Volume 11 Chapter 67 Swordsman Luo and Wuzheng. Precious Yujing. (Part 1)

Shen Yiren headed to the top of the windy peak without hesitation, treading as light as though she was trying not to wake anyone. She didn’t have much of a choice since there really was a group of monsters at the top of the mountain who’d wake up if she stepped heavily.

The Moyan Clan disciple standing guard didn’t treat Shen Yiren coldly as he did with others. “Good morning, Miss Shen.”

Shen Yiren subtly hiked up the corners of her lips. “Good morning.”

Shen Yiren was highly respected on Mount Wanyu subsequent to people learning she hid her true identity when she first visited for the sake of exposing Gewu’s conspiracy. Knowing she wasn’t Shaman Monarch’s Divine Consort saw that respect shoot straight into the stratosphere. Young men who had the hots for her had given up on wooing her after their attempts were met with polite smiles. If anyone wanted to see how sorrowful the disappointed appeared, look at Luo Siming.

Although Luo Siming woke early today, he rose late by the current standards. The imperial court could take care of bringing in the soldiers, but they needed Luo Sword Manor to equip their troops with weapons. Luo Siming was tasked with auditing the quality of weapons delivered from Luo Sword Manor and personally telling blacksmiths how to modify weapons for the adepts. That meant he was working for over eight hundred people all on his own.

Following a busy night, Luo Siming came across Shen Yiren half way up the mountain. One could make a case that his focus on Shen Yiren could compare, even surpass, his focus on iron weapons. Sadly, she hardly ever conversed with him.

A few days ago, Luo Siming went to the peak in hopes of getting a glimpse of Shen Yiren’s beauty, only to find her training. Annoyed over the distraction, she almost plunged her sword through him; he never went to the top again.

Ao Xue escorted the weapons courier to Mount Wanyu after she recovered from her injuries in Huzhou to resume her usual duty as Luo Siming’s bodyguard. She passed him a handkerchief as he watched Shen Yiren ascend the mountain. “Young Master.”

“… Ao Xue, I didn’t cry.”

“Your drool.”

“… Thanks.”

As he tucked away the handkerchief, Luo Siming heard, “Do you genuinely like her?” prompting him to turn one eighty. “D-Dad, wh-why are you here?”

Luo Ming wrapped his hands behind himself. “Why can’t I be hear? Didn’t you hear what Ming Feizhen said? Casualties will be inevitable. Why not enjoy the scenery beforehand?”

Luo Siming couldn’t treat death as light as his father. Frankly, he wasn’t sure how much weight to assign to Ming Feizhen’s words. What came next if the battle really was where he said his farewell to his father?

“Destiny shall decide the outcome. You can’t worry the monsters to death. Just do what you can. Don’t be so wishy washy. You’re a man.”

“Understood.”

“Anyway, do you really like her?”

“I, well, I…”

“Hahaha, if that’s how you feel, I shall go put in a good word for you,.”

“Dad! Miss Shen is engaged.”

“So what if he’s Song Clan’s eldest son? I should back down just because Ol’ Song is called Duke of the Martial World? I bossed him around back at Song Clan’s Fortress. He wants to fight with my son for a woman? Living must be too tiring or something for him.”

Luo Siming didn’t comment as he wasn’t privy to the previous generations conflicts; however, he wasn’t sure what to do, either.

“I’m just saying. You should go rest. It’s been a long night for you. I’ll come train you at night.”

“Thank you, Dad!” Luo Siming jovially left with Ao Xue.

Luo Ming muttered to himself, “Why would you like Shen Clan’s daughter? Do you not know what sort of person she is? Anyway, do you think you truly like her?”

Shen Yiren had stood in the rays coming through the fog, unmoving for two hours no matter how the lost leaves around her danced. The swordplay mental cultivation manual Ming Feizhen gave her was a real struggle to comprehend. Merely understanding one chapter took ages, let alone applying it to real combat. As a result, she resorted to imitation in hopes of gleaning more.

The inspiration for Shen Yiren’s new approach, a stark contrast to her signature style focusing on speed and relentless pressure, wasn’t Ming Feizhen’s manual but the sword in her hand. If the sword was to have a heart, it would undoubtedly be that of a graceful maiden,