Volume One: The Emperor’s Sword Chapter One: The Ghost Servant Delivers the Sword

Yanmeng Town, Main Street.

A youth in white, sword slung across his back and wine jug in hand, galloped his horse at full speed.

“A drink brings momentary delight—keep drinking, keep enjoying... Make way! I’m going to be late!”

His horse’s charge drew startled cries all along the street as pedestrians scattered in panic. A freshly set tofu stall was trampled by the horse’s hooves, the delicate blocks of tofu smashed to pieces.

“Who’s the blind fool? You’ve ruined all my tofu!” The buxom tofu seller planted her fists on her hips, cursing fiercely.

The young man turned his head with a grin. “Send it to the Marquis’s manor—both the tofu and the lady are wanted by this Marquis!”

The tofu seller blushed, spat at him, and flung her remaining tray of tofu to the ground as well.

“Add two more trays to the Marquis’s tab—settle up at month’s end!”

A few pieces of tofu were of no consequence to a marquis. Everyone in Yanmeng Town knew that Yun Que, the Marquis of Coldwater, was a notorious spendthrift.

At the town’s center, a clearing was cordoned off, packed with a sea of onlookers. A wooden tower had sprung up overnight!

This tower bore a special name: Sword Trial Tower.

Every year, on the seventh day of the seventh month, such towers from the Sword Palace appeared in major towns across Yan. Only those who passed the tower’s test could hope to join the Sword Palace, embarking upon the path of cultivation coveted by all.

The Sword Palace stood above worldly rank, and whenever the Sword Trial Tower opened, the whole of Yan felt as if swept up in a grand festival.

This day was known as the Sword Trial.

“Look! Isn’t that Chu Xi, the eldest son of the Chu family? I hear his swordsmanship is remarkable—he’s sure to win a place in the Sword Palace.”

“And there’s Miss Han, the second daughter of the Han family! With her renowned teacher, she’s a shoo-in this year.”

The crowd pointed and murmured, the excitement mounting.

This year saw a greater number of wealthy scions than ever, most with genuine skill, each having trained for years in the hope of winning instant fame.

Failure was not merely a blow to pride—it could shatter one’s state of mind, hampering all future cultivation.

Of course, there were those who didn’t care.

Like the youth in white who had just arrived.

With a crash, the crowd parted to form a broad, straight path—not out of awe for his title, but for fear of catching the Yun family’s misfortune.

“It’s his fifth attempt—obviously not cut out for cultivation, yet here he is again.”

“If his father hadn’t holed up in Coldwater City, letting the northern barbarians run rampant, our great Yan would never have lost half its northern lands and earned the nickname ‘Southern Yan’.”

“The Emperor changed the title from Marquis of Yanmeng to Marquis of Coldwater so the Yun family would remember their disgrace. Yet he doesn’t care—just goes about causing trouble like the demon he is.”

“His father, Yun Changji, was a coward and a weakling. What more could you expect from his son? Like father, like son... Ow!”

Bang!

A flying wine jug struck the loudmouth square in the head, leaving him dazed. Then a flurry of punches rained down, bloodying his nose and mouth.

Hauling him upright by the collar, Yun Que smiled cheerfully. “To insult a marquis in public—you can’t say you didn’t deserve this beating. Next time, remember: insult me all you like, but leave my father out of it.”

Wiping the blood from his hands, the youth in white strode past the crowd to stand before the Sword Trial Tower.

“Well, if it isn’t the ever-defeated Marquis Yun! Come to try your luck again?” Chu Xi, eldest of the Chu family, sneered.

His words drew laughter from the other scions.

“Let’s hope the Marquis has better luck this year and doesn’t stumble at the start as usual.”

“Such persistence is truly admirable—never say die, even if you’re a hopeless case. Much respect.”

Yun Que was used to their taunts. Smiling, he pressed his fists together in salute.

“Thank you all for your encouragement. I’ll do my best—once I’m in the Sword Palace and we’re fellow disciples, I can continue to bully you all.”

At this, the young lords’ faces darkened. Status counted for much—a marquis could thrash them in public and the authorities would not intervene. They’d all taken their share of beatings from Yun Que growing up.

“The hour has come. The trial begins!”

The Sword Palace envoy’s voice rang out like a sword’s whistle.

The rules were simple.

The Sword Trial Tower was rigged with formations of sword energy. Endure three waves of this energy and you passed.

To resist the sword energy, one needed a sword—skill alone wouldn’t suffice. The better the sword, the easier it was to withstand the test.

Yun Que, familiar with the routine, claimed a corner and unslung his sword.

The blade was sharp, its body inscribed with intricate runes.

“Well, well—Marquis Yun’s got himself a magic weapon! Perhaps we shouldn’t judge a book by its cover—maybe not such a hopeless case after all,” Chu Xi mocked, drawing a blue sword that shone dazzlingly in the tower.

“A mid-grade magic weapon—the Blue Magpie Sword!”

“With that, Young Master Chu won’t even need to fight; he can just stand there and breeze through!”

The others looked on with envy. Their swords, like Yun Que’s, were only low-grade magic weapons.

Only Miss Han, the Han family’s second daughter, produced a sword not inferior to the Blue Magpie, its light rippling like water.

A whistle rose within the tower—the baptism of sword energy had begun.

Rings of sword power materialized from the air, descending upon their heads.

Facing the swirling energy, Yun Que raised his sword without hesitation.

His earlier attempts had never been in vain; he’d learned the ropes, but lacking a good sword, he’d never made it past the first wave.

This time was different.

With a true magic weapon, Yun Que was confident he could endure.

Suddenly, Chu Xi began to cheat, using his superior sword to drive his own wave of sword energy over to Yun Que’s side.

“You’ll never enter the Sword Palace! If you want to bully me, do it now!” Chu Xi jeered.

Just as he was gloating, he saw a brick tumble from Yun Que’s sleeve—then a black object flew at his face.

With a crisp crack, his head was gashed and bleeding.

“You’re cheating! No other weapons allowed in the Sword Trial Tower!”

“A brick isn’t a weapon—there’s no such rule in Yan’s laws.”

“Just you wait!” Chu Xi, furious, broke through the energy swirl and retreated to a side chamber to tend his wounds.

During the second baptism of sword energy, Chu Xi did something shocking—he struck the floor with his Blue Magpie Sword.

“You’re mad! Attacking the tower will only make the formation stronger!”

“Stop! If the energy swirls become more intense, we won’t survive!”

The crowd was aghast.

Chu Xi ignored them, pointing at Yun Que. “You think you’ll ever join the Sword Palace? Dream on!”

The power of the energy swirls doubled. At such strength, low-grade weapons could hardly hold.

Yun Que fought with all his might to disperse the energy. By the end, though he endured, his sword was covered in cracks.

Many found their weapons broken by the second baptism; cursing Chu Xi, they hastily withdrew. To remain without a sword was certain death—the sword energy would grind them to dust.

Yun Que returned to the temporary rest chamber.

He snapped his sword in two with a gentle twist.

“My whole estate...”

He nearly wept. He’d traded his entire marquisate for this sword—servants, maids, even two dog kennels and three big black dogs bundled together.

“So close to success. If only I had another sword.”

He sighed deeply.

“I have a sword. Want to try it?”

A hoarse voice spoke from the shadows.

Yun Que turned to see a squat man crouched in the corner, his brow deeply lined, his teeth yellowed.

“You have a sword? Show me.”

Yun Que never judged by appearances—especially now, when he needed a sword most.

The little man produced a sword case as if by magic. Inside lay a simple, ancient long sword.

Its blade glimmered blue, cold light dripping down its edge like water. Two characters were carved on its body.

Nine Tribulations.

“This is... my father’s sword!”

Yun Que leapt up in shock.

He knew this blade intimately—it was his father’s ancestral treasure, the Nine Tribulations Sword.

“You were my father’s retainer?”

“Indeed,” the man chuckled. “The Marquis sent me to deliver this sword—it’s taken me five years to get here.”

“How did you get in? Can’t they see you?”

“Of course not,” the little man grinned strangely. “Because I’m a ghost.”