SFS Chapter 1: The Invincible Demon Blade
Chapter 1: The Invincible Demon Blade
Spring, early spring, the snow keeps falling.
The world was a vast expanse of white, and even the distant, undulating mountains were draped in a thick blanket of silver.
The wind swirled snowflakes through the forest, making a mournful sound, and causing the bare branches to tremble.
But deep within this forest stands a very exquisite pavilion, with vermilion pillars and upturned eaves, which appears elegant amidst the wild white landscape.
The pavilion was warm, and the aroma of wine wafted through the air.
A young man in his early twenties was leaning against the pavilion, wrapped in an expensive fur robe with glossy fur.
His eyes were closed, as if he were asleep, but his figure was very slender.
He has sword-like eyebrows, a straight nose, and a naturally dashing mouth that seems to hold a hint of a smile even when he's not smiling.
What was particularly striking was the knife at his waist.
A curved sword, its arc as graceful as a crescent moon, its scabbard and hilt both blood-red.
The wine was warming on a small red clay stove, making a bubbling sound.
The snow is still falling.
Suddenly, an unusual wind seemed to rise on the distant, continuous snow-covered slopes.
The snow was rolled up, creating a small, misty veil. Through this veil, a figure trudged through the vast expanse of snow, walking step by step towards the other side.
He walked very slowly, even coughing softly as he went, but his steps were very steady.
Only faint traces were left on the thick snow, which were quickly smoothed out by the wind.
"Leaving no trace in the snow"—that's perhaps what it means.
The man who came was a middle-aged man around forty years old, who could hardly be called young anymore.
His face was handsome, yet weathered, with deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, as if bearing the weight of too many hardships and unspoken worries.
But when you look into his eyes, you forget all of that.
Those eyes remained bright and gentle, carrying a faint weariness born from a deep understanding of the world and an indelible love for life.
If the martial arts elders within the pass were to see him, they would surely be greatly surprised.
It's all because he is none other than Li Xunhuan, the famous "Little Li Flying Dagger" of the Central Plains, whose skill never misses!
"I think I'm late."
Li Xunhuan spoke, his voice gentle, with a touch of his usual languor.
The young man in the pavilion, Xue Bufeng, then opened his eyes.
Xue Bufeng's eyes were also bright, but unlike Li Xunhuan's, they were sharp and menacing, like cold stars.
He didn't get up, but lazily said:
"If you're here to drink, you're never late. It seems you're not here to drink today."
Li Xunhuan smiled, walked into the pavilion, and naturally sat down opposite the young man, reaching out to warm his hands by the fire.
"I did come here for a drink, but I'm late. I'm late because I've been thinking about something on the way here."
"Oh?"
"How should I tell you when I want to see you?"
Li Xunhuan's gaze fell on the young man's face, peaceful yet seemingly able to see into his heart.
Xue Bufeng picked up the wine pot and poured him a cup:
"You can say that."
"I have already decided to return to the Central Plains today."
The air was still for a moment, with only the crackling of the fire and the silent falling snow.
Xue Bufeng's hand, which had been holding the cup, didn't stop moving. After pouring the wine, he gulped down the glass in front of him, his Adam's apple bobbing, and then he laughed.
"I thought it was some kind of catastrophe."
"You're not my wife. You can come and go as you please. Why bother thinking about what to say?"
"Besides, even if she were my wife, I would never care where she goes. Once she's gone, I can go and seduce other pretty women."
Li Xunhuan seemed to have anticipated his response and smiled, gazing at the vast expanse of snow outside the pavilion:
"You can find another woman, but here, it seems like only I can drink with you."
"good."
Why?
"Because no one else deserves it."
Xue Bufeng raised his eyes, his gaze sweeping across the desolate woods outside the pavilion, and said, word by word:
"No one but you can withstand a single blow from me, and naturally, no one is worthy to drink with me."
His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a resolute and self-righteous arrogance.
Arrogance requires skill.
And he just happened to have it!
Two years ago, Xue Bufeng was in the same place, at the same time, drinking the same wine.
Li Xunhuan, who was passing by, recognized the wine as the finest from beyond the Great Wall upon smelling it. Thus, this renowned Li Xunhuan, famous in the Central Plains, shamelessly asked him for a sip.
Xue Bufeng didn't even glance at this down-on-his-luck "old drunkard," and simply tossed him a sentence:
"If you can withstand one of my blades, I'll buy you a drink!"
"good!"
A flash of light appeared.
Li Xunhuan then sat down with a smile and drank.
This drinking went on for two years; Li Tanhua's skin was indeed thicker than imagined.
As expected, Li Xunhuan started drinking again and smacked his lips. Just as he was about to say something, a cold laugh suddenly broke the silence around the pavilion.
"Aren't others worthy?"
"Then I wonder if the three of us brothers are a suitable match?"
Swish!Swish!Swish!
Three figures appeared almost simultaneously from three directions around the pavilion, forming a tripod that surrounded the small pavilion in the middle.
They appeared extremely fast, yet landed with remarkable lightness, displaying impressive agility.
Three young men arrived, the oldest being no more than twenty-seven or twenty-eight, and the youngest looking about the same age as Xue Bufeng.
They were all dressed in magnificent fur coats, wearing felt hats, and each had a fine knife of a different design hanging at their waist, which was clearly a sharp weapon.
The three men had ruddy complexions, sharp eyes, and a sharp and capable air about them, clearly making them the best of the younger generation in the martial arts world outside the Great Wall.
The eldest man at the front, with a square face and wide mouth, stared intently at Xue Bufeng and said loudly:
"Feng Zhenyue, the eldest disciple of the Northwest Broken Mountain Saber Sect!"
The sound was so loud that some of the snow accumulated on the eaves of the pavilion fell down in a flurry.
A man with a slightly dark complexion and a lean build spoke up from the left, his voice a bit high-pitched:
"Leng Qianshan, successor of the Swift Blade of Wind and Snow!"
The youngest man on the right, with a somewhat childish face but the most arrogant eyes, spoke last:
"Lei Zhen of the Flying Fox Lei Family!"
He kept his hand on the hilt of the knife while he spoke.
Feng Zhenyue stepped forward, clasped his hands in a fist salute towards the pavilion, his movements precise, but his tone was full of challenge:
"You must be Xue Bufeng and Xue Friend, who have risen to fame in recent years and are known as the Invincible Demon Blade? My two brothers and I have come here with no other purpose than to experience firsthand the Blood Moon Demon Blade of Friend Xue, and to see just how demonic it is! And whether the so-called Invincible Demon Blade is truly invincible!"
Xue Bufeng remained half-reclining, not even glancing at them directly. He simply poured himself another cup of wine, slowly raised it to his lips, and said leisurely:
"Before you came, did you know that there's a rule for challenging me?"
Feng Zhenyue raised a thick eyebrow: "What rules?"
Xue Bufeng finished his wine and gently tapped the bottom of the cup on the stone table, making a clear, crisp sound.
"The rule is, you can die."
The expressions on the faces of all three changed.
Lei Zhen, young and impetuous, couldn't contain himself and shouted:
"What arrogance! Since we dared to come, we didn't take life or death to heart! In the martial world, where fame is earned and blood is spilled, who's afraid of death? Today we'll see whether your blade, you 'Blade Demon,' is sharper, or our three blades are faster!"
Leng Qianshan added ominously:
"Friend Xue, although the three of us are not disciples of famous sects, we are still scions of well-known families in the martial arts world and have a small reputation in the Northwest. Don't be too arrogant. Let's follow the rules of the martial arts world and have a fair one-on-one contest so that we can be convinced of our superiority."
Li Xunhuan coughed again, and after coughing, he sighed softly, his sigh filled with regret.
"At such a young age, he had a bright future ahead of him."
He spoke slowly, his gaze sweeping over the three indignant faces:
"Why bother coming here to die? The three of you, let alone one-on-one, even working together... might not be a match for him in a single strike. In my opinion, it would be better to..."
"Old man, mind your own business!"
Feng Zhenyue roared, his attention entirely focused on Xue Bufu:
"Xue Bufu! Make your move! I, Feng Zhenyue, will fight you first!"
He took a step forward, his momentum suddenly increasing, and the snow under his feet crunched.
Xue Bufeng finally shook his head.
"No need."
"Are you afraid to compete? Are you willing to admit defeat?"
Leng Qianshan said sarcastically.
"No, I mean,"
Xue Bufeng stood up, his fur robe slipping down to reveal his tall and imposing figure. The Blood Moon Demon Blade seemed to hum silently for a moment.
"All of you, come at me together."
"What?!"
The three men flew into a rage, their faces instantly turning purple.
Bullying the weak with numbers is an unfair victory, and this is a reputation they absolutely do not want.
"You look down on us?!"
Lei Zhen was almost roaring:
"We brothers are not the kind of petty people who rely on numbers to win!"
Xue Bufu smiled.
It wasn't a sneer, nor a mockery, but rather a laugh that seemed to find the scene before him quite amusing.
"You're unwilling to use numbers to bully the few?"
He said softly, his right hand already casually resting on the hilt of his knife: "But I'm willing to win with fewer troops."
The moment he uttered the words "winning with fewer troops," he was no longer in the same spot.
Like a wisp of smoke scattered by the wind, or like a sudden reflection of blood-red moonlight.
Without any warning, and without even seeing him draw his sword, all that was felt was that the flames of the red clay stove in the pavilion suddenly dimmed, and an arc of light with an ominous blood color appeared out of thin air!
The arc of light is not a single beam, but rather a series of rings nested within rings, layer upon layer, bursting forth in an instant!
It resembled a deadly yet magnificent crimson lotus flower composed of blades.
There was no sound of wind, no sound of air being cut, only a chilling killing intent that instantly enveloped the entire pavilion, and even the falling snowflakes seemed to be cut to shreds by this invisible malevolent energy!
Ruyi Heavenly Demon, Eight Consecutive Forms!
One style has thirty-six moves, each containing one hundred and eight variations! They are all interconnected and flow continuously!
Feng Zhenyue had only raised his sword halfway when he felt a chill in his throat.
Leng Qianshan's swift blade of wind and snow was not even fully drawn before his chest felt empty.
Lei Zhen was the most valiant of them all. He had already swung his sword with all his might, but he missed. He then felt a numbness on the side of his neck.
Time seemed to have passed in the blink of an eye.
"laugh--"
Three jets of blood shot out almost simultaneously from three directions, their vivid color dazzling, spraying onto the pristine white snow outside the pavilion and quickly blooming into three enormous blood flowers.
The three bodies remained frozen in their previous postures for a brief moment before crashing heavily onto the snow like a mountain collapsing and a jade pillar toppling.
His eyes remained wide open, filled with astonishment, bewilderment, and an overwhelming fear that he hadn't had time to process.
They died without ever seeing how the other person drew their sword.
The knife, without a trace of blood, had quietly returned to its blood-stained sheath at Xue Bufeng's waist.
Xue Bufeng seemed oblivious, walked back into the pavilion, sat down, and picked up his wine cup again.
The wine was still warm.
Li Xunhuan silently watched the three rapidly hardening corpses outside the pavilion, his eyes filled with even deeper sorrow.
But he was powerless to stop it, because he knew that if Xue Bufu was the one who was weaker today, the other three would not show any mercy either.
This is the world of martial arts.
Death has always been as commonplace as eating and drinking.
He could only drink another glass of wine; the fiery liquid slid down his throat, but it couldn't dispel the sigh.
"They were some of the most promising young people in this area, but they lost their lives for a hollow title. What a pity... what a pity."
Xue Bufeng glanced at him.
Those eyes, as cold as stars, seemed to hold a smile that was completely different from the decisiveness he displayed when he killed someone.
"You feel sorry for them losing their lives, but not for me?"
Li Xunhuan was taken aback:
"What's a pity about you?"
"What a pity about my knife."
Xue Bufeng placed the knife at his waist on the table, his fingertips brushing against the cold, blood-red scabbard:
"It was originally a fine knife for killing, but it has been tainted with bad luck because there are always too many blind beasts in this world. Isn't that a pity?"
Li Xunhuan looked at him for a long time, then finally shook his head helplessly and smiled bitterly.
He knew that there were some things he could never reason with the person in front of him.
So he can only drink alcohol.
Drinking alcohol is irrational.
As the saying goes, it's not the wine that intoxicates, but the person themselves.
The two drank a lot today but neither of them got drunk, simply because the alcohol didn't make them drunk, and neither of them wanted to get drunk.
As dusk approached, they finished the last bit of wine in their cups, which had grown slightly cold, and then Li Xunhuan stood up first.
"The wine is finished, and the words are finished."
Li Xunhuan tightened his old robe and coughed twice.
"I have to go now."
Xue Bufeng did not try to stop him, but just as he turned to walk into the snowstorm, he suddenly spoke, his voice clear and cold, cutting through the swirling snowflakes:
"Once we get inside the pass, drink less alcohol."
Li Xunhuan paused, "Why?"
"You can drink as much as you want here."
Xue Bufeng's voice was flat and monotone.
"But inside the pass, drinking too much can be fatal, and not everyone is willing to treat you to drinks for free like I am."
Li Xunhuan laughed, his laughter carrying a sense of desolation and untamed spirit.
He turned his face slightly to the side, and snowflakes fell on his thin profile.
"But what's the point of living to a hundred if someone like me can't drink?"
He paused, then added:
"But don't worry, once I'm in the country, I'll still remember that drinking costs money."
After saying that, he laughed and took a step. His thin and lonely figure was quickly swallowed up by the swirling snow and could no longer be seen.
Xue Bufu was left alone in the pavilion again.
The fire in the stove was about to go out, but the snow was still falling.
The wind and snow howled, and the three corpses outside the pavilion were gradually covered by the new snow.
It seemed as if only this one person, this one sword, and that silent yet chilling, pervasive loneliness remained in the world.
After an unknown amount of time, the wind seemed to stop, and the snow seemed to pause for a moment.
In that silent instant, a man in black appeared silently from the edge of the snow-covered forest in the direction where Li Xunhuan had just disappeared.
He was completely wrapped in a tight black robe, with even his head and face covered by a black cloth, revealing only a pair of shrewd, restrained eyes.
He was extremely skilled at walking on snow, and only stopped three zhang away from the pavilion, where he knelt on one knee, bowed his head, and stood as respectfully as a black stone tablet.
"Young Master."
His voice was dry and devoid of any emotion: "The leader requests that you return to the main altar."
Xue Bufeng did not turn around, but continued to stare at the dying embers in the furnace.
"understood."