Chapter 20: The Martial World (Part 1)

Everyone knows that the Sword God, Ximen Chuixue, only ventures out four times a year, specifically to execute those who are deeply evil and wicked.

Anyone he pursues, even if they flee to the ends of the earth, is certain to die.

Ximen Chuixue does not blow snow; he blows blood.

He seeks the Tao through slaughter, and he never leaves anyone alive beneath his blade.

A month ago, Ximen Chuixue descended from his mountain once more.

Every villain in the martial arts world trembled, terrified of being chosen as the next soul to perish under his sword.

Soon, the news broke: the Ghost Rakshasa was dead, his heart pierced by a single strike.

The villains of the world exhaled in collective relief.

Thank heaven and earth. May he rest in peace.

After the kill, Ximen Chuixue did not claim the imperial bounty; he returned directly to the mountain. He was like a cold, desireless god, caring only for the way of the sword.

The martial arts world began to discuss the hunt with great fervor.

"The Ghost Rakshasa didn't even last ten moves against Ximen Chuixue!" a young swordsman exclaimed, his voice filled with worship. "A flash of white light, and Ximen Chuixue’s sword had already pierced the Ghost Rakshasa’s heart. Fresh blood splattered onto the snow like droplets of red plum blossoms."

The surrounding crowd gasped in awe.

Just then, a cold breeze swept into the tavern, and a figure as ugly as a ghost stepped inside.

The young swordsman, who had been speaking so eloquently, shrieked in disbelief: "The Ghost Rakshasa!"

The entire room fell into shock.

Wasn't it said that he was dead?

Could this be a vengeful spirit before them?

Indeed, the crowd would rather believe they were looking at a ghost than believe anyone could survive a strike from Ximen Chuixue. That was a notion more absurd than a ghost itself.

Unanimously, everyone cast their eyes toward the Ghost Rakshasa's feet. There lay a long, dark shadow, proving he was a man, not a spirit.

What was going on?

Had Ximen Chuixue’s sword missed?

Impossible—that was Ximen Chuixue!

The ugly figure sat at a table and ordered a few small dishes. The entire tavern became deathly quiet, with everyone observing him.

"Are you the Ghost Rakshasa?" someone asked curiously.

"I am," replied the masked man.

"Did you take a sword strike from Ximen Chuixue to your heart?" the man asked again.

"I did," the masked man replied.

Everyone drew a sharp breath.

"Then how did you survive?"

"A divine physician saved me," said the Ghost Rakshasa.

"Which divine physician?" the crowd clamored. What kind of miracle worker could snatch a soul from the jaws of Hell?

"The physician did not tell me her name," the Ghost Rakshasa said. "She wears white, lives in a bamboo forest by Mirror Lake, and is a very beautiful woman."

A woman. The divine physician was a woman.

"How much did she charge for your treatment?" someone else asked.

The Ghost Rakshasa shook his head. "She did not ask for money. She only required me to agree to two things."

"What things?" the crowd pressed.

"The first," the Ghost Rakshasa said, "was to tell everyone that she was the one who saved me."

The crowd realized the truth. No wonder the notorious villain had suddenly become so amiable and forthcoming.

"The second," the Ghost Rakshasa continued, "was that I must henceforth accumulate merit and perform good deeds, and never again resort to violence. If I fail, she will claim my life."

The crowd had varied thoughts. If a great villain were to turn over a new leaf, that would be a good thing, but would he truly do it?

Can a wolf, having returned from the gates of death, really change its nature? If he were to return to his evil ways, how would the physician take his life?

Although the Ghost Rakshasa couldn't withstand ten moves from Ximen Chuixue, he was still a renowned master of the martial world; otherwise, the imperial court would not have been so helpless against him. Was it possible the divine physician was not only skilled in medicine but also a formidable martial artist?

While they talked, the waiter brought the food. The Ghost Rakshasa picked up his bowl and chopsticks and began to eat heartily, even downing several jugs of wine. His movements were no different from any ordinary person; one could never tell his heart had once been run through.

The crowd was stunned by the physician's miraculous skill. Some already planned to investigate the bamboo forest, while others decided to follow the Ghost Rakshasa to see if he would truly reform.

Seven days later, news spread throughout the martial world: The Ghost Rakshasa was dead.

The tavern was packed again, everyone huddled to hear the story from an insider.

"He could only act as a good man for seven days," the man recounted. "He couldn't help himself and planned to rob a transport, but in the end, he died."

This piqued everyone's curiosity.

"Did the divine physician kill him?" someone asked.

The man held out a hand. "Fifty taels."

The crowd, left in suspense but lacking the funds, cursed him in frustration.

The man chuckled. "They call me 'The Money-Grubber' in these circles. Without fifty taels, no one is prying my mouth open."

Tormented by curiosity, the crowd pooled their money, yet still could not gather fifty taels. Most of those wandering the martial world were paupers.

Just then, a handsome young man in fine silk stepped forward and placed fifty taels into his hand.

The Money-Grubber’s eyes lit up, and he tucked the money away. "Correct. It was indeed the divine physician who killed him."

"How did she kill him?" the young man asked. "With a blade or a sword?"

The Money-Grubber held out his hand again. "One hundred taels!"

The young man produced a one-hundred-tael banknote without hesitation.

The Money-Grubber grinned from ear to ear. "The physician used neither a blade nor a sword. She didn't even appear."

"Then how did he die?"

The Money-Grubber realized he had found a gold mine. "One thousand taels!"

The young man handed over a one-thousand-tael note quite readily.

The Money-Grubber was ecstatic. "For seven days, the Ghost Rakshasa remembered the physician's words and lived like an ordinary man. He didn't even use his internal energy to chop wood. But once his money ran out, he succumbed to his wicked nature. The moment he reached for his blade and channeled his energy, he suddenly began to bleed from his seven orifices and collapsed. Before he died, he tore open his clothes and scratched at his own body in agony. After a few moments, words appeared on his skin: 'Nature is hard to change; death is inevitable.'"

Such medical mastery was truly godlike. She was no mere physician; she was the King of Hell herself—she could grant life, and she could take it away.

The young man drew a deep breath. "Is this truly the truth?"

The Money-Grubber swore by the heavens, "If I have uttered a single lie, may all my money turn to dust!"

The young man left the tavern in a hurry, riding at full speed toward the Hua family of Jiangnan.

Perhaps his seventh brother's eyes could be saved.

...

Three days later, a caravan set off for Mirror Lake to seek the divine physician.

The horses were fine Davan steeds—sturdy, fast as the wind, each worth a thousand taels. Of the ten carriages, only one carried passengers; the others were filled with supplies.

Inside the carriage sat a middle-aged couple and a refined young man.

The young man was elegant and gentle, dressed in white, as graceful as a cloud over the Jiangnan region. His eyes were bright but vacant; he was clearly blind, yet a faint smile graced his face, free of any bitterness. To be in his presence was like feeling a spring breeze.

His name was Hua Manlou, the youngest son of the Hua family. He had suffered a severe illness in his youth that left him blind. To heal his sight, his parents had sought help everywhere, but all efforts had been in vain. Hearing of a divine physician at Mirror Lake, they had set off without delay.

In truth, Hua Manlou had accepted his blindness long ago and held no hope, but he cooperated with his parents' wishes to put their minds at ease. He had heard, however, that the physician had an eccentric temperament; if she didn't like you, she wouldn't treat you even for a thousand pieces of gold. He worried that they might not even be able to get through the door.

...

After traveling for some time, they finally saw a serene lake. The water was a deep, tranquil green, and the peaks on either side were lush, resembling a landscape painting. It was truly a place for a recluse.

Following a path up the mountain, they found a bamboo forest with a stone stele that read: "The living, I do not treat."

Many martial artists were lingering before the stone, and a man in a fur-trimmed coat was holding an axe, chopping wood. The Hua family learned that these people had all been turned away but refused to leave. The woodcutter was Xie Yu, the famous "Meteor Sword."

A few days prior, Xie Yu had offered a fortune for treatment. The physician had refused, ordering him to chop wood and fetch water, and to deal with those who came seeking help; in a year's time, she would treat him. It was because of Xie Yu that no one dared to cause trouble. To go up the mountain, one had to ask Xie Yu to pass the message.

The Hua family requested an audience and presented a priceless night-shining pearl from the deep sea.

A moment later, Xie Yu returned, saying the physician had agreed. The Hua family hurried up the mountain until they reached a small cottage at the summit.

Master Hua stepped forward and knocked. "I am Hua Rulin, seeking an audience with the divine physician."

The door opened, and a figure in plain white appeared.

She was a very young woman with skin as flawless as fine white porcelain, exuding a sense of coldness. Her long, black hair was loosely pinned with a jade hairpin; she wore no other ornaments. Her entire being was composed only of black and white, like an ink wash painting, yet she was stunning, needing no further colors to render her beauty.

Silence reigned, the bamboo leaves rustled, and she seemed like an immortal detached from the mortal world.

For a moment, Hua Manlou heard the breathing of those around him suddenly cease. He knew then that the physician must be beautiful indeed.