Chapter 84: The Boundless Sword Qi Cuts Down the Little Demons, Brother An Once Entered Heaven’s Gate and Returned to the Mortal World
With a proud bearing, he stood alone, surpassing the world in his arrogance.
Before the Prime Minister’s residence, silence reigned. Only the voice of the young man reciting poetry could be heard, surging like mighty waves, crashing against the walls and reverberating through the surroundings, echoing in everyone’s ears.
Those permitted to enter the Quiet Street were all people of some literary talent and standing—not the illiterate. Naturally, each had their own insights into the appreciation of literature. They stared, dumbstruck, at the youth clad in white, wearing twin swords, one foot upon a chair, drinking boldly while reciting verse with abandon.
Many scholars and literati, the Confucian students ranked on the Literary Star Board, could no longer maintain their composure; their faces betrayed shock and incredulity. Though An Le’s poems contained curious references and figures—unfamiliar allusions that impeded swift understanding—this mattered little. Upon careful analysis, many figures could be traced to prototypes from the endless ages, and with An Le reciting so many poems so quickly, they had no time to savor each one.
Yet the overall quality of the poetry, the emotions and thoughts within, could be easily felt and appreciated. The balance of tones and rhymes, the arrangement of lines, the careful choice of words—none of these were easy undertakings. Who could have imagined someone capable of drinking, laughing, and composing three thousand poems on the spot!
Some even discerned the style and shadow of many ancient sages within these verses. For example, the poetic style of the Sword Immortal of the previous dynasty, whose righteous energy flowed like rivers from the Literary Star Monument, or the Sage of the Thatched Cottage, who cared for the hardships of the people and used poetry to bridge the world, drawing forth boundless integrity...
An Le’s poetry was imbued with the styles of these sages, all of whom left their mark on the Literary Star Monument! Clearly, An Le was widely read and had diligently studied the classics. How could such a person possibly have cheated?!
As they gazed at the youth with wind-tossed hair, upright sword energy soaring skyward, transforming into a white serpent that shattered the azure clouds, roaring over all of Lin’an, a suffocating sense swept over everyone, stirring their hearts to tumult.
This youth is not of this world—he must be a celestial descended to earth!
The Prime Minister accuses me of cheating in the imperial examinations, so I set up a table before his residence, drink wine, and recite three thousand poems.
Every verse is a masterpiece; some, if carefully examined, could astonish the gods, the use of words and phrases meticulously crafted.
Confucians, naturally, possess the ability to distinguish the quality of poetry. Some poems, at first glance, reveal an elegance worthy of everlasting fame, like gold in the mud—no matter how long they lie in dust, they will emerge and shine!
The scholars who had accused An Le of cheating now looked dark and gloomy, their spirits battered by the righteous sword energy. Their legs trembled, just as the three scholars forced to copy An Le’s poems could barely hold their pens.
Their collapse was not only due to An Le’s overwhelming presence but also because of their guilty consciences.
They accused An Le of cheating; An Le, in turn, drowned them in a torrent of poetry.
Did An Le know how to compose poetry before? Of course he did. The ink bamboo painting with its resolute “cling to the green mountains and never let go” already marked him as a prodigy in both poetry and painting.
Thus, no one was surprised that An Le composed good poems today—but that every single poem was worth reading? That was too extraordinary, almost inhuman!
Within her carriage, Lady Hua sat dignified, lifting the curtain to peer through the window at the youth before the Prime Minister’s residence, bursting forth with righteous sword energy, faintly attracting the integrity from the Literary Star Monument. A gentle smile crept onto her face.
In a flash, Lady Hua recalled the first time she saw the youth.
Then, a fierce tiger dwelled in his heart, his spirit brimming with vigor.
Today, the tiger bares its fangs, his spirit unfettered!
Lady Hua understood well the meaning and purpose behind An Le’s actions. Accusations and slander cannot be dispelled by ordinary explanations; in fact, the more one defends, the darker things may become.
For when one seeks to impose guilt, there is never a lack of pretext. No matter how you explain, if they wish to besmirch you, the filth will be thrown, leaving you sullied.
An Le knew this. Only a swift, decisive action could cut through the chaos—only by standing before everyone, wielding his sword to sever all sinister thoughts and petty schemes, could he earn a breeze of clarity.
Thus, he revealed his righteous sword energy before the Prime Minister’s residence, drinking wine and reciting three thousand poems.
By attracting so much integrity from the Literary Star Monument, who could dare accuse An Le of cheating?
Would such a person ever need to cheat?
If the Prime Minister still refused to believe and insisted on investigating An Le without evidence, it would be a slap in the face to the three sages of the Literary Academy.
To slander one so blessed with integrity would be to disregard the Literary Academy’s thousand-year inheritance.
Though the Prime Minister wielded immense power, he would not dare offend the Literary Academy so recklessly.
Thus, this was An Le’s method to break the impasse—simple, direct, and transparent, yet extraordinarily difficult for most.
For to produce so many poems, even the most talented scholars could not manage it, and to summon integrity was not something that could be done at will.
An Le, with righteous sword energy, transformed it into a white serpent, then channeled his literary talent into three thousand poems, echoing the styles of sages immortalized on the Literary Star Monument, thereby moving the Literary Star in heaven and stirring the integrity within the monument!
This act recalled the days of the previous dynasty’s prosperity, the Sword Immortal who, drunk, composed poems like casting three thousand stars.
Lady Hua’s lips curled, her smile deepening.
The Prime Minister intended to use the spring examination cheating scandal to imprison An Le, to suppress the youth’s vigor.
But unexpectedly, An Le seized the opportunity, released his spirit, and marshaled his heroic energy.
Sitting on a chair, drinking wine without restraint, with righteous sword energy, soaring pride, and surging spirit, he shook all of Lin’an!
On this day, the glory belonged to An Le.
Even celestial beings in heaven could not take it away.
In the crowd.
Old Zhao Huangting from the Imperial Temple, who had come to watch the spectacle, could not help but burst into laughter, his eyes overflowing with admiration.
“Good, good, good! Drinking wine and reciting three thousand poems—slapping Qin Li’s face! How satisfying! Let’s toast a big cup!”
Zhao Huangting laughed heartily. Many scholars glanced over, but hearing the old man so bold, openly naming the Prime Minister, they hurried to distance themselves.
Yet the old man cared not in the least, only laughing louder.
In the distant sky, three figures approached together—the three sages of the Literary Academy.
They followed the surge of integrity from the Literary Star Monument, witnessed the peerless youth, and observed the righteous sword energy rising to the heavens. The three exchanged glances, their eyes flashing with amazement.
From so far away, even composing three thousand poems might not stir the integrity a fraction—yet the youth possessed sword energy fused with integrity.
Such sword energy pierced the clouds, as if connected to the Literary Star above, bringing integrity like rivers!
The three sages looked at each other, their eyes gleaming.
“This youth must be admitted to the Literary Academy!”
Zhu Huoxi’s resolve was firmer than ever.
“That day, he entered the Forest of Self-Reflection, gazed upon the years before the Literary Star Monument, summoned integrity, and the integrity seemed to transform into countless images of sages. Today, many of his poems bear the shadows and styles of those who drew forth integrity from the monument…”
“This youth is a born sage!”
Zhu Huoxi declared with conviction.
The second sage, Pang Ji, gazed thoughtfully, while the third, Wang Banshan, smiled joyfully.
At this moment, all of Lin’an was shaken. Forces from every quarter sent their minds to investigate, and many arrived in person.
Li You’an, dressed simply, smiled quietly, eyes closed, savoring each poem as it was recited, his lips curled in enjoyment.
Hearing “By lamplight in drunkenness I watch my sword, in dreams I return to the camp’s bugles,” he felt his spirit tremble, resonating deeply, as though he himself were the one sitting in the chair, drinking and reciting poetry.
Then, upon hearing “In the crowd I search for her a thousand times; suddenly I turn, and there she is, in the dim light,” starlight spread around him, his famous sword quivering, sword energy bursting forth like a charge.
Within Lin’an’s government, many eminent scholars reached out with their minds.
Outside Lin’an, atop the First Mountain, an elder moved his fingers in awe; atop the Sixth Mountain, the master’s sword box trembled, and three thousand swords rose, pacing above the mountain.
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Deep within Lin’an, palaces stood tall.
Sunshine bathed the glazed golden tiles, making them gleam.
Zhao Xianyu, dressed in brocade, sat upon a glazed roof, holding a jug of spirit-filled wine, a smile on his lips. He drank with carefree abandon, wine trickling down from his mouth into his chest and belly.
“The vast blue sky is boundless, the sun and moon shine upon the golden terrace…”
“Brother An, have you perhaps entered the Heavenly Gate, wandered through a celestial realm, and returned to the mortal world?”
Zhao Xianyu laughed.
He raised his wine jug, toasting toward the direction of the righteous sword energy and the white serpent.
Within the Celestial Palace.
Temples of the marten lined the halls, and a figure of luxurious bearing sat upon the throne, eyes deep and contemplative, gazing at the beam of sword energy piercing heaven and earth in Lin’an, squinting slightly.
“Martens, such upright energy pierces the clouds, and so many poems flow forth with brilliance—it is moving. Go and observe, and also record the poems.”
A calm voice issued from the figure atop the imperial throne.
An elderly man of gentle bearing, dressed in black, bowed slightly. “Yes.”
He stepped forward, and his figure vanished into the sunlight beyond the palace doors.
The man sitting on the regal throne continued gazing at the beam of sword energy, slowly exhaling.
“Old Uncle Emperor… In the end, you gifted the Green Mountain. That sword energy can fuse with integrity—truly wondrous… Yet, alas, the Green Mountain did not return to the Zhao clan. What a pity.”
He sighed softly, pinched his brow, and slowly closed his eyes.
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Within the Prime Minister’s residence.
The atmosphere was stifling and oppressive.
In the study.
Prime Minister Qin Li stood with hands behind his back, before a window carved with lavish floral patterns, gazing at the rising sword energy at the entrance, and the poems echoing endlessly through the residence.
Qin Li closed his eyes.
The treatise on the Northern Expedition from the spring examination surged in his mind, making his heart stir.
In his mind’s eye, he saw a white-robed youth, contemptuously raising his sword and splitting the mountain of power he had built.
With a single stroke, the mountain was cleaved, and the youth walked slowly along the fissure, facing him with head held high.
Opening his eyes, Qin Li understood that the youth was using this to vindicate himself, and did not even need Qin Li to declare his innocence—he could secure his own integrity.
Though the accusation came from the Literary Academy’s scholars, An Le directly drew forth integrity from the monument—who could dare accuse him of cheating?
If Qin Li insisted on An Le’s guilt, it would be to deny the Literary Academy’s thousand-year tradition, and even his ally, the second sage Pang Ji, would turn against him; the first and third sages would glare, and many scholars of the court would be incensed.
Even with his high position, Qin Li could not withstand such universal wrath.
The recitation outside continued, each poem landing like a slap across his face, for An Le, after each poem, would add, “Copy another poem.”
Claiming each poem was plagiarized was a direct mockery of Qin Li’s lack of discernment and base conduct.
Qin Li knew well his younger son Qin Qianqiu had been stirring things up, but he had not stopped it, even tacitly allowed it—making him complicit. So these slaps were deserved.
Yet, for him to step out as the dignified Prime Minister and apologize to the youth—he could not bring himself to do it.
Suddenly, a figure passed by the window.
Clad in blue, with simple hair tied by a wooden pin, a handsome young man bowed respectfully.
“Father, shall I go in your stead?”
It was none other than Qin Hua’an, the son born out of a moment’s passion with a maid—not a legitimate heir.
At first, Qin Li paid little attention to this son, until Qin Hua’an revealed exceptional talent in cultivation, drawing his interest.
Only after Qin Hua’an earned the Little Sage Token on his own did Qin Li truly focus on him.
Now, Qin Hua’an stepped forward of his own accord, stirring complicated feelings in Qin Li’s heart.
“No, prepare for the palace examination. Don’t let this affect your spirit. Let Qianqiu go.”
Qin Li ultimately refused.
This appearance would represent the Prime Minister; he was not willing to let a son born of a maid do so.
Yet his words gave explanation and an out—a marked shift in attitude.
Qin Hua’an, dressed in blue, showed little change in emotion, as if accustomed, only bowing lightly. “Very well.”
He turned and left, disappearing into the greenery of the estate.
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...
By the pavilion where wine flowed like a winding stream, even the water’s motion seemed to halt.
The spring breeze carried a biting chill, brushing past and making Qin Qianqiu shiver.
“How dare he? How dare he do this!”
Qin Qianqiu gripped a chess piece, his face pale, anger stuck in his chest.
Each poem was like a blood-drenched blade, stabbing into him and drawing red.
He had hoped to ruin An Le’s reputation and spirit, but instead, the youth seized the opportunity, summoned integrity before the Prime Minister’s residence, and declared his resolve, slapping the Prime Minister’s face.
After this, people would say the Prime Minister, to accuse a youth capable of drawing forth integrity, must be blind!
Qin Qianqiu’s anger surged, having failed against this youth three times, leaving him deeply vexed.
Beside him, Wang Qinhé stared at the dazzling sword energy and the integrity drawn forth outside the residence, lost in confusion.
Is this the An Le of today?
Compared to the An Le he fought before the spring examination, the change was immense; beneath this sword energy, Wang Qinhé no longer had the courage to draw his blade.
He had tacitly allowed Qin Qianqiu to slander An Le, but now, that filthy darkness was illuminated and severed by the blazing sword energy, along with his own resolve—the courage to draw his sword was gone.
Feeling dispirited, Wang Qinhé picked up his Dragon Ridge blade, gazed at the gap in its edge, and sighed deeply.
He would never catch up to An Le—not even qualify to follow in his footsteps.
Just as Qin Qianqiu seethed with anger, a figure appeared in the waterside pavilion.
“Master, the lord asks you to go to the entrance and resolve matters peacefully.”
Seeing this person, Qin Qianqiu suppressed his anger; this was a trusted aide of the Prime Minister, powerful and inscrutable.
“Very well.”
Qin Qianqiu knew that, if things continued, it would only harm the Prime Minister’s reputation—the longer it dragged on, the more they would become a laughingstock.
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...
Before the Prime Minister’s residence.
An Le drank, the wine nearly gone. He had not suppressed its effects with cultivation, so a faint intoxication rose, only enhancing his heroic spirit.
His ink pool at his waist had long since leapt into the air, transforming into a dark sword light, flying about.
Ink energy poured forth, filling the ink pool, and at this moment, the sword, already half a grade below fifth-rank, emitted a clear sword cry. Suddenly, sword energy erupted, bursting around like splashes of ink.
This sword finally became a true fifth-grade artifact!
The three scholars copying poems were parched and flushed, overwhelmed with shame.
Trembling as they copied An Le’s poems, they felt each poem weigh heavier in their hands, until the brush felt as heavy as a thousand catties, crushing their scholarly pride.
Once proud members of the Literary Star Board, their pride had been ground into dust.
The ink pool hovered before An Le, who gently stroked it, glanced at the open gates of the residence and the figure emerging, and continued reciting.
“Your body and name may perish, but the rivers flow on for eternity.”
The scholar copying poems turned pale, and the surrounding Literary Star Board scholars blushed, feeling both humiliated and furious.
Faced with An Le’s biting words, they were helpless—their spirit as literati utterly shattered.
An Le smiled, saying no more, only picked up the wine jug and drank the last mouthful of old yellow wine.
The Prime Minister’s residence, closed for so long, finally opened.
Out walked Qin Qianqiu in splendid attire, staring at An Le, who drank boldly from his chair.
Qin Qianqiu took a deep breath. “Master An, my father asks me to inform you that the accusation of cheating was his oversight—you are innocent.”
With that, Qin Qianqiu ignored him and turned to leave.
This was a compromise, an explanation to the Literary Academy—not to An Le.
But An Le stood up from the chair, stretched lazily.
Looking at Qin Qianqiu, he sneered.
The white serpent of righteous sword energy beside him suddenly let out a fierce roar, transforming into a sharp sword light, slashing toward Qin Qianqiu.
Qin Qianqiu spun around to see the incoming sword energy!
“An Le, how dare you!”
Qin Qianqiu shouted angrily, his defensive artifact, the Vajra Bell, appearing.
Yet the righteous sword energy cut through it as if it were nothing, and Qin Qianqiu felt a chill run through him.
Behind him, a shadow resembling him screamed, twisted, and was split in two, like a filthy ghost beneath the blazing sun—illuminated, it vanished in smoke.
Qin Qianqiu’s legs buckled, his courage shattered, collapsing to the ground, his dark and malicious thoughts, even his soul, cracked by the blow.
His once transcendent spirit, after this stroke of righteous sword energy, fell back to its mortal state.
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