Chapter Twenty-Seven: Li Wuyi Pays a Visit

Two days of calm passed.

Pei Min still hadn’t stepped outside, much like a noble maiden cloistered in her chamber in ancient times. On one hand, he was digesting the Sword of Yue technique he’d learned from Gongsun Xi; on the other—and most importantly—he had picked up his textbooks once more, delving into the classics, preparing for the upcoming Mingjing examination.

Mingjing, in essence, meant mastery of the classics. “Ming” referred to understanding, “jing” to the Confucian canon. Ever since Emperor Wu of Han elevated Confucianism, these classics became essential for any scholar aspiring to serve as an official. By the time of the Sui and Tang dynasties and the emergence of the imperial examinations, Mingjing had become an indispensable subject. The exam he was about to take tested the most basic Mingjing material—essentially fill-in-the-blank questions, where phrases from the classics were quoted and candidates had to supply the missing words.

Do not assume it was easy; the phrases could be drawn from the Five Classics, Three Classics, Two Classics, Mastery of One Classic, Three Rites, Three Commentaries—meaning that to score well, one had to be intimately familiar with the Book of Rites, Zuo’s Commentary on the Spring and Autumn Annals, Mao’s Poetry, Zhou Rites, Etiquette and Rites, Book of Changes, Book of Documents, Gongyang Commentary, Guliang Commentary, Classic of Filial Piety, Analects, Laozi, Erya, and other such works.

The ancient texts were obscure and challenging, difficult to memorize and understand. To have all these Confucian classics at one’s fingertips was impossible without years of painstaking study.

Ten years of bitter reading by the window—this was why.

Whenever Pei Min thought of this, he felt incredibly fortunate. He hadn’t crossed over at the age of seven or eight; otherwise, ten years spent reciting these classics might well have driven him insane.

The original Pei Min of history had already pored over and memorized these classics; all he had to do now was review them, combining ancient and modern perspectives for a fresh analysis.

As someone who had majored in Chinese literature, Pei Jingyuan found this learning method quite acceptable.

“Hey, young master!”

Pei Min was flipping through the Analects on a stone bench in the front courtyard. He had left the door open deliberately; except at night, he rarely closed it.

Li Yide barreled into the courtyard, full of bluster. Seeing Pei Min absorbed in his reading, he quickly closed his mouth and stood quietly to one side.

“What’s the matter?” Pei Min closed his book. After two days of waiting, at last, his visitor had arrived.

Li Yide said, “Young master, do you have time? Fifth Lord has heard of your exploits and has long wished to meet you. He intends to come in person, but worried it might be too abrupt, I thought you weren’t that kind of person, so I decided to let you know first. He’ll be here soon. You don’t mind, do you?”

Pei Min rose and replied, “When friends come from afar, how could I mind?” Yet inwardly, he thought, “He’s exactly the one I’ve been waiting for.”

Gongsun Xi had come to his door, introduced by a stranger—that was no accident.

He knew his adversaries had begun probing his background, preparing to make a move. Gongsun Xi had failed to catch that stranger, confirming their extreme caution and making it hard to catch them out.

Pei Min and Xue Ne had discussed the situation and agreed: forcing them to act was the only way to seize the initiative.

As for how to provoke them, Pei Min had chosen to remain passive—lying in wait.

He stayed home, possessing exceptional skill; ordinary people could do nothing to him, and hiding indoors meant no openings for attack. With no obvious weaknesses, whoever was behind the scenes would need to find someone far superior in martial arts to succeed. In this, Pei Min was confident—not arrogant enough to claim invincibility, but at least in Ji City, there was no one who could quietly take his life without a trace.

Faced with such a stalemate, luring him outside was inevitable, and a visit to his home was also bound to happen.

Whoever came to see him would be most suspect.

Li Wuyi had appeared twice on Xue Ne’s list of suspects.

“May I ask if Brother Pei is at home?” The deep voice of a man rang from outside.

Li Yide said, “It’s Fifth Lord!” He called toward the entrance, “Young master is here!”

Pei Min grasped his book and strode out to greet him.

Li Wuyi’s figure was tall and upright, shoulders broad. Though past forty, he was well preserved, his appearance handsome and strong, his square face adorned with thick eyebrows, exuding the rugged vigor typical of men from the northeast. From his looks alone, he was indeed a heroic figure.

“Brother Pei, you are truly a dragon among men!” Li Wuyi greeted Pei Min with a beaming smile, as if meeting an old friend after many years, full of warmth.

Pei Min, suspecting this man might well be the very culprit behind the ruin of the Tang army, felt an urge to kick him in the face—if he were absolutely certain, he might even draw his blade. But remembering that life was but a stage, reliant on performance, he put on a smile. “You must be the famed Li Wuyi, known as Little Uncle Bao. I’ve read about General Qin in the biographies and admired his historical deeds. Alas, I don’t frequent the martial world, so my knowledge is limited and I know little of the exploits of heroes.”

Fifth Lord! That wasn’t a term he could bring himself to use; after all, he was a scholar, so he might as well act a bit pedantic.

Li Wuyi felt a little awkward, but it made sense. According to his scant information, Pei Min was indeed a scholar—his martial prowess surprisingly high. Otherwise, things wouldn’t have gotten so complicated. “Brother Pei, don’t call me hero; it sounds odd. If you don’t mind, just call me elder brother. In the martial world, we are always on equal terms. Brother Pei, you are skilled in both literature and martial arts; I admire you greatly. To be able to call you brother is my good fortune.” He thumped his chest with a fist, producing a deep, echoing sound.

Had Pei Min not harbored suspicion toward Li Wuyi, he might have been moved by this display. To rise from orphan to Fifth Lord—Li Wuyi was indeed remarkable.

“Elder brother, please come in.” Pei Min ushered Li Wuyi inside, personally pouring tea for them.

Li Wuyi took a sip, then drew his sword from his waist. “Today, I’ve come without gifts. This sword, named Autumn Water, has been with me for ten years. Having met you, brother, and feeling a kinship, I wish to give it to you as a token of our acquaintance—a treasured blade for a hero.”

Pei Min was about to refuse, but Li Wuyi had already tossed the sword over, leaving him no choice but to catch it.

The Autumn Water sword appeared light, but felt heavy in his hand; its body was icy cold, emitting a chill even through the scabbard.

Li Wuyi smiled, “Draw it and see how it feels.”

He unsheathed the sword. The blade was slender, its surface as clear as flowing water, engraved all over with wave patterns. The ripples and the color of the blade complemented each other, making the sword a thing of beauty.

“Quite a sword, isn’t it?” Li Wuyi said proudly.

Pei Min examined it carefully. “This isn’t Tang craftsmanship, is it?”

Li Wuyi laughed, “Brother Pei, you have a keen eye. This is a legendary blade made by a master craftsman from Silla…”