Chapter 103 — What He Chose to Carry
CHAPTER 103
What He Chose to Carry
“You're still going to register,” Ling Qingzhu said.
Shi Feng looked up from the ordinary sword across his knees. “Yes,” Shi Feng replied.
The ten days since the notice were nearly over. Young cultivators filled the capital's inns, and every meal stall had someone explaining how qualification ought to work. At home, Ling Qingzhu kept returning to the same question.
He didn't blame her. She still believed his meridians were ruined.
“I won't ask them to let you pass,” Ling Qingzhu said.
“I didn't ask you to,” Shi Feng replied.
“Good,” Ling Qingzhu said. “Because that wouldn't help you once you're facing someone.”
“No,” Shi Feng agreed.
His agreement seemed to irritate her more than an argument would. She sat on the stool beside him and watched him check the scabbard's tie.
“You make it difficult to worry,” Ling Qingzhu said.
“Then stop,” Shi Feng replied gently.
She looked at him sharply. The softness in his voice made the answer harder to dismiss.
“I didn't say I was worried,” Ling Qingzhu muttered.
“Of course,” Shi Feng said.
He put the ordinary sword away. She stayed beside him, clearly unwilling to leave the matter there.
“If you can't meet the requirement, withdraw,” Ling Qingzhu said. “Don't let someone hurt you just because he says something unpleasant.”
“I won't,” Shi Feng replied.
That was the truth. His strength already decided that.
He spent the next morning outside the capital with the refined artifact sword. The secluded clearing held fresh targets cut from fallen branches. No live tree needed to suffer because he wanted different heights.
Piercing Current reached the narrow gap between two sticks. The point passed cleanly without touching either side.
Turning Wave followed. He stopped the cut just before the edge reached the next target, then released the force elsewhere into the empty air.
The hardest part wasn't striking. It was stopping exactly where he intended.
Qualification didn't require killing every opponent. If the tenth-ranked candidate fought like a competitor, Shi Feng would defeat him like one. An actual attempt at murder would receive a different answer.
He didn't confuse a bad temper with a death sentence.
Returning Tide drew the blade back along his wrist and guard line in a tight counter-cut without his fingers ever leaving the grip.
He thought, Win with what's needed. Keep the rest until someone earns it.
His early Foundation Establishment qi stayed smooth through the exercises. The immense foundation beneath it was still far from filled. He'd gained stability and control over the past days, not another stage.
That was enough for Great Liang's qualification.
He arranged three targets close together and stepped between them without swinging. Footwork first. A sword exchange could end in the first movement, but he still wanted a clean answer if an opponent changed direction.
On the next pass, he added the blade. The first target marked the opening attack. The second forced a turn before his point reached it. The third stood where an enemy might retreat after losing the exchange.
Shi Feng stopped the final thrust short of the wood. A defeated competitor didn't need a hole in his chest to prove who won. He repeated the halt until it came as easily as finishing the strike.
Xu Changhe's enforcer training included taking people alive when the sect required it. That wasn't mercy for someone trying to murder him. It was control over what his sword actually did.
He cleaned the blade and put the targets aside. The practice was finished before he grew tired.
On the way back, he stopped at the furnace yard to collect a finished medicine sample. Gao Yuan waited near the gate with his hands tucked into his sleeves.
“No one came back,” Gao Yuan said quietly.
“Who?” Shi Feng asked.
The landlord glanced at his hood and lowered his voice. “The Eastern Palace steward, Zheng Jian! The canal watch dragged his waist plaque and three bodies out of the west-canal timber sluice at dawn. Because the canal watchman saw Zheng Jian chain the alley gate himself, the Censorate made the Eastern Palace pay two hundred stones in sluice-clearing fines, and His Highness's clerks haven't dared set foot in our lane since!”
“Then you've had a peaceful week,” Shi Feng replied.
Gao Yuan looked uncertain whether he was allowed to enjoy that. Eventually, profit overcame fear.
“Would you like to keep the better room booked?” Gao Yuan asked.
“For short sessions,” Shi Feng replied. “Don't promise all of them to someone else after taking my payment.”
“I wouldn't do that,” Gao Yuan said.
Shi Feng looked at him.
“Not again,” Gao Yuan added.
He paid only for the sessions he intended to use. Some buyers still waited to see whether royal pressure returned. He wasn't going to fill a month with hopeful orders and then discover the customers had stopped coming.
His own ingredients, pills, and cash reserve could carry him through the interruption. When he entered the qualification arena under his real name, the capital would have something else to discuss. Gao Yuan watched him leave with the expression of a man trying to decide whether a difficult tenant was worth more than an easy one.
Shi Feng left him to count.
At the lane gate, a ward runner was pasting a stamped notice over the old water rate. Two tenants read it aloud: the ward office had found the alley chain closed from the inside, and the sluice-clearing fine entered against the Eastern Palace's account.
The crowd drew a customer. The thin tenant from the north room had spent the week going the long way around whenever the hood appeared. Now he stopped beside Shi Feng with his hands together.
“Master Shen,” the tenant said. “Is the session rate the same as before?”
“The same,” Shi Feng replied. “Book with Gao Yuan.”
The tenant bowed twice and went to find the landlord, and Gao Yuan wrote the booking down before the man could reconsider.
At home, Ling Qingzhu had placed a small medicine bottle beside his work notes.
“What's this?” Shi Feng asked.
“For ordinary injuries,” Ling Qingzhu replied. “A clan physician prepared it.”
He opened the lid and checked the scent. It was a sound external medicine, useful for cuts and bruises. It didn't promise to rebuild meridians or change his realm.
She'd chosen something practical.
“Thank you,” Shi Feng said.
“Don't sound surprised,” Ling Qingzhu replied.
“I'll practise sounding grateful more often,” Shi Feng said.
“Practise being careful first,” Ling Qingzhu answered.
He smiled and put the bottle with his supplies. He might not need it tomorrow. That wasn't why he was pleased to receive it.
“Keep the bottle,” Ling Qingzhu said. “Don't sell it.”
“I wasn't going to,” Shi Feng replied.
“You sell everything,” Ling Qingzhu complained.
“Not everything,” Shi Feng said.
He looked at her when he answered. She lowered her eyes too quickly and began arranging papers that were already straight.
The quiet between them felt warm. He wanted to reach for her hand, but she turned toward the kitchen before he moved.
“Supper,” Ling Qingzhu said. “Unless your preparations include starving.”
“Only if you cook,” Shi Feng replied.
She spun back with a furious look. He was already laughing.
That night, Shi Feng laid out what he would carry. Birth record. Registration payment. Ordinary sword for the road. Refined artifact inside the ring. Returning Breath Pills and the external medicine Ling Qingzhu gave him.
He didn't fill the table with every treasure and memory he owned. Qualification wasn't an expedition into an unknown ruin. He knew the objective: defeat tenth, claim third, and keep the place.
Sima Yu remained first on the standing list. His name still brought anger, clear and steady.
The men he sent died. The orders behind them didn't disappear with the bodies. Shi Feng intended to settle that debt, but he wouldn't turn tomorrow's qualification into a palace battle on the prince's chosen ground.
For now, the prince could watch someone he called a cripple take a place beside him. Behind the screen, Ling Qingzhu turned a page, then stopped.
“Shi Feng,” Ling Qingzhu called.
“Yes?” Shi Feng replied.
“Wake me before you leave,” Ling Qingzhu said.
“You'll want breakfast?” Shi Feng asked.
“I'll want to know whether you've gone,” Ling Qingzhu replied.
He smiled at the screen.
“I'll wake you,” Shi Feng said.
He kept that promise in mind while putting the last bottle away.
Tomorrow, the crowd would finally need a new name for him.