Eighth Section: Blade Shadows Clash

The night air trembled as Zhang Lie's thick-backed blade descended, a crimson arc slicing through the moonlit haze toward Ling Yingjue's chest. The courtyard of Liu Village lay in chaos—splintered wood from the gate littered the blue-stone ground, blood pooling where fallen knife-wielders groaned or lay still. Ling Yingjue's coarse tunic clung to his sweat-soaked frame, the Soul-Piercing Cone gripped tight in both hands, its broad end still humming from the last clash. His sharp face tightened, star-bright eyes narrowing as he twisted aside, the blade's edge grazing his shoulder, tearing cloth and drawing a thin line of red. He grunted, staggering back, arms numb from the impact, his mind racing: Zhang Lie's force—it's like a tide I can't stem.

Zhang Lie landed with a heavy thud, his burly frame casting a shadow over the stones, dark blue robe fluttering, the blood-red wolf's head on his cloak glaring in the moonlight. His lips curled into a sneer, "Kid, you're quick—but not quick enough." He swung again, the "Howling Moon Slash" roaring forth, knife wind howling as it tore toward Ling Yingjue's throat. The young fisherman ducked low, mud squelching underfoot, and thrust the cone's narrow tip upward, a flash of cold light meeting the blade—clang!—sparks flew, the impact jarring his wrists, but Zhang Lie's inner force surged, snapping the cone aside. Ling Yingjue rolled, chain whipping out to snare the blade's hilt, a desperate tug stalling Zhang Lie's next strike.

From the hall's threshold, Liu Shan'er's breath caught, her short sword trembling in her grip, its jade-studded scabbard glinting faintly in the candlelight spilling out. Her pale green skirt brushed the floorboards, her almond eyes wide with fear and fury as she whispered, "Brother Ling!" She stepped forward, blade raised, but Fu Bo's raspy voice cut through, "Shan'er, stay back!" The old steward staggered into view from the rear, his gray tunic blood-streaked, blackwood staff splintered at one end. His shoulder oozed red, yet his sharp eyes burned with resolve as he barked, "Guard the hall—I'll hold the back!"

In the rear courtyard, Zhao Si's curved blade slashed through the night, a vicious crescent aimed at Fu Bo's chest. The vegetable patch was a trampled mess, mud churned underfoot, firewood scattered from shattered stacks. Ten knife-wielders flanked him, their fishbone-etched blades flashing as they circled, wolves stalking a wounded prey. Fu Bo's Willow Leaf Staff whipped forth, swift as wind, deflecting Zhao Si's strike with a sharp crack, the old man's lean frame weaving through the onslaught. "Blood Blade scum," he rasped, staff tip jabbing at Zhao Si's knee, forcing the killer back a step.

Zhao Si sneered, his gaunt face twisting, "Old man, you're done!" He lunged, blade arcing low, aiming to gut Fu Bo—staff met steel, a dull thud as Fu Bo parried, rolling aside, his staff tail cracking against Zhao Si's shin. The killer stumbled, roaring, "Finish him!" Three lackeys pounced, knives slashing in unison—Fu Bo spun, staff a blur of shadow, knocking one blade aside, but a second grazed his thigh, blood soaking through. He grunted, leaning on the staff, breath ragged, "Not yet…"

A villager rushed in, spear trembling in his rough hands, thrusting at a knife-wielder—the fork pierced a shoulder, blood spurting as the foe howled, collapsing into the mud. Another swung a stick, smashing a skull with a wet crunch, but a third knife-wielder countered, blade sinking into the villager's side. The man fell, gasping, "Fu Bo… hold on…" Zhao Si's laugh cut through, "Old fool, your dogs are dead!" He charged, blade slashing—Fu Bo parried, staff cracking, but his strength waned, blood pooling beneath him.

Beyond the village, hooves pounded the Jiaxing road, dust rising in the fading mist as Liu Changfeng urged his horse onward, his blue robe whipping in the wind, Liu Wind Sword a steady weight at his side. The spearman and twin-blade man rode beside him, their faces grim, the rhythm of galloping a desperate drumbeat against the dawn. Liu Changfeng's lean face was taut, brows furrowed, voice low over the clamor, "Faster—Blood Blade's struck by now." The spearman shouted, "Master, we're hours out—can we make it?" Liu Changfeng's eyes darkened, "We must."

The road stretched through fields and woods, the river's murmur a distant echo, dawn's first light painting the horizon gold. Liu Changfeng's mind churned: The Swallow Jade—Blood Blade's after it, and that shadow… friend or foe? He recalled the fisherman's words—swift, cloaked, asking of the jade—and gripped his reins tighter, urging, "No stops!" The twin-blade man muttered, "If Zhang Lie's there, the village…" Liu Changfeng cut him off, "We'll cut through—we must."

Back at Liu Village's gate, Ling Yingjue faced a storm of steel—ten knife-wielders surged past Zhang Lie, blades flashing like a net closing in. He swung the cone's broad end, a thunderous boom shattering one man's ribs, blood spraying as he crashed into the stones. The chain lashed out, coiling another's arm, wrenching it free with a sickening snap—Ling Yingjue's tip pierced a shoulder, blood blooming, the man crumpling with a scream. But the tide pressed—two blades slashed from the sides, one nicking his thigh, another grazing his arm, red seeping through torn cloth.

He gritted his teeth, Tidal Force surging within, a faint wave steadying his stance as he spun, chain whipping to tangle a knife, yanking it free—his foot crushed the wielder's knee, bone cracking. Zhang Lie roared, "Enough play!" His blade descended again, "Earth-Splitting Howl" tearing the air, dust and debris flying—Ling Yingjue ducked, chain lashing at Zhang Lie's legs, but the killer's force snapped it back, the broad end slashing down. Ling Yingjue rolled, mud smearing his face, the blade sinking into the earth where he'd stood, a deep gash splitting the stone.

From the hall, Liu Shan'er's cry broke free, "Brother Ling!" She darted forward, sword flashing—Spring Rain Sword, "Silent Drizzle"—aiming at Zhang Lie's flank. Her Willow Wisp Force flowed, blade weaving like raindrops, but Zhang Lie's cloak flared, inner force bursting as he swung, clang!—her sword flew back, the shock numbing her arms. She stumbled, gasping, "Too strong…" Zhang Lie sneered, "Little girl, stay out!" His blade arced toward her—Ling Yingjue lunged, cone's broad end crashing into Zhang Lie's side, a dull thud forcing him back a step, saving Liu Shan'er.

In the rear, Fu Bo's staff faltered, blood dripping from his thigh and shoulder, staining the mud red. Zhao Si's curved blade slashed relentlessly, a howling crescent—Fu Bo parried, staff cracking, but a lackey's knife sank into his side, a wet gasp escaping as he fell to one knee. "Master…" he rasped, staff trembling. Zhao Si laughed, "Done, old man!" He raised his blade—then a shadow flashed overhead, a figure cloaked in black dropping from the trees, a thin blade slashing down, hiss—Zhao Si's arm recoiled, blood spraying as he howled, "Who?!"

The shadow landed, lithe and swift, face veiled in darkness, voice low, "Blood Blade filth—your hunt ends here." His blade danced, a blur of steel—two knife-wielders fell, throats slit, blood pooling in the mud. Fu Bo blinked, "You…" The shadow glanced at him, "Hold on, old man." Zhao Si roared, "Kill him!" Five lackeys charged—the shadow spun, blade weaving a silent storm, blood arcing as three dropped, the others faltering.

Outside the gate, Zhang Lie regained his footing, glaring at Ling Yingjue, "Stubborn runt!" He swung, "Howling Moon Slash" tearing forth—Ling Yingjue's chain lashed out, tangling the blade, but Zhang Lie's force snapped it free, the broad end crashing down. Ling Yingjue blocked, clang!—he slid back, boots scraping stone, blood trickling from his shoulder and thigh, Tidal Force waning. Liu Shan'er rushed in, "Rain Over Jiangnan" slashing at Zhang Lie's back—her blade met air, Zhang Lie twisting with a sneer, "Pest!" His fist lashed out, striking her chest—she flew back, crashing into the hall's doorframe, coughing blood.

Ling Yingjue's eyes flared, "Shan'er!" He surged, cone's narrow tip piercing toward Zhang Lie's throat—snap—a needle shot forth, grazing Zhang Lie's cheek, blood beading as he recoiled, roaring, "Damn you!" The killer's blade slashed wide, Ling Yingjue ducked, chain coiling Zhang Lie's leg—he pulled, staggering the brute, but Zhang Lie's force broke free, a backhand slash slicing Ling Yingjue's arm, red flowing freely.

From the rear, shouts rose—Zhao Si's voice, "Second Brother, help!" Zhang Lie spun, seeing the shadow carve through his men, blood painting the mud. "You?!" he snarled, hesitating—Ling Yingjue seized the moment, cone's broad end crashing into Zhang Lie's side, a bone-crunching thud—Zhang Lie staggered, spitting blood, "Kid… you'll pay…" He retreated, barking, "Fall back!" The knife-wielders faltered, dragging their wounded as Zhang Lie mounted, vanishing into the night.

Liu Changfeng's horse broke through the woods, Jiaxing's mist behind him, the village gates in sight—smoke rose, shouts echoing. "Blood Blade!" he roared, leaping down, Liu Wind Sword flashing—three stragglers turned, knives slashing, but his blade danced, Willow Wind Swordplay—two fell, throats slit, the third's arm severed, screams piercing the dawn. He charged in, "Shan'er! Young hero!"