Finally, the eaves of the Li Family Manor appeared at the turn of the mountain woods ahead. The Li Family Manor was also enveloped by the silver moonlight.

The moonlight permeated everywhere. The wind blew quietly.

The wind moved, the bamboo moved, the shadows moved. All were swaying gently within the moonlight.

Stirring up a slight, chaotic dance of shadows in the breeze. It was at this time of frost-covered, full moon that Lu Yuan returned to the Li Family Manor.

Night had fallen, and normally, the manor would be utterly silent by now, save for the guards patrolling; most of the compound had sunk into sleep, the daytime bustle long gone. Just then, a cultivator hurried over: "Greetings, Young Master." Lu Yuan raised a hand: "Rise.

Tell me, what is it?" "It is this, sir," the cultivator nodded. "We received over a dozen letters this evening." "Oh, let me see them." Lu Yuan took the letters from the cultivator's hand and broke the seals one by one.

After reading them all, a cold smile touched his lips. These dozen or so letters were primarily from four main figures: Sun Tiangang, backed by Qingcheng Sect; Wang Hongtu, head of the Wang Family, a millennium-old clan entrenched here; Huang Fengbo, head of the Royal Family, connected to the Great Jin Imperial Clan; and Qian Leng, head of the Qian Family, supported by a mid-tier cultivation sect.

The remaining letters were from the leaders of various other minor and major powers within the East Dao Prefecture. These letters employed every manner of rhetoric, adorned with various levels of politeness.

Yet, their singular, underlying purpose was to probe his limits. Indeed, when Lu Yuan first arrived, the major and minor powers of the East Dao Prefecture paid him little heed.

So what if the Young Master arrived? So what if this Young Master was a true disciple of Huashan’s Northern Peak?

He was far too young. Despite being a true disciple, his actual strength couldn't be significant.

More importantly, youth implied inexperience, making him easy prey for the seasoned figures present. In short, upon Lu Yuan’s arrival, virtually everyone present assumed he was too green.

Green in strength, and green in experience. As it turned out, everyone had misjudged.

An eighteen-year-old true disciple had beaten the eighty-year-old, seasoned Sun Tiangang into submission, making him concede. This required not only formidable power but also considerable shrewdness in execution.

It was preposterous; such things shouldn't happen. Naturally, they were curious about what Lu Yuan actually looked like—how could someone so young subdue the experienced Sun Tiangang?

It was no simple feat. Of course, they had all, to varying degrees, seized the mining tunnels belonging to the lineage of the fading Sword Immortal.

Forcing them to relinquish what they had already swallowed would be extremely difficult. They conferred and decided to send out a coordinated communication—letters from over ten powers, collectively bearing an implicit warning: even if Lu Yuan was a powerful newcomer, he must bow his head upon entering the East Dao Prefecture, especially as a young man supposedly lacking experience.

Yes, this was a test. A test of Lu Yuan’s bottom line, a probe of his attitude.

They surely believed that facing the combined force of more than ten powers, Lu Yuan would have to show some deference. The most frequently proposed solution in the letters was to shelve the disputes and pursue joint development.

Simply put: the mining tunnels previously occupied by the lineage of his Sword Immortal could be set aside as a point of contention, and everyone could develop them together. This was explicitly testing Lu Yuan's threshold.

Lu Yuan laughed. Interesting.

More than ordinarily interesting. Lu Yuan then spoke to Li Fang, who stood behind him: "Li Fang, draft my reply.

Write this: all those currently occupying the Xiangshan mines must return them unconditionally. And there must be compensation.

Every single entity that has occupied a tunnel must offer a specified amount of compensation. There are no terms for discussion." What a joke.

These people wanted to test his limits, demanding that disputes over his mines be shelved for 'joint development'? What nonsense was this?

How could such a good deal exist? They wished to test his limits; he would respond with iron rigidity.

Li Fang nodded and immediately took up his brush to write furiously. He felt a surge of satisfaction; he had never penned such a forceful reply to the leaders of other powers before.

Surviving amongst so many factions was truly difficult, but now he finally got to indulge his passion for the brush. The attendant cultivator also felt a secret thrill.

The Young Master was the Young Master indeed. In the old days, facing these various powers, one dared not be so assertive.

Only by following the Young Master could such strength be exerted; only by following him offered a way forward. This cultivator had recently sustained a minor injury and earned three spirit stones, a small profit, and had long worshipped Lu Yuan from the depths of his heart.

Now, that admiration was only deepened. —————— Bamboo shadows stirred in the wind.

Lu Yuan sat quietly in the back courtyard. For some reason, he felt the urge to practice his swordplay.

The Yangwu Sword was drawn from its sheath. He quietly regarded the three-foot-three-inch blade in his hand.

The blade seemed to reflect the moonlight. Fine, he would practice some sword forms.

He began practicing the familiar routine: the One Hundred and Eight Swords of Wind and Cloud. "Cloud Lingers Softly," "Great Wind Heavily," "Clouds Entwine, Sword Disturbs," "The Great Wind Rises"...

"Heavy Clouds, Urgent Wind," "Wind Passes Over Rivers and Mountains, Leaving No Trace"... "Clouds Approach, Wind Disturbs," "Wind Passes Over Rivers and Mountains, Leaving No Trace," "Clouds Lock Deep Mountains, Wind Cannot Stir"...

He executed the One Hundred and Eight Swords of Wind and Cloud, one by one, Lu Yuan wielding the forms casually, his mind empty, without specific thought, not seeking enlightenment, nor desiring it. Now, with the moon high above, he only wished to practice the One Hundred and Eight Swords of Wind and Cloud freely under the moonlight.

Each movement, each form, was executed under his hand, reflecting the overhead moonlight, the sword-light dazzlingly bright. For now, it was purely the appreciation of the longsword in his hand, the beauty of the forms it sculpted.

The sword was incredibly agile in his grasp; it had become an extension of his very body. He realized, without noticing, how deeply he had grown to love the One Hundred and Eight Swords of Wind and Cloud—a technique carved into his bones, flowing within his very blood.

"Wind Calm, Cloud Silent" was the final move, and with its execution, the hundred and eight forms were complete. The Yangwu Sword was slowly returned to its scabbard, sheathed in the ancient casing.

As the Yangwu Sword settled, Lu Yuan couldn't help but think of his master. His master’s health must have worsened again.

Although he always presented himself as a drunken wanderer who cared for nothing, when the moon was cold and the people were silent, practicing with the Yangwu Sword his master had gifted him, he inevitably missed his master. Enough, enough.

All thoughts dissolved into a single draught of wine. He uncorked the gourd and gulped the wine down.

(The editor notified me today that the book goes on sale. Well, despite the lack of preparation, it will launch today.

The next chapter should be the launch chapter; I’ll prepare an author’s note first.)