Volume One: The Emperor's Sword Chapter 13: Your Husband Is Here
Yan Kingdom’s imperial capital was alive with excitement and bustle.
The broad avenue was teeming with people, the clamorous throng ebbing and flowing without end. Upon entering the imperial city, Yun Que’s horizons were flung wide open. Life at the Emperor’s feet was indeed worthy of its renown—compared to the remote town of Yanmen, this place was a hundred times more splendid.
Just then, a wedding procession approached from the opposite direction. The groom rode a white horse, beaming with pride, occasionally tossing handfuls of wedding sweets into the crowd, sending children into peals of laughter as they scrambled to collect them. Drums and gongs thundered along the way, creating an atmosphere of pure joy.
“How grand! I wonder which family’s daughter is being carried to her bridal sedan—she must be so happy!” Han Jiao said with admiration.
As a girl herself, Han Jiao felt a vicarious joy for the bride about to embark on this new chapter.
“Husband and wife are but birds on the same branch—when calamity comes, they fly their separate ways,” Yun Que remarked, catching a piece of candy. Under the hopeful eyes of a snot-nosed child, he popped it into his own mouth and crunched it with relish.
The child’s face crumpled, and he ran off bawling.
“But Lord Yun, you don’t have a wife—how can you be so sure that couples will abandon each other in times of trouble?” Han Jiao’s happiness was swiftly dashed by his words.
“Who says I don’t?” Yun Que replied, his mouth full of candy.
“Lord Yun is married?” Han Jiao exclaimed in surprise.
“It was an engagement arranged before birth. I met her once as a child. I’ve no idea what she’s like now.”
“If she’s beautiful, you’ll keep her; if she’s ugly, you’ll send her away?” Han Jiao teased.
“How could I simply send her away?” Yun Que declared solemnly. “If she’s ugly, I’ll have her fed to the dogs.”
Han Jiao was about to be impressed by his seriousness, but immediately pressed a hand to her forehead. Lord Yun was ever forthright—some things never changed.
Suddenly, the crowd ahead parted of its own accord.
At the end of the avenue, a slender figure appeared.
It was a young woman clad in a dress of blue-green, her features exquisitely delicate, star-bright eyes and pearly teeth—a beauty of the highest order, though her expression was cool and distant, keeping the world at arm’s length.
A sky-blue flower hairpin nestled in her long hair. Upon closer inspection, it resembled a strange, intricate little sword—mysterious and extraordinary.
With her ethereal bearing, the young woman in blue-green seemed like a fairy descending to the mortal realm.
Her arrival rendered all others on the street pale by comparison; people shrank back in self-conscious awe, forming lines on either side to offer her a clear path.
“She’s gorgeous!” Han Jiao sighed with genuine admiration.
Han Jiao herself was no plain sight, but beside this woman she was left far behind.
A young man in a blue brocade robe, with narrow eyes, hurried after the woman. He smiled warmly and said, “Junior Mu, are you heading to the market? I have some shopping to do as well—let’s go together.”
The woman’s elegant brows creased almost imperceptibly, but she didn’t break stride.
“With the Tower of Myriad Heights soon to open, and your mastery of swordsmanship, Junior Mu, you’re sure to place highly in this year’s Sword Heir contest,” the blue-robed youth said, full of lively charm, playing the gallant escort.
The street was crowded, yet everyone yielded to these two outstanding young talents—everyone except Han Shui Marquis, who had just arrived in the capital and stood his ground, unmoving.
“We should step aside,” Han Jiao whispered anxiously, tugging at Yun Que’s sleeve as the pair drew near.
“Why should we? The street is wide enough for everyone,” Yun Que replied.
“They’re sword palace elites!” Han Jiao cautioned.
“And I’m a marquis of Yan. If anyone’s to step aside, it should be them,” Yun Que said, making no effort to lower his voice.
The avenue was spacious enough for carriages to run side by side. Even when meeting face to face, a slight turn would suffice—there was no call for anyone to yield so completely.
The blue-robed youth, having drawn near, chuckled upon hearing the word “marquis,” then looked at Yun Que with a haughty sneer. “Sword heirs on the street—princes and marquises must make way.”
Eight words, arrogant beyond compare!
Yet no one dared object. The Sword Palace held an exalted position; its disciples were proud by right, and as a sword heir himself, the young man had every reason to be so.
There were many princes and marquises in Yan, but few sword heirs. Any one of them was considered a peerless talent.
Han Jiao, cowed by the youth’s imposing manner, obediently stepped aside, casting desperate glances at Yun Que—pleading with him not to cause trouble.
“Sorry, but I’m not in the habit of stepping aside,” Yun Que replied with a laugh, standing firm.
What’s youth without a bit of defiance?
Trying to outdo the Han Shui Marquis of Yanmen Town in arrogance—the blue-robed youth had met his match.
“If you won’t step aside, so be it. We’ll each take our own path. Any harm that comes is your own responsibility,” the young man threatened.
Yun Que had little patience for threats.
Pointing at the street beneath their feet, he asked, “What road is this?” Not waiting for a reply, he answered himself, “A road of Yan.”
Then, pointing at the trees by the street, “What trees are those? Trees of Yan.”
Finally, he pointed to the blue-robed youth. “And you—what are you? A subject of Yan.”
His tone suddenly sharpened. “As a subject of Yan, you are bound by its laws! To assault a marquis in the street—do you realize your crime, knave?”
From casual indifference, his bearing shifted in a heartbeat to that of an imperious lord.
The blue-robed youth was taken aback, his gaze darkening. “And what of it, marquis? I am the fifth sword heir of the Eastern Court—a prodigy of the Sword Palace!”
“Oh? Fifth and you dare call yourself a prodigy? Your skin is thicker than mine,” Yun Que scoffed.
“The fifth sword heir is not a prodigy? Fine!” the youth retorted, then introduced the woman. “This is Mu Qingyao, the first sword heir of the Southern Court! The most gifted of the Sword Palace’s younger generation—a true favored daughter of the heavens. Do you deny her talent?”
If Yun Que acknowledged her, he would lose the upper hand. If he denied her, he risked offending Mu Qingyao. The blue-robed youth’s move was vicious indeed.
At the mention of Mu Qingyao, the crowd broke out in praise—eldest daughter of the Mu family, a peerless genius.
Han Jiao blurted out, “The Flower Spirit Sword, Mu Qingyao! The foremost disciple of the Sword Palace!”
The blue-robed youth was pleased with the reaction, casting a provocative glance at Yun Que.
“Mu Qingyao…” Yun Que repeated the familiar yet distant name, gazing at the woman in blue with surprise.
The blue-robed youth’s lips curled, and with a thread of sword aura, he sent a whispered message: “Don’t even think about it, toad. You could live a hundred lifetimes and never taste that swan’s flesh. Mu Qingyao will be mine to play with soon enough!”
No one else could hear this. Outwardly, the blue-robed youth seemed every inch the gentleman; inwardly, he was despicable.
“With the first sword heir here, you should step aside,” he said triumphantly.
Yet Yun Que stood taller than ever.
“When ruler and subject meet, the subject yields. When father and son meet, the son yields. When husband and wife meet, the wife yields.”
Facing Mu Qingyao, known as the fairest woman in Yan, Yun Que uttered a shocking declaration.
“Your husband is here—won’t you step aside?”
The street exploded in astonishment!
Jaws dropped.
The blue-robed youth was left dumbstruck, rooted to the spot.
He’d seen arrogance before, but never anything like this. This was not arrogance—it was a death wish!
Yet after his initial shock, the blue-robed youth rejoiced, looking at Yun Que with pity, as if seeing a dead man walking.
No one dared take liberties with Mu Qingyao. All Sword Palace disciples knew this well—not only was she dazzling and incomparably gifted, she was a rose with thorns.
Strangers beware—approach, and it would mean grave injury or death.
Mu Qingyao loathed having her name wielded to intimidate others, and had intended to slip away. But the flagrant teasing in Yun Que’s words made her expression darken.
She extended slender, pale fingers. The flower-shaped hairpin in her hair transformed instantly into a strange, elegant sword.
Without a word, she struck to kill.
To publicly sully a woman’s reputation—any ordinary girl would consider it an unbearable humiliation, let alone Mu Qingyao, the pride of the heavens.
Han Jiao was petrified. She had never imagined Yun Que would act so outrageously—in her mind, he was surely about to die in a pool of blood.
Yet Yun Que remained composed, facing the sword’s gleam, announcing himself calmly.
“I am the marquis from Yanmen Town, surname Yun, given name Que.”
The two simple words—Yun Que—seemed to carry a strange magic at that moment. The flying sword, whistling through the air, froze in place before his brow.
Its tip hovered just before his forehead, close enough to catch the sword’s faint fragrance.
“Delightful,” Yun Que exaggerated in mock rapture, like a libertine flirting with a respectable lady.
Mu Qingyao seemed petrified, standing motionless in the street, her beautiful eyes momentarily unfocused.
After a long pause, the first sword heir of the Southern Court silently stepped aside, bypassing Yun Que and striding quickly away.
She had, in effect, given way to Yun Que.
The blue-robed youth, who had been waiting to watch Yun Que’s demise, stared in utter disbelief, eyes nearly bulging from their sockets.
His entire worldview was shaken.
It was as if the pure, flawless swan had always belonged in the toad’s pond. There was no need to pine for swan flesh—for the whole swan already belonged to the toad.