Chapter Sixty: The Swift Dance of Wind and Thunder

Chapter Sixty: The Dance of Storm and Thunder

It was as if darkness itself rushed forward.

The instant the shout of “Who goes there?” rang out, a flash of sword light burst through the gloom alongside the figure charging ahead. Yet, it was merely a glimmer, so swift that he could not see where the blade passed—only three sharp cracks rang out as, in a blur, the figure swept past him. In a heartbeat, the shadow borrowed force from the galloping horse ahead, landed on the carriage shaft, and then streaked by his side. In the next instant, the horse in front reared into the air, the carriage wheels lifted from the ground, tilting dangerously. The third step landed on the slanted carriage, and the figure vanished into the night.

A long, piercing whinny split the air.

Song Xian flung the carriage curtain open. Firelight flickered across his eyes, and his contracted pupils reflected the chaos ahead. In a single moment, the carriage before him spun wildly, almost airborne, one of the horses thrashing its legs. Sword light swept across the animal’s side, slashing past the soldier driving the carriage—a fountain of blood shot skyward, and with the breakneck speed of the chase, it looked as though it would engulf them. Foremost was the shadow in black, propelling herself from the tilting carriage, sword raised, preparing to strike with all her might. She leapt the twenty-odd meters between them in a flash, closing the gap as the carriage thundered on.

The driver beside Song Xian had already drawn his blade, but before he could raise it to defend, steel met steel, sparks flying, and in a blink, the force was driven back into his chest.

A deafening crash followed—the figure pierced the carriage like a cannonball, half the cabin shattering and scattering debris along the street. Two forms tumbled from the wreckage, quickly distancing themselves from the ruined carriage. One, a woman, rolled several times and rose in a single motion, weapon in hand, striding forward. The other had been struck so violently he was unrecognizable, bones broken, flesh mangled, left far behind in a spreading pool of thick blood.

The two carriages still sped on, but the horses, crazed with fear, were beyond control. One horse in the leading carriage was nearly cleaved in half, the other wounded and tumbling. The toppled carriage, carried by sheer momentum, plowed down the street, demolishing market stalls, wooden racks, and heaps of refuse. The axle snapped, sending a wheel flying backward to smash against the shaft. The carriage, still propelled by inertia, disintegrated further, scattering debris. When both carriages finally ground to a halt, they left a hundred meters of utter devastation in their wake.

Splintered carriage frames, shattered axles and wheels, broken market structures, scattered refuse, streaks of blood across the ground, dead horses and spilled entrails, and wounded men crawling from the wreckage—it was a scene of pure chaos.

A breeze swept down the empty street as a woman in black, sword lowered, strode calmly onward. It was summer, and the night wind fluttered her garments. Her figure, slender and graceful as any ordinary woman’s, revealed nothing of the brute force she had just unleashed in shattering two carriages with a single blow. A black scarf veiled her face, but above it, her gaze fixed cold and indifferent on Song Xian. After a moment, she flicked her sword with a finger—an icy resonance, the blade quivering slightly.

Ahead, Song Xian stood, long saber in hand. Skilled as he was, he had not suffered much, but he eyed her warily.

“Song Xian, I warned you last time.” Her voice was clear and cold in the night. A wounded guard nearby, weapon lost, snatched up a wooden stick and charged with a cry. The sword whirled—a tearing sound like cloth ripped swiftly through the air, blood arcing as the woman advanced, unfazed.

“I will kill you,” she said.

“Lu Hongti—!” Song Xian roared, his voice echoing along the street. Sparks flew as blades clashed, the piercing cry of steel lighting up the darkness...

Racing furiously, Ning Yi did not take long to return to the Su family’s side gate. As he stepped down from the carriage, Xiao Chan’s face was etched with confusion. “Young Master, what’s going on?”

“Xiao Chan, go back first. I have things to attend to.”

“Um...” Before she could say more, Ning Yi turned to leave. In a panic, Xiao Chan grabbed his sleeve. “Young Master, what is it—?”

Ning Yi hesitated, then patted her shoulder gently. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing... Be good, I’ll be back soon.”

“But, but—” She trailed off as Ning Yi strode to the carriage. Anxious and at a loss, she took a few steps toward the gate, troubled by thoughts she couldn’t untangle—something her mistress had said days ago: The Young Master’s left me behind to see some enchantress... But that was just confusion. She would never tell the gatekeeper such a thing.

“Young Master...” She turned and ran back outside, just as the carriage began to pick up speed. Xiao Chan clenched her fists, gathered her skirts, and dashed after it. At the intersection ahead, the carriage abruptly slowed and stopped.

A squad appeared at the T-shaped junction—a dozen of Wu Lie’s personal guards, rushing urgently past Ning Yi’s path.

How could they have arrived so quickly?

Muttering to himself, Ning Yi turned his horse to follow in the direction the guards had gone.

Xiao Chan also saw the dozen riders gallop past, with her Young Master’s carriage following. She reached the intersection, her expression tense and confused, a strange unease rising in her heart. But Ning Yi’s carriage quickly vanished from view.

“What is Young Master doing...?” she murmured. Thinking back, she dismissed the idea that he was off to see a courtesan—he was not that kind of man, and even if he were, he would never go in such a hurry. Yet she could not fathom the sudden change in events. Dressed up for tonight’s performance, the girl returned dejectedly to the mansion gate, hugging her knees on the steps, occasionally glancing down the road in hopes of seeing the carriage return. When the gatekeeper called her, she finally stood up. Just as she turned, a flare blossomed in the night sky.

The fireworks weren’t far, but neither were they festive. She vaguely understood their meaning—military signal flares, not celebratory ones. She took a step forward, looking up anxiously, the gatekeeper joining her.

A few seconds later, she murmured, “Uncle Bing, what’s happening...?”

“Ah, looks like the army’s firing signal flares to apprehend some criminal again. Some scoundrel must be up to no good tonight... What a disgrace...”

“Aaaaah—!”

The wind of blades howled, the clangor of steel on steel like rain drumming on banana leaves, echoing through the street—dense, chaotic. This night, disaster befell the area: some shops had their doors smashed open by flying wreckage, and in other homes, lights flickered on, then quickly off. Below, figures danced in deadly pursuit, a chaotic ballet as swords and sabers struck, sending showers of sparks into the air. Bodies crashed into heaps of debris, blood staining the ground. Corpses already littered the road, while desperate men swung their blades wildly, fighting for survival against overwhelming odds.

Though a master in the martial world, Song Xian found the woman’s swordplay overwhelming—swift yet forceful, crashing over him like a summer thunderstorm. He fought with all his might, but could only falter and stumble, sparks bursting before his eyes. At times, the woman’s sword exploded with power, smashing aside his saber with a force like thunder.

Nor was her assault limited to the sword—sometimes she wielded it one-handed, sometimes with both, switching styles with bewildering ease. Once his saber was knocked aside, her left palm would dart through the opening—striking at his face, stabbing for his eyes, or clawing at his throat. Her slender white wrist, fingers dancing almost gracefully, delivered attacks so ruthless and deadly they defied belief.

Dodging desperately, he parried another thrust, but the woman’s foot touched a broken bamboo pole on the ground, and in a silent flash, the sword stabbed for his side like a coiled viper. She wielded every object around her as a weapon, so that it seemed he faced three or four opponents at once, not just a single woman.

The guards from the carriages were few to begin with; most now lay dead or dying. The lightly wounded tried to intervene, but were flung aside like meat into a grinder. Song Xian fought and retreated, but the woman shadowed his every move, impossible to shake. Wounds opened one after another, draining his life at an alarming pace.

All he could do was keep swinging his saber, shouting as he fought. At one point, he snatched up a broken table and hurled it at her. With a crash, the table exploded into splinters. The sword’s edge softened mid-swing, slipping silently into his arm and withdrawing again.

Ignoring his wound, Song Xian used the flying wood chips as cover to leap back, legs coiling with strength. The woman’s black-clad form burst through the swirling debris, relentless, always pressing closer. Another flash—sparks burst, and Song Xian, bleeding, was flung aside. Now at the street corner, galloping hooves thundered past, swallowing both figures.

Clang, clang, clang—

The horses thundered through, firelight flashing where the woman had stood. A steed screamed, rearing as it crashed into a man. With tremendous force, the woman’s figure was hurled skyward, but she seemed to cling to the warhorse’s neck for an instant, sword flashing. Then she snatched the reins with one hand as the horse galloped away.

A dozen riders thundered past, the woman swept along in their midst, vanishing in an instant. She appeared to have been knocked aside, flying toward another guard. The man swung his saber—two figures collided and crashed to the ground. When one stood again, it was the woman in black. Her sword gleamed with fresh blood; the guard she’d grasped was already dead.

Another corpse fell behind—the original horseman who had charged her. While clinging to the galloping horse, she had struck twice—once to his throat, once to his chest.

Two riderless horses tore down the street. The remaining guards surrounded the woman, sabers drawn, exuding killing intent. She stood calmly, her gaze fixing on Song Xian, now at the distant street corner.

Song Xian was covered in wounds, yet still capable of fighting—no mortal blow, just a battered, blood-soaked figure with saber in hand. He spread his arms, triumphant.

“In the end, I still win, Lu Hongti,” he laughed. “The martial world? You people, always so narrow-minded. A little cleverness, and you think you’re untouchable? Did you really think I didn’t know you planned to kill me? While you schemed to separate me from my men, you have no idea how many stood behind me, plotting to turn the tables on you...”

He paused, head held high in defiance. “This is true power.”

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