Chapter Thirty-Two: Irrefutable Evidence

Clang!

Pei Min stepped in front of Xue Ne, his longsword deflecting Li Wuyi’s ferocious, overpowering strike.

Li Wuyi looked at Pei Min and sneered, “Not bad, your sword is truly impressive!”

Li Wuyi couldn’t pinpoint exactly where he had let his guard down, what slip had allowed Xue Ne to seize upon evidence and so confidently accuse him of being a spy. Yet he understood clearly that at this point, there was no room left for explanation. Even if he weren’t truly a spy, power and influence would crush him all the same. Besides, Xue Ne’s arrival had been far too abrupt, without the slightest warning. There was damning evidence in his residence that he hadn’t had time to destroy—if that fell into Xue Ne’s hands, dying a hundred deaths would not suffice.

The events of today had sealed his fate—death was inevitable.

From childhood, Li Wuyi had been indoctrinated to see the cause of Silla as paramount; death did not frighten him. At this juncture, rather than await execution, better to fight back with all his might. If he could rid himself of Xue Ne, the Tang would lose yet another general of rare intelligence and courage who guarded the borders.

Yet his concentrated, all-out blow had been blocked by a sword that intervened from the side, and not merely blocked, but knocked aside completely—a subtlety only true masters could discern.

Li Wuyi wielded the two-handed sword, longer and broader than an ordinary blade, and naturally, much heavier. He had anticipated interference, and so both hands swung with all his might, pouring his strength into a single, lethal strike—unstoppable in its momentum. But this seemingly inevitable blow was deftly knocked away by Pei Min.

Pei Min’s sword seemed to have eyes, evading the powerful upper part of the two-handed sword and landing precisely where its strength was weakest. Using his own greatest force to attack the enemy’s weakest point—overcoming strength with subtlety, breaking hardness with skill—Pei Min swept Li Wuyi’s sword aside.

With a solemn face, Pei Min replied, “Yours is not bad either!”

He was not known for brute strength. When he and Li Wuyi had recently discussed the pros and cons of the two-handed sword, he’d understood that its core lay in overwhelming force and fierce, dominating moves. He had prepared in advance, choosing not to meet that blow head-on, but to neutralize it with finesse. Even so, Li Wuyi’s sword still possessed earth-shattering power; striking even the weak point of the blade unleashed a shockwave that left Pei Min’s muscles momentarily numb. Had he chosen brute force at the outset, he likely wouldn’t have withstood Li Wuyi’s strike—his own sword might have flown from his grasp.

The man before him was, without doubt, the strongest adversary Pei Min had ever faced—even the Gongsun sisters might not rival Li Wuyi. Despite their extraordinary talent, they were young and had much room to grow in experience and technique. Among their peers, they were unmatched, but against veterans of an older generation, they still fell short.

Li Wuyi, a renowned master whose fame spanned more than thirty years, was by no means undeserving of his reputation.

Knowing there was no time to delay, Li Wuyi thrust another powerful strike at Pei Min’s chest, his technique as fierce and unyielding as ever.

If Pei Min were only the historical Pei Min, at his current age he might not have been Li Wuyi’s match. But he possessed martial concepts far ahead of his time and had thus grasped the Taiji principle of overcoming strength with gentleness, utilizing minimal effort to move great force. His prowess far exceeded what his age might suggest, and certainly surpassed the abilities of the historical Pei Min at this stage.

He moved gracefully: the Autumn Water Sword in his hand slid atop Li Wuyi’s two-handed sword, a flick and a sweep directing it harmlessly to the empty right side, causing Li Wuyi’s strike to miss its mark.

Against the swift and forceful two-handed sword, Taiji’s subtle force was undoubtedly the best response.

Li Wuyi, seasoned by countless fierce battles and well-versed in unusual moves, had never encountered anything like this. His own strength seemed to slip from his control—utterly incredible. Suddenly he recalled rumors of a mysterious youth at the gates of Sword Pavilion who had used similar techniques to assist Gongsun Xi in toying with Jiang Fan—it must have been this very man.

But Li Wuyi was no ordinary foe like Jiang Fan. When one move failed, he abandoned brute force. His sword conjured a flurry of dazzling sword-light, and as he advanced, he pressed the attack on Pei Min.

Pei Min lacked experience in fights to the death; his understanding of minimal-force redirection was at its present limit—it was not true Taiji. Facing this rapid chain of attacks, not particularly powerful but relentless, his slow and measured technique lost its efficacy. With a twist of his wrist, he unleashed three swift thrusts in succession, as quick as lightning and thunder—powerful and sharp.

Speed was the single-handed sword’s advantage. Pei Min forced Li Wuyi to abandon the strengths of the two-handed sword; matching skills alone, he had no reason to yield. Though Pei Min’s style was an eclectic blend rather than a formal school, every move had its own foundation. Especially when he followed his instincts, he could bring a series of fundamental sword techniques to sublime effect.

Against Li Wuyi, not only was he not disadvantaged, he even seemed to be gaining the upper hand.

Those watching the duel between these two masters of the sword were dazzled by the intensity of their exchange.

Xue Ne, closest to the combat, had the flashes of sword light reflected across his face. He did not retreat a single step; on the contrary, he watched with keen interest, unfazed by the danger. Seeing Pei Min and Li Wuyi attack and defend in perfect order, he thought to himself, “Indeed, these duels of the martial world are different from the carnage of the battlefield. Though not as bloody, the ferocity is every bit as real—a single misstep and a corpse might fall on the spot.”

“Grand Marshal!” Xue Yinglong strode up beside Xue Ne, holding a stack of documents. “We’ve found it! Here are Li Wuyi’s handwritten letters, as well as detailed blueprints for the Breaking Draw Crossbow, the Hornbow Crossbow, and the Horizontal Saber.”

Xue Ne, overjoyed yet tinged with anger, reached out to take the documents. The topmost was a letter, the ink not yet dry—clearly written only recently. The contents detailed bribing Tang craftsmen to obtain their smelting techniques. This letter alone was proof enough to brand Li Wuyi a traitor. Flipping through the next few documents, he found they were indeed blueprints for the powerful crossbows and sabers developed by Tang artisans.

The Breaking Draw and Hornbow Crossbows were both single-soldier weapons; the Horizontal Saber was a deadly battlefield tool for troops—each represented the pinnacle of contemporary technology. If these blueprints fell into Silla’s hands and were widely adopted, their military might would increase dramatically.

Xue Ne handed the documents to be kept safe by Li Wuyi, then barked, “The evidence is irrefutable—Li Wuyi, do you still dare deny it?” Though his words were addressed to Li Wuyi, they were truly meant for Pei Min.

He and Pei Min had long agreed: Li Wuyi was indeed a traitor, but without proof, if their search turned up nothing, he would be executed on the spot to prevent future trouble. If the evidence was conclusive, he would be captured alive and his crimes made public.

Upon hearing this, Pei Min scoffed, “What a pitiful, shameless little country—never striving to improve, but only to steal, and feeling smug over whatever scraps it manages to pilfer, betraying benefactors and forgetting its roots. I suppose your swordsmanship was learned from our Tang as well—but sadly, you’ve learned nothing of substance. Today, I’ll show you the true ancestral sword art of Great Tang—the Sword of the Maiden of Yue!”