Chapter 98: Flying Higher

Chapter 98: Flying Higher

The coachman stepped down from the carriage, his once hunched back slowly straightening until it seemed to pierce the heavens.

The heavens themselves seemed speechless.

“How did you figure it out?” A cold gleam gradually appeared in the coachman’s eyes—a glint only true masters possessed.

Xue Keren stared in astonishment. Even now, she couldn’t fathom that a mere servant could be a martial arts expert.

Zheng Jian chuckled slyly. “You can fool others, but not me! You’ve been pretending well, but how could your eyes deceive me? That glance you gave Xiahou Xing just now wasn’t one a servant should have.”

Xiahou Xing turned, stunned, looking at the old coachman.

“I think that look resembled a father’s gaze upon his son,” Zheng Jian said with a provocative tone.

Xiahou Xing’s face suddenly changed, and the old coachman trembled in surprise.

Hearing this, a puzzled expression crossed Xue Keren’s delicate face. “I heard Xiahou Xing’s father, Xiahou Zhongshan, once had a brother named Xiahou Feishan, but he disappeared over twenty years ago.”

The coachman’s eyes shifted again, becoming dangerous as he sighed, “He has long since passed away.”

“No, no, sir. I think you might be Xiahou Feishan yourself. As for why you vanished and then returned to serve the Xiahou family as a servant—that’s beyond my guess. Perhaps it concerns the Xiahou family’s secrets,” Zheng Jian said with a mischievous grin. From Xue Keren’s words, he had already pieced together the story: something must have happened between Xiahou Feishan and his sister-in-law, leading to his departure. Now, returning, he likely discovered Xiahou Xing is his son...

Though melodramatic, this kind of tale was common in great families.

Xue Keren and Xiahou Xing were equally shocked and bewildered.

Suddenly, Xue Keren seemed to understand why every time she ran away, Xiahou Xing could find her no matter where she went.

And Xiahou Xing, though confused, saw the change in the old coachman’s eyes and was about eighty percent convinced.

“You… you deserve to die!” the old coachman said gravely. He had hidden this secret for twenty years, only to have it exposed by a mere fleeting glance.

To keep this secret, he knew he had to kill the people before him—including Xue Keren, the unfaithful woman.

With a swift motion, he snatched the Thousand Snakes Sword from Xiahou Xing’s hand and fixed his gaze on Zheng Jian. “You shouldn’t be this clever. Smart people don’t live long.”

Zheng Jian pondered briefly before laughing, “So what if I’m clever? Did you feed me six walnuts or something? Meanwhile, the goddess Nüwa poured wisdom like rain over the world, and you’re the only one carrying an umbrella. Don’t you think that’s a pity?”

Xiahou Xing: “...”

Xue Keren: “...”

The resentment from Xiahou Feishan surged by +400.

“Indeed, you are Xiahou Feishan. What a clever little rascal I am!” Zheng Jian silently praised himself.

Xiahou Feishan’s aged face darkened. “You sharp-tongued brat, you’re courting death!”

Gripping the Thousand Snakes Sword, his aura transformed completely, radiating a fierce killing intent.

Sensing this deadly energy, Zheng Jian grew serious. Compared to Xiahou Xing, Xiahou Feishan was undoubtedly a true master.

The old man slowly raised his hand and thrust out a sword strike. Though slow, the strike was suffused with danger.

Zheng Jian’s expression tightened. This was no ordinary strike; it brimmed with deadly intent, the ultimate kill move of a swordsman who spared no lives—like the bleak autumn wind, like the biting cold of winter.

Though slow, it reached Zheng Jian’s eyes in an instant—a paradox so unsettling.

Xiahou Xing watched the strike wide-eyed. He never expected Xiahou Feishan to wield such a deathly sword technique—it was unlike any Xiahou family style.

Zheng Jian’s eyes were keen. He could see this strike was not the ultimate form; more intricate and wondrous variations must exist. Still, across the world, few could withstand this sword.

Zheng Jian countered with the Tear Stain Sword, his strike different from before, aiming precisely at the flaw in Xiahou Feishan’s attack. The azure blade’s tip erupted with a three-inch sword glow.

At the moment the Tear Stain Sword clashed with the Thousand Snakes Sword, the accumulated internal energies burst forth. The turbulent air shattered nearby tables and chairs, leaving chaos in its wake.

With a sharp “ting,” the Thousand Snakes Sword snapped into hundreds of fragments. Xiahou Feishan was hurled backward, flying higher and farther than before, crashing straight into a shop across the street.

“I want to fly higher... fly even higher...” Zheng Jian inexplicably recalled a lyric.

Xue Keren laughed again, her joy boundless. The stronger Zheng Jian became, the happier she felt. After all these years, she sensed rebirth for the first time and was naturally delighted.

Her previous resentment toward Zheng Jian had vanished. As long as he could help her escape the Xiahou family, she would endure being annoyed by him a hundred times over.

Xiahou Xing’s heart sank. The strike Xiahou Feishan had just unleashed felt like the pinnacle of swordsmanship. Yet, to be decisively broken by the owner of this tavern was a shock beyond expectation.

The old coachman, Xiahou Feishan, coughed up blood, struggling before slowly rising.

“What sword technique is this?” he asked. Though his words differed from Xiahou Xing’s, their essence was the same.

Step by step, Xiahou Feishan approached, speaking in a heavy tone, “Twenty years ago, I fought against the father of today’s top swordsman, Yan Shisan. I lost that battle. Since then, I’ve lived in obscurity, obsessively seeking the Deadly Thirteen Swords. Yet, I never imagined that today, the thirteenth sword would be broken by you...”

Defeat and despair colored his voice and face.

In truth, anyone in Xiahou Feishan’s position would be crushed. After twenty years of pondering an undefeatable move, to have it effortlessly broken in an instant was a blow even greater than his defeat to the Deadly Thirteen Swords two decades ago.

Zheng Jian suddenly understood why that strike had posed such a grave threat—it was an imitation of Yan Shisan’s ultimate skill, the thirteenth sword!

Though he knew the thirteenth sword was not the final one—there were the fourteenth and fifteenth swords, with the fifteenth being truly invincible—being able to break the thirteenth meant his strength still ranked among the world’s elite.

Relieved, Zheng Jian felt confident to indulge in reckless bravado.

“Consider that strike the fourteenth sword, then!” he said offhandedly to Xiahou Feishan, fabricating an answer.

By now, Xiahou Feishan had lost all spirit and vitality. He sought only solace, no longer paying attention to Xiahou Xing as he stumbled out.

…

(End of chapter)