Chapter Twenty-Eight: Qian Xuanzhong (Seeking Comments!)

The two exchanged words, sharing their backgrounds with one another.
Only then did Chen Yu finally learn the name of the man before him.
Qian Xuanzhong?
A faint flicker passed across his brow—he found the name vaguely familiar, as if he had heard it somewhere before, yet for the moment, he could not recall where.
Across from him, the swordsman in blue—Qian Xuanzhong—was similarly tidying his robes as he tried to remember, but not being well-acquainted with the area around Shiya County, he could not place the Yunhe Monastery that Chen Yu had named. He simply assumed that any temple capable of producing a young man as accomplished as Chen Yu could not be insignificant—perhaps some reclusive sanctuary in the mountains.
“Young as you are, Daoist Chen, your skill is remarkable indeed. Yunhe Monastery must surely be a place of profound learning and many talents,” Qian Xuanzhong exclaimed with genuine admiration.
His praise was sincere. Judging by appearance, the Daoist before him was not yet twenty, yet his energy flowed unimpeded and his inner strength was clearly awakened. Compared to those who, after decades of joyless training, still found themselves blocked at the threshold, Chen Yu was already far ahead—a true prodigy by the standards of the Western Prefecture.
In fact, Chen Yu’s current body had turned twenty half a year prior; his youthful features simply belied his true age.
“Nothing of the sort—ours is but a humble temple in the wilds, with few disciples, rarely do any venture down the mountain,” Chen Yu replied with a faint, self-deprecating smile, returning Qian’s gesture. “We are far less gallant than you, sir, so ready to act with chivalry and courage.”
“Haha, you flatter me, Daoist. I simply can’t stomach such villains—that hardly makes me a hero.”
Neither man was one for idle chatter, and as this was their first meeting, conversation soon ran thin. After a few awkward compliments, they turned to the matter at hand.
“What shall we do with this man?”
Qian Xuanzhong tapped his long sword against the chin of the bandit chief, Liu Bao. The cold, sharp blade pressed into Liu’s skin, sending a chill through him that kept him utterly still.
Chen Yu lowered his gaze in thought, finally deciding it would be best to hand the man over to the authorities.
He voiced his idea, but Qian Xuanzhong shook his head. “You may not be aware, Daoist, but if I’m not mistaken, these bandits are not as simple as they seem.”
So there’s something bigger behind this?
Chen Yu’s expression did not change, but inwardly he sighed—would this be another case of “beat the underlings, here comes the master”? How tedious.
Qian Xuanzhong, unaware of Chen Yu’s thoughts, continued, revealing the string of recent events in Shiya County.
A month ago, a group of bandits had descended from the distant Baiguo Mountain, raiding villages, abducting the wife and daughter of a wealthy local. The landowner issued a generous reward, and many hunters from the surrounding villages were assembled to help root out the bandits.
Chen Yu had heard mention of this in town on his last trip down the mountain, but not in such detail.
According to Qian Xuanzhong, he had been traveling in that area at the time, and joined the campaign against the bandits.
At last, Chen Yu remembered why the name Qian Xuanzhong was familiar.
Qian Xuanzhong—a young hero said to hail from Qiyang, who had come from Taiding Prefecture and gained renown for upholding justice and vanquishing evil. He was counted among the most promising young warriors of the Western Prefecture’s martial world.
Because he always dressed in blue and wielded a long sword, some had given him the moniker “Blue-garbed Sword.”

“So you are the Blue-garbed Sword—your reputation precedes you.”
Chen Yu recalled hearing the name in a teahouse, where some spoke of the young swordsman traveling through Guangyong Prefecture. He had not expected to meet him in person today.
Though Qian Xuanzhong was only a third-tier fighter, his battle experience far outstripped most, and his true strength could not be underestimated.
“It’s just a minor title, not worth mentioning,” Qian Xuanzhong replied frankly. He had set out partly to seek justice, but also to hone his skills and build his reputation.
For a martial man, fame and fortune were all the world had to offer; he cared little for wealth, but was quite partial to a celebrated name.
As for the bandits before them, Qian Xuanzhong told Chen Yu that during the earlier campaign against Baiguo Mountain, he had slain the bandit chief, Song the Elder, with his own sword.
By rights, the ragtag group of peasants and ruffians should have scattered after that.
And in fact, that was what happened—the hunters and warriors had shown no interest in slaughtering every last bandit; the landowners had only demanded the main culprits be executed.
Some of the remaining bandits were handed over to the authorities, others were driven off, and some escaped in the confusion.
Ordinarily, that should have been the end of it—the Baiguo bandits wiped out, their leader dead, peace and quiet restored.
Yet only a few days ago, a new group claiming the name of the Baiguo bandits sprang up as if from nowhere, running rampant through Shiya County.
In just a short time, they attacked more than a dozen villages and slaughtered hundreds.
Their savagery was beyond dispute.
Qian Xuanzhong, who had been about to continue his journey to the next county, received the news and, puzzled, began tracking down this new band of “Baiguo bandits.”
He was determined to learn who could have rallied the defeated outlaws and driven them to even greater evil than before, all in so brief a time.
“You mean these men aren’t the real Baiguo bandits?” Chen Yu asked.
“Exactly. The original Baiguo bandits are finished, and even at their peak numbered only twenty or thirty—this group alone far exceeds that.”
Having fought the Baiguo bandits himself, Qian Xuanzhong was well-placed to make that judgment. He eyed the limp, defeated Liu Bao and continued calmly, “What’s more, the Baiguo bandits were just ordinary men. They certainly didn’t have anyone like this—a martial artist who’s mastered the flow of energy!”
A true martial artist—even if not among the most renowned—would never be so desperate for food and shelter as to become a mere bandit.
Clearly, these outlaws were not so simple; their origins were murky, and there was likely some greater force behind them.
And Liu Bao, their leader, had probably been placed here by that very force.
“We should ask him directly—he may know something.”
Chen Yu, having listened to the entire story, sensed there was more beneath the surface, and decided against further speculation. If there were answers to be found, best to get them from the source.
If something major was uncovered, he would decide how much further to involve himself. Truth be told, after rescuing the villagers, he had little desire to meddle further, but curiosity compelled him to see what Qian Xuanzhong might uncover.

Qian Xuanzhong nodded in agreement.
The two began interrogating Liu Bao in turns, taking on the roles of good cop and bad cop, using sword and staff to threaten him. Yet whether from inexperience or Liu Bao’s own iron resolve, their efforts were fruitless—parched and weary, they found themselves no closer to an answer, while Liu Bao, now bloody and battered, stared at them with eyes full of murderous hate, not uttering a single word.
Chen Yu, stroking his chin, was pondering ways to force a confession when Qian Xuanzhong suddenly spoke.
“Daoist, if nothing else works, I do have a method that might be worth trying.”
Chen Yu’s interest was piqued—he was curious to see Qian’s approach.
“Rest assured, this method has served me well on plenty of villains in the past. However hard their hearts, I have always managed to open their mouths.”
With that, he untied his belt and spread it open on his palm, squatting down. Hidden in the brocade were a row of acupuncture needles.
Chen Yu was momentarily stunned—Qian Xuanzhong seemed to have transformed from a wandering swordsman into a rustic physician.
Qian saw his surprise and laughed. “These needles were a gift from a mountain doctor I aided on my travels. I learned a fair bit of medicine and herbal lore from him, including some acupuncture techniques.”
Chen Yu was silent. He would never have guessed that this elegant, blue-robed young man was also an accomplished master of acupuncture—so versatile indeed.
And, as it turned out, Qian’s skill with needles was as remarkable as his swordsmanship—perhaps even more so.
In just fifteen minutes, the bandit chief Liu Bao was gasping on the ground like a fish out of water.
Sixteen five-inch silver needles glinted from vital points and joints all over his body.
Then, without pause, the Blue-garbed Sword drove another needle into the philtrum beneath Liu Bao’s nose, channeling his inner strength; the needle pierced deep, through flesh to the bone.
Liu Bao’s body twisted violently, convulsing like a dying fish, his mouth frothing, eyes bloodshot, veins bulging grotesquely across his forehead—his features contorted beyond recognition.
Sobbing and wailing, he begged for mercy in a hoarse whisper.
“Please… just… make it quick…”
“If you regret it now, why do it in the first place?”
Unmoved by Liu Bao’s agony, Qian Xuanzhong calmly packed away his needles, turned to Chen Yu, and remarked with admiration, “No wonder he’s mastered the flow of energy—his will is formidable. He lasted until the seventeenth needle. Pity he couldn’t hold out for one or two more—I’d have liked to see the effects of the eighteenth and nineteenth, which go into the back of the head.”
He gave a rueful sigh, looking almost disappointed as he glanced at the barely conscious Liu Bao, as if blaming him for spoiling the fun.
Witnessing all this, Chen Yu quietly edged away, resolving to avoid further contact with the Blue-garbed Sword in the future.
Those needles—just watching them was enough to make his scalp crawl.