Chapter Thirty-Four: The Three-Foot Tang Blade

The storeroom was not large, with only a few rows of shelves on which all sorts of strange and rare weapons were displayed.

At first, he was quite interested, picking and choosing among them with great curiosity.

But soon Zhou Bai felt a wave of disappointment. Most of these weapons had been worn down by the passage of time, now nothing but battered remnants, so fragile that a bit of force could snap them clean in two.

Even the more recently made weapons were pitted with rust; it wasn’t as if the county office would take the trouble to maintain them.

Though these weapons had all become little more than scrap metal, their origins were meticulously recorded—each weapon had a small wooden plaque detailing its history.

“In the three hundred sixty-ninth year of the Tang-Song era, obtained during a gang skirmish in Hangdu City.”

“In the three hundred seventy-second year, seized in a bandit-clearing operation outside Hangdu’s western suburbs.”

“In the three hundred ninety-first year, after Iron Palm Lu Li killed thirty-five people and was executed in northern Hangdu, weapon acquired.”

“In the four hundred eleventh year, following the assassination of Gentleman Sword Ye Hua at a tavern in Hangdu, weapon obtained.”

...

Zhou Bai could not help but sigh. Within this humble storeroom in Hangdu was preserved half the stories of the martial world—each weapon seemed to belong in a classic wuxia novel, each with its own history.

He grew more patient, searching every shelf with care. The rustling and shifting of old things sent dust swirling into the air, and he coughed a few times.

Suddenly, a realization struck him. He smacked his own forehead in chagrin—he possessed the Yin-Yang Eyes. If there was anything truly unusual about these weapons, it would reveal itself at a glance.

His pupils narrowed to pinpoints as he surveyed the cramped storeroom. This time, he indeed discovered something.

A faint miasma of baleful energy clung to a few of the better-preserved weapons.

Baleful energy like this—killing a pig could never accumulate it as quickly as killing men.

But most of these weapons were made from ordinary materials. How could bandits and ruffians afford fine arms? Most were already damaged or broken into pieces.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Zhou Bai caught sight of something in the corner. He stared in surprise. There was baleful energy there too, but one presence was especially dense and enduring.

He stepped closer. There, wrapped in white cloth, lay a Tang saber, nearly four feet long.

The white cloth was stained here and there with flecks of black, dried blood. Looking closely, Zhou Bai saw that the baleful energy suffusing this blade was even thicker than that of his own butcher’s knife.

In the Tang-Song era, the Tang saber was the weapon of soldiers. Though slender, it was perfectly suited for slashing, a first-rate weapon for both foot soldiers and cavalry.

Zhou Bai began to unwrap the cloth, which crumbled at the touch after decades in the storeroom, revealing the blade within.

The scabbard felt like snakeskin to the touch, yet with a hint of cowhide’s texture—Zhou Bai liked it at once.

He gripped the hilt with his right hand, and immediately a chill seeped from his palm up his arm, the very skin tingling with cold.

Zhou Bai tried to draw the saber, but found the blade stuck fast in the scabbard, fused by rust. He applied more strength, but it still would not budge, so he dared not force it further.

He was in no hurry to draw it—the Blade Nourishing technique required the blade to remain sheathed. As long as the weapon was intact, that was enough.

And from what he could see, the Tang saber was remarkably well-preserved, with a hint of spirit dwelling within. Gripping the hilt, an inexplicable killing intent welled up in his heart.

“What a murderous weapon,” Zhou Bai murmured. He rummaged around and, after some searching, found the wooden plaque for the saber in a dusty nook.

“Joined the army at fourteen, retired at thirty-seven; fought countless battles, slew countless foes; the blade remains nameless, left for posterity.”

Its owner had served in the army for thirty-three years. If he truly fought for decades, then perhaps a century had passed since. Only in the years after Emperor Li’s ascension, with wars unending and rebel princes rising on all sides, did the whole realm undergo such turmoil. After so many years of bloodshed, this Tang saber must have slain hundreds at the very least.

Zhou Bai had not expected to find such a treasure in the county’s storeroom. Even the Department of the Underworld would consider this an extraordinary weapon.

The only flaw was its ordinary material; like his butcher’s knife, it was effective against spirits but easily destroyed.

But Zhou Bai possessed the Blade Nourishing technique—perhaps he could use it to transform the Tang saber.

He placed his palm on the blade and, with a thought, activated the technique. The saber trembled slightly, as if something within had awakened.

The blade’s spirit was being nurtured within the scabbard; when it was ready to emerge, so too would the blade itself.

With the saber in hand, Zhou Bai left the storeroom. Having found his weapon of choice, he had no interest in the rest.

The moment Chief Sun saw the Tang saber at Zhou Bai’s waist, he remarked with surprise, “Where did you find that blade? I’ve never seen it before.”

“In a corner—I only found it after some searching. I’m taking it with me. There shouldn’t be any objection from the county office, right?”

Zhou Bai tucked the saber into his belt. Since he’d found it among discarded junk, he was determined to claim it.

“Take it, Master Zhou. None of that stuff is worth much anyway,” Chief Sun replied quickly. Magistrate Zhao had already instructed him to accommodate the Department of the Underworld’s requests whenever possible, and besides, Zhou Bai was a fellow townsman—he ought to be looked after.

“Thank you,” Zhou Bai nodded with satisfaction, preparing to set off for Mount Yue.

“Safe travels.”

Chief Sun watched his figure recede into the distance, clicking his tongue in wonder. Not long ago, Zhou Bai had been a butcher on the west side of town; now, he was an official in the Department of the Underworld.

“I heard Magistrate Zhao say that department specializes in slaying monsters and exorcising demons—does Zhou Bai truly possess some hidden talent unknown to others?”

Zhou Bai had intended to find a random place, but as he walked, he came upon his own butcher shop.

He would have passed through an alley, but it had collapsed during a recent haunting, and the county office had made no plans to rebuild it. Now the shop stood in plain view, though the building itself was damaged and still under repair.

He no longer planned to keep the shop. He’d simply handed it over to Daoist Hou, who intended to open a small practice for geomancy and face-reading.

Outside the shop, laborers were busy at work. Zhou Bai didn’t disturb them, but entered through a side door.

Daoist Hou was nowhere to be seen, but on the table lay a brand-new book. Zhou Bai flipped through it and was pleasantly surprised.

As the book turned to dust, a new martial art, “Five Animal Frolics,” appeared on his system interface.

“Well, since Daoist Hou is so sensible, I won’t charge him any rent.”