Chapter Fifty-Six: The Sword Drawn (3)

The anxious and uneasy Liu Xinru was led away.

Yang Xueyao’s eyes brimmed with tenderness and a flush of excitement; she felt ever more convinced that her judgment of character had not been mistaken. The man she had chosen was truly an extraordinary talent, unmatched by anyone else, certainly not comparable to a common person like Zhou Chang.

Yang Qi gazed intently at Kong Sheng, silently praising him. At this moment, his desire to recruit Kong Sheng for his own purposes was stronger than ever; this young man not only possessed remarkable literary talent and cunning intellect, but was also deeply shrewd, resourceful, and wielded formidable martial skill. Such a talent appearing in the city of Jiangning, right under his nose, was nothing short of heaven’s blessing—a gift for his ambitions to rule the South!

Yang Qi suddenly felt an impulse to disregard all opinions and, right there, promise his daughter to Kong Sheng. Although this would disappoint the Zhou family, it would firmly bind Kong Sheng to his own cause!

Liu Pingshan, the Governor of Jiangning, watched Kong Sheng’s departing figure, his eyes flickering with thought. He then glanced at the solemn-faced Zhou An and his son, unable to suppress a quiet sigh: The Zhou father and son had schemed painstakingly for so long, weaving such a tight web and trap, manipulating events behind the scenes and playing both sides in public, yet they were still defeated by Kong Sheng!

And Kong Sheng, in fact, had done nothing dramatic, nor launched any fierce counterattack.

Liu Nian stared at Zhou Chang, dumbfounded, while Zhou Chang slowly lowered his head, his disappointment evident, mingled with a growing unease and fear of the unknown.

Kong Sheng stepped slowly toward Zhou Chang, standing silently before his desk and gazing at him. Zhou Chang felt chills creep up his spine under Kong Sheng’s gaze, his lips twitching slightly.

“Master Zhou, there is no enmity between us. Why, then, have you repeatedly sought to entrap and slander me? You claim I am shameless and immoral, but judging by your own actions, that is the true mark of disgrace! Remember this: while people act, Heaven watches. Whatever we do, we cannot escape the all-seeing eyes above.” With these words, Kong Sheng leaned closer, whispering in Zhou Chang’s ear, “Crushing a hypocrite like you is as easy as squashing an ant. Remember what I say today—buffoons can never enter the halls of true refinement!”

Laughing aloud, Kong Sheng turned and returned to the center of the hall.

The eyes of the assembled crowd gradually focused on Kong Sheng. He rose slowly, sword in his right hand, flicking it upward; the Sword of Victory flashed from its sheath, the scabbard tracing a shining arc through the air before landing in his left hand.

Kong Sheng placed the scabbard on the desk, then used two fingers to flick the gleaming blade, producing a clear, lingering hum that echoed throughout the hall.

“Honored officials, gentlemen and scholars, this sword is called the Sword of Victory. Lady Yang personally went outside the city to the forge, selected refined iron and pure spring water, entrusted a master craftsman to temper it countless times, and finally gifted it to me.”

Upon hearing this, all present—save Yang Qi—were stunned, regardless of rank. A lady forging a sword might be nothing unusual, but for the most celebrated woman of Jiangnan to forge a sword and gift it to Kong Sheng, this carried far deeper meaning—a testament to her profound affection for him.

“Lady’s deep kindness is as high as the heavens and as vast as the seas; I cherish it in my heart, though I am filled with trepidation,” Kong Sheng said, bowing slightly to Yang Xueyao with sword in hand. Yang Xueyao had not expected Kong Sheng to publicly reveal the gift, yet sensing his emotional resonance, her heart stirred in sympathy. She rose gracefully and returned the gesture, “This sword is forged with my heart; my feelings shall never change, even as the world ages. You are worthy to receive it!”

Zhou Chang felt utterly cold inside. Their mutual affection had reached such a level, they no longer cared for society’s opinions. Seeing Yang Xueyao’s devotion, it seemed that even if she were to die for Kong Sheng at this moment, as long as her heart had its anchor, she would have no regrets.

What place was there for him, or for any other?

Yang Qi, though outwardly calm, felt turbulent waves within. He knew his daughter cared for Kong Sheng—otherwise, he would not have given Kong Sheng a chance—but the depth of her devotion, so unwavering and eternal, had taken him by surprise.

Kong Sheng took a deep breath, holding the sword with one hand as he strode into the hall, declaring, “I am anxious, fearing I might one day fail and disappoint Lady’s hopes; I am anxious, wondering what virtue or ability I possess to deserve her deep affection.”

“Today, I shall dance the sword and sing for Lady Yang, to express my heart.” The long sword in Kong Sheng’s hand trembled, blooming into a dazzling flourish, then he leapt, weaving left and right as the sword dance began.

“Azure clouds above, golden leaves below, autumn colors stretch across the waves, and the cold mist rises. The hills reflect the slanting sun, the sky meets the water; the fragrant grass grows beyond the sunset, indifferent to all.”

His clear voice soared with the flowing sword dance, “Dark is the soul yearning for home, thoughts of journey chase me; night after night, only good dreams let one sleep. The moon towers high—do not lean alone; wine fills a sorrowful heart, turning to tears of longing.”

When he sang, “turning to tears of longing,” his voice suddenly softened, fraught with emotion. Yang Xueyao was spellbound, tears streaming down her face, unable to restrain her feelings.

She understood: Kong Sheng was bidding her farewell through song and sword dance, signaling their imminent parting. In the days to come, she would “lean alone on the moonlit tower,” solitary and forlorn, seeking solace in wine and dissolving her longing in tears.

The audience was equally entranced.

How much heartfelt affection and longing for his beloved were woven into Kong Sheng’s melodious song?

Such soul-stirring expression, accompanied by sword dance, was brilliant in its leaps and turns, full of changes and emotion. To gaze is to think, to think is to dream; dreams bring no rest, rest brings leaning, leaning brings solitude, solitude brings sorrow, sorrow brings wine, wine brings tears. Each sword movement marked a turning point, each word deepened the feeling; though many tried to resolve it, none could dispel the sorrow. The depth of emotion leapt from every line.

In truth, splendid writing was not the point—it was the passion and sincerity of the person!

The singing paused briefly, but Kong Sheng’s sword dance burned on, reaching its peak with a series of flips, thrusts, and parries. The audience watched, stunned and dazzled, only now realizing that the young man before them was not merely a frail scholar, but a warrior of innate strength and exceptional martial skill.

“Why should a man not carry a Wu hook, and reclaim fifty counties beyond the passes? Please, ascend the Hall of Smoke for a while—how many scholars have become lords of ten thousand households?”

Finished reciting, Kong Sheng abruptly halted the sword dance. He stood poised on one leg, the sword extended, its cold light flashing inches from Zhou Chang’s face, humming as it quivered.

Zhou Chang’s face turned ashen, sweat streaming down, wishing to flee but his legs trembled too much to rise.

Yang Xueyao’s eyes were blurred with tears, her heart ablaze.

If the earlier song and sword dance had been a farewell of affection, this final chant fully revealed Kong Sheng’s ambition and grand vision for achievement.

Yang Xueyao could hardly contain the eruption of emotion within her, yearning to rush forward, throw herself into his arms, and embrace him tightly. Even if the heavens fell or the earth changed, even if danger lay ahead, nothing could stop her heart from surging forward like the mighty Yangtze!