Why do I have so many masters?-Chapter 447 - 115 Inside the Wall is Jianghu (2/2)

"Do you ever regret it?"

In this place, only three people understood that question.

Wang Anfeng, already having sheathed his longsword and standing at the doorway dressed in a green shirt with a qin on his back, and Hong Feibai, whose shape was weather-beaten and carefree yet already beginning to grasp the essence of the swordsman’s heart, stood before him—a middle-aged swordsman.

The latter pursed his lips.

His body seemed to have an imperceptible curve which then straightened even more, much like the sword in his hand.

He looked at his most proud disciple, shook his head, and spoke in a cold and clear voice,

"Act as you draw the sword."

"I never regret the things I do."

Hong Feibai stared fixedly at that face, still imposing as ever, and let out a chuckle as if brimming with exhaustion, his laughter causing a clear ring of sword’s cry that subconsciously tensed the nerves of all present. However, all he did was raise his hand and pass over the personal sword he received from his junior sister, saying,

"This is my junior sister’s sword."

The sword continued to wail.

He then took out the jade plaque that had been shattered into fragments from his embrace, caressed it, and in a hoarse voice, said,

"This is what my junior sister protected with her life until her death, I’ll give it to you as well."

"I’m tired."

Thereupon, he stepped toward the direction of the house in the courtyard that should have been his, brushing past the shoulder of the middle-aged swordsman. From beginning to end, he never truly gazed directly at his master, while the latter also stood as straight as a sword, never once looking back.

The sudden and enormous shock of the news was too much for his teacher’s wife to bear, nearly causing her to faint.

The disciples gathered around, and among them, the young man who was first to draw his sword against Hong Feibai suddenly stood up, his eyes slightly reddened. He furiously drew his longsword as it cleaved a dazzling silver light, charging directly at Hong Feibai with an onslaught of deadly maneuvers, bellowing,

"Hong Feibai!"

"Master tasked you with protecting junior sister, is this how you protect her?!"

Another even more fierce and frantic cry of the sword resonated as Hong Feibai gripped his own broken sword, turned around to deliver a vertical slash, and a flash of silver light passed, shattering the intact longsword instantly. The broken sword was now lodged against the aggressor’s neck, the broken edge pressing tightly against the swelling carotid artery from anger.

Hong Feibai, like an enraged beast, glared fixedly at his opponent with blood-red eyes.

The other stood his ground just as unwaveringly.

Breathing became heavy and rapid.

After a lengthy silent confrontation, Hong Feibai stumbled backwards, glanced at the broken sword in his hand, chuckled, and released his grip.

The prized sword of the chief disciple of the Heavenly Sword Sect fell to the ground with a resounding cry.

Then he turned and left without a hint of reluctance, striding away.

The disciple who drew his sword before was stunned for a moment, suddenly collapsing to the ground. The fury dissipated, leaving only the indescribable fear of coming close to death and a feeling of powerlessness.

He lay on the ground with arms outstretched, and the longsword that had been tightly clutched also loosened.

It fell onto the bluestone pavement with a faint sound.

His eyes gazed at the lofty sky, with low sobbing in his ears. Suddenly, he felt a sense of indifference arising in his heart.

The junior sister was dead.

What was there left to fight for?

He blinked his eyes.

The wind today was quite strong...

The city outside continued in peace, yet the story within this courtyard was confined to here alone.

Wang Anfeng leaned against the slightly cold and damp stone wall by the door, his right hand holding the iron sword upside down. This journey was initially about following the trail to find the traces of White Tiger Hall, but now, looking at the love and hatred unfolding within the courtyard, he no longer felt the urge.

The emotions witnessed and the state of loss that unfolded, even if described by a talented scholar with millions of words, would be hard to fully express. Yet, if one had to summarize it concisely, only two words would suffice to capture its essence fully.

Thoroughly and utterly.

Wang Anfeng sighed.

Youthful heroes, old beyond their years in Jianghu.

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Old before their time, having seen all the love and hatred the world has to offer, how could they not age?

At this moment, he suddenly recalled a poem he had seen as a young boy in Great Liang Village while studying the qin under Scholar Jiang Shouyi. The poem lamented the fate of an official friend with many accomplishments who was falsely accused and sent away. Although unrelated to the present, it made him reflect and he recited softly,

"With peaches and plums in the spring breeze, a cup of wine."

"Through the night’s rain in Jianghu, a lamp over ten years old."

He pushed off the wall to stand up straight.

After all, information about White Tiger Hall wasn’t only obtainable here.

The young man sighed in his heart, saying his goodbyes to Hong Feibai in his mind, as he grabbed that simple longsword, preparing to walk away without any concern for the unfulfilled purpose of his trip. In fact, the real disappointment was the loss of his Silver Coin, which indeed did sting a bit. He had only taken a few steps when he suddenly heard a somber and hoarse voice from behind him, saying:

"Young hero, please wait a moment."

Wang Anfeng recognized the voice, his steps faltered slightly, and he turned back to look.

No longer boasting the elegance of his younger years and having grown slightly portly, the middle-aged swordsman emerged from the courtyard. His wife had nearly fainted from the unbearable news of their daughter’s death, but he appeared as usual, his face stern and unyielding.

His posture ramrod straight.

The hand that held the sword did not tremble in the slightest.

Even though he saw his own daughter die, even though his daughter died arguably because of him, even though today he had almost completely fallen out with his most esteemed disciple.

Wang Anfeng felt displeasure rising in his heart.

He had followed several masters for a long time, but Master Ying had never taken back the mask from him; he had never been good at hiding his real thoughts, which in the eyes of scholars was as stubborn as a rock, utterly foolish. Yet the other masters seemed to quite enjoy it.

He looked at the swordsman before him, his expression slightly cold.

Out of respect for his friendship with Hong Feibai and due to propriety and righteousness, he gave a salute and said indifferently,

"Senior, were you calling me?"

The middle-aged man seemed not to notice Wang Anfeng’s coolness, nodded slightly, and said meticulously,

"I am Hong Hui of Heavenly Sword Sect."

"Thank you, young hero, for protecting my disciple and bringing him back. I cannot express enough gratitude. If in the future you need Hong’s assistance for anything, please don’t hesitate to ask…"

"Hong will do his utmost."

Wang Anfeng looked at this solemn middle-aged swordsman, trying to discern a trace of sorrow on his face but finding none. He closed his eyes upon hearing his words. His journey thus far, chasing after the traces of White Tiger Hall, had taken a full half month on the road. At that moment, just lightly touching his longsword, he said indifferently,

"I dare not trouble Elder Hong."

"Please convey to Feibai that I have matters to attend to and must take my leave."

With sword in hand, he turned and left.

Without a moment’s hesitation.

Hong Hui watched Wang Anfeng’s retreating figure until the young man’s silhouette had vanished, only then did he slowly retract his gaze, turn, and enter the courtyard. His eyes swept over the state of his disciples, his brows furrowed, he shouted commandingly,

"Get up!"

"What is this appearance? What kind of swordsman looks like this?"

One of the disciples, almost with a sob in his voice, looked up at him and said,

"Master, Sister... she’s gone…"

Hong Hui’s brows furrowed tightly, he responded coldly,

"Everyone will die, you will die, I will die."

"If you look like this, what will you do when you encounter even bigger troubles in the future? Won’t you just be slaughtered by others?!"

"Get up, go back to doing what you should be doing. Have you finished practicing your swordplay? Is your kung fu sufficient? Go on, go!"

It was still the familiar authoritative voice, tinged with anger. In the past, it was a voice that could make one tremble in their boots, but now it brought a certain stability, as if they had found an anchor. The many disciples felt the chaos and sorrow in their hearts dissipate a little.

A young man helping up a beautiful woman stood up and said hesitantly,

"Master, the mistress…"

In a blink, the middle-aged man dressed in a sword robe had appeared beside him, securing one large and one small longsword to his waist. He reached out and held the semi-conscious beautiful woman in his arms. She was overwhelmed with grief due to the death of her only daughter and was nearly fainting.

As she was lifted, her right hand instinctively reached out towards the nearly empty black coffin.

She murmured softly,

"Wen’er…"

Wen’er was the pet name of the young girl, who since becoming conscious of her identity, due to embarrassment, had forbidden her parents from using it.

Hong Hui’s steps remained steady, unchanged; he carried his wife back to their house, kicked the wooden door open with his foot, and laid his grieving, disheveled wife on the bed, covering her with the blanket.

The woman’s mouth still whispered her daughter’s pet name.

Hong Hui’s expression was still stern.

He raised his hand to wipe away the tears at the corner of his wife’s eyes.

He put her arms back under the blanket and tucked in the blanket’s edge, saying,

"Wen’er is no longer with us."

As his voice fell, the room was engulfed in dead silence. In that deadly quiet, the man’s shoulders, once so rigid in front of his disciples, sagged slightly. It seemed as though to convince something or someone, he increased his emphasis and repeated,

"She is gone…"

PS: Bringing you the second update of the day...

Thank you to the reader ’Emerald Green Pepper’ for the generous reward, very much appreciated…