Chapter 7: The Martial World of a Newspaper Vendor（7）

"Who exactly is this hero 'Swift Wind'? The previous Light Rain Sword Technique didn't have a corresponding copy in the Library of Martial Arts, and now another Heart Sutra of Prajna has emerged. Why is it that all the martial arts he's writing about don't have copies in our library?"

In the elegant, antique-style study, a middle-aged man in a long robe furrowed his brows as he held the newspaper.

There was a legendary place in the martial world known as the Library of Martial Arts, where martial arts techniques and scriptures from the best to the worst were stored—everything from first-rate to ninth-rate. Any well-known technique was bound to have a copy there, and the library's wealth of knowledge and power was famous across the land.

As one of the most powerful and well-known martial factions, the reputation of the Library of Martial Arts was not to be taken lightly. Even the recently popular Light Rain Sword Technique had the first three chapters in their collection.

Of course, this Light Rain Sword Technique was not the same one from the newspaper.

The version in the library was not the fake, low-tier sword technique from the paper, but the real Light Rain Sword—the famous swordplay of an unknown swordsman from over eighty years ago, now lost to time.

The recent stir caused by the "hero Swift Wind" had reached the ears of this middle-aged man. As the head of the Library of Martial Arts, he was extremely sensitive to martial arts techniques. The moment he read about it, he noticed something was wrong.

The first martial art published by Swift Wind wasn't in the library's collection, which could be explained by the possibility of a low-tier technique slipping through the cracks. But the second one was clearly a high-level Heart Sutra, and even that had no copy in the library. That was too unusual!

To put it bluntly, unless these martial arts were made up entirely by Swift Wind, there was no way high-level techniques would exist outside the library's grasp.

Could it be that he made them up? Impossible.

Martial arts weren't like growing cabbages that could be cultivated at will. Without a foundation in martial arts and knowledge of the martial world, how could anyone come up with these techniques out of nowhere?

But there was no other explanation…

What bothered him the most was the possibility of more techniques coming. If Swift Wind had managed to create two, what if there were three, four, or five more? Now that the Heart Sutra was already a fourth-tier technique, what else would be coming next?

As the keeper of the greatest collection of martial arts techniques in the world, the Library of Martial Arts should have been familiar with every technique. Yet now, it had been repeatedly outdone by a small fry. If anyone asked about these techniques in the future, and the library didn't know anything about them, it would be embarrassing.

With a snarl, the middle-aged man violently tore the newspaper in half, his previously calm expression now twisted with anger.

No martial art technique could be beyond the Library of Martial Arts' control—no matter who its creator was!

"Baohua!" he called coldly.

In the quiet study, a black shadow silently appeared, kneeling with its head lowered. The wooden mask on its face looked eerie, and its voice was hoarse. "Master."

"Go investigate the identity of Swift Wind."

"Yes."

The shadow disappeared just as quietly as it arrived, and the middle-aged man sank into deep thought, his expression dark.

But the serious atmosphere didn't last long.

"Father! Dad! My dear old father!" Suddenly, a loud, familiar voice rang out from the courtyard, making the middle-aged man's scalp tingle.

His face, which had just been hardening with ruthlessness, froze, and his head instantly felt three times heavier.

"What's all this noise?" He opened the door with a grim expression, scolding the unruly child. This unfilial son was always yelling and disturbing the peace!

Earlier that day...

At the moment when the head of the Library of Martial Arts had been reading the newspaper and discovered the unexpected Heart Sutra of Prajna, in another part of the courtyard, inside a room, a spoiled, carefree young master was lounging in a rocking chair, holding the same newspaper in his hands.

"Ahhh! I absolutely love Duan Bailang, he's exactly the kind of person I dream of becoming!" the young master screamed, his voice full of passion.

"This hero Swift Wind is so annoying! Why does he only write about Li Bangyi? He should write more about me, Duan Bailang! And why only publish Li Bangyi's techniques? What about my famous double swords? Write about them!"

Beside him, the maid, desperately holding back her laughter, massaged his shoulders and back. She was startled when he slammed his hand on the table.

"Bi He, immediately write a letter to the Sword Inquiry Newspaper and tell Swift Wind to write about Duan Bailang! Write about my double swords! From today on, I'll start practicing the double sword technique!"

Bi He sighed, shaking her head in resignation. "Young master, I think, with Swift Wind being so famous now, even if we send a letter to the Sword Inquiry Newspaper, he might not see it."

"Eh? That's true." The young master seemed to consider this for a moment.

He suddenly had a brilliant idea, his eyes lighting up. "I'll just ask my father! I'm his son—what's the problem? He knows the head of the Sword Inquiry Mountain Villa! I'll have him talk to him!"

"Young master, I don't think your father will agree." She was almost certain he'd be refused, or worse, punished.

The young master snorted in pride, smugly declaring, "Am I that dumb? Don't worry, I've got a plan!"

With that, he hurriedly stood up, intentionally wrinkling his clothes, rubbing his face to make it look like he'd been crying, and dashed off to the East Courtyard. "Mother! Mother! Your precious son is in trouble! Oh, my dear mother!"

An incense stick later...

The middle-aged man, grim-faced, opened the door, only to find not his son, but a beautiful, gentle woman standing there.

His useless son was leaning against the arm of a woman who was shorter than him, smugly looking at himself.

The woman softly spoke, "Husband…"

The middle-aged man twitched at the corner of his eye, said nothing, and slammed the door shut again.