Sword Roaring in the Sky - Chapter 3

3. The Demon-Slaying Sword (Seeking Monthly Tickets)

Sword Roars Through the Heavens

Author’s Note:
The novel is now under contract, so monthly tickets are open! Dear readers, please grace me with your votes!
Also, don’t forget to bookmark and invest…
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Sun Yanwan’s body was only eleven or twelve years old, frail and weak. Struggling to support the injured youth, his shoulders ached under the weight, but he gritted his teeth and bore it. Passing Hu Fengwei’s corpse, he lamented not having free hands to search the body—until his eyes landed on the ornate longsword. Its blackwood scabbard was inlaid with gold and silver threads. “This blade must be worth a fortune.” He hooked it up with his foot and caught it deftly.

Noticing the youth’s odd smile, Sun Yanwan hastily explained, “I’ll carry a weapon for Shifu, in case we meet enemies.”

The youth said lazily, “I don’t use swords.”

Sun Yanwan chuckled but didn’t bother grabbing a saber. After aiding in Hu’s assassination, he’d be marked as an accomplice. If those men returned, he’d be dead for sure—no time to dawdle.

Half-dragging the youth outside, he selected two horses, tethered their reins together, and helped his “master” mount. With a kick, the steeds galloped south.

The youth raised an eyebrow at Sun Yanwan’s riding skills but kept silent. Had he asked, Sun Yanwan wouldn’t have known how to answer. Should I say I took riding lessons to impress a female coach, only to get friendzoned after one dinner?

A few hundred meters later, Sun Yanwan glanced back wistfully at the tree where he’d hidden the stolen silver. But no—greed now meant death later. His child’s body housed an adult’s pragmatism.

They rode through the night without incident. By dawn, the youth burned with fever, collapsing unconscious. Panicked, Sun Yanwan spurred the horse toward a nearby village and pounded on a random door. Adopting a seasoned tone, he declared, “My companion’s ill. We need lodging.”

Penniless, he fished a silver fragment from the youth’s robes and tossed it to the elderly homeowner.

The kind-faced old man hesitated. These two bore blades and bloodstains—clearly fugitives. But the silver’s gleam softened his resolve. “My humble home is yours,” he conceded.

Lacking martial experience but savvy from past travels, Sun Yanwan barged in, commandeered the best room, and demanded, “Is there an apothecary here?”

Before the old man could reply, the youth murmured weakly, “I have medicine.”

Relieved, Sun Yanwan dismissed the host. “Prepare us hot food and broth.”

As the old man scurried off, the youth eyed Sun Yanwan appreciatively. “Fetch me water.”

After gulping down a pill from a porcelain vial, the youth sat cross-legged to meditate.

Sun Yanwan exhaled. “Internal energy healing? Good—he won’t die.”
“Transmigrating into this mess, lucking into a powerful backer—guess my karma’s not all bad.”
“Grip the thigh you’ve got, don’t gamble on greener grass.”

Exhausted, he slumped onto a chair and slept.

——

Two hours later, the youth spat black blood and woke him. “You didn’t guard me? What if enemies came?”

Rubbing his eyes, Sun Yanwan yawned. “I’d be useless in a fight. And if Shifu couldn’t move mid-meditation, warning you wouldn’t help.”

The youth ignored his sophistry. “Do you even know your master’s name?”

Sun Yanwan shook his head. As a transmigrator, this world’s lore eluded him—let alone its martial legends.

Smirking, the youth said, “I’m Miao Youxiu. The man I killed was Hu Fengwei, the ‘Demon-Slaying Sword.’ Our families have feuded for generations. Today, justice was served.”

“Shifu is always right,” Sun Yanwan agreed blandly. Blood feuds meant little; skills were his priority.

Suddenly, he tensed. The old host had vanished. “That ‘broth’ was a ruse. We need to leave—now.”

Miao Youxiu nodded. Outside, one horse was missing. Mounting the last steed, they fled.

By afternoon, they reached another town and checked into an inn.

Drawing on his brief stint as a servant, Sun Yanwan proved an adept caretaker: ordering meals, buying fresh clothes, arranging hot baths. His new master observed silently.

After dinner, Miao Youxiu interrogated his background. Satisfied, he said, “My martial arts are clan secrets. I can’t teach them to outsiders.”

Seeing Sun Yanwan’s face fall, he relented. “But since you’ve served me well, I’ll impart other techniques—enough for you to roam the jianghu.”

Sun Yanwan bowed deeply. “Any teaching is grace. This disciple wouldn’t dare挑剔 (pick and choose).”