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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Teottry
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The play concluded to thunderous applause and cheers from the excited audience.
The chase scene performed by actual martial artists, and especially the love poem recited at the end, were highly praised, perfectly capturing the romantic, womanizing nature of Sakra Devanam Indra.
The guide, pleased with their performance, rewarded them generously, even adding a bonus to their agreed-upon payment.
However, there was one problem: Xiaoshao was sulking, upset by the unscripted embrace.
“Everyone was watching…! And you just… smiled at me so smugly… I’m… angry.”
Judging by her tone and expression, she wasn’t truly angry.
And while he felt a pang of guilt at seeing her pout, her cheeks puffed out slightly as she walked ahead of him, trying to hide her face, he couldn’t help but find her adorable.
But… he had gotten carried away, improvising without consulting her.
He couldn’t just brush it off; he had to apologize properly.
“Sister Nangong, I have something to say.”
Xiaoshao stopped at the sound of Mancheon’s voice, now serious and gentle, devoid of its usual playfulness.
While she had been surprised by the sudden embrace, she hadn’t been truly offended or upset.
However, regardless of her true gender, she was currently supposed to be Nangong Xiaoshao, the young master of the Nangong family. A man.
She couldn’t allow herself to show embarrassment… or the quickening of her heart… in public.
She had been born a girl, but she had to live as a man.
Therefore, she couldn’t allow herself to blush at Young Master Sima’s teasing, or to feel the urge to protect him when he showed his more vulnerable, childlike side.
She steeled her resolve, determined to not be swayed by his actions again, her face hardening into an impassive mask as she turned to face Mancheon.
And found herself staring at his broad chest.
Mancheon had taken a step closer while she was turning around, closing the distance between them.
“Please, just stay like this for a moment.”
She was speechless.
His hand, a man’s hand, gently, almost tenderly, caressed her hair, and her carefully constructed resolve crumbled, her cheeks flushing.
Her small frame, enveloped by his long arms and broad chest, tensed, her ears burning.
A moment that felt like an eternity passed, and then Mancheon’s hand left her hair.
“Alright, you can move now.”
Xiaoshao hesitantly reached up and touched something at the back of her head.
A familiar, soft silk.
She gently tugged at it. A cascade of shimmering red silk, like a fish’s tail, flowed down her back.
It was the hair ornament she had worn as the celestial maiden.
“Young Master Sima, what is…?”
Xiaoshao looked up at him, her eyes wide with confusion, and
Mancheon, his face devoid of its usual playful smirk, met her gaze, his expression serious, yet a gentle smile played on his lips.
“I noticed you seemed to like it, so I… negotiated a slight discount on my payment and bought it for you.”
“But…! While I appreciate the sentiment… such a beautiful ornament doesn’t suit me. Perhaps I should return it…”
Xiaoshao’s rambling protest died in her throat.
“Wasn’t it your mother who said this hairstyle suited you? Don’t worry about what others think. It would be a waste.”
His amber eyes, like a predator’s, saw through her flimsy disguise, to the girl beneath the mask.
“And besides, it looks beautiful on you. So don’t worry.”
“…….”
Mancheon bowed his head respectfully, his hands clasped before him, as Xiaoshao turned away, her cheeks flushed, her hand unconsciously touching her hair.
“On a more serious note, I apologize for pulling you into my impromptu performance. I got carried away, caught up in the moment, but that was no excuse.”
While he didn’t want to create distance with excessive formality, it was rude to dismiss or downplay a transgression.
And Xiaoshao was someone who could potentially become his teacher, imparting the secret techniques of the Nangong family. He had to show her respect.
“Please forgive my transgression, Sister.”
Xiaoshao looked at Mancheon, who, for once, wasn’t being flippant, but genuinely apologetic, and let out a soft, slightly amused sigh.
A cool evening breeze rustled her grey hair and the red silk ornament, their colors shimmering in the moonlight.
“You are a clever man, Young Master Sima.”
She smiled, a soft, gentle smile that seemed both awkward and warm, as if she wasn’t used to such sincerity.
And seeing that her anger had subsided, Mancheon cautiously looked up and winked.
“That’s part of my charm. Thank you for your forgiveness.”
Strike while the iron is hot.
He picked up his staff and, maintaining the pleasant atmosphere, spoke cheerfully.
“We didn’t even get to finish our meal because of the play. Let’s continue our conversation at the inn. Dinner is on me, as an apology.”
“But… you’ve already given me a gift…?”
Xiaoshao touched the hair ornament, her head tilted in confusion.
She had assumed the beautiful red silk ornament was an apology gift, offered to appease her anger.
But Mancheon simply smiled, a carefree, confident smile, and replied,
“I gave it to you because it looks beautiful on you, and because I wanted to.”
A cool evening breeze caressed Xiaoshao’s cheek.
The festival stalls were still bustling with people,
but the street they walked on was quiet, illuminated only by the moonlight, their shadows stretching before them.
The young girl’s heart fluttered at the carefree cripple’s words.
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Later that evening, at the Yakbang Inn in Zeshik County…
Xiaoshao sat in her room, admiring the hair ornament Mancheon had given her, turning her head this way and that, examining it in the hand mirror.
But then… she sighed and set the mirror down.
A thick, cloying killing intent seeped into her room from outside.
If you don’t come out, I will kill everyone in this inn tonight, a voice whispered.
It was a blatant provocation, and Xiaoshao rose to her feet.
And there, leaning against the wall, was her sword, its ornate scabbard, inlaid with red jade, gleaming in the dim light.
It seemed to be sulking, demanding to be drawn, to be wielded, despite her efforts to keep it hidden for her own protection. It was probably upset that she had used another sword to execute the King’s Sword technique.
For some reason, she thought of Mancheon, sleeping soundly in the next room.
The sword that had transformed prophecy into destiny, the sword she shouldn’t have drawn.
But it was the power she needed now.
Xiaoshao drew the sword, its arrogant, yearning call is undeniable.
A heavy, cold weight settled in her hand.
It was time for her to become the Sword Dragon, Nangong Xiaoshao, once more.
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On the outskirts of town, in a moonlit field, a cold wind whipping through the tall grass…
A masked figure, holding a cloth-wrapped object that resembled a sword, and Xiaoshao, her hand resting on the hilt of the sword at her waist, faced each other.
“I am Ring Finger, one of the Six Fingers of the Murderous Curtain. You possess a formidable aura for someone your size. But I doubt you’re on par with Jang Dal.”
A brief introduction, followed by a taunt. But Xiaoshao didn’t respond.
She simply closed the distance, drawing her sword.
The Ten Swords of Heaven.
Five legendary swords forged by Ou Yezi, the master swordsmith of the Spring and Autumn period:
Zhanlu, Juque, Shengxie, Yuchang, and Chunjun.
Three legendary swords forged by Ou Yezi and his disciple, Gan Jiang:
Longyuan, Gongbu, and Tai’a.
Two legendary swords forged by Gan Jiang and Moye, husband and wife swordsmiths:
Gan Jiang and Moye.
Ten legendary swords, each possessing a power that could bewitch and ensnare.
Treasures coveted by every swordsman in the martial world, but of these ten, there was one,
a single sword that should never be drawn, its ownership never acknowledged.
A sword that chose its master, a sword that could only be wielded by a king.
A sword that, upon being drawn, challenged the legitimacy of the current dynasty, branding its wielder a traitor.
And now, its arrogant name echoed through the night.
“Reveal yourself, Zhanlu.”
Clang—
The noble princess, her true form hidden from the unworthy, obeyed her king’s command, her dark, shimmering blade slicing through the air.
The blade, its dark blue light eclipsing even the moonlight, its power overwhelming, drew a hollow laugh from Ring Finger, the assassin of the Murderous Curtain, a mixture of fear and anticipation.
A chilling sensation, like a thousand needles piercing his skin, washed over him.
“I can certainly see why he fled.”
While Jang Dal’s true reason for fleeing was to avoid further entanglement with the Sima family, that no longer mattered.
‘There were rumors of the Nangong child drawing Zhanlu. I didn’t think they were true…’
Due to the restriction that only those of royal blood could draw the sword, some collectors considered it their life’s ambition to simply witness Zhanlu’s blade.
And Ring Finger, before he was an assassin, was a swordsman.
He was naturally interested in Zhanlu, said to be the most powerful of the Ten Swords of Heaven.
He reached for his own sword, wrapped in cloth, eager to test his blade against Zhanlu, but he couldn’t.
He was already dead, his head separated from his body, a victim of Xiaoshao’s King’s Sword technique, executed before he could even react.
He wasn’t weak…
Xiaoshao, wielding Zhanlu, was simply overwhelmingly powerful.
Xiaoshao, paying no mind to the corpse at her feet, gently touched the red silk ornament in her hair.
“I hope I didn’t get any blood on this… It was a gift from Young Master Sima…”
The duel was over, a single corpse lying in the moonlit field.
A sweet, young girl, her face etched with worry, stood alone in the darkness.
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Geez an instant dead
Cute!
Thanks Teot!