Chapter 29: The Phoenix Mist Amidst a Hundred Blossoms

As for gathering news about the Wu Dynasty, that was merely a final, incidental goal for Fang Xian; he believed that even without making a deliberate effort, such matters would naturally become the talk of the town. As for his current strength, Fang Xian found himself making tremendous progress every day—not in cultivation, but in physical constitution. He discovered that the mysterious energy generated within him each day was only partly retained to sustain his inner workings; the rest was devoted entirely to strengthening his body inside and out.

By his own reckoning, his physical strength now rivaled that of martial artists like Ye Hongxiu or Zhou Tianming, who had just broken through to the first-class ranks. When his constitution reached a certain threshold and the mysterious energy within him grew sufficiently robust, that would be the moment he broke through into the realm of first-class masters himself.

“Son-in-law, since we’re entering the city, how about a trip to the brothel?” Gan Scar shouted as he spurred his horse forward.

“Scar, if you dare drag the young lord to a brothel, just wait till the young mistress gets you back at the stronghold,” Yang Beard laughed and cursed. Everyone in the stronghold knew of the deep affection between the young lord and the young mistress.

“Son-in-law, you can drink and listen to music at the brothel too. Since it’s a rare occasion for us to be out, wouldn’t it be nice to broaden our horizons?” Chen Baldy joined in with a grin.

“The young lord isn’t like you lot. Your wives can’t keep you in line, but the young mistress wields a mean whip,” joked Li Banner.

“Da Niu, come with us,” Zhao Halfpenny called out when he saw Da Niu was silent.

“I’ve taken note of everything you’ve said. Just wait till I tell the young mistress and see how she deals with you!” Da Niu grumbled after a moment. Although his skills had surpassed theirs, these men were older and seasoned rogues in the stronghold—apart from the old master and young mistress, there was little else they truly feared.

“All right. If we get our business done, I’ll allow you all a night at the brothel. Da Niu, you’re going too,” Fang Xian said with a laugh.

Once they left the mountains, a main road appeared. The group galloped along, a young falcon circling overhead, sometimes flying ahead to scout for danger before returning to report to Fang Xian.

Dressed as hunters, they entered the official road, leading spare horses loaded with game they’d hunted along the way to better disguise their identities.

A shrill cry echoed overhead as the young falcon swooped back from ahead, circling above Fang Xian and calling sharply. Fang Xian’s heart stirred. “Be on guard—there’s something unusual ahead.”

The group immediately slowed, advancing cautiously with hands poised on their weapons. Fang Xian readied his bow as they crept closer to the forest ahead.

Within the dense woods, a young woman in white was locked in fierce battle with two masked figures in gray. Though not yet in her prime, she fought with the skill of a second-class master at the very peak, wielding as her weapon a vivid red flower that glimmered like a blade.

Her opponents, both second-class fighters, attacked with relentless ferocity—one wielding a long saber, the other an iron rod—as they circled her.

By the time Fang Xian and his companions arrived, blood already stained the young woman’s sleeve; her left arm hung limp, yet she gritted her teeth and spun her flower weapon, its petals opening and closing, slashing at her foes with razor-sharp force.

“Can you tell who they are?” Fang Xian asked quietly, watching from half a mile away.

“There’s only one sect in the martial world that uses exotic flowers as weapons—the Hundred Blossom Abyss. I only heard the old master mention it once, though, and never met any disciples. I can’t say for certain if that’s where this girl’s from,” Gan Scar mused.

“As for those gray-clad masked men, I’d wager they’re from the Gray Robe Gang, notorious across the southwest. They’re a gang-turned-sect, identified by their gray robes, calling themselves ‘Brothers of the Robe’—but truth be told, they’re not much different from us in trade,” said Chen Baldy, glancing at the other two.

The three figures in the distance, noticing a mounted party approaching, slowed their fight and watched warily. Seeing Fang Xian’s group halt at a distance, they returned to their duel.

“What else do you know about the Hundred Blossom Abyss or the Gray Robe Gang?” Fang Xian asked. He made no rash judgments about right or wrong; such things were no longer the standard by which grown men measured others.

“I recall the old master once told a tale over wine,” Gan Scar said, “that all the disciples of the Hundred Blossom Abyss are beautiful women. Their leader, Lady Blossom, is said to be even more formidable than a Grandmaster of Transcendence.”

“Do you know what realm lies above Grandmaster of Transcendence?” Fang Xian asked, curious. So far, that was the highest martial rank he’d heard of.

“No idea,” came the replies. “That’s far beyond us.”

They all shook their heads. Except for Da Niu, none of them were even first-class experts; the realm of Grandmaster was a distant dream, let alone anything higher.

“Does the Gray Robe Gang have anyone more powerful than a Grandmaster?” Fang Xian wondered aloud, just as the woman in white took another cut, blood spraying from her back, yet she fought on with redoubled fury.

“I doubt it. Never heard so,” Chen Baldy said, and the others nodded; they knew more of the Gray Robe Gang, being rivals in the same line of work, though theirs was a formal organization.

Suddenly, Fang Xian spotted one of the masked men swinging his iron rod down at the young woman’s right shoulder—a blow that would shatter bone if it landed. Instantly, Fang Xian loosed an arrow.

With a metallic clang, the arrow struck the iron rod, sending the masked man stumbling back two steps, his hand trembling violently from the force.

“The Gray Robe Gang is conducting business here. Who are you, to interfere with us?” one of the masked men barked coldly as the two drew together.

“Just couldn’t stand to see two grown men bullying a young lady. Be off with you!” Fang Xian replied, riding forward with a wild, arrogant grin.

“Dare you leave your name?” the masked men called as they retreated.

“I never change my name or my trade. I am Fang Xian, known as the Sage Healer. Remember me well—if you want revenge, come find me in Qingyang County!” Fang Xian laughed heartily.

“We’ll meet again!” With his name in hand, the two masked men leapt away and vanished.

“I am Feng Xia, disciple of Lady Peach Blossom of the Hundred Blossom Abyss. Thank you for your aid, sir,” the woman in white said with a bow, relief flooding her expression now that her foes had fled.

But the gesture tugged at her wounds; pain contorted her brow and she swayed unsteadily, nearly collapsing. Fang Xian leaped from his horse and caught her. “Miss Feng Xia, your injuries are serious. I am skilled in medicine—allow me to treat you.”

With a wave, Fang Xian signaled Da Niu and the others to form a vigilant perimeter ten paces away, though some couldn’t help sneaking glances, curious to see if Fang Xian would take advantage of the situation.

“Thank you, Young Master Fang. I took a blow to my right shoulder and a cut across my upper back,” Feng Xia whispered, her cheeks flushing as Fang Xian half-supported, half-embraced her.

“Take this hemostatic pill first—it will stop the bleeding. I’ll bandage you up,” Fang Xian said, handing her a healing pill, then opening his kit to reveal an array of medical tools: silver needles, a small knife, tweezers, gauze, and more. Only then did Feng Xia begin to believe in his skills, swallowing the pill.

“This may hurt a little,” Fang Xian warned, then bound her left shoulder and back. Fortunately, the wounds missed any major tendons or bones. With medicine and bandages, she would recover in two or three days.