Chapter 34: Bustle

Gao Ling sat astride her horse, tapping key points across her body with both hands to seal her vital meridians, even halting the circulation of her inner strength. Only then did she manage to stem the bleeding. Weak and spent, she slumped against the horse’s neck, watching the scenery rush past in reverse. A chill seeped through her, and her eyelids grew heavier with every moment.

Zuo Lishan had struck her three times and slashed her five, leaving eight deep wounds on her body. But Zuo Lishan’s martial arts—something was wrong. It was not so unusual to be defeated by Zuo Lishan; those who stood at the peak of mastery could make a first-rate fighter seem a mere child. That she survived at all was already a small mercy.

Yet it was precisely because something was off with Zuo Lishan that Gao Ling managed to escape. The force and intensity of his inner power had changed—each stroke was now so forceful it crashed directly into her blade, driving her own sword back against her flesh. Some wounds weren’t even from Zuo Lishan’s hand, but from her own sword forced into her by his overwhelming strength.

In her judgment, Zuo Lishan’s inner power had surpassed the highest level known; his strength was unrivaled in their time. Yet his technique had changed. Where once his swordplay had been grand and commanding, now it was stiff, awkward, stripped of all former fluidity. He had abandoned his own innovative style for a sinister, venomous sword art.

Even his movements were off. Sometimes his force would get stuck in transition, and his right hand seemed clumsy, at times twisting into angles no human limb should take.

Because of these flaws, Zuo Lishan’s attacks lost much of their threat, giving Gao Ling the narrowest opening to break free—though it cost her a terrible wound across her back.

She was dying.

That was why, in her flight, she dared not rush into the main hall to publicly expose Zuo Lishan’s crimes. He had led the Mount Tai Sect for nearly a decade, his roots deep and influence absolute. He had cultivated a network of loyal followers, and his word was law. Zuo Lishan’s current strange appearance was obvious at a glance, but he didn’t even need to show his face. With her grievous injuries and his towering reputation, it would take only a few of his confidantes, eager to curry favor, to delay her long enough for her wounds to claim her life.

Gao Ling had always focused solely on martial training and instructing her disciples, never bothering to build alliances within the sect. Few would stand up for her against Zuo Lishan. Once she died, he need only emerge, his appearance restored, utter a few noble-sounding words and pin some charges on her, and it would all be quietly swept away.

All she could do was shout a few hurried accusations—“Zuo Lishan is a traitor, practicing demonic arts!” “Elder Liu is dead by his hand!” “He wants to silence me!”—before fleeing down the mountain without a backward glance.

Fortunately, Zuo Lishan dared not appear before others at this moment, and thus could not pursue her.

She was headed for Tai’an City.

There was a clinic in Tai’an. Perhaps her life could be saved there. Survival first—everything else would follow.

But Gao Ling could not hold out; consciousness slipped away, and she collapsed, half-dead, onto the horse’s back. Luckily, the old steed knew the road well, having traveled between the Mount Tai Sect and Tai’an countless times. Without need of guidance, it galloped toward the city at its own pace.

Half an hour later, they reached the city gates. The guards, seeing a horse racing toward them without slowing, grew wary, but were shocked when the rider drew near—a corpse seemed to be slumped upon its back.

The horse halted at the gate, unable to enter on its own. Gao Ling had already lost consciousness. After half an hour’s jostling in her wounded state, she was on the verge of death, her body slipping from the saddle to the ground.

One guard stepped forward to check and found her deathly pale, covered in blood, her chest barely moving with breath. He intended to take her to the clinic, but his companion stopped him, nodding toward the sword at her waist. “A wandering fighter,” he said.

“Rivalries of the martial world—best not to interfere.”

He understood at once, stepping back. Court and jianghu were in truth one and the same, their circles formed by the same people under different guises. In some places, the law of the land took precedence; in others, the code of the martial world held sway.

Here, beneath the shadow of Mount Tai, the local authorities held little power. Affairs of the martial world were generally left to those within it to resolve. As long as the victims weren’t ordinary citizens, they let the martial codes decide—let as many die as would.

The guard had his reasons. He was just a gatekeeper—life as cheap as dust. To meddle in martial vendettas was to invite death without even knowing how it came. For five or six coins a month, was it worth risking his life?

Those who carried weapons through the martial world tacitly accepted the risk: you might kill, but you could also be killed. To demand the protection of law when killed, having killed by the code of the jianghu—there was no such bargain.

Of course, this was only his silent grumbling. He turned away from Gao Ling, resuming his post at the gate.

With the authorities indifferent, a crowd quickly gathered, drawn by curiosity. The city gates were always busy; soon a circle had formed, including several martial artists.

One of them studied Gao Ling’s face, startled—wasn’t this Elder Gao of the Mount Tai Sect?

He was the same man who had idly conversed at the tavern at noon, only to be recognized and caught by Gao Ling herself. She had left in haste, apparently back to the sect, and now, less than two hours later, lay here at death’s door.

Could it be… an internal strife within the Mount Tai Sect?

He knew the secret police had set their sights on the sect and, having been caught by Gao Ling earlier, was already planning to leave this dangerous place. Now, stumbling upon her grievous state, his heart pounded with unease. He dared not reveal her identity, fearing to implicate himself.

The round trip between the Mount Tai Sect and Tai’an took an hour; the fight could not have lasted long. Gao Ling was a renowned master—few in Jinan Prefecture could leave her so gravely wounded in so short a time.

Within the Mount Tai Sect, only one person came to mind: the sect leader, “Sword of the Mountain” Zuo Lishan.

Conflicted, uncertain how to proceed, he saw a man approaching Gao Ling and hurried to stop him. “Brother, leave her be. Don’t get involved!”

“There’s more to this than meets the eye. Show mercy lightly, and you may cost yourself your life!”

He meant well, unwilling to voice his suspicions to a stranger, but hoping that pulling him back, saving him from danger, would suffice as an act of humanity.

Yet Li Miao only smiled back at him. “It’s all right,” he said. “In all likelihood, her condition is the result of my schemes.”