Chapter 11: Washing Hands, Taking Lives

Liu Zhengfeng bowed once more, then turned to face the direction of Mount Heng. "I, Liu Zhengfeng, have been fortunate enough to receive the favor of my esteemed master, who brought me into the Mount Heng sect and imparted his martial arts to me. I am ashamed that I have yet to bring glory to our house. Fortunately, Senior Brother Mo manages our sect well. As for me, I have lived a mediocre life with no real achievements. From this day forward, I shall devote myself to my official duties and vow never again to use the martial arts taught by my master. If I break this oath, may it be like this sword."

With a flick of his robe, he drew his longsword. He grasped the blade with both hands and snapped it with a powerful, sudden force. *Clang!*

The blade shattered in two. He let the pieces fall, and with two soft *thwips*, the broken steel embedded itself deep into the stone floor.

The gathered crowd watched in shock. Knowing the stone floor was solid, they realized how incredibly sharp that precious blade must have been. To snap such a sword—one capable of cutting through iron like mud—with bare hands was a feat reserved for the elite masters of the martial arts world. Many sighed with regret, lamenting that a man of such prowess would choose to abandon his path for a life of bureaucracy.

Yet, Liu Zhengfeng merely smiled. Accompanied by his two disciples, he walked to a small stand, rolled up his sleeves, and extended his hands.

Just as he was about to submerge his hands into the golden basin, a sharp voice rang out from the main gate: "Master Liu, hold!"

The crowd froze, and Liu Zhengfeng started in surprise. He looked up to see four men in yellow robes striding through the gates. They marched past the crowd, taking up positions on either side, followed by a tall man who walked proudly into the center.

The man held a five-colored silk banner encrusted with pearls and gemstones, which shimmered brilliantly as it moved. Everyone present recognized the banner; it was the symbol of the Five Mountain Sword Sects, the command flag of Zuo Lengchan, the Alliance Master of Mount Song.

The tall man stopped before Liu Zhengfeng and held the flag aloft, saying coldly, "By the order of Alliance Master Zuo of the Five Mountain Sword Sects, I request that Uncle-Master Liu postpone this hand-washing ceremony."

Liu Zhengfeng bowed slightly. "I am unaware of the reason for this order from the Alliance Master."

The messenger replied with a calm, resolute tone, "I am merely following orders and dare not speculate on the Alliance Master's intentions. Please forgive me, Uncle-Master."

The Mount Song sect had not been invited to this ceremony, yet they had appeared suddenly to obstruct it. A ripple of unease grew in Liu Zhengfeng’s heart, though he kept a smile on his face. "Are you not my nephew, Shi Dengda, of the Thousand-Foot Pine?"

Though he continued to smile, he felt a chill. He was no novice; he could tell from the way they had arrived that they were not here to witness a ceremony.

The messenger bowed in return. "Shi Dengda of the Mount Song sect pays his respects to Uncle-Master Liu." He then turned to the others and bowed again. "I pay my respects to all my uncles and senior masters."

The four men in yellow robes bowed in unison.

***

Abbess Dingyi, oblivious to the underlying tension, looked pleased. "Good, good! We who practice martial arts should be free and unrestrained in the world of jianghu; why become an official? This should be stopped. You did well to come!"

Liu Zhengfeng’s smile vanished, and his expression turned grave. "In the past, our sects allied to oppose the Demonic Cult, with the hope of standing together in unity. If a matter concerns the five sects, we shall naturally obey the Alliance Master’s orders. But my hand-washing ceremony is merely a private matter."

He paused, then cupped his hands. "Please inform the Alliance Master that I cannot accept this command regarding my retirement. I hope your master will forgive me."

With that, he turned back toward the golden basin.

Suddenly, a flash of silver accompanied by the sound of rushing air cut through the room. Liu Zhengfeng retreated quickly as two iron pellets struck the ground with a *clink*. The golden basin tipped over, and water splashed across the floor.

A yellow shadow flickered, and a man descended from the eaves of the roof. He was about forty, of medium build and lean frame, with a thin mustache and an arrogant expression.

"By order of the Alliance Master, you are forbidden from washing your hands, Brother Liu."

Liu Zhengfeng recognized him: it was Fei Bin, the fourth junior brother of Mount Song’s Sect Leader, Zuo Lengchan, a man whose "Great Mount Song Palm" was feared throughout the martial arts world. After speaking, Fei Bin glanced at Shi Dengda.

Shi Dengda nodded slightly and called out, "Junior Brother Wan, bring the others out!"

He turned toward the back hall, but after a moment, Liu Zhengfeng noticed the silence. He was struck by a sudden, angry foreboding, but before he could demand an explanation, a voice broke the stillness.

"Giggle... stop calling, they’re all dead!"

With a clear, crisp laugh, a thirteen- or fourteen-year-old girl skipped out from the back hall, her face filled with joy.

No one paid her any mind; all eyes were fixed on the person behind her.

At the sight of that person, the expressions of Fei Bin and Shi Dengda shifted, and the crowd in the hall was visibly shaken. The events of two nights ago were still fresh in their minds. They had witnessed the death of Yu Canghai, the head of the Qingcheng sect, along with thirteen of his disciples, and they had seen the flash of an incredibly fast iron sword.

That iron sword was in the hand of the man who now stood before them. Every guest who had seen that blade felt a chill in their necks and a cold shiver run down their spines—even though the sword remained in its scabbard.

Shi Dengda shouted, "What of my brothers from Mount Song?"

***

Ren Yi replied indifferently, "Dead."

Shi Dengda’s eyes widened, his voice trembling with hatred. "Did... did you kill them?"

Ren Yi nodded. "I did."

Shi Dengda bellowed, "You seek death!" He swung his right hand behind his shoulder, and with a *clang*, he drew the heavy broadsword from his back.

Fei Bin had heard of the "Divine Hand of Wudang" and knew that besides his medical skills, his martial arts were formidable. If he had truly killed a dozen disciples in the back hall, Shi Dengda would be no match for him.

"Stop!" Fei Bin commanded.

But Shi Dengda was consumed by fury and did not hear him. His sword was drawn, and he was determined to kill Ren Yi.

The blade surged forward like a long spear, his strikes wide and powerful. He unleashed the seventeen styles of the Mount Song sword technique; though lacking in grace, it rolled forward like a surging river, his blade sweeping like a gale through fallen leaves.

Though Shi Dengda was but a disciple, his technique stunned the onlookers.

As the broadsword closed in, Ren Yi’s iron sword remained in its scabbard, which he held firmly in his hand. Everyone saw his pale fingers gripping the black scabbard.

Then, just as the broadsword was about to strike, a flash of light surged and vanished.

The broadsword stopped three inches from Ren Yi’s left arm. The iron sword had pierced through Shi Dengda’s throat, protruding from the back of his neck.

It all happened in an instant—too fast for a blink.

They called it the fastest sword in the world, and everyone had witnessed it. It was but a single thrust—so swift that the mind could not grasp it, and no one could react.

The sword was withdrawn, and Shi Dengda collapsed face-first to the ground.