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墨書 Inktalez
Everyone knows the character of Chengyang Jun; if you provoke him a little, he will retaliate tenfold. He is fiercer than a wolf when it comes to devouring people and stronger than a tiger or leopard when it comes to biting. If he had that kind of ruthlessness and reckless ability, he would have long since ascended to the throne of King of Chu, so why would he allow a fool to sit above him for many years?
Yan Ping was joking, but seeing Feng Lingjun curse out loud, he couldn't help but chuckle. "Lord Jun, calm down. Think about it, the more someone is like Chengyang Jun, the more likely they are to borrow troops. Setting aside whether other countries have such strength, Chengyang Jun's unpredictable tactics are unmatched by anyone else. He dares to do what others wouldn't; all notions of propriety and righteousness can be cast aside. There is no one more unreliable than him."
Feng Lingjun thought about it too; after all, not everyone could mobilize troops for a woman.
Resolute in his decision, he felt a surge of joy and instructed his servant, "Today is a day of celebration; prepare an extra late-night meal. Tell the cook to make two bowls of plain noodles for the occasion—make sure they are made with plain flour and use less oil."
The servant complied and went out, inevitably grumbling about how Lord Jun was so stingy. Plain noodles with less oil? Other Lords feed their pigs more lavishly than this.
Thinking about the appearance of those noodles made Yan Ping lose his appetite immediately. He hurriedly stood up to take his leave, saying he would come back another day to disturb them. Feng Lingjun was pleased to save a bowl of noodles.
To be honest, he had no choice but to be frugal; recruiting soldiers required money, winning over court officials required money, and hosting banquets to build relationships with royalty from various countries also required money. He wasn't in the business of making money; it was strange if he wasn't tight on funds…
At this moment, San Chun was clearly unaware that someone was planning to package her up and send her off to a man for him to savor slowly.
Overall, aside from Yan Ping occasionally appearing before her, her life in the residence was quite good. With Qing taking care of everything, she didn’t need to worry about anything and could enjoy her leisure time. However, life was too leisurely at times that she would forget what she came to this residence for. This troubled her greatly, so today as soon as she opened her eyes, she asked Qing: "Where are you going today?"
Qing was adjusting her clothes and glanced at her curled up in the blanket before replying indifferently: "To the training grounds."
Feng Lingjun had been training soldiers recently; their primary task each day was not only to guard Fengling Duke's Residence but also to practice martial arts. Therefore, the warriors in the residence spent much more time at the training grounds than on duty.
San Chun's eyes lit up as she smiled: "Can you take me with you?"
Qing Wei was taken aback; did she suddenly feel like becoming a warrior?
She should have gone by now; as a Junhou Warrior, spending all day eating and sleeping was hardly appropriate.
"Let's go." She grabbed her sword and walked out.
San Chun hurriedly got dressed without even washing her face and followed her out.
The residence of Feng Lingjun is not built in the bustling city like many wealthy families, but rather in a picturesque location on the outskirts of the western part of the city. The entire estate is constructed against the mountains, with a large mountain right beyond his backyard, and the training ground is situated within the mountains.
As they ascended the mountain, this was San Chun's first time seeing the training ground of Fengling Duke's Residence. She had thought that Feng Lingjun would be stingy, and that the training ground would be modest, but seeing it with her own eyes was astonishing; it was indeed impressively large.
She nodded repeatedly, feeling quite emotional. It seemed that all the chickens, ducks, fish, and meat that should have been served to them were instead used to fill this space.
When they arrived, Cheng Ming was engaged in a sparring match with a warrior. The two were exchanging blows with their swords and had already fought for several dozen exchanges. Cheng Ming was panting heavily, his sword techniques growing slower, while the other warrior appeared to be gaining strength as they fought, making victory seem inevitable.
San Chun found it uninteresting and yawned. Coincidentally, just after she finished yawning, Cheng Ming lost the match.
Watching him approach with a dejected expression, she couldn't help but touch her nose, feeling somewhat guilty towards him. If she had known that picking her nose would lead to his victory, she probably wouldn't have yawned.
Seeing this, Qing drew his treasured sword and leaped into the arena. His leap gathered all his strength and combined with an imposing aura that immediately created a powerful pressure.
The warrior who had defeated Cheng Ming had initially felt quite pleased with himself, but when faced with Qing's overwhelming presence, he suddenly fell apart.
As Qing wielded his long sword, he unleashed a flurry of sixty-four strikes in an instant. He did not seek to defeat his opponent; it was as if he was merely looking for someone to practice against. In no time at all, he had made the other man sweat profusely from exertion.
San Chun watched in delight and cheered loudly. Some people glared at her for being noisy, but she paid them no mind.
Cheng Ming saw this and suddenly shook off his dejection, joining her in cheering for Qing. Their voices echoed throughout the training ground, loud enough to hurt people's eardrums.
Qing had initially just wanted to stretch his limbs a bit, but with their ruckus, he found himself both amused and exasperated. Wasn't this forcing him to show off?
He switched the sword to his left hand, making the sword dance even faster and more beautifully.
After fighting for a while longer, the warrior began to feel anxious. He was a first-class warrior; if he couldn't even best a second-class warrior in a sword fight, how could he establish himself in the residence? He gathered all his strength and launched continuous attacks aimed at vital points.
Qing felt somewhat irritated. Shaking his hand, he sent his treasured sword's light soaring upward. The sword created several illusory blossoms in mid-air like a snake flicking its tongue before striking directly at the warrior's forehead. Just as their swords were about to clash, two streams of sword energy collided with a ringing sound; surprisingly, the warrior's Bronze Sword was knocked out of his hand.
He stood there momentarily stunned, seemingly unable to believe what had just happened. At that moment, San Chun shouted loudly, "Good—!"
The shout truly embarrassed her, and several warriors turned to glare in her direction.
As a warrior, she neither performed duties nor participated in training, which already drew criticism. With such a lack of decorum, it was no wonder that many looked down on her. At that moment, one person approached, sword across his chest, and slightly bowed, saying, "Please draw your sword."
This was a challenge to fight. San Chun touched her waist and realized she hadn't brought her sword. Even though her skin was toughened by Azure Forge, she couldn't help but feel a bit ashamed at this moment.
As a warrior, forgetting to carry a weapon made it understandable that others looked down on her.
She reached out to Cheng Ming, who quickly unfastened his Sword from his waist and handed it to her, reminding her not to break the sword.
The sword was the life of a warrior and a symbol of their identity. Only by carrying a fine sword could they prove their superiority. If it were to break, Cheng Ming would have no choice but to commit suicide with the broken blade in honor of the sword.
San Chun nodded. She had just learned a few sword techniques from Qing Academy, and it was time to test whether what he taught was effective.
She drew the sword without the sound of a dragon's roar; instead, she mimicked it with her mouth, "Clang clang—" Then with the tip of the sword down and the hilt up, right hand pressing down on the left, she performed a standard gesture of tribute to the deceased, saying, "Please."
The warrior frowned but did not respond. The sword techniques came like the wind, with over ten rapid strikes aimed at her. These moves were incredibly swift, seemingly intent on taking life with every strike.
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