Chapter 31 – Revealed! The Young Lord’s Spiritual Pressure
Fleeing... he fled?
Chen Beixun stood alone on the fishing boat, staring blankly at the swiftly vanishing solitary vessel, utterly bewildered.
In the Sword Sect, one's rank was determined by the number of swords housed within their sword coffer. Only first-class martial artists were qualified to bear a sword coffer and ascend to the realm of Grandmaster. The coffer of a Grandmaster from Rank One to Rank Four could hold two swords. From Rank Five onwards, each increase in rank allowed for one additional sword. A Six-Ring Grandmaster could carry four swords. The highest attainable status was that of a Nine-Ring Grandmaster, whose coffer could bear seven swords—each forged by the mechanists' master smiths, supreme treasures of the martial world.
This was the tradition handed down through generations of the Sword Sect.
The master from the Sword Sect aboard the fleeing boat bore a four-sword coffer—a Six-Ring Grandmaster...
Yet such a formidable figure had abandoned the plan and fled without a second glance!
Nie Changqing's single blade had parted the lake. In the blink of an eye, he unleashed twenty strikes, cleaving twenty flower boats and slaying dozens of scholars. Was such might enough to terrify a Six-Ring Grandmaster of the Sword Sect?
Chen Beixun's body trembled.
In that moment, he understood why Lu Fan had remained so calm, so fearless. The strength of this expelled disciple of the Dao Sect... was nothing short of monstrous!
On the boat, Liu Ye and Zhu Yishan were pale with fear. They turned to Chen Beixun, their faces contorted with rage.
"Chen Beixun, you lied to us?! You said we had a guaranteed chance to kill Lu Ping'an!" Zhu Yishan growled under his breath.
Liu Ye's gaze turned cold.
Just last night, Chen Beixun had sought them out in secret, swearing with utmost confidence that with the Sword Sect's involvement, Lu Fan would be eliminated on his way to the Drunken Dust Pavilion.
Yet now, everything had crumbled like an empty promise. The Sword Sect's expert hadn't even shown his face before fleeing in terror!
They had been betrayed.
And they could already imagine the consequences when Lu Fan came to settle the score.
The two sons of noble families thought of the refined youth in the wheelchair. For reasons they couldn't explain, a chill gripped their hearts.
"What is there to fear?"
"Since ancient times, rivers may flow, but noble houses stand firm. Though our Beiluo City's three great families are not as exalted as the Dantai clan, we are now backed by the Sword Sect, one of the Hundred Schools... Lu Ping'an would not dare touch us."
Chen Beixun stood at the bow, his pearwood sword coffer upon his back, his green robe billowing in the lake wind. His voice was sharp and resolute.
"But the Sword Sect's expert—he fled!" Liu Ye raised a trembling finger, pointing at the now-distant boat as he gasped for breath.
Chen Beixun clenched his jaw tightly.
"This is but a temporary strategic withdrawal. We too shall retreat and reconvene at the residence," he said through gritted teeth, then ordered the boatman to turn around.
Yet—
Just as the boatman was laboriously steering the vessel...
Suddenly, an overwhelming pressure erupted, violent and suffocating.
Boom!!!
"Hm?"
Lu Fan, who had just returned the chess pieces to their box, lifted his brow slightly.
He gazed out at the lake, where the mist had dispersed to reveal a small boat slicing across the water, white spray flaring behind it as it fled.
"Who... is that?" Lu Fan tilted his chin toward the frenzied vessel, curiosity flickering in his voice.
Nie Changqing hoisted his butcher's blade and looked out toward the boat.
"A pearwood coffer with four swords... a swordsman of the Six-Ring level from the Sword Sect."
As the tenth disciple of the Dao Sect, Nie Changqing naturally recognized such power.
"A Grandmaster swordsman of the Sword Sect?" Lu Fan narrowed his eyes.
"Why is he fleeing? I'm not exactly known for being short-tempered—does he think I'll eat him?"
Nie Changqing paused, glanced at the group of floundering scholars still struggling in the lake, and sighed in exasperation.
Your temper... is terrible.
You hold grudges like a dragon fruit holds seeds.
So, Nie Changqing wisely chose not to respond.
"Forget it. At least he knows his place," Lu Fan leaned on his chin, eyes closing as he examined his internal spiritual recovery. He waved his hand dismissively.
"Young master, there's a boat behind us. It's Chen Beixun and the heirs of the Liu and Zhu families," murmured Ni Yu, pale and seasick, pointing weakly toward a distant vessel.
"Oh."
Lu Fan spared her a glance, eyes half-lidded, and gave a faint reply.
Nie Changqing had unleashed twenty strikes. Lu Fan's own move had consumed twenty wisps of spiritual energy. But he could feel his internal energy—like a furnace—slowly replenishing itself. At this rate, one wisp would return every hour. Admittedly slow, but acceptable.
"Young master... they're turning to leave," came Ni Yu's frail voice again.
Lu Fan opened his eyes.
"Leaving?"
He seized the spiritual pressure chessboard, placed it on his lap, and retrieved a single black piece from the box.
The stone was smooth and lustrous. He held it between his fingers.
"Do they truly think one can spectate Lu Ping'an's affairs without consequence?"
In the next moment, his vision transformed—the world before him became translucent threads, just as it had when he had once remotely infused spiritual energy into Ning Zhao.
Expanding his internal map, he located the boat that Chen Beixun was steering away.
He smiled.
Then placed the stone on the central point of the board.
Pa.
A pale blue wisp of energy rose from the board like a flickering flame.
The still surface of the lake suddenly stirred with wind.
Ning Zhao's silk gown fluttered wildly.
Nie Changqing's pupils contracted; his legs locked together—
It appeared.
The Young Lord's spiritual pressure!
—
On the boat.
Chen Beixun's spirit quaked.
A pressure like divine wrath descended upon him, pinning his face to the deck.
He lay prostrate, utterly immobile, powerless even to lift a finger.
Liu Ye and Zhu Yishan fared even worse—blood seeped from their noses and mouths.
The boatman had already leapt into the lake, swimming frantically toward shore.
Chen Beixun groaned, trying to rise, but the pressure crushed him like a mountain.
Boom!
The lake around the vessel erupted, water blasting seven feet high.
The fishing boat was instantly crushed and sank beneath the surface.
Icy water swallowed Chen Beixun, Liu Ye, and Zhu Yishan.
The foul-tasting lake water rushed into their mouths and lungs.
What just happened?
Why had the boat sunk?
Where had that terrifying pressure come from?
Surely it couldn't have been Lu Fan—he was miles away, no cultivator, not a celestial immortal... How could he have done this?
Their minds reeled with doubt, but their will to survive overrode all thought. They swam with desperate vigor toward shore.
Even a second-class martial artist would be exhausted after so long in cold water. Some scholars, drained of strength midway, sank with a final gurgle, leaving only bubbles behind.
Chen Beixun barely made it—he was a first-class martial artist. Liu Ye and Zhu Yishan had some skill as well, and managed to drag themselves ashore, soaked to the bone, clothes plastered to their bodies, covered in lake filth.
Suddenly—
The earth trembled.
A thunder of hooves.
Armored soldiers galloped forth. Onlookers gasped and retreated—the Northern Luo troops from the City Lord's estate had arrived.
Yi Yue rode at the head on a chestnut steed, followed by the iron-blooded warriors of Beiluo City, clad in cold steel.
"By order of the Young Lord, take the three young heirs into custody for tea at the City Lord's prison," Yi Yue announced coldly.
"Shackle them."
At once, several soldiers stepped forward, heavy chains in hand.
Chen Beixun staggered to his feet, soaked and disheveled. His meticulously groomed beard was now a matted mess. He straightened his back, trying to appear dignified.
"I am Chen Beixun, disciple of the Sword Sect. You—"
Crack!
Before he could finish, Yi Yue lashed him fiercely with a whip.
The searing pain brought tears to Chen Beixun's eyes.
"I demand to see Young Master Lu!"
"I—"
He cried out, but Yi Yue, face as cold as frost, raised her hand again…