Sword God Supreme

Chapter 9: Jiang Feng

Chen Mo and Li Jingxue walked through the bustling streets of Guangling City toward the towering edifice of Immortal Guest Tower. The morning sun cast dappled shadows through the canopy of ancient scholar trees lining the avenue, their leaves whispering secrets in the autumn breeze. Vendors hawked steaming buns and sugared hawthorns while sedan chairs carried nobles toward the city’s commercial heart.

"Jingxue," Chen Mo began, his voice cutting through the city’s symphony, "won’t you celebrate your birthday at home with your parents this year?"

Li Jingxue turned, sunlight catching the subtle embroidery on her azure robes. At sixteen, she moved with the grace of willow branches in spring. "I’m sixteen now," she declared, her eyes holding a spark of rebellion. "Old enough to decide my own celebrations." She paused, watching a flock of cranes circle the tower’s uppermost levels. "Besides, Grandmother’s eightieth banquet is the day after tomorrow. The entire household is preparing offerings, airing ancestral robes, and polishing ceremonial vessels. Even Mother barely glanced at my new dress this morning."

Chen Mo’s gaze sharpened. Li Jingxue’s grandmother was Zhao Wenyu, the Wen family’s indomitable Matriarch whose word carried more weight than Clan Leader Li Changming’s edicts. Her eightieth birthday wasn’t merely a celebration – it was a strategic display of the family’s influence, a carefully choreographed dance of power where every teacup’s placement carried political significance. Missing it would be tantamount to treason in the clan’s eyes.

"Brother-in-law!" Jingxue tugged his sleeve impatiently, pearls shimmering in her coiled braids. "The others will think we got trampled by a merchant’s ox-cart! It’s nearly noon!"

He followed her quickened pace, observing how passersby instinctively cleared a path for the girl in luxurious silks. Her energy reminded him of untamed rapids – beautiful yet dangerously unpredictable.

​Immortal Guest Tower​ dominated the skyline like a jade mountain carved by celestial artisans. Nine tiers of glazed tiles ascended toward the heavens, each level guarded by stone qilins with gemstone eyes. As they approached, Chen Mo noted the hierarchy in action: merchants awaited entry at bronze doors, minor officials ascended marble steps, while attendants in silver-threaded uniforms bowed Jingxue directly toward a private staircase. The scent of sandalwood and braised abalone enveloped them.

"Third floor, Moon Embracing Pavilion," Jingxue announced to the steward whose robes cost more than a farmer’s yearly yield. Rumors claimed a single vintage served here could ransom a village – a truth Chen Mo knew from reviewing Wen household ledgers where such expenses were casually recorded beside grain shortages in tenant villages.

The pavilion unfolded like an imperial miniature: rosewood partitions carved with scenes from the Classic of Mountains and Seas, celadon vases holding rare orchids, and a circular window framing the city’s river like a living painting. Seven youths occupied low divans – six young women in embroidered silks from prominent merchant families, and one young man whose posture radiated practiced confidence.

"Jingxue! You’ve stolen all the morning’s radiance!" A girl in peony-pink silk rushed forward, pressing a silk-wrapped parcel into her hands. "Father had this blessed at White Cloud Temple – may it guide you straight into ​Bishui Sword Academy’s inner circle!"

Another girl, her hair braided with military precision, laughed while adjusting a jade hairpin. "If the boys at ​Qingyun Sword Academy​ saw you now, they’d storm this tower bearing gifts like besieging armies!"

Chen Mo observed them from the periphery. These were children of salt merchants, silk magnates, and minor officials – their laughter as carefully measured as their cosmetics. He noted the subtle fractures beneath courtly manners: the tightening of a smile when Jingxue’s laughter rang clearest, the strategic compliment that doubled as status assertion, the envy disguised as admiration. Like swordgrass swaying together while roots battle underground, he mused. Harmless posturing, yet revealing of their world’s brutal calculus.

The room’s temperature plummeted when Jingxue’s eyes locked onto the sole young man. "​Jiang Feng." Her voice could have frozen lotus ponds in midsummer. "Explain your presence."

Silence swallowed the pavilion. Jiang Feng rose with the fluid grace of a panther, his forest-green robes accentuating broad shoulders. He ignored the hostility, presenting an obsidian box inlaid with golden phoenix motifs. "For Qingyun’s most brilliant constellation." His gaze never wavered from Jingxue’s face. "Happy birthday."

He lifted the lid. Nestled on midnight velvet lay a hairpin that silenced the room. Carved from a single block of translucent ​Purple Cold Spirit Jade, a phoenix exploded from its shaft in mid-flight. Each feather curved with impossible delicacy, wings caught in an eternal upstroke, eyes formed from flecks of ruby that caught the light like captured fire.

"Gods above!" gasped a girl with kohl-rimmed eyes, her fan freezing mid-flutter. "The ​Purple Phoenix Spreading Wings Hairpin​! That’s ​Master Lou’s hallmark work! The raw jade alone..." She calculated aloud like a merchant assessing inventory. "...three hundred gold at minimum. After the master’s carving?" A stunned pause. "A thousand gold couldn’t touch it at auction."

Murmurs rippled through the pavilion – half awe, half covetous calculation. Jiang Feng’s smile was a honed blade sheathed in silk. "I commissioned it the day I learned your birth moon approached." His voice dropped, intimate as a conspirator’s whisper. "Only perfection suits you, Jingxue."

The girls exchanged glances heavy with implication. Jiang Feng – son of ​Jiang Beishan, commander of the City Lord’s elite guard – wasn’t just Qingyun’s most eligible bachelor. He was a political earthquake waiting to happen. This gift wasn’t jewelry; it was a coronation, a claim staked in jade and gold.

Jingxue’s knuckles whitened around her sandalwood fan. "Such extravagance shames both giver and receiver." She turned her back with deliberate finality, gesturing to the seat beside her. "Brother-in-law, sit here. Let’s not delay the feast."

Ignoring the stunned faces, she guided Chen Mo to the divan facing the river view. The attendants began serving: crystal shrimp dumplings shaped like carp, swallow’s nest soup steaming in golden bowls, sliced abalone arranged like chrysanthemum petals.

Jiang Feng’s jaw tightened imperceptibly as he reclaimed his seat. His eyes, however, kept returning to Chen Mo – the shabbily dressed ​live-in son-in-law​ occupying the seat of honor. The contrast was brutal: Jiang Feng’s jade belt pendant worth a magistrate’s yearly salary against Chen Mo’s unadorned linen robe; the heir’s polished confidence against the outcast’s quiet stillness.

Throughout the meal, the girls’ chatter flowed around Chen Mo like water around a stone. They discussed everything from sword forms taught at ​Bishui Sword Academy​ to the scandalous price of newly imported Western perfumes – conversations punctuated by strategic silences whenever Chen Mo lifted his chopsticks.

Only when dessert arrived – delicate osmanthus cakes dusted with gold leaf – did Jiang Feng strike. He raised his jade teacup toward Chen Mo, his smile not reaching his eyes.

"Master Chen," he began, his tone deceptively light, "as Jingxue’s honored brother-in-law, surely you’ve prepared a gift worthy of such a radiant occasion?"

The pavilion fell silent again. Six pairs of eyes swiveled toward Chen Mo, gleaming with predatory curiosity. Jingxue’s hand froze above her cake, her expression tightening.

Chen Mo set down his porcelain spoon. He met Jiang Feng’s gaze squarely, his own eyes calm as deep mountain pools. "This birthday," he admitted, his voice carrying effortlessly in the sudden quiet, "slipped my mind amidst household duties."

A poorly stifled giggle escaped one girl. Jiang Feng’s eyebrows rose in theatrical surprise.

"But," Chen Mo continued, turning fully toward Jingxue, his voice softening in a way that silenced even the clinking dishes outside, "tonight, I will make amends with something truly worthy of you."

Jingxue’s breath caught. Her earlier irritation melted into something warm and luminous – a private sunrise shared between them.

​​"Truly worthy?"​​ Jiang Feng’s laugh rang harsh as cracking ice. "Pardon my bluntness, Master Chen, but Jingxue’s affection for you is legendary. For you to forget her birthday..." He shook his head slowly, the disappointment in his voice as polished as his jade hairpin. "...how deeply that must wound her."

The other girls exchanged meaningful glances. The air thickened with unspoken judgment: How could this insignificant dependent dare neglect Qingyun’s jewel?

Jiang Feng pressed his advantage, leaning forward. "We all know the constraints of your... position. But surely," his eyes swept dismissively over Chen Mo’s plain attire, "even the humblest token would show more care than empty promises?"

Chen Mo simply smiled – a faint, knowing curve of his lips that never touched his eyes. He picked up his teacup, watching the chrysanthemum petals swirl in the amber liquid. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the distant chime of wind-bells from the tower’s pinnacle.

Jiang Feng shifted, discomfort flickering across his features for the first time. The anticipated fluster, the stammered excuses – none came. Only that unnerving, ancient calm.

At that precise moment, a thunderous CRASHechoed from the hallway. The pavilion’s exquisitely carved double doors burst inward, splintering like kindling against the marble floor.