Looking at the Sword by Lamplight (14)
Bian Hongqiu didn't miss the pain in Meng Shizhuang's eyes. His heart skipped a beat, and he immediately knew he'd accidentally done something wrong with good intentions. His palm, warmed by the ironing of the old bowl, now carefully clambered up Meng Shizhuang's exposed right forearm.
The moment they touched, Meng Shizhuang's cold arm trembled violently.
He did not shake off Bian Hongqiu, and all his attention was on the "old friend" he had met again after a long time in the sword box.
Bian Hongqiu recreated the scabbard, but he didn't bother with any ingenious design. The carvings on the scabbard simply followed the original pattern, with only a few tiny magnolia branches carved into inconspicuous areas. The original scabbard was rusty, and Bian Hongqiu spent considerable effort to discern the pattern. It bore a resemblance to the ripples on the sword's blade, but when exposed, it appeared even more ferocious.
Others may not know what the scabbard of this sword originally looked like, but Meng Shizhuang has been with it day and night, and he would recognize it even if it turned into ashes.
He didn't know whether he was confident or lucky. After all, the scabbard was new and the sword had not been unsheathed. He shouldn't have been so sure.
The sword he had held in his arms countless times, intending to throw into the sword furnace to perish alongside him, now, beneath the torrential downpour that blanketed Sujian Mountain, was stained with the blood of his enemies, the blood of strangers he had never met, the blood of Lao Hu, and even his own. Soaked in the mingled blood of the night Sujian Mountain fell, Meng Shizhuang used it for one final act.
He dug a pit just big enough to accommodate an adult and buried the body of the deceased.
The rain poured by the white sword between heaven and earth made a long sound, like a plea of sorrow.
The tip of the sword was deeply embedded in the ground, blood and mud mixed together and flowed with his footsteps, while the dirt on the hilt was washed away by the rain.
Meng Shizhuang heard the sound of swords.
But he didn't look back.
He really hated this sword.
But ten years later, the sword returned to his hands by chance.
Meng Shizhuang's eyes were red. He propped his left hand on the stone table to support himself and asked Bian Hongqiu in a low voice, "Where did you find it?"
Bian Hongqiu realized, more than ever, that he had overlooked all the painful past that Meng Shizhuang hadn't revealed. He admired Meng Shizhuang, fascinated by his courage, determination, and vibrant energy, but he didn't understand how he had managed to emerge from the abyss with such tenacity.
He ignored Meng Shizhuang's trembling, clasped his limp fingers, and replied, "In Daohai City, in an unknown blacksmith shop in the city."
Meng Shizhuang straightened up, took out the sword with his left hand, and tapped the hilt against the edge of the stone table where it met the scabbard. The sword didn't slip out of the long-broken clasp as he'd expected, but remained securely in its scabbard. He gazed at the brand-new scabbard, and before his eyes flashed several old friends' eyes, filled with deep resentment and regret.
He consciously held onto the possibility that this might not be his sword.
His sword shouldn't be unable to open.
But when he blocked the hilt and slid the scabbard, and drew the sword simply and neatly like all ordinary long swords in the world, the bright and familiar sword body almost dazzled his eyes, and the ripples on the water hit his dull cheeks brightly. He and Su Jian looked at each other quietly, looking at the eyes on the sword body that had not appeared for a long time, which contained hostility and murderous intent.
The owner of the eyes seemed like fragments of his soul, returning to his body along with the sword, stirring the blood in his meridians and causing it to surge. Then, through the sword, he asked him, "Do you think that by taking revenge, you can get rid of me?"
This sword was like a demon in his heart that he could never get rid of. It mocked him evilly and told him that this hatred was a part of his body.
Meng Shizhuang's gaze uncontrollably followed the snow blade's ripples. He saw a tender red flower he had planted swaying in the breeze, growing vigorously in the spring morning. At that moment, he recalled his own skinny childhood, and a surge of resentment instantly overwhelmed the remaining rationality in his mind. He swung his white sword decisively outward.
The sound of flowerpots bursting exploded in the courtyard. The poor flowers were shattered by the sword energy, and water droplets slowly fell. Not long ago, the owner who raised it had carefully watered it with just the right amount of water.
Bian Hongqiu was startled. He immediately grabbed Meng Shizhuang's right arm and hugged him from behind to stop him from raising his sword: "Ah Shi, calm down!" The scabbard was thrown to the side of the well by Meng Shizhuang's action. He was not a spider spirit and could not spit out such a long silk. He looked around and saw the sword case still on the stone table. He slapped his free hand and the sword case weighing dozens of pounds flipped out and was pierced by the tip of the white sword.
Meng Shizhuang's body was tightly held by Bian Hongqiu's arm, and the sword case covered the snow-white sword. Meng Shizhuang could not see her blood-red eyes, and she suddenly lost her strength, closed her eyes and leaned in Bian Hongqiu's arms.
Hearing the noise, Liu Lang ran out barefoot and looked at Bian Hongqiu with condemnation, not knowing the whole story.
Bian Hongqiu forcefully pressed his five fingers into Meng Shizhuang's left palm, forcing him to release the hilt of the sword.
Meng Shizhuang gasped, realizing she had lost control, and said in a hoarse voice, "I don't want it. Take it away."
He doesn't want the sword.
He pushed Bian Hongqiu away, picked up the teapot, took a few sips of tea, and slowly calmed himself. Bian Hongqiu picked up the sword that was integrated with the scabbard, pulled the sword out, and the scabbard immediately shattered into pieces. He had no choice but to put the sword back into the scabbard and casually put away the "corpse" of the scabbard.
Meng Shizhuang stood up and went to the room where Lao Ju's spirit tablet was placed. When he turned around, he didn't say a word to Bian Hongqiu: "Take the sword with you. I don't need this sword." Then he took a few steps into the room and gently pushed the door closed.
Liu Lang stood aside, frowning as he looked at the sword in Bian Hongqiu's hand.
Bian Hongqiu quietly drew out the sword, only to see the sharp and clear blade.
Liu Lang figured it out immediately, his face filled with frustration and dissatisfaction. If there was a talent for "bringing up irrelevant things," then Bian Hongqiu was truly exceptional. There were countless swords in the world, and Song Jingyan had originally found several for Bian Hongqiu to choose from, asking him which one he wanted. Bian Hongqiu had chosen this one, the one that would have sent Meng Shizhuang into a tailspin.
The passion that had been lingering in Bian Hongqiu's heart all night was completely extinguished, leaving only guilt.
He followed the example of others and wanted to give his beloved a token of love, but he didn't expect to mess it up like this. He had no choice but to return to the garrison with the sword in his arms, and he didn't care to deal with the greetings from others along the way.
Song Jingyan knew at a glance that this was the wrong gift.
Although Meng Shizhuang was still a teenager when they first met, she could reveal a lot in a few words, but she couldn't reveal her secrets to strangers in a few words. She didn't focus on digging into their past, so she didn't know much.
Bian Hongqiu didn't want to leave this matter to other people.
In his room, he examined the sword that he had once been so pleased with. The hatred, rage, and uncontrollable fear and pain that Meng Shizhuang felt when he looked at the sword were all clearly reflected on the blade.
And this sword is as clean and transparent as a wave of water that will never be stained by dust.
Bian Hongqiu stared at the sword, as if he saw Meng Shizhuang, ten years earlier, struggling painfully under the sword's gaze. He picked up the sword and casually threw it under the bed. Turning back, Song Jingyan stood behind the window, looking at him with a headache: "Your Highness, you can't stuff everything you don't want to see under the bed."
How did this problem come about?
When I was little, there were things I didn't want to eat or drink, then books I didn't like to read, and clothes I didn't like to wear. How can I still be so childish at this age?
Bian Hongqiu stretched out his hand to block, meaning that Song Jingyan should not help him clean up.
Song Jingyan walked into the house from the window, with Hengbo behind her holding a few simple dresses, looking at Bian Hongqiu with anticipation.
Bian Hongqiu frowned at the expression on her face, then, with his hands behind his back, peered toward the window. Sure enough, Qi Ziyu, accompanied by a few eager soldiers, were squatting beneath the window, their heads peeked out in a line like rats. He pulled a brightly colored crabapple branch from the vase on the windowside table and smacked each of them on the head.
He raised his narrow eyes and smiled maliciously: "Come in!"
Except for the thick-skinned Qi Ziyu who followed his instructions and went into the house, thinking he had permission, the others were all alarmed and pushed each other in groups of three or two, making excuses to escape, but were stopped by Bian Hongqiu.
Song Jingyan turned her head away when she noticed their pleading eyes, and saw Qi Ziyu happily taking the pearl flower from Hengbo's hand and playing with it.
When Bian Hongqiu took off his women's clothing, they had just established a firm foothold in the Western Territory. The first battle to capture Kailanzhou was also Bian Hongqiu's first real battle. His face had nothing to do with men's or women's clothing. In short, it was so beautiful that it made people feel very uneasy. He was so pale and delicate that even wearing armor seemed to be weighed down by the heavy armor.
Everyone was only concerned about whether he could control the battlefield.
It wasn't until Bian Hongqiu was able to control the situation with ease and the life-or-death crisis had subsided that they realized they had lost something to amuse Bian Hongqiu. Although Bian Hongqiu didn't shy away from others mentioning his past as a woman after returning to manhood, and sometimes he would disguise himself as a woman to do something private on a whim, he rarely let them see him.
Bian Hongqiu looked at Qi Ziyu's tough face with sharp eyebrows and bright eyes, squinted his eyes and picked up the eyebrow pencil.
Qi Ziyu then realized that something was wrong and was about to step back, but a group of soldiers he had brought to watch the fun grabbed him and pushed him in front of Bian Hongqiu.
—
Meng Shizhuang sat cross-legged in front of the old man's memorial tablet for the entire night.
At his knees were the two knives left by his old friend. After the knives broke, he had them forged at a blacksmith's shop in the city. He then reassembled the pieces into two complete knives, carefully wrapping them in cloth. He gripped the handles, believing he could muster the strength to last from dawn to dusk, and then to the next daybreak.
But before he realized it, he had returned to his familiar dreamland.
It was behind the twelve doors on Sujian Mountain again.
Meng Shizhuang stood outside the forest in the quiet night of his dream. The fire that always burned in his mind hadn't yet begun. He saw a young man, barely as tall as his shoulders, carrying a sword several times thicker than his bones and hiding in the woods. Then, a group of loosely patrolling disciples passed through his ethereal form, and the sound of unbridled laughter could be heard clearly: "After this trip, we can finally get away with it... What are you afraid of? The head of the Loyalty Hall has already given the order. Now that we're short on manpower and the external threat has been resolved, the Loyalty Hall disciples don't have to cling to us to oversee us."
Meng Shizhuang stood there without moving.
He often heard Liu Lang ramble on about his dreams at the dinner table: things like passing the imperial examination, golden rain from the sky, all sorts of dreams, both real and imaginary, both pleasant and nightmare. The children would tell him stories to make him laugh, and he would ask about other things in Liu Lang's dreams. But he was always curious about why his dreams always replayed past events.
The moon and night in the dream were exactly the same as that day.
Meng Shizhuang looked up. A moment later, when the dark cloud moved in and obscured the moon, those hiding in the woods would draw their swords and strike. At first, while his physical strength and brains still had time to spare, he avoided letting his swords see blood. He knew who was behind the twelve gates, so he had even stuffed the disciples who remained behind at the first few gates into the secret compartments.
The sound of the door opening, which was engraved in his bones and blood, rang in his ears.
By the fifth, Meng Shizhuang could almost picture the sound of blades splattering blood. Behind him, the awakened mountain dwellers rushed over, pouring into the small chamber with either anger or indifference. But the sound of the door opening didn't hesitate for a moment. The twelfth sounded mercilessly, and the outsiders advanced with knives drawn. The lush greenery of Sujian Mountain was transformed into a flame of death that blew towards the horizon.
In her dream, Meng Shizhuang had seen so much that she gritted her teeth and trembled all over.
He anticipated when this dream would end.
He watched the blood-soaked young man run back to Keju, and took Laoju down the mountain while the two sides were fighting.
Meng Shizhuang looked at the mountain gate where corpses were scattered all over the ground but the sound of swords clashing was very clear. When the first thunder sounded, the people of Fanli Village would be forced back here by the sword masters who counterattacked from Sujian Mountain. Then heavy rain would fall, and the people of Fanli Village would hold on here and wait for support from people rushing over from another mountain.
Then, when the second thunder strikes, the returning boy will throw out a knife that no one expected.
This knife would end the life of the wily and calculating Master Fan as sloppily as cutting a melon. His neck and head would be chopped in two by the young man's unbridled strength.
Meng Shizhuang stared intently at the scene before him, a burning hatred and regret threatening to consume him. He watched as the Fanli Villagers' ranks were suddenly thrown into disarray. The disciples, led by the Zhongyi Hall, managed to catch their breath, and under Lao Hu's command, they struggled to suppress the forces that outnumbered them several times over at Sujian Mountain. A larger melee ensued. The bewildered young man, caught sight of his purpose in the rain, returned to the mountain. He naively envisioned taking with him, as he had with Lao Ju, another elder he could never quite distinguish between love and hate.
He saw the man in red, blazing in the rain, drawing his sword without distinguishing friend from foe, walking towards him with blood all the way, wanting to take advantage of his misfortune and kill him.
In times of crisis, Lao Hu would abandon his sword and protect "him" in his arms. Seeing the situation, the hall masters who turned against him besieged Luo Shun. This internal struggle that would lead to the destruction of Sujian Mountain would continue until the rain stopped.
Meng Shizhuang watched coldly as "he" carried Lao Hu's body down the mountain, only to be stabbed in the shoulder blade by a broken knife from a last-ditch resistance disciple from Fanli Village. He spun lightly in his dreams, the incense burning before Lao Ju's ancestral tablet entering his dreams. He reached down and touched the two knives he had wrapped.
The two of them revolved around Meng Shizhuang in dreams and reality.
He opened his eyes and saw the hazy memorial tablet of Old Ju in front of him. He could hear Old Hu's tearful apology in his ears: "Ah Shi... I, I still haven't fulfilled the promise I made to Senior Brother Ju. I'm sorry for you." He would use his remaining strength to touch Meng Shizhuang's soaked face, "Ah Shi, I've wronged you over the years... Go away, go away."
Meng Shizhuang opened his eyes numbly and looked at the blurry memorial tablet, his mind filled with the sobs he had suppressed tightly in his chest at that time.
He tried to drag Lao Hu down the mountain, but when Lao Hu died, he turned around and saw that the sword that Luo Shun had thrown into the ground at the mountain gate could still illuminate his eyes clearly.
The moment she saw her own eyes, Meng Shizhuang woke up from her dream.
His face was covered in water. The room was quiet. Incense burned in front of the memorial tablet all night long. Outside, the sky was bright again.
Meng Shizhuang knelt before the coffin, looking up at "Lao Ju." It was all a long dream, leaving only fatigue. Since Lao Ju's passing, he hadn't expressed his emotions as openly as he had yesterday, as if all his energy had gone into breathing. He dreamed as he always did, letting it go, never wanting to open old wounds and ponder why his dreams kept haunting him.
That's it.
Don't let him go.
When Meng Shizhuang pushed the door open and went out, the courtyard was filled with the aroma of mugwort.
Liu Lang learned from a neighbor's wife and toiled frantically in the kitchen all night, finally achieving some success. Seeing Meng Shizhuang emerge, he didn't ask if she was canceling her plan because of the sword Bian Hongqiu had given her. That wasn't possible. His brother's likes and dislikes seemed buried in a past he couldn't see; to this day, he never took his anger out on anyone or anything.
Meng Shizhuang realized he was about to miss the appointment. He put away his two swords, took out his seldom-used dagger, and, carrying his long-prepared bag, headed for the west city gate to keep his appointment. Liu Lang wrapped the green rice dumpling in oil paper and stuffed it into his bag. "Brother, take some with you on the way. The outskirts of Huangque Island are now accessible. I'll make arrangements with Uncle Ju."
Yes.
Qingming Festival is coming.
Meng Shizhuang didn't take it too seriously. She casually said to Lao Ju at the door that she was leaving, and walked out without looking back.
The weather was pleasant, and a gust of wind followed him all the way to the west city gate, blowing away the cold sweat on his body. He saw the people from Prince Liang's mansion gathered outside an inconspicuous carriage. Song Jingyan was the first to notice his arrival and ordered everyone to disperse.
He saw that everyone had a very obvious expression of trying not to laugh - facing Qi Ziyu, General Qi, who had such a handsome face, now had cheeks that were more festive than a matchmaker at a wedding. His eyebrows were drawn as thick as caterpillars, and his lips were opened like a white bone demon who wanted to eat people, revealing a row of bright white teeth at the back.
Meng Shizhuang took two steps back and didn't dare to move forward.
Qi Ziyu had been looking "happy" the whole day, just hoping that Bian Hongqiu would leave quickly, so he ignored Meng Shizhuang's resistance and pushed him into the carriage in two or three steps.
He stumbled onto the carriage, and a pair of slender hands reached out from behind the plain curtain and grabbed him. The curtain swayed gently in the wind, and Hengbo, standing beside it, lifted it. Bian Hongqiu, dressed in a silk dress and a pearl flower on her head, smiled and shouted in a pinched voice, "Ah, yes."
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