Chapter Fifty-One: The Fate of the Chess Piece

As an insignificant and pitiable pawn, Liu Xinru knew she could only submit to the whims and manipulations of Liu Nian and Zhou Chang, the scions of powerful families, her fate of sacrifice and trampling long since sealed. Moreover, behind them stood Zhou An, head of the Yixing Zhou clan, and Liu Pingshan, the governor of Jiangning, whose influence trailed only Yang Qi.

She, a mere songstress, rootless as floating duckweed, could do nothing to resist a destiny already decreed. Sweet'er wept silently, unable to utter a word. The two had embraced and cried through the night, their tears already dried. Sweet'er, still a child, could do nothing before such a calamity as heavy as Mount Tai.

As dawn's first light filtered through the window, Liu Xinru slowly sat up, her voice hoarse and faint, "Sweet'er, help me dress and prepare." As she spoke, Liu Xinru reached up and gently untied her Flying-Immortal bun, letting her cloud-like black hair tumble down in waves.

Meanwhile, Kong Sheng rose and habitually fastened weighted sandbags to his body, preparing for his unwavering morning routine. He would run a lap weighed down, then practice the sword technique passed down by Sima Chengzhen. With extraordinary perseverance, he pressed on—not to become a wandering hero like Mu Changfeng, but to forge his body and skills, to secure a foothold in this era.

The road ahead was perilous, fraught with danger; reliance on others was futile—only oneself was reliable. Luckily, this body possessed innate strength, his "capital for revolution" abundant; with a powerful will, intense physical training posed no obstacle.

Kong Sheng stepped out the door, his movements light. As he headed downstairs, he glanced instinctively at Liu Xinru and Sweet'er’s door, then drifted down.

His weighted morning runs were no secret in the city; early-rising vendors and citizens were accustomed to them. As usual, Kong Sheng darted out the west gate, circled half the outer city, and returned, sweat streaming, through the east gate—a route nearly eight kilometers.

Mu Changfeng, clad in flowing white, stood tall atop the bell tower’s eaves, his figure light and swaying in the wind. He gazed down at Kong Sheng, whose brisk, steady stride never faltered, an ever-growing intrigue in his eyes.

He had watched Kong Sheng in secret for days. Such formidable will, stamina, and strength were rare in his life. Though Kong Sheng’s running and swordplay seemed awkward to him, the seemingly frail body contained explosive power and energy, enough to command respect—even from him.

Once, he witnessed Kong Sheng in the fields outside the city, lifting a massive stone roller with ease, causing the onlookers to marvel. He finally believed why the people of Jiangning spoke so highly of the Kong family’s young servant, whose strength echoed the legendary Li Xuanba reborn.

Mu Changfeng concluded that, in a direct confrontation, he might not be Kong Sheng’s match. The failed assassination had seemed accidental, but now, it was inevitable.

The bell tower stood not far from the Shunsheng Inn; Mu Changfeng watched from above as Kong Sheng practiced sword techniques in the courtyard, each move precise and methodical, his serious expression clear even from that height.

Mu Changfeng sighed softly, leaped, and vanished over a rooftop.

To be fair, Kong Sheng’s swordplay was neither graceful nor imposing, lacking flair or spirit, yet he tirelessly repeated the monotonous movements. He believed in mastery through practice; once the moves became reflex, self-defense would be assured. Whether it looked good or not was irrelevant.

The morning run cost nearly an hour, sword practice another two sticks of incense—the exertion and intensity were considerable. Kong Sheng, drenched in sweat, sheathed the treasured sword forged by Yang Xue Ruo and newly named “Enemy-Breaker,” then hurried to wash and change.

Sword named Enemy-Breaker, beauty’s affection bestowed; someday, may the wind sweep a thousand miles, the moon shine over mountain passes, and victory be swift and unyielding!

The sun hung high, cold winds stirred, yellow leaves danced across the city. Today, the Misty Rain Pavilion was closed to guests, reserved for Yang Qi, the Jiangnan Prefect, to host a literary banquet.

Yang Mansion’s chief steward, Yang Kuan, welcomed guests below; he watched local scholars, officials, and wealthy gentry arrive with gifts, but the “main guest” his master had specified—Kong Sheng—was nowhere to be seen, stirring his irritation. Yang Kuan glanced anxiously toward the Shunsheng Inn, brows tightly knit.

Fortunately, as his patience wore thin, Kong Sheng’s figure appeared at the end of the street. Yang Kuan breathed a sigh of relief, though his annoyance deepened: this Kong family servant was becoming ever more arrogant and unruly. If he truly became the Yang family’s son-in-law, what then?

Kong Sheng wore a clean, fitted blue robe, a sword in hand, his face bright with a sunny smile, steps steady and unhurried. Sunlight shone on him, casting a long shadow behind.

Kong Sheng approached, nodded slightly to Yang Kuan, and passed him to ascend. Upon entering the Misty Rain Pavilion’s second-floor hall, Yang Qi was already impatient.

The invited scholars and gentry, seeing Kong Sheng, suddenly realized—the reason Yang Prefect delayed the banquet was to await Kong Sheng! Zhou An sat at one side, his expression darkening, yet he continued to converse amiably with neighboring guests. His son Zhou Chang and Liu Nian, seated beside him, lacked such restraint; upon seeing Kong Sheng, their faces changed, eyes filled with venom and hatred.

Especially Zhou Chang, who nearly erupted on the spot.

The true purpose of Yang Qi’s banquet remained unclear to all. But judging by the scene, could the Yang family truly intend to marry their precious daughter to this recently reformed, now-renowned Kong Sheng?

Zhou An shot a glare at Zhou Chang, who immediately lowered his gaze, not daring to act rashly. Zhou Chang recalled his plot with Liu Nian and could not help but smirk—so long as nothing went awry this time, Kong Sheng would be ruined, his reputation destroyed!

Kong Sheng ignored the contemptuous and hostile glances from many, exchanging a distant gaze with Yang Xue Ruo, seated beside Yang Qi. Her eyes, brimming with tender affection, stirred a gentle warmth in his heart. He glanced at the empty seat left for him and walked over to take it.

Yang Qi withdrew his deep, steady gaze from Kong Sheng, then laughed aloud, warm yet imposing: “Gentlemen, I host this banquet at the Misty Rain Pavilion today not only for our city’s scholars to make friends and exchange ideas, but mainly to announce two important matters.”

Yang Qi spoke, and all held their breath, listening intently—including Kong Sheng.