Martial Dao: Peace by Force

Chapter 111: Chapter 94: Stealing Celestial Secret! Sword Momentum Wangshan

Patrols, arrests... an endless cycle.

Beneath the night sky, the patrol cars were particularly conspicuous.

The atmosphere in the streets and alleys remained tense. The occasional muffled gunshot from some corner of the city kept everyone on edge.

It felt as if the unknown lurked in the silence.

Jie Zhengyang was dead, and the Secret Palace Assassins who had been his powerful backers were withdrawing one by one...

However, the traitors they rooted out failed to escape the authorities’ dragnet and were summarily executed.

For the past two days, it was as if the smell of gunpowder permeated all of Holy City.

Fortunately, the chaos was finally beginning to subside.

Wan Ze was sitting in Tie Qingyang’s car.

Outside the window, the streets had already returned to their usual clamor as the car sped toward an old district in the western part of the city.

Before long, the car pulled up to the gate of a rather dilapidated courtyard home.

The gray bricks of the courtyard wall were crumbling, and the paint on the lintel above the gate was chipped and faded. It clearly hadn’t been touched in years.

A medium-sized cargo truck was parked by the gate, where several men in work clothes were carefully loading furniture wrapped in old quilts onto it.

A middle-aged man in a worn, navy-blue jacket stood beside the truck, murmuring instructions to the movers, his brow tightly furrowed.

The moment he looked up and saw Tie Qingyang stepping out of the car, he forced an enthusiastic smile, though it couldn’t hide his exhaustion. He quickly left the movers and hurried over.

”Mr. Tie, you’re here! It must have been a long drive. Please, come in, come in!”

The middle-aged man wrung his hands, seeming to breathe a sigh of relief, a hint of anticipation in his eyes.

Tie Qingyang smiled. ”No rush, Mr. Song. Are you... moving out?”

”Moving, yes.” The man, Mr. Song, glanced back at the half-empty courtyard and heaved a long sigh. ”I’ve spent half my life here. That’s more than enough.”

”So... you’ve resigned yourself to your fate?” Tie Qingyang asked gently. His words carried a hidden meaning, suggesting he knew something of Mr. Song’s circumstances.

”What choice do I have?” Mr. Song shook his head with a self-deprecating laugh. ”The old master wasn’t fortunate enough to keep the family business afloat, and I lack the skill and the drive to fight for anything. Now that he’s gone, it’s time to let the past be the past... let it all turn to dust.”

He waved his hand, clearly unwilling to dwell on such heavy memories. Forcing a smile, he said, ”But let’s not talk about that. Mr. Tie, you’re here today for the old master’s belongings, I presume? This way, please. I’ve set them all aside for you; I didn’t let the movers touch them.”

Only then did he notice the two young men standing behind Tie Qingyang. He simply assumed they were Mr. Tie’s sons or nephews and thought no more of it, nor did he ask.

Having been reminded by Wan Ze beforehand not to draw attention to him, Tie Qingyang hadn’t made any introductions. He simply gestured for Wan Ze to follow.

The group crossed the somewhat cluttered front courtyard.

A pomegranate tree grew in the center of the courtyard. Autumn was in full swing, and most of its leaves had turned a scorched, yellowish-brown. They rustled in the wind, an occasional leaf fluttering to the ground.

To the left stood a dull, vermilion, sheet-metal door, slightly ajar.

Mr. Song stepped forward and pushed it open. With a CREAK, he pulled a cord, and a single, dim incandescent bulb flickered to life.

The light flared on.

The small, ten-square-meter room was illuminated.

It was empty.

The only things inside were a few items, neatly arranged on the concrete floor against the far wall.

There were three rolled-up hanging scrolls, a sheathed longsword, and a palm-sized bronze toad statue.

Beside them sat a stack of old, thread-bound books, hastily tied together with hemp rope.

”These few things are all the old master left behind. Other than these five items, there’s that pile of old books he read until the pages were worn thin...”

Mr. Song gestured to the items on the floor, his tone straightforward. ”Please, Mr. Tie, have a look. If you see anything you like, just say so. The price... we can stick to what we discussed last time.”

He was so accommodating because Tie Qingyang had visited once before and made an exceptionally fair and generous offer, far more than any typical antiques dealer would.

Tie Qingyang nodded and glanced sideways at Wan Ze.

Wan Ze took the cue and stepped forward, his eyes immediately drawn to the longsword.

Tie Feiyang, unable to stand the stillness, crouched beside the pile of old books. He casually untied the rope, pulled one out, and flipped it open. The pages were filled with dense, vertical lines of traditional characters, interspersed with numerous obscure ancient script. It was enough to make his head spin. After a few pages, he snapped the book shut and rubbed his brow.

’What is this stuff... It’s all Greek to me.’

He muttered under his breath. Looking back, he saw his father and Wan Ze bent over, carefully examining the antiques with intense focus.

Tie Feiyang scratched his head, completely baffled as to what was so captivating about this rust-covered old junk.

SHRRNNG!

The sound was audibly grating and stiff.

The blade was drawn only a few inches from its sheath.

The exposed section of the blade was covered in a layer of surface rust, a mottled mix of red and green. The patterns etched into the steel were faint and blurry. It had clearly not been properly maintained for a very long time.

Seeing this, Mr. Song spoke up, a bit embarrassed. ”Pardon the state of it. The old master... he didn’t practice Swordsmanship himself. This sword was supposedly a gift from an old acquaintance from his youth. I can’t recall which friend, exactly—it was a long time ago. It’s rusted, yes, but the foundation is still good... If you take it home, sand off the surface rust with fine-grit sandpaper, give it a good polish, and treat it with quality sword oil, I’m sure you can restore some of its Essence, Qi, and Spirit.”

Wan Ze didn’t answer. His full attention was fixed on the strange sensation emanating from his palm.

It was an incredibly faint, yet unmistakably clear, coolness that silently seeped into him from the hilt. It traveled up the meridians of his arm, spreading upward until it reached the sea of consciousness between his brows.