Chapter Seventeen: Plum Blossoms Stained with Blood (Part Two)

A gust of wind, laden with murderous intent, tore through the air and descended with the cold upon the plum-blossom-scented gates of Shanglin Court, sweeping toward the dozen or so riders on Chang’an Street.

This man was Jiang Moyuan. Upon witnessing the scene before the court, he uttered not a word, but returned to the rear garden, and then came forth wielding his spear to kill.

Only with an eight-foot spear in hand could one plunge into battle and slay the enemy.

Without a single word, Jiang Moyuan gripped his long spear and burst from Shanglin Court, charging relentlessly toward the young noble and his mounted entourage.

The dark, eight-foot spear gleamed with cold light, reflecting the noonday sun. The radiance scattered around was not warm, but purely murderous.

His killing intent soared to the heavens.

To have his home of many years, its gates wantonly destroyed—what greater outrage could there be?

Jiang Moyuan was furious. His attack was sharp and merciless.

Upon Chang’an Street, suddenly the spear’s whistle roared like a coiled dragon.

The young noble arched his brows slightly but said nothing. He tightened his reins, and his warhorse stepped back several paces.

Behind him, two knights moved to shield him. With a flick of their wrists, two spears of refined steel appeared, meeting Jiang Moyuan’s strike head-on.

These three spears were forged from the same material, reserved only for the most elite troops of the Great Tang: the Celestial Strategy Army and the Divine Strategy Army.

Seeing the two spears rise to meet him, Li Fu, standing aside, understood at once: these men, who appeared to be scions of noble families, were in truth masters from the Divine Strategy Army.

But Chu Ge paid no heed to such things. The eight-foot spear, exuding a chilling murderous gleam, thrust forward regardless.

Where the spear’s tip passed, a piercing sound sliced through the air. It thundered like a zither’s cry, shattering the ranks as if music to the ear.

The Pojun Spear Technique!

A pair of deafening cracks resounded.

Clang! Clang!

The two steel spears splintered into several pieces, flying deep into the street and crashing heavily to the ground, shattering flagstones and smashing the outer wall of a nearby building.

With muffled groans, the two knights were struck from their mounts, falling to the ground with two clear gashes across their chests, blood gushing forth.

Such was the true power of the Pojun Spear Technique.

Of course, those two knights were among the finest of the Divine Strategy Army. But Jiang Moyuan, consumed by wrath, broke both their spears with a single strike and felled them from their horses. Yet even his own face turned somewhat pale.

He stood gripping his spear before the shattered gates, gazing at his adversaries with unconcealed pride.

In his rage, Jiang Moyuan had summoned all his inner strength to its peak for that single blow; now, he was left slightly short of breath.

Shangguan Yu narrowed his eyes, sharp as willow leaves, his gaze becoming even more piercing. From his thin, red lips issued words colder than the winter wind: “Chu Ge, you truly have some nerve to dare kill my…”

His words were abruptly cut off by Yang Zixu: “So what if I kill two of your Divine Strategy dogs!”

No sooner had Yang Zixu spoken than he seized a spear from one of the men at Shanglin Court.

The gates of Shanglin Court had been broken. The plaque, inscribed by the Grand Tutor himself and sealed with the imperial crest, was destroyed. All within Shanglin Court were incensed, each clutching a spear as they hurried from the rear courtyard.

On Chang’an Street, plum blossoms drifted in the wind. Yang Zixu leveled his spear at Shangguan Yu.

Several knights, seeing Yang Zixu’s movement, pressed closer to Shangguan Yu to protect him.

At that moment, Yang Zixu roared, bringing his spear down with a single arm.

A thunderous crash shook Chang’an Street. Dust and shattered stone billowed into the air.

The ground before Shanglin Court trembled; the flagstones of Chang’an Street fractured and crumbled to dust.

Two stifled cries.

Two knights became dark shadows, hurled far down the street, landing with a heavy thud.

Their hands still gripped their steel spears, but the spears were now bent.

The noble steed beneath Shangguan Yu retreated several more steps with astonishing speed. Though he had not taken the brunt of Yang Zixu’s blow, the splattered filth and dust from the street soiled his robes, and his previously composed demeanor could no longer be maintained.

His face turned pale; his right hand, clutching the reins, trembled.

Fury consumed him.

His gaze fell upon the three young men before Shanglin Court.

At this moment, his heart burned with rage.

Arrogant and unreasonable, he had ordered his men to smash that offending gate, then smashed the Grand Tutor’s plaque with his own foot. He had been quite satisfied, feeling it befitting his noble and powerful status. Once the young troublemaker who had caused a scene at his own gates yesterday emerged, he planned to humiliate him before killing him.

Xu Changhai’s threats yesterday might have made the great clans of the Eastern Capital reconsider, but not him.

In the end, far from humiliating his foe, he hadn’t even finished his prepared opening lines before four of his own men were gravely injured.

Yesterday, his banner was cut down before his mansion. Today, he brought men to the enemy’s door, only to have four of his own struck down before his eyes. He felt as if he had been dealt a stinging slap.

This was, unquestionably, a humiliation, not only to him but to the entire Shangguan family—a resounding slap, twice in two days, and almost by the same hand. He was livid.

Every scion of the great families in the Eastern Capital knew what terror his wrath could unleash.

When enraged, even the Office of the Imperial Clan would keep silent.

He looked upon the three standing at the gates as if they were already dead.

“Very good… Very good…”

Shangguan Qi, livid to the point of laughter, a flush of red appearing on his pale cheeks, looked almost sinister.

“Brother Jiang, step aside!”

A fair hand landed on Jiang Moyuan’s shoulder, and a cold voice spoke from behind. The killing intent emanating from his rear was palpable.

Li Fu’s eyes were devoid of emotion; with his other hand, he gripped the sword at his waist.

Yang Zixu glanced at Li Fu as well. He and Jiang Moyuan had already acted, but he did not wish for Li Fu to become entangled.

Jiang Moyuan looked at Li Fu, understanding his meaning, but blocked his way. “Young Master, there’s no need for you to act in this matter.”

“He defiled the Grand Tutor’s calligraphy, and his words displeased me.”

“The Grand Tutor?”

“Yes.”

“No one can insult the Grand Tutor before me as if nothing happened—not even him.”

He spoke without hesitation, just as the Grand Tutor had taught him since childhood at Daoxiang Village—neither arrogant nor servile, carefree, indifferent to the world’s opinions. More importantly, his foot had landed on the Grand Tutor’s writing.

Jiang Moyuan looked at the ruined gate and then at the murderous Li Fu, silent.

He was in a difficult position. Li Fu was now the Celestial Strategy Young Master, and Shangguan Yu’s rank and strength were not inferior. Should anything happen to Li Fu, he could not answer to Xu Changhai or the Marquis of Martial Valor.

“Do you know who he is?” Yang Zixu approached Li Fu, lowering his voice.

Li Fu replied, “Who cares? All I know is he stepped on the Grand Tutor’s characters.”

“He’s the Empress’s most favored nephew. Surely you don’t mean to…?” Yang Zixu, seeing Li Fu’s expression, instantly realized his intent and drew a sharp breath.

Li Fu meant to kill Shangguan Yu.

“Are you afraid of the Shangguan family?” Li Fu asked. “I am not.”

Yang Zixu stared at him for a long while, confirming he was not joking.

“You really intend to kill him?” Yang Zixu asked gravely.

“Is there a problem?” Li Fu nodded, indifferent to his opponent’s identity.

Yang Zixu patted his shoulder solemnly, “Yesterday you cut down the Shangguan banner, today you’d strike at Shangguan Yu… Is this feud not deep enough?”

Li Fu laughed coldly, his eyes openly murderous. Since the man had come looking for trouble, why hold back?

Shangguan Yu met Li Fu’s gaze with chilling eyes, a faint smile on his lips, his voice even colder than the winter air: “An impressive youth, to dare harbor murderous intent toward me?”

He had only that morning returned from the northern border with his attendants, arriving back in the Eastern Capital to find the banner before his mansion broken and faint bloodstains remaining even after they were washed away. Only then did he learn of yesterday’s events. Without even entering his home, he scoured the city for Li Fu. Upon learning the latter was at Shanglin Court, Shangguan Yu hesitated no more. The enmity between the Divine Strategy and Celestial Strategy Factions was longstanding. Even if the other was the Celestial Strategy Young Master, Xu Changhai would not dare act against him—he was, after all, his aunt’s most beloved nephew.

So he shattered Shanglin Court’s gate and the Grand Tutor’s plaque. He had indeed come specifically to find fault with Li Fu.

He never imagined his foe would truly dare wish him dead.

Shangguan Yu’s features were striking, his complexion pale as jade. As the north wind blew, carrying plum blossoms onto his face, he seemed even paler, almost translucent. Only those closest to him knew the extent of his fury.

The rift between the Divine Strategy and Celestial Strategy Factions was no recent thing; since the reign of the Holy Empress, the two had formed opposing camps over the imperial succession. Yet there had never been direct open conflict, not even as relations soured.

Even if he taught the so-called Young Master of Celestial Strategy a lesson, the imperial family would not punish him too severely. The throne desired balance between the two factions, not the dominance of one.

“It seems smashing this broken gate today was a bit impulsive… but all the more exhilarating.”

Seated atop his horse, Shangguan Yu coldly surveyed the scene. “Kill!”

Yang Zixu, a man of few words, uttered the command softly, then hefted his steel-forged spear and strode toward Shangguan Qi.

Shanglin Court, too, meant much to him, and Li Fu’s intent was clear—Shangguan Qi must die. Though Li Fu had yet to be officially confirmed as Young Master by the Marquis of Martial Valor, the fact was already established. Refusing an order from the Young Master—neither Yang Zixu nor Jiang Moyuan could do it.

Retreat was impossible, but advancing was easy; their steps were light.

Li Fu, too, gripped the three-foot sword at his waist and, together with Jiang Moyuan and Yang Zixu, moved toward Shangguan Qi.

Each of the three had reason to kill him—Jiang Moyuan, as a member of Shanglin Court, would never let the destruction of their gates go unpunished; Yang Zixu, as a future member of Celestial Strategy, could not allow such offense to their sacred ground; and Li Fu, most simply of all, for the insult to the Grand Tutor.

Beyond the Celestial Strategy Academy, on Chang’an Street, over a dozen cavalrymen freshly returned from the north readied themselves.

The three youths showed no fear.

“Kill them,” Shangguan Yu ordered coldly, raising his right hand with a slight movement of the reins.

If he was to defeat the three before him, he had to strike to kill from the outset.

He knew that before long, word of this would spread, and the city’s great personages would soon arrive—perhaps even now they were on their way. He had to act swiftly!

He would flatten the three before him, especially Li Fu, trampling over him as one would a dead dog!

He would let all under Heaven know that the Shangguan family was not to be trifled with—not even by the Grand Tutor’s disciples or the Young Master of Celestial Strategy.

Suddenly, a wild wind arose, and countless plum petals fell, carpeting the flagstones of Chang’an Street in a tapestry of white and yellow.

Petals danced in the air, obscuring many eyes.

Hoofbeats thundered, then rolled like a storm, as more than ten dark shadows shot toward the three youths.

The warhorses were clearly of exceptional stock, northern breeds, and in so short a distance accelerated to terrifying speed.

Witnessing this, Yang Zixu glanced at Jiang Moyuan, then at Li Fu, giving a subtle nod.

Perhaps from nerves, perhaps excitement, an odd smile broke on each of their faces.

In that brief exchange of glances, an unspoken understanding passed between them—a tacit bond difficult to describe.

Li Fu’s expression did not change; his hand rested lightly on the sword at his waist.

Then, a figure appeared with unimaginable speed at the center of the fray; lotus blossoms seemed to bloom upon the flagstones, instantly meeting Shangguan Yu and his riders.

Terrifying snapping sounds rang out—a dozen spears shattered, and a dozen riders were thrown heavily to the stone.

No one saw clearly what happened.

Only when the sound of breaking iron faded did faint blue lotuses appear on the flagstones.

The speed of that figure—how could the eye even track it?

Shangguan Yu’s pupils contracted, sensing a powerful threat.

He had not expected such speed from his opponent!

He did not retreat, knowing full well he could not outpace such swiftness.

He roared, both hands thrusting his iron spear forward along the path of that blur.

A surge of inner force erupted, and the spear’s momentum was so fierce it turned the swirling plum petals into blades, slicing the air with a sharp whistle.

Suddenly, within the petals appeared a blue lotus—right at the tip of the spear.

The moment it appeared, all luster from the spear was consumed. The petals spinning about the spearhead shattered and vanished.

Shangguan Yu’s spear was no ordinary weapon; its tip was crafted by the Divine Strategy’s finest smiths from black iron seized from the barbarians—tough and unyielding, it had pierced countless enemy armors on the northwestern battlefields and remained unbent. Yet before the silver tip of that other spear…

The point of his spear crumpled.

An unimaginable force traveled down the shaft.

Blood welled from Shangguan Yu’s palm; he could no longer hold his weapon. With a resonant hum, the spear vibrated violently, rebounding like an arrow.

Had it struck his chest, it would have left him gravely wounded, if not dead.

And in that instant, Shangguan Yu saw clearly—

A fair hand.

In its grasp, a blue long sword, its tip aimed squarely at his throat.