Chapter Two: When Immortals Clash

Clip-clop, clip-clop—

The sound of horses’ hooves rose and fell! The rhythm was rapid and forceful, echoing along a narrow path trampled through a tangle of wild grass. Dust billowed into the air, painting the world a dim ochre.

Two riders pressed onward, whips lashing relentlessly, sparing no mercy for the fine steeds beneath them.

One was Fang Junmei. The other, clad in black, was Liu San—a trusted agent sent by Sword North Mountain City to seek him out.

Neither man spoke; both were intent on the journey. Fang Junmei’s gaze was complex and troubled, suffused with sorrow and longing as memories of his master, the Sword-Bearing Elder, drifted through his mind.

Fang Junmei had once been an orphan, abandoned by the roadside. The Sword-Bearing Elder, roaming the world in his wanderings, happened upon him and, recognizing his exceptional physique—a rare talent for martial cultivation—took him in as a disciple. Noting the boy’s striking eyebrows, the elder named him Junmei—originally “Handsome Brows,” but, feeling the name too feminine and delicate, he changed it to “Noble Brows.” As for the surname Fang, it was the elder’s own family name, now almost forgotten in the martial world.

Though the Sword-Bearing Elder was often spoken of with suspicion and fear in the world of fighters, he had always treated his three disciples with great kindness, especially his second disciple, Fang Junmei.

When Fang Junmei was barely into his teens, his prodigious gift for swordsmanship surpassed even Leng Qianqiu. The Sword-Bearing Elder, overjoyed, personally accompanied him across the rivers and mountains of Pan Kingdom, through cities and towns, seeking enlightenment in both the wilds and the mundane world. Fang Junmei did not disappoint; his sword skills advanced by leaps and bounds.

The two wandered together until Fang Junmei turned twenty. The Sword-Bearing Elder then returned to Sword North Mountain City, while Fang Junmei continued to roam the land, his reputation steadily growing.

Recalling their past, scene by scene, Fang Junmei’s eyes reddened. He had always prided himself on being free-spirited, having long since resolved the distractions of love to devote himself to the way of the sword. Yet at the news that his master was near death, his heart surged with emotion beyond his control.

“Hyah!”

Fang Junmei could not know how many days his master could still hold on. All he could do was fiercely urge his horse onward.

...

Boom!

A thunderclap sounded in the distance as dark clouds gathered swiftly overhead. The once-bright sky dimmed suddenly, the air thick with an ominous gloom—storm was coming.

Most regions of Pan Kingdom experienced distinct seasons. In summer, mountain rains came and went with sudden violence—a common occurrence.

Fang Junmei and Liu San paid the weather no heed, urging their horses on.

Soon, fat raindrops began to fall, quickly swelling into a torrential downpour. The world was awash in a gray curtain, the mountains ahead all but vanished in mist.

Fang Junmei did not so much as blink, pressing forward as his clothes became soaked through.

More than an hour passed. The rain did not cease, and dusk began to settle. Night in the mountains always fell swiftly.

Men could endure without rest, but horses could not. Without their steeds, no matter how deep his reserves of inner strength, Fang Junmei could not cover much more ground.

A ruined temple gradually emerged from the shrouded rain ahead, its shape a huddled, blocky silhouette.

“Liu San, we’ll spend the night in that temple,” Fang Junmei said, his voice resonant with authority—not the authority of rank, but that of a true master, emanating naturally.

“Yes, sir!” Liu San replied at once, his face a mask of stoicism. Those trained by Sword North Mountain City were always like this—obedient to orders, asking no questions.

In short order, the two men dismounted before the temple and led their horses inside without so much as a glance around.

Sheltered from the rain at last, their bodies felt a measure of relief. Fang Junmei exhaled, while the two horses whinnied with pleasure.

Within the temple stood only a single, battered statue of a Daoist immortal, its paint peeling, leaning askew. Its identity was lost to time. There was nothing else save a long altar, a few tattered hangings, and an air of desolation and decay.

***

Neither man found anything worth scavenging. Liu San drew his Gale-Slashing Blade and hacked the altar into firewood. Once the fire was lit, they sat nearby, silent.

Occasionally, a gust of wind would slip through the gaps, making the flames dance. Neither man spoke.

...

An hour slipped by. Liu San, hugging his blade, had dozed off. Fang Junmei sipped wine now and then, his eyes filled with brooding thoughts.

Rumble, rumble—

A distant explosion echoed, as if thunder—but it shook the earth to its very core.

Startled, Liu San snapped awake, gripping his blade with fierce vigilance.

Fang Junmei’s eyes flashed with alertness. He cocked his head, listening. As a swordsman of the innate realm, his senses were keener than Liu San’s. Amid the thunderous roar, he detected a faint metallic ring.

“Could it be a clash between masters? But how could their strikes produce such force, shaking the land from so far away?”

Fang Junmei frowned, lost in thought.

The booming resumed, each blast stronger than the last, the tremors more violent.

“Second Young Master—” Liu San’s face had grown pale.

“Pay it no mind. We must avoid unnecessary complications,” Fang Junmei replied, his curiosity quickly suppressed by prudence. Though still young, he was steady by nature; getting back to Sword North Mountain City was the true priority.

Liu San nodded and moved to stand guard at the entrance.

...

The mysterious rumbling did not abate. On the contrary, it seemed to be drawing ever closer, growing louder.

“Second... Second Young Master... There’s something strange in the sky...” Liu San’s voice trembled as he stared, dumbstruck, at the distant heavens.

Before his words had faded, Fang Junmei appeared at his side, his own eyes widening in disbelief.

In the far-off sky, two orbs of light—one red, one blue—were chasing each other.

On closer inspection, the red glow seemed to surround a sword, the blue a shield. The shield fled, the sword pursued. Every time the sword struck the shield, an earth-shaking clang resounded, stirring the clouds into a frenzy.

Fang Junmei was well-traveled, but had never seen a glowing sword, much less witnessed such lifelike, self-directed combat in the sky.

As he watched in awe, Liu San fell to his knees, bowing in terror.

“Immortals, immortals, it must be immortals fighting their magic battles...” Liu San babbled, his eyes glazed as if his soul had fled.

Legends of immortals were common among the people of Pan Kingdom, but few had ever seen such things. The rare rumor was usually the work of charlatans.

Tonight, perhaps, the two men had truly witnessed the extraordinary.

***

Fang Junmei stood motionless, staring blankly at the sky.

He had reached the pinnacle of the martial world, his pride forged in hardship. He respected these so-called immortals, but not with the same awe that gripped Liu San. What shocked him most was the two racing lights—he could not fathom how such feats were possible.

“To control a sword with one’s energy... No, it’s far beyond that!”

For the first time, Fang Junmei awoke from his own arrogance, feeling acutely his own insignificance.

Boom—

A thunderclap of unmatched violence exploded in the sky. Countless sparks burst forth. Liu San, as if struck, cried out in agony, his eardrums shattered, and collapsed unconscious.

Fang Junmei, possessed of far greater inner strength—one of the kingdom’s foremost experts—did not faint, but stars exploded before his eyes. He hastened to circulate his energy in self-defense.

Yet the thunderous assault from the sky only intensified, drawing closer and closer, each blast more furious than the last—clearly, the battle had reached its climax.

Blood streamed from Liu San’s ears, nose, and mouth; his breath grew shallow.

After another quarter hour of relentless assault, Fang Junmei too could endure no more. With a final cry, he fell senseless, blood trickling from his lips and ears. He still breathed, his condition slightly better than Liu San’s.

The two men lay sprawled at the ruined temple’s threshold, battered by rain and wind, defeated and broken.

The wind howled on. At last, the fire within the temple guttered out.

In the distant sky, after that final, furious explosion, all was dark. What had happened, none could say.

...

Dawn broke swiftly.

The storm had come and gone in an instant. Early sunlight pierced the mountain mists, though the winding path remained slick with mud.

Drip, drip...

Raindrops fell from the thatched eaves, landing squarely on Fang Junmei’s brow where he lay sprawled.

“Ugh—”

With a groan of pain, Fang Junmei finally awoke. The ache within his skull had not yet faded. He clutched his head, moaning again, but after massaging his temples, his mind gradually cleared.

He remembered the events of the previous night and stared hard at the sky, but saw nothing amiss. Had it all been a dream?

After a moment’s daze, he turned to look for Liu San.

A glance was enough—Liu San was dead. His face was bloodless, and not the faintest breath stirred his lips. There was no doubt.

With a sigh, Fang Junmei staggered to his feet. His head and chest still throbbed with agony. He had seen death often enough; though Liu San’s passing was regrettable, there was no time for grief.

Not far off, the two horses also lay dead.

...

Fang Junmei’s gaze drifted once more to the place where last night’s marvel had appeared. His eyes were blank, his expression lost. His handsome face was smeared with mud and dried rain, his hair plastered to his scalp—he was a shadow of his former self.

Clang—

After a moment’s contemplation, he drew his sword and, step by step, walked in that direction.

It was as though some voice within was urging him onward—to go and see, to go and see...