Forced to Act out a Strange Script with a Rival - Chapter 116

She was born into a tenant farming family so destitute they possessed little more than the yellow earth beneath their feet.

To survive, her entire family had borrowed money from wealthy landlords at usurious rates. They labored day after day in a state of perpetual exhaustion, watching helplessly as the debt spiraled out of control.

Her birth brought no spark of joy. Instead, it was met with her father’s face, turning instantly dark as stagnant water, and her mother’s suppressed, desperate sobbing.

“Another money-loser!” Her father’s voice was as cold as ice, as if deciding the fate of a superfluous kitten or puppy. “Sink her, clean and simple.”

That was the most “common” way to dispose of female infants in the village.

A tiny life, before ever getting the chance to look at the world, would be tied to a stone or stuffed into a tattered sack, then sunk into the murky pond at the village entrance—a pond that had already swallowed the restless souls of countless baby girls.

She was meant to share the fate of those thousands of infants, but she was rescued by a passing wanderer—a hero of the Jianghu.

The hero treated her well, giving her food to eat, clothes to wear, and teaching her to read and practice martial arts. He saved her from the paths she otherwise would have trodden: dying young, being sold to an unknown fate, or toiling like an ox for a landlord’s family only to be married off to a servant at the master’s whim—repeating the numb, tragic life of her mother.

Following the hero, she traveled across the land and grew into a woman.

They visited the water towns of the South. There, she saw the daughters of wealthy families kept in inner chambers. Though they appeared to live in luxury, they were merely exquisite bargaining chips for their fathers and brothers. Their joys and sorrows went ignored, their talents and ambitions dismissed. Their entire value seemed tied to their future husband’s family. A single shift in clan interests could send them tumbling from the clouds—sent to a temple to live as a nun or delivered as a “gift” to an enemy. Their fates were never their own.

They visited the Northwest frontier. There, daughters of the poor were sold to passing merchants or military camps for a few bags of grain, their fates unknown. They were passed from hand to hand like cargo, their dignity trampled into the dirt. Those who managed to escape an abusive husband found they had nowhere to go, ending their lives by hanging themselves over dry wells or drifting through life as broken ghosts.

They even reached the bustling capital. There, officials in scarlet robes squandered gold while committing heinous crimes with impunity, while the women and children who traveled three thousand miles with petitions for justice were beaten to death outside the government gates.

Men could not see the suffering of women. They cared only for the heights of the imperial court and the freedom of the Jianghu.

Even those acclaimed as “righteous heroes” of famous sects would draw their blades and slaughter entire families over a minor slight or a conflict of interest. In these “sect feuds,” the first to be sacrificed and violated were always the defenseless women and children.

After witnessing the coldness of the world, the hero founded a sect named Hehuan (The Union of Joy). “Hehuan” did not refer to carnal lust, but rather “Universal Joy through Unity”—meaning the women of the world standing together.

Possessing extraordinary talent, she later created her own sword style: the Residue Moon, Broken Jade Technique (Canyue Duanyu Jue).

The name held profound meaning:

• Residue Moon: Though the moon waxes and wanes, this style took the “residue” or “waning” phase—not to signify incompleteness, but to symbolize the unextinguishable glimmer of light in the darkest hour. it was the defiant power of a woman erupting from despair, beautiful yet resolute.
• Broken Jade: Here, “Jade” served as a metaphor for the source of male power and lineage. “Breaking the Jade” meant destroying the root of oppression in the most direct and brutal way, shattering the shackles placed upon women. Its sharpness embodied the spirit of “rather a shattered jade than a whole tile.”

The technique was distinct, even eerie and ruthless. Only women could practice it. The internal energy followed a path of “Pure Yin,” with a mantra and meridian route diametrically opposed to the “Yang” energy of men—it was, in a sense, a reversal of nature.

A woman had to possess a Pure Yin constitution to master it; if a man attempted it, his internal energies would clash, leading to ruptured meridians and death. The energy was cold and cunning, flowing like a midnight tide—silent and invisible, yet capable of freezing an opponent’s blood and neutralizing their Yang power.

To compensate for a lack of raw physical strength, the style focused exclusively on the “lower three paths” (the lower body and vitals). The moves were treacherous and fierce, like a venomous snake striking from a hole. It attacked from impossible angles, seeking to dismantle the enemy’s core combat capability with minimum effort and maximum speed. This was not killing for the sake of killing; it was an extreme declaration that women were no longer prey. They had the power to strike at the most vulnerable and arrogant points of their oppressors.

Crucially, she did not hoard her knowledge like male masters who guarded their secrets. Knowing that knowledge is power, she compiled the foundations of the Residue Moon, Broken Jade Technique into bamboo scrolls and hand-copied manuals. She distributed them through marketplaces, into the back courtyards of great mansions, and into impoverished villages, giving every woman who yearned for strength a chance to fight back.

However, the existence and actions of the Hehuan Sect soon enraged the “righteous sects” who upheld the traditional order.

The fact that they openly taught ruthless martial arts designed to maim men, sheltered “disobedient” women, and challenged the hierarchy of male over female was seen as a subversion of heaven and earth. Thus, the Hehuan Sect was branded a “Demonic Cult,” and waves of siege and persecution followed.

And then, everything changed…

She slowly opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was a vivid, spirited face. The memories of that day instantly flooded back—fear, anger, and loathing erupted from her soul. She remembered blood staining the sect’s main hall; she remembered a blade piercing her Sect Leader’s chest…

It was her!

It was that despicable, shameless villain!

And now, this murderer who had slaughtered her home and killed the leader who was like a mother to her, had the gall to ask her—in a voice dripping with feigned concern—”How are you? Are you alright?”

The voice sounded like the most vicious mockery, scraping against her eardrums and nerves!

She had heard of this person’s deeds. Si Xiaoxiao, the eldest Miss of the Hidden Sword Villa. She was a “pearl in the palm,” raised in luxury and born with a silver spoon. She was nothing like them. She had never seen the suffering of women at the bottom of society. Naturally, she was their enemy—a member of the privileged class standing in direct opposition to wretched women like herself!

Killing intent screamed within her. Her fingertips instinctively tried to gather internal energy. Even if it meant her meridians would shatter, she would kill this demon right here!

However, the moment her energy began to surge, the sharp pain in her chest intensified. Her blood flowed backward, her vision went black, and she nearly fainted again. A wave of icy weakness drowned out the flames of her rage.

Even the Sect Leader fell beneath her blade. To strike now would be foolish. I must remain calm. If I am to kill her, I must plan for the long term.

Yes, now was absolutely not the time to act against her. She had to be cautious and meticulous.

With a willpower that bordered on self-abuse, she forcibly suppressed and retracted every surging emotion, burying them deep beneath the seemingly calm ripples of her gaze. She even slightly adjusted her breathing, though every lungful of air dragged across the agony in her chest.

She raised her eyes and looked at Si Xiaoxiao again. The initial violent turbulence had faded from her pupils, leaving only a death-like stillness and a faint, deeply hidden trace of scrutiny.

“What exactly do you want?” she spoke. Her voice was hoarse, yet exceptionally steady, betraying not a hint of a ripple. “Why not just kill me with your sword?”

She went straight to the core of her doubt. Why leave her alive—a “remnant” of a fallen sect? What was the intent? Torture? Or was she seeking information?

Si Xiaoxiao seemed momentarily stunned by this overly calm reaction. A flicker of admiration flashed through her eyes, followed by a blink of those clear, innocent-looking eyes. Her tone became earnest and sincere, as if she were stating the simplest of facts:

“I didn’t mean to kill your Sect Leader,” she offered as a defense first, before answering the second question. “As for what I want… if I said I want to revitalize the Hehuan Sect and give the women of the world a home, would you believe me?”

“I do not!”

Her answer was decisive, without a moment’s hesitation. It burst forth with cold irony and utter distrust. An enemy claiming they wanted to revitalize your sect? It was the most absurd, laughable lie in the world!

The cat weeps for the mouse—hypocritical mercy!

Si Xiaoxiao, however, wore a pure and innocent smile. She spoke again, attempting to negotiate: “But don’t you find it strange? How could your Sect Leader suddenly undergo such a personality shift—falling for a scumbag while simultaneously betraying you all? She was going to package you up and sell you off to those male ‘heroes’.”

These words were like a fine needle, lightly pricking a corner of her heart she didn’t want to touch. The Sect Leader’s sudden change was indeed the greatest pain and mystery in the hearts of all Hehuan disciples. But she immediately crushed that sliver of wavering thought.

Regardless of the circumstances, the Sect Leader was the Sect Leader. She would not permit an outsider—especially an enemy—to criticize her!

“The Sect Leader had her own reasons! We would willingly do anything for her,” she replied flatly.

“Tsk tsk, cults of personality are no good. Anyway, just stay here and recover for now. I’ll prove it through my actions!” Si Xiaoxiao shook her head with a sigh, then patted her chest with a solemn promise.

Prove it through actions?

She thought to herself: no matter how honeyed this woman’s words were, she was still the murderer of the Sect Leader. She would never forgive her!

I shall play along with her for now and see what she is truly up to.

A voice rose from within her heart. She looked up at her captor.

As if suddenly remembering something, Si Xiaoxiao adopted a casual expression. “By the way, what’s your name?”

“My name?” She stared at Si Xiaoxiao with a cold face, her lips pressed into a pale, thin line. Her eyes were full of wariness and resistance, and she remained silent, refusing to answer.

“I can’t just keep calling you ‘Hey’ forever! Besides, I have things I need you to do~” Si Xiaoxiao laughed boisterously, her expressions vivid and lively.

“I will not do anything for you!” Her eyes were filled with loathing as she refused categorically.

Regarding her name, she still offered no answer.

Si Xiaoxiao scratched her head, thought for a moment, and then flashed another optimistic, wide grin. “Fine. It’s not exactly doing something for me—how about going to kill some men to help your sisters? Would you go then?”

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