Chapter 128 Sword

Chapter 128: The Sword

The night breeze was cool, as Ling Feng and Jiyue lazily propped themselves against the top of the wall, their long blades in hand, idly counting the stars in the sky.

Suddenly—

"Good evening..."

A head of thick hair suddenly popped up from the edge of the wall, a flask of wine dangling in hand, its fragrance mingling with the night breeze.

The man grinned, laughing carelessly, his white teeth dazzling in the moonlight.

The two: "???"

They exchanged a glance, both seeing confusion in each other's eyes.

"Can you help me find someone?" Cheng Ge tilted his head, his voice mumbled, like he had candy in his mouth, or his tongue was too numb from drink.

Jiyue cleared his throat and said seriously, "Sir, if I may ask, who is it you're looking for? Could you describe them?"

Cheng Ge blinked, took a swig from his flask, and thought hard.

"Uh... real tall, an' kinda handsome..." He paused, then added proudly, "but not as hot as I am."

The two: "..."

They silently glanced at themselves—weren't they pretty handsome too?

"Oh!" Cheng Ge suddenly slapped his thigh, nearly dropping the flask. "He walks without a sound, appears and disappears like a ghost!"

The two: "..."

But Cheng Ge got excited, mimicking seriously: "He usually looks like this—"

With that, he immediately put on a stern face, his eyes cold and sharp, as if someone owed him a fortune.

"And when he's angry, he looks like this—"

He suddenly furrowed his brows, the corners of his mouth drooping, with an expression of brewing storm.

The two exchanged another glance... Hiss... that expression felt a vague sense of familiarity?

"Excuse me, young master, is the person you seek a general?"

Cheng Ge's eyes lit up, and he nodded repeatedly: "Yes, yes! A general! Have you seen him? I want to drink with him."

Ling Feng touched his nose, his mouth twitching slightly, and replied helplessly, "No."

Cheng Ge froze for a moment, blinked, then let out a disappointed "Ah" and vanished from the wall.

Flask in hand, Cheng Ge roamed the entire princely mansion looking for Cui Ji to drink with, but after searching for ages, he still couldn't find him.

Eventually, after wandering around for a while, he somehow ended up back in the armory.

Night dew turned to frost; a cold sliver of moonlight hung from the eaves.

A white jade wine jar lay shattered on the bluestone steps. His white underrobe was lifted by the night breeze, the fluttering hem revealing slender ankles.

Barefoot, he stepped over scattered remnants of hibiscus petals, the soles of his snowy white feet stained with specks of crimson.

With a flick of his wrist, he executed a sword flourish in the moonlight, leaving faint afterimages.

It was that longsword Cui Ji often used—its blade slender, gleaming with a cold light under the moonlight.

Cheng Ge gently grasped the hilt, his fingertips brushing over the sword's edge.

The white jade pendant on the sword's tassel swung softly in the breeze, making a soft rustling sound.

He planted his left foot steadily, slowly rotated his right wrist, the sword body pressed close to his side, coiling like a snake.

The originally sharp moves, slowed by drunkenness, lost some of their power.

With a change in stance, the sword tip slanted upward from below, and at its highest point, it trembled sharply, three slashes of sword light streaking across like shooting stars.

"Zheng—"

The sword tip thrust out swiftly, plucking the last remaining red petal from a tree branch, and with a flourish, pinned the petal to the porch pillar.

The blade reflected his hazy, drunken eyes; the reddish tinge at the corners of his eyes was even more captivating than the falling petals.

His stance steady, using the sword for support, he spun around steadily.

At some point, his hairband had come loose and drifted away, letting his waist-length black hair cascade over his shoulders.

But he paid no heed, suddenly tossing the sword into the air, the blade flipping under the moonlight.

Catching it mid-air, his long hair brushed against the sword's edge, a single strand floating down. The pale moonlight enveloped his entire figure.

When he finished the form, he sat steadily on the stone steps.

The sword rested horizontally across his knees, and he bowed his head to toy with the jade pendant on the tassel, suddenly humming a soft tune.

By the time Lü Rou and the others found Cheng Ge, he was curled up with Dahuang under the veranda.

From time to time, he murmured Cui Ji’s name in his sleep—both man and dog, completely out cold.

…...

The autumn hunt was a time-honored tradition, mainly used to assert the emperor’s power, with elaborate rituals.

Cheng Ge had never been exposed to any of this, so naturally he didn't have a clue.

But thanks to his likable nature, a few pleasant words would win anyone over, and he somehow managed things smoothly and efficiently.

On the eve of the autumn hunt, the hunting grounds were ablaze with torchlight.

Cheng Ge wore black combat attire with tight cuffs, striding swiftly through the temporary camp area, his waist token clinking with each step.

He clutched a cowhide map in his hand, occasionally bumped by the scurrying attendants, but he paid no attention.

Tomorrow, the imperial procession would arrive—three thousand Imperial Guards to be deployed, lantern signals for eighty watchtowers, markers for twelve hunting zones—every single detail required his personal inspection.

A royal hunt, with too many eyes and people around, making it easy for someone to fish in troubled waters and commit crimes.

If even the slightest misstep occurred, his sorry ass would be dead.

"Add three more cheval de frise to the east side!" He grabbed a workman who was nailing wooden stakes, pointing at a spot on the map.

"Leave a path here for His Majesty's personal shooting—must be wide enough for two warhorses to ride side by side."

The night wind whipped in with grass clippings, and he squinted toward the signalmen testing the signal torches in the distance.

"Lord Cheng!" the quartermaster, panting, chased after him clutching a ledger. "We don't have enough ice blocks in the fresh meat cellar—should we borrow from the imperial kitchen's reserves?"

He grabbed the ledger and flipped through it quickly, then suddenly scratched across a row of numbers with his thumbnail. "No." He jabbed his finger at the final figure. "Double this amount."

A starving tiger unleashed—that was no joke.

Everyone attending the hunt was of high status; if someone died, they would be the first to be blamed.

When the water clock marked the third watch, he and Yang Guanlan crouched at the end of the archery range, personally adjusting the crossbows.

Cheng Ge summoned a subordinate. "Go check the pit traps on the western hunting grounds—I stepped on some loose earth this afternoon, and the branches underneath aren't thick enough."

"Yes," the subordinate promptly acknowledged and hurried off.

In the distance, a horse suddenly neighed. Cheng Ge stood up, the quiver at his waist rattling.

Through the night mist, servants were faintly visible leading the lead deer tied with red silk in a final rehearsal.

Those beasts had gold foil pasted on their foreheads; tomorrow, they would be live targets for the emperor's first arrow.

Yang Guanlan slowly rose, about to say something, but his figure swayed violently several times.

Cheng Ge dodged sharply to the side, fearing Yang Guanlan might faint and fall on him.

Yang Guanlan: "..." Could you be any more obvious? At least make a show of helping me.

"Hey, Old Yang, you'd better go rest. Don't go and drop dead on us."

Yang Guanlan quickly steadied himself. After these few days together, he had Cheng Ge completely figured out.

He couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Hmph, I'm still in my prime. I could easily take ten more concubines."

Then he shot a sidelong glance at Cheng Ge. "Not like some official named Cheng, who only has an empty bed to sleep alone."

Cheng Ge: "..." You old man, I really want to ram a corncob down your throat.

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