Chapter Forty-Four: Years Have Passed Since

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"Earlier, I mentioned the Sword Pavilion. Among its ten swordmasters, the foremost is Fang Liang. It’s said that he weighed barely two taels at birth, frail and sickly, so he was named after his birth weight. The first of the three upper realms is Enlightenment, the second Formless, and the third Heavenly Ascension. Though Fang Liang appears as weak as an invalid, his natural talent propelled him to the pinnacle of Heavenly Ascension by the age of thirty—just one step away from transcending it."

"Throughout history, every Sword Saint has emerged from the Sword Pavilion. Only in this generation did a singularly brilliant Pei Wen arise, forcing the Pavilion to swallow its pride. Unable to claim the title of Sword Saint, they instead crowned Fang Liang as Sword Lord, a rank just beneath the saint."

A female scholar interjected, "I’ve heard tales of Fang Liang. It’s said his lifespan is painfully short. A senior in the Pavilion doubted him, declaring that if he failed to reach the Hundredfold Tempering Realm by age ten, he would surely die young. Fang Liang achieved it nonetheless. The same senior then claimed if he hadn't attained the Void-Breaking Realm by fifteen, death would still take him. Again, Fang Liang proved him wrong... And so it continued, until the senior himself died of old age while Fang Liang pressed on relentlessly, ascending to the peak of Heavenly Ascension."

Du Fu sighed, "Fang Liang is a good friend of mine. You speak of these things lightly, but behind them lies untold hardship. In three years, he will reach forty. If he cannot take that final step before then, fate will not be denied."

Yu Lang listened in awe, moved by the man's misfortune and perseverance. For as long as he could remember, a blade hung over his head—a sentence of doom. To keep it at bay, he could never hesitate or falter, only press forward. Such dire straits forge men of unparalleled talent.

"What of An Lushan? Rumor has it he achieved enlightenment through slaughter and already surpassed the Heavenly Ascension realm. He should be stronger than Fang Liang, shouldn’t he?"

Du Fu’s face grew cold. "We speak only of heroes, not beasts. Pei Wen, Dean Chen, Fang Liang—they are all artisans, pure and proud, who see cultivation as their craft. What right does a monster like An Lushan, who attains power by murder, have to be ranked among them?"

"Well said!" Zhang Chengxing was the first to voice his approval; his family followed Wang Zhongsi’s line and had long opposed An Lushan.

"What about Li Taibai?" a student called out.

Du Fu instantly adopted the adoring tone of a devoted fan. "Brother Taibai is naturally gifted beyond compare! I had hoped to travel with him in Yangzhou, but alas, I missed my chance. When I return to Chang’an, I must meet him!"

A chorus of female students batted their eyes. "Instructor Du, if you see Brother Taibai, you must send him our regards..."

Qingqing smiled in silence. Once, she too admired Brother Bai with all her heart. But when she was most alone and helpless, he abandoned her, leaving a wound that would never heal. It was this that made her so dependent on Yu Lang—whether life or death separated them, she could not bear it. Perhaps this excessive dependence, leading to the loss of self, was the true root of all tragedy.

"Ahem, Instructor Du, we meant to discuss his cultivation, not his talent."

Du Fu hesitated for a moment, then continued, "When speaking of Li Taibai, we cannot ignore another—a man also taught by the Sword Saint, Yu Jiao, who is none other than Yu Lang’s birth father."

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"What?! Yu Lang is Yu Jiao’s son?"

"No wonder, no wonder! A tiger cannot sire a dog."

The students’ gazes toward Yu Lang shifted, especially those of humble origin. Yu Lang had always been their model—a symbol of how effort could change one’s fate. Learning he was the son of a once-celebrated hero left them disappointed; so, it seemed, his father had been extraordinary all along.

Du Fu had revealed this on purpose. Yu Lang’s recent brilliance had inevitably kindled envy; but as Yu Jiao’s son, those jealous would now find a way to justify their feelings.

"Yu Jiao and Li Taibai were both disciples of the Sword Saint Pei Wen—the only two, though recently it’s rumored the Saint has taken on a third young pupil, but that’s another matter. Li Taibai’s notable feats were all achieved alongside his senior brother. That famous phrase, ‘One man slain every ten paces, never to linger for a thousand miles,’ comes from the Battle of the Sword Gate on the Shu Road, where the two of them faced one hundred and thirty bandits at Tiger’s Fall Ravine. Their leader, the Hidden Sword Tiger, was said to be unmatched in the Formless Realm. This was their defining moment."

"Their last joint battle was against the Old Demon of Kunlun, whose power rivaled the Sword Saint’s. In the end, both Yu Jiao and the demon perished; only Li Bai survived. Since that day, no one has seen the Qinghong Sword drawn again. It’s said Li Bai’s heart was shattered in that fight, and his strength has waned ever since... All in all, even at his peak, Li Bai may have reached the upper three realms, but could not be called the world’s strongest. Yu Jiao, however, once bested the Sword Saint by half a move—had he lived, he would have claimed a seat among the supreme masters."

Of the previous generation, the two most gifted youths were Yu Jiao and Li Taibai. Yet one died young, and the other’s spirit was broken—a lamentable fate.

Yu Lang had heard these stories from Li Bai himself, including details unknown to Du Fu: in the heat of battle, Li Bai had withdrawn his sword. Yu Lang suspected that the truth was far more complicated than rumor, but there was no way to know for certain.

"Enough for today. Class is dismissed," Du Fu announced.

The students of Xiyue Academy rose and saluted Du Fu. Only after he had gone did they depart in order.

Yu Lang had just stepped outside when Instructor Shen from the Punishment Hall blocked his path.

Instructor Shen regarded Yu Lang with a complex expression. "Dean Chen awaits you in the council hall."

"Thank you for letting me know," Yu Lang replied, then turned to go.

"Wait," Shen advised. "Be cautious in your words before the Dean. Do not be reckless."

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Yu Lang could not guess at Instructor Shen’s meaning, but asked nothing further. He thanked him again and left.

Du Fu watched Yu Lang enter the council hall, shouldered his bundle, and left humming a tune.

When we meet again, I hope you will have become a true hero.

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The main chamber of the council hall was windowless and unlit, shrouded in gloom. After a glance around and finding no one, Yu Lang made to leave.

"Yu Lang, is that you? I’m in the side chamber, behind the blue curtain."

Following the voice, Yu Lang lifted the curtain and stepped inside.

He was surprised to find such refined elegance hidden within the solemn council hall. At the center stood a finely carved white jade table, set neatly with writing brushes, ink, paper, inkstone, and four small pots of plum, orchid, bamboo, and chrysanthemum—the Four Gentlemen. Two white porcelain cups of tea still steamed gently. Beside the table hung a plain wooden sword, its blade inscribed with the characters “Discard the Dross, Keep the Essence,” each flowing stroke brimming with the power to reveal a universe on a tiny surface.

Dean Chen turned from his seat and invited Yu Lang to join him for tea.

Yu Lang murmured his thanks, raised the cup, and took a sip. Instantly, a lingering fragrance filled his mouth, all his fatigue and anxiety melted away, and his mind grew clear as a tranquil lake.

"Excellent tea," Yu Lang could not help but exclaim. He was unaccustomed to drinking tea—wine or cooled boiled water had always been his preference. This was the first time he had tasted anything so remarkable.

Dean Chen smiled amiably at him, showing none of a dean’s airs—more like a neighbor inviting a chat about farming and crops.