Chapter Thirty-Two: The Noble Young Man, Graceful as Jade (11,000 votes)

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(The author desperately craves recommendation votes—please bombard me with them! If any generous souls are out there, you can even send a recommendation ticket red envelope for this book. Sob.)

The door was left slightly ajar, not to keep guests out, but merely to ward off the biting wind and snow from outside.

The gap in the door slowly widened. Accompanied by a blade-like gust of wind that instantly chilled the hall, what first appeared was not a person but a single foot.

If the cold wind sent a chill through those gathered in the hall, then the sight of that foot was enough to ignite a warmth in their hearts.

Everyone held their breath—everyone, that is, except Shen Lian.

Because the other foot followed. It was bare, without so much as a shoe, revealing a slender, lustrous foot as exquisite as carved jade.

It was clear that the owner of these feet had just come in from outside, from the frigid world of ice and snow. Yet there was not the slightest trace of a scar or frostbite; her skin was as flawless as mutton-fat jade, as radiant as palace glass.

If the owner of such feet was even remotely attractive, countless men would surely be enamored.

No one could believe that these feet belonged to a man, and indeed, as everyone suspected, the newcomer was a woman—a woman whose allure far surpassed anyone’s imagination.

She had come in from the snowy world beyond, garbed in a red gauzy robe, carrying a long bundle wrapped in gray cloth.

The bundle was lengthy, shaped like a stick, or perhaps a sword, or maybe even a saber.

Though her clothing was scant, she revealed little, and all eyes were nonetheless drawn irresistibly to her feet—so beautiful that one might wish to be trampled beneath them.

“Brother Lian, I could play with those legs for a year straight,” muttered An Renjie of the Green Bamboo Gang, a man in his twenties.

Of course, An Renjie had another identity; he was the only son of An Wanli, leader of the Green Bamboo Gang.

It was no surprise that Shen Lian had acquired the martial arts of the Blue-robed Man—even Ling Chongxiao had admitted as much.

What was astonishing, however, was that in all this time, countless martial experts had come to Qizhou City seeking to wrest the Blue-robed Man’s techniques from Shen Lian, yet all had left after a single visit.

At first, no one spoke of it openly, many of them being renowned figures in the martial world.

But without exception, all spoke of Shen Lian with admiration, and from the heart.

The people of the martial world were a lawless breed. Even a master like Ling Chongxiao was rarely praised by all those he had ever fought.

Most who lost would simply retreat, hone their skills for a decade, and return for another challenge.

But Shen Lian was different. Counting by traditional years, he was still not yet of age, far from the prime for martial training, which was considered to be between twenty and thirty.

Yet despite this, not one martial expert had survived even a single exchange with him.

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What was even more disheartening was that Shen Lian wielded only a sandalwood sword.

To defeat such experts with nothing but skill—this alone spoke volumes.

As for how so many knew he used a sandalwood sword, it was because, more than half a year ago, when spring was in full bloom, the Golden Saber King had personally challenged Shen Lian at the Jialan Temple outside the city.

At the Golden Saber King’s age, he fought not for dominance but for self-improvement.

He had tasted wealth, beauty, even power, and had long since set them aside.

The only thing he could not relinquish was the pursuit of martial excellence.

Yet he lost—utterly, for the first time in his life.

The sensation caused by that duel was no less than the legendary tale of Ling Chongxiao defeating master after master in forty provincial capitals.

For Shen Lian was even younger, and he needed but a single stroke.

Moreover, the masters Ling Chongxiao had defeated in those forty cities could hardly compare to the Golden Saber King of today.

Because of this, Shen Lian’s reputation in the martial world was immense. Though he had never roamed as a wanderer, he was already counted among the untouchables.

The Blue-robed Man had killed many, yet people still sought to provoke him.

Shen Lian had never killed, but now, few dared even approach.

Clearly, what makes one fearsome is not always ruthlessness—there are other reasons.

An Renjie was born into the Green Bamboo Gang, yet was more of a wastrel than Shen Lian.

When he discovered that life in the “Youjian Inn” was more comfortable than at home, he simply stopped returning.

In his words, compared to a “Heaven-class Room” at the inn, his own home was a doghouse—though he would never dare say such a thing in front of his father, An Wanli, or he’d never be sitting here now.

Even Xu Hong would hardly have left, had he not begrudged the thousand taels of silver per day per person.

Xu Hong once tried to bargain with Shen Lian, but Shen Lian only smiled and said this was a special price—unchangeable.

“If it were me, I’d never trifle with those legs,” Shen Lian murmured, though An Renjie failed to catch the words.

For the owner of those legs had spoken. With hands behind her back, she retreated gracefully, closing the door, her every move imbued with such charm as to steal the soul.

She might have passed thirty, but her eyes were bright and lively, with a natural playfulness no sixteen- or seventeen-year-old girl could match.

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A silk scarf draped her neck, concealing delicate, smooth skin, yet in the dead of winter it lent her a touch of languor, evoking the image of mountains blanketed in spring bloom.

“Who is the owner here?” A faint smile lingered on her lips, like sunlight filtering through gauze—radiant, yet softly veiled.

Such a woman had no place in this season; she belonged in springtime, wading carefree in the Huahua Brook.

“I am the owner here, young lady. How can I help you? Would you like a room? Though we’re fully booked, you’re welcome to mine if you don’t mind,” An Renjie blurted, unable to contain himself. His agility was hardly famed, but in that instant he moved like a startled rabbit.

Had he shown such enthusiasm in his martial training, he would surely have surpassed his father, An Wanli.

It goes to show that what limits a person’s progress is seldom talent alone.

“You’re not,” she replied.

“Why not?” An Renjie’s eyes lingered on her bare feet, and suddenly he felt ravenous, though he’d only just eaten.

“Because I know the owner here is the Jade Gentleman, not Lord Zhu.” Her voice was pleasant, not in the gentle trill of an oriole, but crisp as a mountain brook in springtime striking the rocks.

“Jade Gentleman,” of course, referred to Shen Lian—a nickname given him by the martial world, likening his character to polished jade, refined and flawless.

“You jest, young lady. I am not surnamed Zhu, and there’s no Jade Gentleman here,” An Renjie replied. He cared little for martial world affairs and had never heard Shen Lian’s moniker.

An Wanli, on the other hand, knew of Shen Lian’s reputation and allowed his son to loaf about here precisely because, for once, the boy had made the right choice.

“If I say ‘Zhu,’ I mean ‘pig,’ not the surname Zhu,” the woman said with a dazzling smile.

Her words were not loud, but everyone in the hall heard—and they all burst into laughter, Shen Lian included this time.

ps: Thanks to “First Love Under the Night” for the 380 reward and “First Kiss Under the Night” (are you the same person?), and to Qiu 17 and Long Ke for their support.