Chapter Eleven: Since Meeting the Gentleman, Why Does Hu Yun Not Rejoice?

Yang Yanlang was taken aback. "Have you never heard of the Yanluo Resonant Blade?"

Yanluo Resonant Blade?

The name of this blade echoed in the young man's mind. The renowned weapon had been mentioned before by Mr. Guo, the storyteller. In the vast world of martial heroes, legends of various warriors circulated, and there were enthusiasts who collected information and ranked martial prowess and legendary weapons.

One such ranking was the Earth Fiend List, which belonged to the Yang family general before him, detailing the strength of the younger generation. Above it was the Heavenly Gang List, reserved for legendary figures of the martial world. Thirty-six heroes adorned its roster, each with a tale worthy of legend. Take Xu Qiandao, ranked tenth, a martial prodigy seen once in a century.

Xu Qiandao was famed for his Three Gale Blade Technique. Rumor had it that when he drew his blade, sand and stones flew across the borderlands, his strength likened to splitting Mount Hua. Later, Xu Qiandao fought alongside the new Tang prince, Li Shicheng, earning the fearsome title Yanluo. He was known throughout the land as the Giant Blade Yanluo Xu Qiandao, making him one of the Three Divine Generals of the new Tang, alongside Yang Yanlang.

Xu Qiandao's reputation stemmed from two things: his countless kills, earning him the nickname "The Living Yanluo, Butcher of Ten Thousand," and his peerless weapon—the Yanluo Resonant Blade.

Ranked eighth among the martial world's legendary weapons, the Yanluo Resonant Blade was second on the Blade List, paired with the Azure Dragon Crescent Blade at the top. Together, they were praised: "Azure Dragon Crescent Blade rules the world, Yanluo Resonant Blade resounds through the ages."

To see such a famed weapon today filled the young man with awe—and certainty that he had no connection to it.

He rose, respectfully holding the Resonant Blade out to General Yang. "I fear I have disappointed you, sir. I have heard of this blade, but it has nothing to do with me. My father is named Zhong Feng; he does not know the blade's owner."

Believing this to be a misunderstanding, the young man braced himself for the general's anger. Instead, Yang Yanlang laughed heartily. "No mistake, nephew. You are the one I seek. Zhong Feng is my second brother."

The young man was bewildered. What connection could Zhong Feng have with the Yanluo Resonant Blade?

He had never heard of Xu Qiandao giving his blade away. Half a year ago, news still spread of the Giant Blade Yanluo charging into battle with the Resonant Blade. Had the legendary weapon changed hands so quickly?

"It seems you truly know nothing of this, nephew. Sit down, let your uncle tell you the story."

Yang Yanlang, a bold and hearty man, pushed the blade back into the young man's arms and pulled him down to sit.

With a sweep of his robe, the silver-helmeted general began to reveal a secret tale.

"My sworn brothers—the mighty Qin Xiong, known as the Enemy of Ten Thousand, and Giant Blade Yanluo Xu Qiandao—were famed alongside me as the Three Divine Generals of the new Tang. Brother Qin was eldest, naturally the big brother; Brother Xu was a few years my senior, making me the youngest, Yang Six-Lang.

As for your father, my second brother Xu Qiandao, he has a story worth telling. When we first met, he often spoke about anonymity."

At the mention of anonymity, Zhong Ming's mind flashed with insight. Quick-witted, he suddenly had a suspicion and his eyes widened.

Before the general could continue, the young man interrupted, "Could it be that Zhong Feng is an alias for my father? That Zhong Feng is actually Xu Qiandao?"

"Bright child!" The general smiled, saying nothing more.

Instantly, the young man's mind was thrown into turmoil. He had thought himself a mere commoner in this era, struggling alongside the refugees of Muddy Village, hoping only to rise through wit and make a comfortable life.

But now, out of nowhere, he had a father who was one of the Three Divine Generals of the new Tang, shattering his inner calm like a waterfall crashing from the heavens, sending waves surging.

"Zhong Feng is Xu Qiandao, Xu Qiandao is Zhong Feng..."

He repeated the words, lost in thought, before forcing himself to calm down and pressed, "But sir, my mother never mentioned any of this. It seems too astonishing."

Sudden fortune had descended upon him, and even a soul reborn could hardly believe it.

Too many oddities, too many coincidences. Once calm, the young man wondered if the general had designs on him.

But the thought made no sense. He was a destitute youth in ragged clothes and a broken hut—what could he possibly offer a general?

Besides, if the general had any designs, he wouldn't need such trouble. With his strength and status, he could take anything he wanted—even the young man's life—with a word.

Having reasoned it through, the young man could only accept the general's explanation, no matter how shocking.

He took a deep breath, gripping the Yanluo Resonant Blade tightly, and asked, "Sir, do you know why my father used the alias Zhong Feng?"

Yang Yanlang was prepared for the question. "That goes back to my second brother's youth. He was too flamboyant—obsessed with martial arts, challenging all comers, vowing to top the Heavenly Gang List within three years. His blade was fierce and hard to restrain, leading many heroes to fall beneath it. His enemies grew too numerous, so he changed his name to Zhong Feng out of necessity."

Yang Yanlang shook his head, sighing. "Were it not for you and your mother, he would never have chosen to be the unknown Zhong Feng instead of striving for the top of the Heavenly Gang List as Xu Qiandao."

At this, Zhong Ming could guess the rest—likely a tale of heroes bowing to beauty.

And the name itself held meaning: his father took the name Zhong Feng, and his mother’s surname was Zhong—perhaps signifying the sealing of the blade.

With such an explanation, everything made sense.

"I’ve never heard any of this," Zhong Ming said softly, gripping the Resonant Blade, overwhelmed by the revelations.

"When my second brother went off to war, you weren’t yet born. Perhaps your mother didn’t want you drawn into his martial conflicts, so she never spoke of the past."

Having explained, Yang Yanlang suddenly remembered something. "Oh, nephew, I have something else you might recognize."

The general reached into his robe and handed the young man a silk-wrapped object.

It was small enough to fit in one hand. He carefully unwrapped the silk, finding a handkerchief and a key.

At the sight of the key, Zhong Ming was struck by a flash of realization. He hurriedly pulled out the key he wore around his neck, placing the two together—they joined perfectly into one.

His mother, in her final days, had been incoherent, repeating two phrases: “Key, Dragon-Phoenix Key... Mandarin Duck Lock...”

This key was exquisitely crafted. The one Zhong Ming carried had a phoenix head crying out; the one Yang Yanlang brought had a dragon head with a pearl. They fitted together seamlessly.

With this, countless thoughts raced through the young man's mind, and he understood the secret of the stone box.

Seeing the keys join perfectly, Yang Yanlang rose, reciting, "Dragon-Phoenix Key—truly marvelous. My second brother spoke of your family's Dragon-Phoenix Key, calling it a masterpiece. Now I see its ingenuity for myself."

With the Dragon-Phoenix Key in hand, the young man fully believed the general's words. He quickly stood and bowed deeply. "Uncle Yang, you have journeyed a thousand miles to find me. Zhong Ming is beyond grateful and has no way to repay you!"

"What are you doing? We are uncle and nephew—such courtesy is unnecessary. Please rise!"

The white-robed general hurriedly helped him up, and they stood facing each other.

The general smiled in satisfaction; the young man was moved to tears.

Why did Zhong Ming’s eyes grow moist? He could not explain, but touching the key and hearing his father’s name made it impossible to hold back.

Perhaps in his previous life, he had a kind father as well, making the mention of fatherhood feel especially dear.

A grown man, yet tears fell. Embarrassed, the young man grabbed the handkerchief to wipe his eyes, only to notice a pair of mandarin ducks embroidered upon it, with a line of poetry: "Having met the gentleman, why am I not happy?"

The words struck him anew. He quickly removed the jade hairpin from his head and placed it beside the handkerchief.

The simple hairpin was nothing special—wide at the top, narrow at the base, the jade of average quality—but it was his mother’s keepsake, bearing a line of poetry carved by his father: "What a night is this, to see such a beloved?"

What a night is this, to see such a beloved?

Having met the gentleman, why am I not happy?

He imagined his parents, wandering the martial world as immortal lovers, their romance unknown to others.

With these two lines, he could picture his father bravely giving the poetic hairpin to his mother, and, on some later day, his mother shyly handing the embroidered handkerchief with her poetic reply.

Seeing the young man lost in thought, Yang Yanlang leaned over and laughed loudly at the sight of the poetry. "Good old Xu Qiandao—writing such verses!"

The young man smiled shyly, hurriedly replacing the hairpin and pocketing the handkerchief.

Now, recognizing their kinship and with all doubts dispelled, the young man grew calm. He clasped his hands and asked, "Uncle Yang, may I ask where my father is now? When might we meet?"