Chapter Thirty-One: The Might of the Skylark

The next morning, just as dawn broke, Li Tianjun left with Old Yang, careful not to disturb the other guards. According to Yang Cheng's instructions, Old Yang also brought a bag of spirit coins for Li Tianjun to use on his journey.

At daybreak, after giving instructions to his adopted son and disciple, Lu Baichuan went alone to the open ground in the front hall. This spacious area was once used for gatherings but had since been designated as the training ground for the guards. The guards had already chosen their weapons, which, though not as fine as the ones they once wielded, were still serviceable in their hands.

Now that hope had returned to their lives and the chance to change their fate emerged from despair, everyone wanted to make a good impression before the family master. Each began their practice early.

Lu Baichuan had a plan in mind. The day before, Yang Cheng had shown great generosity to everyone, earning their deep gratitude. Today, Lu Baichuan intended to instill a sense of awe, reminding them that while the Yang family was benevolent, they were not to be trifled with or wronged.

The forty-nine guards immediately fell silent upon Lu Baichuan’s arrival, standing at attention and awaiting orders. Silence was inevitable; Lu Baichuan deliberately released his formidable aura, overwhelming those present. Few dared to meet his gaze. All were battle-hardened men, and it was clear from Lu Baichuan’s presence that he was one who would kill without hesitation. Usually, he restrained his aura only before Yang Cheng; now, he held nothing back in front of the others.

He swept his gaze across the group without a word, his silence enough to force many to lower their heads. With a thought, he summoned his spiritual sense. The only sound was a clear ring, and suddenly a long sword appeared, hovering above Lu Baichuan's head before spinning, its tip pointing downward. With a flash of cold light, the single sword split into dozens. This was the peerless technique once taught to him by Mei Daoqing.

The dozens of sword tips aimed at the group, then shot straight into the crowd. Startled, the men quickly dodged aside.

There was a hiss as stone chips flew; the stone slabs on the ground were left with dozens of deep holes, though only one sword remained embedded in the earth. With a gesture from Lu Baichuan, the sword flew up and landed in his hand, still trembling and humming.

Among the crowd, a few knowledgeable men thought to themselves: What a sword—no less than a sect treasure.

Lu Baichuan stroked the blade solemnly and spoke, "This sword is named 'Skylark.' I acquired it in the Great Wilderness Secret Realm and have carried it for two years. With it, I have slain three hundred sixty-seven men, including fifty-four at the Integration stage, and five at the Golden Core stage. It has slain countless demonic beasts, including four Golden Core-level monsters."

The crowd was stunned—no one doubted his words. This man was, without question, a god of slaughter. Most present had been disciples of various sects and clans, well aware of what a Golden Core cultivator meant. What trials had this god of war endured before hiding away in this small family? Clearly, Young Master Yang's background was far more complex than it appeared.

Had Yang Cheng been present, he too would have been shocked. He knew only that Lu Baichuan had killed over a hundred people from the Vice Governor’s family, but nothing of his former feats. More likely, he would have marveled at how skillfully old Lu played the part—a man of few words, but much to fear.

"The young master is righteous and has shown you all great kindness. I expect diligence from you—protect the Yang family well. If anyone harbors evil intent, breaks the family rules, or brings shame upon the master, I will not hesitate to add another soul beneath my sword." Lu Baichuan’s cold gaze swept the group as he issued his warning.

"We shall obey your command, senior!" the crowd responded in unison, saluting with cupped hands.

"Good. Furthermore, there are many ordinary folk in the east wing. Though they are only servants, the young master values them highly. You all possess cultivation—do not bully the weak. This is what the young master despises most. Do not bring trouble upon yourselves."

Many reflected inwardly; they had once looked down on ordinary people, but now, having experienced life as captives at the lowest rung, they understood the plight of the weak. With empathy came recognition that all were human, and survival was no easy thing.

Satisfied that the group was suitably intimidated and seeing no troublemakers among them, Lu Baichuan continued, "Good. I will divide you into seven teams, each with a leader. Daily patrols and drills will rotate among these teams. We begin the competitions this morning—remember, fight to the point, no more. The seven victors will serve as team leaders."

The guards spread out, forming a circle. After some polite deferral, two stepped forward, ready to spar.

"Wait!" Lu Baichuan suddenly recalled something and shouted toward the distance, "You there! Yes, you—aren’t you called Maozi? Go to the back mountain and fetch my disciple."

Maozi, who had just been about to leave to buy lumber, was startled by the commanding shout. Noticing all the cultivators looking his way, he felt a pang of misery: Sirs, I’m just passing through! He hurried off toward the back mountain.

The others waited in confusion.

Lu Baichuan had developed a habit: since rare opportunities arose for disciples of different sects to compete, he would never miss a chance for Hua Mingzhu to observe their techniques. Besides, many of these men would leave eventually—he was helping the Yang brothers collect some interest in advance.

The night before, he had tested both his adopted son and disciple on their progress, instructing Mingzhu to write down any insights she gained from cultivation techniques. Having never entered the world of cultivation, Mingzhu was inexperienced and felt no qualms about secretly learning techniques. Under her master's patient guidance, she even felt somewhat proud; that night, she compiled an unnamed technique based on the Zhang family’s blade style.

Unfortunately, her literacy was limited, and she often had to consult her master for unfamiliar characters. Recording was slow and painstaking. Had it not been so late when she returned, she might have written another technique. Fortunately, an erudite Old Master Luo would be arriving soon, who could serve as her scribe. Luo was a reliable ordinary man, unlikely to betray her secrets.

Thus, all morning, Hua Mingzhu sat quietly on the open ground by the west wing, watching the guards compete.

At her waist hung a finely crafted short sword, a gift from her master who said Young Master Yang had chosen it himself—a high-grade spiritual weapon of considerable value. It was her first weapon, and as she caressed the blade, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

The duels among the guards were fierce. Hua Mingzhu noticed that many techniques were vastly different from those in Wuzhou, almost as if belonging to a different system. She found herself learning much and soon focused intently, setting aside all distractions.

The guards, too, performed with exceptional effort. Many were anxious to return home, yet they knew that two years’ grace was a gift beyond measure and would not overreach; all were content to work here. In less than half a day, seven champions emerged, each selecting six helpers, neatly forming seven teams.

Just then, Old Master Luo arrived to report for duty. Yang Cheng assigned him to register the seven teams, recording not only names but also personal traits and merits for future reference.

In the days that followed, the Yang family’s guards finally entered into proper order, allowing Yang Cheng some measure of relief.

During their shifts, everyone voluntarily practiced on the grounds, much to the delight of Mei Yuchen. He cultivated alone most days, with no one to spar against, but many of the guards were at his level, if not more experienced in actual combat. In his spare time, he would join them for friendly bouts, making many new friends and growing increasingly cheerful as a result.