded slightly to the monk in charge of receiving guests, and went up the stone steps.

He was descending the last stone step, and neither of them stopped—as if neither was used to giving way to others—on the three-foot-wide stone steps, the red-clad man and the blue-robed man brushed past each other silently. He carried a misty, refreshing fragrance that lingered faintly in the air.

He instructed the young novice to wrap the guest monk in a blanket. As the guest monk drank the medicine, two silver needles pierced his throat. The guest monk jolted, as if struck by icicles, and involuntarily pulled the blanket tighter around himself. His face turned pale with cold, growing paler and paler until finally, he couldn't bear it any longer and vomited a mouthful of thick blood.

Seeing the mouthful of blood, the corners of his mouth curled up slightly, and an indescribable arrogance appeared on his handsome face. "The miasma has been completely eliminated."

The monk's face miraculously turned rosy, and he broke out in a cold sweat, yet his body felt as light as if he had become twenty years younger. He loudly proclaimed a Buddhist chant and clasped his hands together, saying, "Thank you, benefactor."

"No need to thank me." He smiled, a smile that was both faint and arrogant. "If you meet that doctor again, tell him: There are no incurable diseases in the world, only quack doctors."

After saying that, he turned around and went up the steps.

The woman in red stood on the stone steps, watching him rescue people. "Are you Yang Luoxue from Medicine King Valley?"

The voice wasn't the soft, clear tone a typical woman should have; instead, it had a low, slightly hoarse quality, like the wind blowing through a konghou (a type of Chinese harp).

Chapter Ninety-Three

The two were separated by two steps. As the last rays of the setting sun shone down, her red dress seemed to catch fire. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze passing through the soft red sunset to her brow, where a faint red glow shone.

"The city of Sading, unparalleled for a hundred miles?"

Before this, they had heard of each other's names but had never met. In this misty, peach-blossom-filled twilight, the vague faces that had been floating in their minds quickly took shape and became clear, and they murmured "Oh" in their hearts.

So that's what he's like.

So that's what she's like.

There are four major forces in the martial arts world that should not be underestimated. The Martial Arts Academy has the greatest reputation. The Tang Clan has enjoyed a prestigious reputation for hundreds of years and has produced many talented individuals, sometimes even disregarding the Martial Arts Academy.

Medicine King Valley lives in seclusion and never gets involved in any feuds or grudges.

There is also Sading City.

It rarely ventures into the martial arts world, but the city is filled with countless divine weapons, making it a coveted place for weapons trading among martial arts practitioners.

Now, the lights in Suoding City have gone out one by one. Whether in the inner or outer city, people have all fallen asleep in the dead of night. Only the lights are still on in Beiling Tower.

Beiling Tower is a highly secure location in Suoding City, accessible only to swordsmiths. In front of the largest sword furnace, a faint red light peeks through the cracks in the tightly closed furnace door. Everyone is busily working, awaiting instructions from Miss Baili Wushuang.

Baili Wushuang stared at the furnace door, a faint red light appearing between his brows. "Add sulfurous carbon."

Uncle Gong, the charcoal maker, was taken aback—adding sulfurous charcoal when the sword was being forged risked causing an explosion, and even the finest sword could be damaged. But the young lady was a genius swordsmith in Suoding City, and no one could doubt her. Uncle Gong gritted his teeth and threw in the sulfurous charcoal. With a loud "boom," flames roared out from the cracks in the furnace door.

The two people in front of the furnace door couldn't avoid it and were about to be burned by the flames. Baili Wushuang rushed forward and waved her sleeves, knocking the two back. Although there was no wind inside Beiling Tower, her sleeves billowed like sails in the wind, making a loud rustling sound. The fire in the furnace went out, and she stared intently at the furnace door, shouting, "Retreat!"

Everyone immediately grabbed the ropes and leaped onto the second-floor railing. Looking down from above, a faint red glow enveloped the entire sword-forging furnace. The flames and air inside were forced together by the young lady's sword energy, emitting muffled sounds like the roars of wild beasts. The red glow between the young lady's brows was dazzlingly bright at this moment. Suddenly, the entire Beiling Tower seemed to tremble, and the furnace door burst open with a loud "boom" from the flames.

The flames surged forward like an arrow, crashing into the stone wall without looking back. The flames died down, and the contents fell into the water of the Sword Washing Pool, which was channeled into the wall, with a hissing sound. White smoke rose from the surface of the water.

—After 725 days of forging, Chongli Sword was completed.

People came down from the second floor with joy. The young lady spends two years forging a single sword, each one a treasure destined to be passed down through generations.

The water in the Sword Washing Pool was icy cold, and the Chongli Sword, which had just escaped from the flames, had already cooled down. It was two feet four inches long, with a blade a finger wide, and was entirely black. Its slender shape gave it a faint, unusual glow under the lamplight.