Chapter 71: Idle Matters Settled Amid the Murmuring Stream, A Youth Rides the Waves to Slay the Flood Dragon

Lin Residence, Heavenly Ripple Pavilion.

In the large pond, spring rain fell, creating ripples here and there. The chill of the early spring wind drifting through the halls brought a touch of cold. Lady Hua had returned to the Lin Residence and was resting, reclining on a couch. Xiang held a candle nearby, the gentle light illuminating the scenery in the pavilion’s main hall, allowing Lady Hua to quietly peruse the famous scholar’s treatise, "On Demons."

Suddenly, Lady Hua’s long lashes fluttered, and she gazed beyond the pavilion at the countless raindrops descending from the sky, a trace of surprise on her delicate face.

“Wang Qinhao from the Duke of Wang’s household has taken up the Dragon Spine Blade to challenge Anle.”

She murmured, genuinely astonished.

If she remembered correctly, Anle’s body-forging cultivation was two major realms beneath Wang Qinhao’s. Could it be that Anle had, in the past few days, broken through to the third realm and condensed an inner core?

The speed of such progress was truly remarkable.

Interest flickered in Lady Hua’s eyes. Rising from the couch, she draped a light robe over her shoulders and stepped onto the corridor.

With a thought, a figure appeared in Qingfeng Garden—a man wearing a bamboo hat and carrying a woodcutter’s blade—sauntering over.

“Sister-in-law, here is the updated Lesser Saint Ranking, issued by the White Crane of First Mountain.”

Fourth Master Lin handed a yellow booklet to Lady Hua.

She flipped through it, her gaze brimming with amusement.

“Not bad. Having only just entered the third stage of body-forging and already rising on the Lesser Saint Ranking—clearly, the inner core Anle has condensed is of excellent quality.”

“The battle for the Lesser Saint Ranking is bound to attract attention. Let us go and have a look,” Lady Hua said with a smile.

Thinking of Anle, a rare smile appeared on Fourth Master Lin’s usually cool and handsome face.

Both of them looked westward, toward West Lake, their spiritual consciousness leaping forth.

Sixth Mountain.

At a serene pavilion halfway up the mountain, Li You’an was engaged in a game of Go with the mountain’s master. They had played many games—being old friends, it was only natural that, now that Li You’an had returned to Lin’an, he would visit.

“That youth, now elevated on the Lesser Saint Ranking, faces his first challenge. Should he win, he is sure to become famous in Lin’an from this day forth, just like Luo Qingchen did in his time,” Li You’an remarked with a smile, setting a white stone down.

The Sixth Mountain Master stared intently at the board. His skill in Go was far inferior to the legendary top scholar Li You’an, so each game demanded his full attention. However, he was unconcerned by Li You’an’s words. “That youth will surely win.”

“Oh? And why is the Mountain Master so confident?” Li You’an asked with a smile.

Without even lifting his head, the Mountain Master replied with utter certainty, “Because he obtained the Ink Pool from me.”

Li You’an shook his head—this Mountain Master was ever fond of boasting.

In silence, the two continued their game, but their thoughts were already drifting toward West Lake.

By now, figures had begun to gather around the lake, standing in the spring rain and gazing at the battle for the Lesser Saint Ranking upon the water.

Though this was merely a contest between the bottom two on the ranking, the fact that the youth had caused the ranking to shift upon his entry drew countless curious onlookers.

Many wished to see what talent this youth possessed—to overcome Wang Qinhao with a body-forging cultivation one full realm behind.

Ye Wenxi and her younger sister Ye Yinping stood beneath umbrellas by the lake embankment.

Zhong Shunchao carried a massive black-iron bow on his back, his expression solemn; not far from him stood Ye Chong of the Ye family.

Zhao Xianyou sat cross-legged in a tree on a hillside beside the lake, untouched by wind or rain, exuding an otherworldly aura.

Qin Qianqiu emerged from a carriage, face cold, and stood silently on the white jade embankment, watching the battle on the lake.

Fairy Yunrou observed quietly and curiously from a small boat.

From the moment Wang Qinhao, driven by unresolved ambition, unleashed his formidable fighting spirit, the battle drew the attention of all sides. Many geniuses on the Lesser Saint Ranking quietly extended their senses to watch.

In the shadows, yet more powerful individuals watched with their spiritual senses.

Suddenly, battle erupted on the lake. Wang Qinhao closed in on Anle with his blade, intending to suppress him with the superior physique of a higher realm.

Yet, beneath the rain-soaked night, all witnessed the eruption of demonic aura—a phantom of a primordial fiendish tiger appeared, sprawling across the lake and roaring at the stars.

White waves exploded across the water, linking seamlessly with Wang Qinhao’s rapid advance.

Streaks of blood tinged the lake as Wang Qinhao, struck into the water, found himself bewildered, encountering the ancient Five Beasts body-forging technique for the first time.

He knew Anle cultivated the Five Beasts Body-Forging Method, a respectable technique but not truly top-tier.

Yet at this moment, the force Anle displayed seemed almost otherworldly.

“So, you’re the one who stirred the Martial Temple’s Martial Titan Stone into releasing that blood-red smoke that day?” Wang Qinhao guessed, opening his eyes in the lake.

A sudden sense of danger surged within him.

He saw the water silently split apart, as if a drop of ink had spread, bringing with it a sharp, cutting edge.

A soft slicing sound.

Wang Qinhao twisted to evade, but a few strands of his hair were still cut away. The silent ink sword struck again.

In the lake, Wang Qinhao’s eyes blazed with fury—he would not be so easily subdued. After all, having reached the fourth stage of body-forging, his mysterious insights were deep. Even after suffering Anle’s ancient tiger strike, he could still fight.

His inner core spun, a surge of mysterious power burst forth. With a kick, he shattered the water.

The Dragon Spine Blade in his hand swept out, the water erupting around it, transformed by the blade’s aura into a white dragon leaping from the lake, lunging at Anle.

Anle flicked his fingers.

A clear sword hum rang out, as if ink had been splashed before him. Sword energy conjured a vision of bamboo, each stalk rising tall and proud, blocking Wang Qinhao’s attack with ease.

Through the black bamboo and the spring rain, Anle’s cold eyes regarded Wang Qinhao, devoid of emotion.

If he remembered right, Wang Qinhao had once stood with Qin Qianqiu.

Anle disliked Qin Qianqiu, who had sent Zhua Shan to kill him. That had bred only deeper disdain, and so he felt no mercy for Wang Qinhao either.

This battle, Anle sought to nurture his own heroic spirit—he would not drag it out.

After all, an old friend was still waiting in the small courtyard with warmed wine.

With a push of his five fingers, the Ink Pool flew out, silent and swift as lightning, revealing the extraordinary clarity of his refined spirit.

Demonic energy surged within him once more, his life force roaring like thunder. He took a single step, and the illusion of a primordial stag shimmered into being.

In a flash, Anle burst forward, a white streak appearing upon the lake’s surface.

Wang Qinhao, just out of the water, thrust his Dragon Spine Blade forward—his martial prowess at this moment unmistakable.

In terms of raw power, strength, and explosiveness, Wang Qinhao, at the higher realm, was still more formidable.

Even if Anle’s technique was of higher grade, Wang Qinhao had a fighting chance.

“Dragon’s Fury!”

The blade’s light became a raging dragon, its essence unveiled.

Anle seemed to glimpse a divine dragon overturning rivers and seas, roaring furiously at him.

But his spirit was unyielding, the sword-forge in his brow ringing pure, his eyes as clear as water.

With the ancient stag’s technique, he closed the gap, his face cold and strange under the demonic aura. At his waist, the Green Mountain Sword floated out, spinning at great speed.

Green Mountain at his side, he faced the blade-dragon head-on.

In that instant, the youth radiated a faint, heroic aura—a destiny’s fortune weaving around him, threads of it intertwining with his being.

With a palm on the sword’s hilt, he sent Green Mountain flying like a rainbow, piercing through the dragon of blade Qi conjured by Wang Qinhao’s martial insight.

Striding the waves, he cleaved the flood dragon.

“A shabby bamboo sword dares to challenge my dragon?” Wang Qinhao sneered coldly, swinging his Dragon Spine Blade with a flash, aiming to shatter the bamboo sword.

He did not recognize Green Mountain, and thus felt no fear.

Yet among the many hidden watchers, some seemed to recognize the sword—shock rippled through their auras, and they gazed at Wang Qinhao with sympathy as he swung his blade.

As the blade struck Green Mountain, Wang Qinhao felt as if he were cutting into a looming mountain, not a mere battered bamboo sword.

The Dragon Spine Blade wailed in agony, a crack appearing before it flew from his grasp.

The force of Green Mountain did not abate, piercing Wang Qinhao’s chest, leaving a gaping wound and spraying blood across the lake.

At the same moment, Anle, using the ancient demon ape technique, closed in.

The tiger roared, the ape howled, the bear thundered.

With the titanic physique refined through the Five Beasts, Anle’s attacks fell upon Wang Qinhao like a torrential storm.

Wang Qinhao’s body was so battered he could not even fall.

Spring rain pattered down.

Upon the lake, the youth struck as if mounting a painting on the wall.

The sword-forge in his brow rang out, sword energy erupting from him, guided by his transcendent spirit. Every droplet of water and every raindrop was, in that instant, laced with sword Qi, falling like a sword waterfall.

The sword’s presence drew near to all things under heaven.

With a grip of his five fingers, innumerable threads of sword Qi sliced through the air.

In that moment, Wang Qinhao was engulfed by sword Qi—there was a muffled explosion, and a cloud of blood burst in midair.

The old man had said that a challenge should be treated as a life-and-death struggle—Anle showed no mercy.

With this move, the outcome was decided.

A sudden flash of white light shimmered in the air—the Lesser Saint Token in Wang Qinhao’s possession glowed as if turning back time, healing his wounds.

Wang Qinhao crashed onto the lake, floating there, staring dazedly at the sky.

Suddenly, he understood why Luo Qingchen’s resolve had been so fragile.

To be utterly crushed by another was a bitter experience indeed.

From the moment he made a misstep at the start and suffered Anle’s onslaught, he had been forced onto the back foot. No matter how he countered, it was only desperate resistance on a dead-end road.

That youth had dominated him from beginning to end.

The spring rain fell, and the surface of West Lake fell silent.

The Ink Pool and Green Mountain swords returned to the youth’s side, hanging at his waist as his vital energy withdrew and the demonic aura faded—he was once again a graceful young man.

Without sparing a glance at Wang Qinhao, now questioning life as he floated on the lake, Anle walked away across the water, ascended the embankment, and picked up an oil-paper umbrella.

He circulated his life energy, evaporating the water from his robes, and opened the umbrella.

With two swords at his waist, watched by countless senses and eyes, the youth strolled away.

Mist and blooms in the spring, the rain brushing the willows along the embankment.

With the sound of flowing water, matters of the world were set aside; a jug of yellow wine, a stick of incense.

For the youth, the battle for the Lesser Saint Ranking was nothing more than a passing matter.

His shoes splashed water two feet high as he strode along, blue-robed, sword at his side, brushing off the affair as he left.

Elegant and free.

By West Lake.

Ye Wenxi revealed a gentle smile, as if she could see the youth, like a newly awakened tiger, step by step ascending toward the summit of the Lesser Saint Ranking.

“How dashing,” Ye Yinping pursed her lips, watching the youth brush off his sleeves, feeling as if she’d caught Lin Zhuifeng’s mannerism.

“This Wang Qinhao was so weak—a one-sided defeat, nothing exciting. I thought it would be a close fight,” Ye Yinping grumbled.

“It’s simply that Young Master An is too strong—he crossed realms to win in crushing fashion. Surprising, yet not unexpected.”

Ye Wenxi held the umbrella and walked with her sister toward the Ye residence.

“That is the difference between those who earn the Lesser Saint Token by their own merit and those who rely on their family’s power.”

“As different as clouds and mud.”

“Sister, do you think Wang Qinhao will lose his resolve like Luo Qingchen?”

“I doubt it. Wang Qinhao challenged Anle out of resentment and unwillingness, but not with a conviction to win at all costs. Losing probably won’t break him. Besides, a resolve as fragile as Luo Qingchen’s is rare.”

“Then maybe I’ll challenge Wang Qinhao myself.”

“We should be ladies, not bullies.”

“Oh.” Their voices faded, washed away by the falling rain.

Rain drummed on the carriage roof, shrouding everything in mist.

Qin Qianqiu’s face remained cold as he watched the defeated Wang Qinhao, a tumult of frustration boiling within him.

The more triumphant the youth appeared, the more vexed he felt, recalling the day he’d sent Zhua Shan to kill Anle, only to be badly beaten by Luo Qingchen instead.

The memory of that night was seared into his bones—a humiliation etched into his heart.

He had scores to settle with Luo Qingchen, and he could not tolerate Anle’s success either.

“So, it was this boy who stirred the Martial Titan Stone at the temple that day, releasing the blood-red smoke?”

“Such overwhelming demonic aura—his body-forging method must be tied to demons,” Qin Qianqiu thought coldly for a moment, then withdrew into his carriage.

The wheels splashed through the puddles, not waiting for the lost Wang Qinhao floating on West Lake.

Lin Residence, Heavenly Ripple Pavilion.

Their spiritual senses returned—Lady Hua and Fourth Master Lin exchanged a smile, a sense of admiration on their faces.

“The ancient Five Beasts, deduced with the aid of the Martial Titans’ will from the Martial Titan Stone, seems to be of even higher grade than I’d imagined. The boy is blessed with his own good fortune,” Lady Hua remarked.

Fourth Master Lin patted the woodcutter’s blade at his waist, praising, “A rare talent—his future is promising.”

“The more gifted he is, the less he can be involved in this coming storm,” Lady Hua said softly. “Still, with that elder protecting him, he shan’t be caught up in it.”

Fourth Master Lin stroked his blade and nodded.

Suddenly, both looked toward the distant, many-eaved, rain-dripping Heavenly Ripple Tower.

On the tower, they could just make out the aged figure of Old Madam Yu, leaning on her dragon-headed cane, beckoning to them.

Exchanging a glance, the two left the pavilion and ascended the tower.

In the Imperial Temple Alley, spring dripped from the eaves.

Anle’s heart surged with heroic spirit. This battle had tempered him, transforming his state of mind.

He had always been confident, but lacked the heroism and dominance of true geniuses. Now, after this fight, heroic spirit infused him—he was renewed.

He strolled through the long, silent, rain-soaked alley.

Within the small courtyard, lamplight glimmered softly.

Beneath the porch, an old man held a lamp, warming a pot of yellow wine, its fragrance drifting on the air.

Clad in blue, sword at his side, carrying the aura of a few geniuses, the youth strolled home at ease. The old man stroked his beard and smiled, his eyes dreamy in the lamplight, as if glimpsing a younger self returning through the years.

PS: Second update—nearly ten thousand words across two chapters. Old Li will keep writing; please subscribe and vote.

“Brother Shen.”

“Mm.”

Shen Changqing walked along the road, greeting familiar faces with a nod or a word.

But no matter who it was, no one showed much expression, as if indifferent to everything.

To this, Shen Changqing was well accustomed.

For this was the Demon Suppression Department, an institution maintaining the stability of Great Qin, its chief duty to slay demons and monsters—though it had other sidelines as well.

In truth, everyone in the Demon Suppression Department had blood on their hands.

Those who have seen death too often grow indifferent to many things.

When Shen Changqing first arrived in this world, he found it hard to adapt, but over time, he became used to it.

The Department was vast.

Those who could remain within its ranks were all formidable experts, or else held the potential to become such.

Shen Changqing belonged to the latter.

There were two official positions: Suppressing Envoy and Demon Slayer.

Everyone began at the lowest rank of Demon Slayer, advancing step by step, perhaps one day to become a Suppressing Envoy.

Shen Changqing’s predecessor had been an apprentice Demon Slayer—the lowest of the low.

With his predecessor’s memories, he was very familiar with the Department and its ways.

Before long, Shen Changqing stopped before a certain pavilion.

Unlike the rest of the Department, which was steeped in killing intent, this pavilion stood out like a crane among chickens, exuding a rare tranquility amid all the blood.

At this moment, the pavilion’s doors were wide open, and people came and went occasionally.

Shen Changqing hesitated only briefly before stepping inside.

Upon entering, the atmosphere changed immediately.

The scent of ink, tinged faintly with blood, wafted over him. He instinctively furrowed his brow, but quickly relaxed.

The smell of blood was something no one in the Department could ever truly wash away.