Sword Roaring in the Sky - Chapter 1

1. Snowstorm Vendetta

Sword Roars Through the Heavens

Sun Yanwan listened to the howling wind and snow outside, huddling closer to the stove.

He had crossed over to this world five days ago and still hadn’t figured out what kind of place it was—nor had he grown accustomed to his new identity.

This body was only eleven or twelve years old. His father had been a scholar, so unlike other children who were given crude names like “Dog” or “Cat” for easy upbringing, his name carried a scholarly elegance: Su Nanqiao, taken from a six-character ancient poem of this world:

“Warm winds scatter blossoms everywhere,
Travelers crowd the southern bridge.”

Su’s father had left years ago to take the imperial exams and never returned. His mother had also passed away from illness, leaving him with no one to rely on. The clan elders sent him to this northern inn as a servant, just to scrape by. Even now, he was an unpaid apprentice, tasked with running dishes, serving guests, and enduring endless scoldings. Life was hard.

Now, in the dead of winter, few customers came. The inn had closed its doors, and the owner and older servants had all gone to rest, leaving only Sun Yanwan to keep watch—just in case a late traveler arrived. A miserable duty!

Sun Yanwan kept nodding off, struggling against sleep. Silently, he thought:

“Once spring comes, I’m heading south no matter what. I can’t rot here as a servant forever. I didn’t cross worlds just to waste this chance—I’ll make something of myself!”

Suddenly, hoofbeats thundered from the south—urgent, chaotic, at least twenty or thirty horses. They stopped right outside the inn, followed by loud banging on the door.

Startled, Sun Yanwan shook off his drowsiness and rushed to open it. A blast of snow hit his face as two dozen men dismounted, some with swords at their waists, others with weapons strapped to their saddles.

Their leader was a tall, gaunt man with a pale golden complexion, a longsword on his back, and eyes like cold lightning—piercing enough to make the boy shiver with just one glance.

Sun Yanwan forced a smile. “Please, come in and warm yourselves! I’ll fetch hot water to ease the chill.”

The golden-faced man nodded silently, striding past without a word.

Despite the storm, two men stayed outside to guard the horses—clearly seasoned warriors.

The inn’s hearth still burned low, but it was far warmer than outside.

After serving tea, Sun Yanwan asked, “How many rooms will you need? And shall I bring supper to your quarters, or will you dine here?”

A bearded brute snapped, “Quit yapping! Bring whatever hot food you’ve got—we ride again soon.”

Riding in this blizzard? One misstep, and even skilled men could break their necks. But Sun Yanwan knew better than to say such things aloud. He hurried to rouse the cook and other servants, ignoring their grumbles.

As he bustled about, he stole glances at the group. They look like martial artists. Did I land in a wuxia world? Could I learn their skills?

But as a lowly servant, he’d only be laughed at for asking. The thought dampened his spirits.

Soon, steaming broth and rice were served. The men wolfed it down, and the bearded one muttered, “Brother Hu, we should move—we can’t let that brat get away.”

The golden-faced man tossed a silver ingot on the table. “Keep the rest.”

Sun Yanwan pocketed it wryly. In stories, servants rejoice at this, but the owner’ll pocket most of it. If I get a few coppers, I’ll be lucky.

As he bowed them out, a young voice rang through the storm:

“You’ve chased me long enough. Tonight, I’ll start with your horses!”

Horses screamed. Heavy thuds followed. The men paled.

Before they could react, the inn’s doors exploded inward. A youth in coarse cotton and a thick hat strode in, a single-edged sword in hand—its blade crusted with frozen blood.

Alone and young, he stood like an unbreakable gate against an army.

The men drew their weapons, but the golden-faced leader was fastest. His sword flashed, weaving six or seven arcs, sealing every angle.

“Die, whelp!”

The youth dodged like a fish through a net, closing the distance in three steps. Three slashes—all parried. Steel clashed, swift as falcon strikes.

Sun Yanwan’s eyes widened. A wuxia world! That swordsmanship… it’s unreal.

The bearded man joined the fray, twin short spears merging into a double-ended lance, whirling like a tiger’s claws.

The youth laughed coldly. “The Hu Clan—always hiding behind numbers.”

Seeing him retreat, the golden-faced man’s sword suddenly extended—a half-foot of shimmering green energy, sharp enough to split steel.

With one stroke, the youth’s blade shattered.