Chapter Thirty-One: A Dazzling Sword

Unlike me, Granny Wang paid little attention to the sacrificial ceremony; instead, her eyes roamed the surroundings as if she were searching for something. Ma the Cripple and those rat spirits had not shown themselves, and I guessed they must be lurking in the shadows, waiting for the moment Granny Wang and I revealed ourselves to strike. This ceremony at the ancient burial mound was both ritual and trap.

Just then, Granny Wang glanced over me up and down, her expression so pained she could barely look straight at me. “If I’d known, I’d have made you tidy yourself up,” she said.

I gave a bitter smile, thinking to myself, who could find the mood for that? Helpless, I raised my hand to rake my hair with my fingers.

Seeing this, Granny Wang’s face filled with helplessness and disdain. “Enough, leave it be. You have a natural advantage. I am sure Weiyang still remembers you. Don’t forget, she once turned back to look at you. Perhaps that moment is more valuable than the vermilion hairpin in your hand.” I could not tell if she said this to comfort me. Could a single glance really mean so much? Perhaps she found the idea of deceiving Weiyang with a fake hairpin made of dough and twigs amusing.

Noticing my lack of confidence, Granny Wang added, “Don’t worry so much. Remember the old Taoist we met at Baiqing Temple said your virtue is boundless. We’ll surely pull through. Besides, Ma the Cripple and those rat spirits have gone to great lengths to set this trap for you—it means they truly fear you. If they really thought they could win her over, they wouldn’t need such a grand show. The bigger the spectacle, the less confident they are. Deep down, they’re afraid of your place in Weiyang’s heart.”

“All it took was one meeting for me to matter to her?” I asked in surprise.

“Of course,” Granny Wang replied, her answer firm.

The ceremony was intricate and drawn out. After about half an hour, as it neared its end, the sky suddenly darkened, heavy clouds pressing lower and lower. A chilling wind swept the ridge. At some point, atop the ancient burial mound, a woman appeared—clad in red, astride a white horse.

Her red dress fluttered in the wind as she gazed into the distance, as if waiting for someone’s arrival. Then, she rode down the hill, stopping beneath the nameless stele, but did not dismount. Her face was veiled with red gauze, her features obscured.

My mind flashed to my recurring dreams, so eerily similar to this scene. Seeing her here in reality made my heart pound uncontrollably.

Why was I so nervous?

The man in ceremonial robes, upon seeing Ye Weiyang, immediately knelt to pay his respects. Raising his head to look at her, he froze. An elder beside him coughed, prompting him to reach into his pocket for a redwood box. Carefully, he opened it, revealing a single vermilion hairpin.

Both he and the elder were visibly surprised—it was clear they hadn’t known there would be only one hairpin inside.

Weiyang did not dismount. She fixed her gaze on the hairpin and gestured for him to bring it over. He hurriedly rose and presented it to her.

Ye Weiyang examined the hairpin attentively. Behind her, the elder signaled the man in ceremonial dress to speak.

He cupped his hands in salute, then declared in a loud voice that echoed through the valley, “I am Ma Mingjing, seventh son of the Ma family, age twenty. I wish to take you as my wife. Please grant me this honor!”

His voice rang out as if to challenge me.

Weiyang would never accept him. She wouldn’t—I was certain. Granny Wang echoed my thoughts, “Don’t worry, child. She won’t say yes.”

But as soon as she finished speaking, Ye Weiyang, lips painted crimson, uttered a single word from atop her white horse.

“Yes.”

She actually agreed with just that one word.

That word was like a sudden sword thrust to my chest. I never saw this coming; I thought she would at least hesitate or refuse him outright. But she didn’t—she accepted Ma Mingjing without a second thought.

I turned to Granny Wang. She, too, was stunned, eyes wide with shock. Clearly, she hadn’t expected this either.

“This can’t be. Weiyang once turned back for you—how could she accept the Ma family’s proposal?” Granny Wang muttered.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

After agreeing, Ye Weiyang addressed Ma Mingjing, “Since you love me so much and promise a lifetime together, shall we wed right here and now, beneath this sky?”

If her earlier “yes” was a gulp of sour jealousy down my throat, her suggestion to marry on the spot was like being drowned in a vat of vinegar.

“This… This can’t be!” Granny Wang was at a complete loss.

I slumped onto a nearby rock, unable to watch any longer. It felt as if I had come only to attend someone else’s wedding. My hopes plummeted.

At that moment, Granny Wang drew her peachwood sword, her tone fierce. “Come, child! Even if it costs me my life, I, Wang Qinghua, will win your bride back!”

“She’s chosen someone else. How can we force matters of the heart?” I retorted. I hadn’t expected things to end before they’d even begun.

My words seemed to cut deep into Granny Wang as well. She paused, then managed a bitter smile, walked over, and looked me in the eye. “Child, no matter whom she chooses, what you see may not be the truth, and what she chooses may not be her will. If you don’t even show up and try, how can she choose you? Even for your grandfather’s sake, you must not give up!”

That last sentence, spoken from her lips, moved me deeply.

“Let’s go!” she said.

I nodded.

But as soon as we stepped forward, rustling sounds erupted in the surrounding woods. Granny Wang tensed, and we stood back to back, eyes scanning the trees. She handed me several yellow talismans. “Protect yourself, child!”

Suddenly, several gray-robed Taoists burst from the undergrowth and surrounded us. As expected, it was a trap.

Their features were sharp and narrow, skin ashen, eyes beady as beans. Upon seeing us, they grinned menacingly.

“Old Ma is truly cunning. The boy is here, just as expected!”

“No more talk—let’s take his life first!”

At that, a sudden wind whipped around us, and the gray-robed Taoists lunged. They moved with such speed that I was seized by the throat before I could react, lifted off the ground.

Struggling desperately for breath, I smashed one of Granny Wang’s talismans against my attacker’s skull. Caught off guard in his excitement, he was burned by the talisman, white smoke hissing from the wound. He dropped me and collapsed to the ground, his gray robe deflating as he writhed, then stilled.

Gasping and clutching my throat, I glanced at the remaining talismans and realized the markings were drawn in blood—that explained their power. They had been inscribed by Granny Wang in her own blood.

My own danger passed, I saw Granny Wang handling her attackers with ease. Though she wielded only a wooden sword, it was as sharp as steel. In mere moments, she had dispatched most of the gray-robed Taoists, leaving only empty robes on the ground.

The survivors dared not attack further; they scattered in all directions.

One of them tried to flee into the woods. Granny Wang flicked her wrist, and her peachwood sword shot out like an arrow.

With a thud, the wooden sword pinned the Taoist to a distant pine tree. The feat was so swift and stunning I scarcely saw how she did it.

Peachwood was softer than pine, yet her sword lodged deep into the tree, undamaged. The Taoist, pierced through, died instantly, his robe deflating.

“Oh? A disciple of the Quanzhen Sword Sect?” came a voice from the darkness nearby—a chilling, shadowy tone.

A black figure emerged, unhurried, from the shadows, as Granny Wang drew her sword and shielded me. The face emerged from the darkness, gradually coming into view.

When I saw it clearly, my mouth fell open in shock—for the face was the spitting image of my eldest uncle.

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