Chapter 104: A Single Decree Subdues the Entire Hall

Li Hao微微皱眉.

He remembered telling Xue'er not to go through the trouble of summoning his master down from the mountain to stand by him.

It was pointless.

Eight years had passed since their last meeting. And now, Jian Wudao had once again stepped into this very mansion.

As he entered the Mountain and River Courtyard, he immediately spotted the young man lounging in the Master’s Chair, basking in the sun with an air of utter contentment.

He had expected such a youth—renowned Sword Saint—to be constantly cultivating, pushing himself beyond limits.

Yet here he was, seemingly at peace, completely relaxed.

Perhaps, though, this was merely the final calm before the storm. With war looming on the horizon, such last-minute ease was understandable.

Behind Jian Wudao trailed four figures—his disciples, three men and one woman. The eldest among them had already reached the Three Immortal Realm, a clear testament to their cultivation.

The four cast curious glances at Li Hao, eyes flickering with surprise and intrigue.

“Hao Gege,” Bian Ruxue dashed forward, her smile bright, “I invited my master to come down.”

She had disturbed his nap—but given her earnest intention, Li Hao couldn’t bring himself to scold her. He rose from his seat, setting aside the Poetry Collection, and watched as the Sword Saint approached. A quiet sigh escaped him.

He was the one who had taken Little Tail away.

But it was he who had let go.

And it was Little Tail herself who had truly bid farewell.

So, who could he blame?

Li Hao blamed no one.

He had already let go of that extra step beyond the line.

Thus, after a soft breath, he set aside all lingering thoughts, and greeted with a warm smile:

“Sword Saint Elder, long time no see.”

“Hmph?” Jian Wudao raised an eyebrow. “You remember me?”

“Your masterly presence is unforgettable,” Li Hao replied with a smile. “How could I forget?”

Jian Wudao’s brows twitched slightly. He had expected the prodigy to be brimming with ambition—wild, arrogant, or perhaps withdrawn and brooding.

But instead, this youth carried himself like a calm, impartial breeze, effortlessly at ease, as if born of the mountains and wilds.

“Xing Wuhou raised a fine son. The Third Generation of the Li Clan is set to soar,” Jian Wudao said, voice steady and measured.

Li Hao chuckled. Small talk was done.

Jian Wudao’s gaze drifted to the young maid beside him—holding a black sword case.

As he had once said long ago: A true sword lover can spot a sword among ten thousand weapons at a glance.

Even upon entering the courtyard, Jian Wudao’s eyes had locked onto that black case before even noticing the boy.

Now, as he stared at it, a flicker of light stirred deep within his eyes.

“This is Eternal Night?” he murmured.

“Have you seen it before?” Li Hao asked.

“It once flared briefly,” Jian Wudao said, his tone distant. “But then it fell silent. Forgotten.”

He paused, his gaze unwavering.

“Eternal Night should never be dimmed. It should shroud the sky, known to all under heaven.”

“Are you blaming my Ninth Uncle?” Li Hao asked, voice calm.

Jian Wudao had thought that. Though he knew he shouldn’t voice it, the reverence he held for the sword had stirred bitter resentment when he learned it had been sealed away—its name buried.

He had once come to the mansion, offering to trade anything in exchange.

But the old lady had thrown him out.

Still, today he had only spoken lightly—years had passed, and the past was not worth dredging up, especially with a child.

“My Ninth Uncle took the sword into the world just three years ago. In that time, it rose from obscurity to become a name known across the realm. How could it be unworthy?” Li Hao said.

“And if my Ninth Uncle were alive today, the world would know his sword. But tell me—would it have been the greatest in the land, if the Sword Saint Elder had not just sat idle in your Sword Pavilion, but fought beyond the borders, slaying spirits and demons?”

The words carried a sharp edge.

Jian Wudao’s expression darkened.

Behind him, the four disciples stiffened. The middle-aged man at the front stepped forward, voice low and cold:

“Master Li, apologize to my master at once.”

Li Hao glanced at him, then let out a soft chuckle. He said nothing.

This was the Mountain and River Courtyard—not the Sword Pavilion.

Bian Ruxue, caught off guard, stood frozen. She hadn’t expected a verbal clash so soon after meeting. Her heart tightened with nervousness and dread.

Jian Wudao fixed Li Hao with a piercing stare, his eyes cooling slightly.

“Master Ninth Young Master of the Li Clan,” he said, voice calm, “you are indeed a natural talent beyond the ordinary. But can you truly bear the legacy of this sword?”

“This sword was forged from rare metals collected across the entire world,” Li Hao replied with a smile. “Whether it is worthy… is not for outsiders to judge.”

“Hao Gege,” Bian Ruxue called softly.

Li Hao looked at her. She stood caught between them, torn, her expression pained.

It reminded him of years past—right here in this courtyard.

Back then, the little girl had stood firmly by his side, defending him with every breath.

When told she must leave, she had cried, begging: “I don’t want to learn sword anymore! I hate sword!”

Those days were gone.

Like the falling autumn leaves, once they fall, they never return to the tree.

Even when spring returns and new buds sprout, they are not the same.

At that moment, several figures hurried from the inner courtyard—Li Tiangang, followed by Yu Xuan and Li Fu.

“Sword Saint Elder!” Li Tiangang called out from afar, bowing deeply as he approached. “I did not expect you to come in support of my son. I am honored.”

Jian Wudao was a legend from Li Tiangang’s father’s generation. As a boy, he had even sparred with Li Tiangang’s father.

Though Li’s overall combat strength surpassed Jian Wudao, his mastery of the Sword Dao was not his specialty—so he had lost many times in that arena.

“No need for support,” Jian Wudao replied coolly. “I came for Xue'er’s sake. Just to enjoy a drink, a bit of company. I wonder—does the Divine General’s Residence welcome guests?”

“Of course!” Li Tiangang smiled, though he sensed a subtle edge in the words. Glancing at Li Hao, he understood—his son’s carefree nature must have made the reception less than perfect.

“Please, follow me into the inner courtyard,” he said warmly. “Xue'er is a gifted child, and to have her join the Sword Saint’s sect—this is her fortune.”

Seeing the Commander-in-Chief so courteous, Jian Wudao’s face softened slightly. He followed, leaving Li Hao behind.

The age gap was too great to bother with petty matters.

The disciples behind Jian Wudao also realized arguing with Li Hao was pointless.

They had come to bring goodwill—now they’d only made it worse.

They were left with nothing but quiet irritation toward the famed youth of Qingzhou.

When the group finally left, Bian Ruxue remained beside Li Hao, her expression hesitant.

“Hao Gege,” she asked, “are you… angry?”

Li Hao settled back into his chair, smiling. “No. Nothing to be angry about.”

“I know my master can be… intense about sword matters. Sometimes his words are harsh. Don’t take them to heart.”

Li Hao chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m not angry.”

She studied him for a moment, then relaxed. “I saw Li Qianfeng brought in the Bodhisattva from Mount Wu Liang. That’s why I asked my master to come.”

“You went to all that trouble,” Li Hao said, smiling. “Go join him. He’s a stranger here. I’ll just enjoy the sun a bit longer.”

“Alright,” she said, nodding.

Once she was gone, Li Hao opened his Poetry Collection again, lifting it over his face, and resumed his sunbathing.

Beside him, Ren Qianqian clutched the sword case, her eyes flicking toward the inner courtyard.

Her heart had been in her throat just moments ago. The Sword Saint’s aura was overwhelming—she felt a tremble in her very bones.

This was the legendary Sword Saint of the world!

Yet the boy before her stood calm, unruffled, utterly unafraid.

She feared he might snap, strike Li Hao down in fury.

But her fears were unfounded.

In the Divine General’s Residence, no matter how much Li Hao might have erred, Jian Wudao would never act.

To strike him would not be a punishment—it would be an affront to the entire mansion’s dignity.

Meanwhile, while the Mountain and River Courtyard remained quiet and restrained, the Water Splendor Courtyard was alive with noise and motion.

Guests filled every corner. The inner courtyard was packed, and even the outer grounds teemed with people.

Servants darted through the halls, scurrying to serve tea and refreshments.

…

At Tan Palace Academy, the students in the White Hall wanted to rush down to the Divine General’s Residence to cheer for Li Hao, to witness how the Li Family True Dragon would choose.

But Song Yufeng had stopped them with a single, iron-clad decree.

Sun Hongdian, a man well-versed in courtly affairs, explained the decree to the students.

Two reasons.

First: With Li Hao’s talent, claiming the True Dragon was a foregone conclusion. He didn’t need support.

Second: Tan Palace Academy had no reason to stir up trouble for a show of force.

A student protested: “But Zhou Zheng went!”

Sun Hongdian didn’t rise in anger. “He came with his father. His father was a former subordinate of Xing Wuhou. Is yours?”

The boy fell silent. His father was not.

On Cold Pool Cliff, two figures stood in silence, gazing toward the distant valley.

They could feel the vibrant energy of the gathering—powerful auras converging, the air thick with anticipation.

“That boy painted so many paintings for you,” Song Yufeng said, hands clasped behind his back, smiling at Song Qiumo beside him. “Why don’t you go see?”

Song Qiumo shot him a glance. “If I go, won’t you drag Tan Palace into this mess?”

“Not at all,” Song Yufeng chuckled. “The Li Clan isn’t unreasonable. And the boy will surely win the True Dragon. What’s there to fear?”

Song Qiumo snorted. “If you’re not afraid, why are you here?”

“Because I haven’t seen him on the mountain in days,” Song Yufeng said, grinning. “I thought you might be bored.”

Song Qiumo rolled her eyes. “I’m waiting for him to bring me those small crispy buns.”

“I never said what you were waiting for,” Song Yufeng smiled. “Besides, you could always go down and buy them yourself.”

“I promised the Ancestors,” Song Qiumo replied coldly. “I must stay.”

“Why bind yourself to a promise for life?” Song Yufeng sighed. “You’ve guarded this place for nearly a thousand years. My family is eternally grateful.”

Song Qiumo said nothing.

After a pause, she said: “He’s your student at Tan Palace. Why aren’t you going?”

Song Yufeng laughed, turning back to the valley.

“I prefer to give aid in the snow—never to play the showman.”

…

Back in the Mountain and River Courtyard, more guests arrived.

Most were people Li Tiangang had invited during his recent rounds—now here to support Li Hao.

The inner courtyard was packed. Li Tiangang sat in the main hall, laughing and chatting with guests, his voice echoing through the courtyard.

The younger ones—few in number—lingered in the inner yard, stealing glances at the young master lounging in the sun.

They were curious, but too intimidated to approach.

Fourteen years old. Fifteenth Li Stage.

The name alone was enough to strike awe.

“Master Li,” a voice came from beside him.

Li Hao lifted the Poetry Collection. It was Zhou Zheng.

His expression was tense—nervous, even—especially after the poetry duel at the entertainment house. He looked up to Li Hao with a mix of admiration and reverence.

“What are you doing here?” Li Hao asked, surprised.

He glanced behind Zhou Zheng—no other students.

Good. Tan Palace had no need to get involved.

With their reputation across the realm, too close a bond with the Divine General’s Residence might backfire.

“Father brought me,” Zhou Zheng said respectfully.

Li Hao nodded. “Sit. Don’t be formal.”

They spoke casually of poetry. Others watching were stunned—this was the same Zhou Zheng who had just spoken with the prodigy.

They memorized his face, determined not to offend.

When noon arrived, Li Tiangang led the guests to Chen Hefang’s courtyard, with Yu Xuan guiding Li Hao beside him.

The crowd was enormous—packed beyond measure.

Liu Yuerong and her entourage had arrived early, as had the guests supporting Li Qianfeng.

Seating was filled from inner to outer courtyards.

As Li Tiangang and the others arrived, the noise died down slightly. All eyes turned.

Then, when they saw Jian Wudao at Li Tiangang’s side, faces paled. Murmurs spread.

No one expected Li Tiangang to have summoned the Sword Saint Elder—this Four Foundations Realm master, known for his detachment and reclusive nature, had come down from his pavilion.

But some, knowing Li Hao’s fiancée was the Sword Saint’s disciple, were less surprised.

Inside the inner courtyard, the steward arranged seats with meticulous care—based on official rank, martial reputation, and cultivation level.

It was a massive task—each guest was a high-profile figure, deeply concerned with status.

Jian Wudao and his disciples took their places.

As they entered, the chatter from Liu Yuerong’s side fell silent. Eyes turned with wary respect.

Jian Wudao’s disciples glanced at Li Hao with smug pride.

This is the power your master brought you, they thought. Look at you now.

“Sword Saint, long time no see,” a group approached—centered by the Bodhisattva from Mount Wu Liang.

The Bodhisattva was a man in his prime, face smooth and calm, clad in a pure saffron robe, hair like jet. He smiled.

Jian Wudao’s gaze narrowed. The Bodhisattva from Wu Liang was no easy foe.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, Jian Wudao.”

Beside him stood another man—richly dressed, his eyes sharp, his aura commanding.

“Still haven’t settled the sword vs. blade debate,” Jian Wudao said calmly. “We’ll test again when the chance comes.”

The man was a Northern Daoist Sword Saint—someone Jian Wudao had once sparred with, with no clear result.

“First time meeting you,” said a short, elderly man in green robes, beard reaching his belly. “Heard so much about you, Sword Saint!”

Jian Wudao remained expressionless. “You’re from the Demon-Subduing Bureau. Shouldn’t you be pacifying demons?”

“Just a drink,” the old man laughed. “No delay.”

The other guests held their breath.

Four top-tier, Four Foundations Realm masters—gathered in one place.

Jian Wudao’s disciples exchanged uneasy glances.

They had come to back Li Hao with equal force.

But the other side had brought three.

The exchange ended with a polite nod. They returned to their seats.

Jian Wudao turned to Li Tiangang. “If you’d only brought me, I might not have been able to hold this hall.”

Li Tiangang gave a wry smile. He had expected this.

“There’s another elder on the way.”

“Who?”

“The Mountain Lord of Heavenly Sword Mountain.”

Jian Wudao’s eyes flickered. “Ah. Him. Haven’t seen him in years.”

Li Tiangang sighed inwardly. Even so, the arrival of the Mountain Lord wouldn’t change the balance—only lessen the gap.

He glanced at his son, Li Hao—calm, indifferent, untouched.

The Sword Saint was Xue'er’s request. The Mountain Lord was mine. My son has cultivation… but no connections.

Just as Li Tiangang pondered, a voice rang through the courtyard:

“Announcement! The Arhat from Wuliang Mountain has arrived!”

A middle-aged man in saffron robes stepped in, smiling.

He bowed respectfully to the Bodhisattva seated at the head table—then glanced at Li Tiangang’s side.

His eyes narrowed slightly at the sparse seating.

He stepped forward and declared:

“Disciple has come as commanded. Where is the Qiankun Diamond Saint?”

Li Qianfeng stood instantly. “Li Qianfeng here. I greet the Arhat.”

“The Universe Buddha sends a string of Buddha Beads, to be delivered to the Qiankun Diamond Saint,” the Arhat said with a smile.

He knew Li Qianfeng well. He spoke loudly—intentionally—so the entire hall would hear.

And indeed, the crowd fell silent.

A stunned hush spread.

The Bodhisattva from Mount Wu Liang… had sent his representative?

Jian Wudao and Li Tiangang exchanged glances—faces darkened.

With the Arhat’s presence, even the Heavenly Sword Mountain Lord would be powerless.

“Had I known this,” Jian Wudao muttered, “Xue'er wouldn’t have gone to such lengths.”

His expression had already returned to calm.

If I’d known, I wouldn’t have come down at all.

Li Tiangang’s body trembled slightly. He sighed.

It was beyond comparison.

But connections weren’t everything.

“Thank you, Master,” Li Qianfeng said, taking the beads with reverence.

The Arhat smiled, about to speak—when another voice boomed through the courtyard:

“ANNOUNCEMENT! Imperial Edict of Emperor Yu has arrived! Li Clan’s heirs—Li Hao, come forth to receive the decree!”

Silence.

Absolute, deafening silence.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end