Sword Roaring in the Sky - Chapter 5

5. Bloodstained Sun Manor

Sword Roars Through the Heavens

Author’s Note:
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Sun Yanwan didn’t know who these gang members were, but they were undoubtedly connected to his master. Are they Miao Youxiu’s enemies or allies? Here to exterminate roots or invite me as a “guest”?

Curious, he tailed them, swiping a hat and worn clothes from a roadside house along the way. He even smeared mud on his face for disguise.

Having cultivated true qi for only a few days, he initially felt no difference. But now, as he shadowed the gang through alleys, his body moved with uncanny agility—leaps and landings that would’ve been impossible before now came effortlessly. If a few days of qi brings this, what could decades of training achieve? In my old world, these martial artists would be like superheroes—Wolverine or Captain America-tier…

The gang soon abandoned their search, entering a grand estate labeled Sun Manor. A local gang leader? Sun Yanwan recalled the innkeeper mentioning Sun He, a Xiangzhu (香主) of the Liuyang Gang.

As he pondered whether Sun He was friend or foe to Miao Youxiu, a bearded brute and a dozen men in mourning whites stormed into the manor. His blood ran cold—this was Situ Baowei, Hu Fengwei’s right-hand man, famed for his twin-headed spear.

How did they track us? Then it hit him: Miao Youxiu was waiting for them!

In this ancient world without GPS, pursuit should’ve been impossible. But Miao Youxiu likely knew Hu’s men would repatriate their leader’s corpse—and ambushed them at the expected location.

Before Sun Yanwan could fret over his master’s safety, a clear voice rang out:

“Situ Baowei! Didn’t expect me, did you?”

Miao Youxiu erupted from the manor, his blade a silver whirlwind. Limbs flew. Heads rolled. In moments, only Situ remained—until a flick of the sword severed his arms, then his head.

Sun Yanwan’s fists clenched. Thank god I didn’t intervene. Master didn’t need help, and I’d have just been a liability.

The streets emptied in terror. Even Sun Manor’s residents barricaded inside.

Then—opportunity.

Sun Yanwan darted to the corpses. The bearded brute’s bulging pouch yielded five money sacks, the heaviest from Situ himself. He bolted, but just as the inn came into view, a hand yanked him into an alley.

Miao Youxiu’s amused voice: “Bold. Looting under my nose?”

Sun Yanwan swallowed. “Poverty scars a man, Shifu.”

To his surprise, Miao Youxiu laughed. “Situ’s dead. Sun Manor’s cleansed. Hu Clan’s elites will come hunting—we leave now.”

They abandoned their meager belongings, fleeing the city by noon. At a derelict temple, Sun Yanwan collapsed onto a weed-padded floor, finally breathing easy. This world’s jianghu is a meat grinder. More corpses in days than a modern city sees in years.

As he unshouldered the loot, parchment peeked from Situ’s bundle. Official seals gleamed on palm-sized notes—Feichao (飞钞), Great Lang’s answer to banknotes. Each redeemable for hard currency at state offices.

Sun Yanwan’s hands trembled. Like Song Dynasty’s jiaozi or wuxia novels’ silver certificates!

He turned to Miao Youxiu, grinning:

“Shifu… we’re rich.”