Why do I have so many masters?-Chapter 449 - 117: Banished Immortal Above the Tea Stall (2/2)

Wang Anfeng counted the Copper Coins he had, along with that piece of Silver, which should have been enough to stay in the inn of this small city for a good three to five days, including meals and drinks.

But when the Silver was all spent, the city remained eerily quiet. Not a soul from the White Tiger Hall showed up, and those from the Heavenly Sword Sect seemed like reclusive Taoists, without a shim of news.

During these days, the youth went out daily with his sword but didn’t spot anyone suspicious. When he asked the shopkeeper unintentionally, the elder’s strange look told Wang Anfeng that, to these locals, he might be the most peculiar one.

Carrying a lute and holding a sword.

Neither cultured nor martial.

The youth laughed it off, not minding, and merely bit into another mouthful of his steamed bun, finishing it before heading back.

He only moved around that courtyard.

At the entrance to Old Street, beneath the third Paulownia tree, one could often hear the sounds of sword practice, and see disciples in white sword robes coming out to buy meat and vegetables daily.

But it seemed he had taken root here, showing no signs of leaving, appearing to plan to stay for a long time, yet without concealing his movements at all.

Hong Hui still strictly admonished his disciples, guiding their swordsmanship and cultivation.

The days were bland as tea that had lost its flavour.

If one had to speak of anything unusual, it was only yesterday when a lot of paper money was burned in that courtyard, while Wang Anfeng sat in his room at the inn, leaning against the window sill.

Watching the flames for a long while, he also saw the figure of Hong Feibai. The youth didn’t notice him; his eyes just stared at the burning paper money, as if the flames were igniting within his eyes as well.

The next day, it was the usual sword practice at a glance.

Wang Anfeng thought about it and felt that waiting like a rabbit was not very effective. It might be because everyone knew this was the final moment whether it was the Heavenly Sword Sect or the White Tiger Hall, they were like foxes lying in wait, ready to pounce on their prey, extremely cunning and very patient.

Inside the inn.

Wang Anfeng sat cross-legged on the bed, the iron sword that had cost him nine hundred and seventy Copper Coins was placed on the table, and he took care of it using the sword-maintenance method taught by Mr. Ying.

The youth lifted the longsword, facing the thin sunlight of winter, and finally, it showed some cold gleam. He flicked it with his finger, but the sound still had some noise.

Nevertheless, this sword should be worth some more money.

Breaking even shouldn’t be hard.

Wang Anfeng harbored some doubts about this issue, thought for a while, and raised his hand to sheathe the sword back in its scabbard and stood up.

He had gained nothing these days, so he decided to walk a bit farther today. If all else failed, he would go to the biggest tavern or tea house in the city to roam around and look for any clues.

Since this place was known as Old Street, information surely wouldn’t flow too freely.

Wang Anfeng picked up the sword, locked the room, and came down from the inn, where the innkeeper, half-leaning over the table fiddling with the abacus, glanced up at him, then lazily withdrew his gaze, uninterested in greeting this guest.

The bellboy, however, was quite enthusiastic, making small talk as he saw Wang Anfeng off through the inn’s front door, only then turning back.

At this moment, there weren’t many guests. The bellboy leaned on the doorway and remarked:

"This guest, I wonder what you’ve come to our city to do?"

"Could it be that you’re also here to visit those martial artists from the renowned Sects?"

He remembered the shabby iron sword in Wang Anfeng’s hand clearly, which led him to such a guess.

In Great Qin, where martial prowess is esteemed, there are countless Sect inheritances among the seventy-two Counties. Near this city, notably, is the famous Heavenly Sword Sect, offering complex and profound swordsmanship that those with lesser wits cannot even remember.

For those who dislike such technically advanced swordsmanship, not far away is the Tiger Sword Sect, which advocates powerful sword techniques that dominate purely through force, also carrying formidable prestige.

If one wishes to practice other weapons or unarmed combat and Inner Strength, there are also respective Sects in the mountains one could visit.

Perhaps it was because seventy years ago, the Heavenly Sword Sect once had a swordsman who, with a three-foot Wooden Sword, cleaved through the cloudy skies, leaving an impression so profound that despite the Sect’s decline over the past thirty years and regardless of the more eye-catching events stirred up by other Jianghu Sects.

In these two adjacent counties, spanning a radius of over five hundred miles, when speaking of martial arts Sects, the first name that comes to mind is still the Heavenly Sword Sect.

The innkeeper who fiddled with the abacus lifted his eyes and scoffed:

"Him?"

"The sword he holds barely compares to farming tools, what kind of swordsmanship can he use? He spends most of his time cooped up in his room, neither playing the lute nor studying. At such a young age, he’s truly full of laziness. What sort of swordsmanship can he practice with that attitude?"

The bellboy was momentarily speechless, recalling the behavior of the young guest these past days, and could not help but nod, saying:

"Indeed a bit lazy."

Putting down the abacus, the shopkeeper hehed and added:

"Lazy is lazy."

"But this is nothing, yesterday I went out and met Sun, the shopkeeper of Cloud Come Inn, and chatted with him for a moment. He too had a young man there, who looked quite remarkable, but was much lazier than this one."

"Honestly, according to Old Sun, if that guy were to starve to death one day because of his laziness, I wouldn’t be surprised at all."

"Young people should have some energy about them, even if it’s just to limber up their muscles. They can’t possibly idle away all day, can they?"

The waiter nodded in agreement, but realized the shopkeeper seemed to be making small talk. Yet, his eyes were intently fixed on him, as if trying to pry a few copper coins from his person. His smile began to falter, and he stood up, saying:

"The water must be almost boiling."

With that, he stopped the idle chatter and turned to grab a rag, carried the water out, and diligently wiped the already spotless tables.

The shopkeeper nodded with satisfaction.

He muttered to himself, wondering what the young people were doing loitering around.

This city is truly not large.

Even the finest and tallest tavern here cannot compare with those in Fufeng County City, where even the most ordinary is more luxurious.

Wang Anfeng stood opposite the tavern, where an old man running a tea stall served him a pot of tea for thirteen copper coins, looked at the cheap iron sword in Wang Anfeng’s hand, and mistook him for a young man from the city, coming to watch the lively scene of Jianghu people.

He smiled and called out:

"Young man, by your attire, you know martial arts?"

Wang Anfeng was slightly startled, spun the iron sword in his hand, and replied with a smile:

"A little."

The old man said with a smile:

"Your martial arts skill doesn’t really matter."

"You’re still young, and you can always train more in the future."

"The tavern over there is the best spot in our town, frequented by heroes from various sects who often come to drink there. Look, those are really some impressive fellows."

Wang Anfeng said, "Don’t people from our town go there?"

The old man chuckled and said:

"Who would go? It’s so expensive..."

After a couple more sentences, another customer arrived, a young Taoist of about fourteen or fifteen, small in stature but carrying a lot of luggage. The old man paused his chatter and went to greet the young Taoist.

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Wang Anfeng looked up at the tavern opposite and indeed observed that it was bustling with many people from the Jianghu.

Some carried swords on their backs, some wore double-edged blades, and others were unarmed but had extraordinarily robust physiques, external martial artists.

But there were few swordsmen, and none wielded the common three-foot Qingfeng sword found in the Jianghu.

The sword wielders there were all burly men; their swords were broad, about two hand spans wide, tapering as they extended downward, and overall resembled big iron cones for sieging. Their handles were also longer than those of ordinary weapons.

Wang Anfeng only needed one look, without even engaging in combat, to know that these weapons must be incredibly heavy, and their smashing effect would be no less potent than heavy weapons used by generals in battle.

The sword-carrying men seemed somewhat familiar.

Their faces were tinged with patches of blue and purple, as if they had been severely frozen in the snow. Many stoves were lit in the tavern, and they kept pouring strong liquor into their cups, but it was to no avail.

Maybe because Wang Anfeng didn’t conceal his gaze, the men, slightly drunk, constantly felt uncomfortable.

It was as though a bright, murderous knife hung behind their necks, causing intermittent chills in the bottom of their hearts.

They couldn’t find a reason, so one of them, holding a black porcelain bowl, sat at the table looking around, thinking it was nothing, and breathed a sigh of relief. Then a man in his early thirties came down from upstairs, approached their table, and after a bit of cheerful talk, no one dared to offend him and complimented him a few times.

As he was about to finish the liquor in his bowl, the man sitting directly opposite the inn’s entrance suddenly twitched his wrist, and his liquor bowl fell to the ground, shattering with a crack, the scent of alcohol wafting through the air, and the atmosphere abruptly stiffened.

The man who came down frowned.

He then acted as if nothing had happened, but these people from his sect appeared utterly unwilling to give him any face, as the sound of shattering bowls continuously echoed.

Those warriors, who were knocked unconscious in the snowy plains a hundred miles away and barely survived, trembled, their complexions visibly paling.

It was as if they were facing a nightmare.</p