Eternal Swordmaster Chapter 2 Secret Technique

"Jianghu old rules!" An Ying shouted out promptly, then cast a nervous glance at Lin Xin.

Lin Xin lacked any prior dealings with such matters, merely nodding to her as a sign to manage it on her own. Most of the recollections swirling in his thoughts revolved around defeated dojo challengers forfeiting compensation. Still, this marked his initial encounter with the scenario, heart thumping fiercely; anxiety gripped him so tightly that he entrusted everything to An Ying.

Ultimately, Huo Hengdao surrendered all his blades plus the over ten silver taels in his possession prior to departing.

Quite the hefty haul. Lin Xin mentally tallied it against recalled prices, figuring the silver equated to more than ten thousand Renminbi. The weapons fetched absurd prices too. Though merely three knives, none cost under seven or eight thousand Renminbi apiece. Particularly amid tight controls by martial sects and authorities, they proved invaluable. Altogether, exceeding thirty thousand in earnings.

Once Huo Hengdao had departed, An Ying slid her sword into its sheath, allowing Lin Xin to exhale deeply in relief. Right then, Lu Yu dashed from the room to gather the blades and silver from the floor, while Lu Yun fetched a water pail to scrub away the blood marks.

Lin Xin eyed the seemingly pure An Ying. Illiterate and rough around the edges, she outshone the Lu pair mentally by a hair. Her open admiration betrayed profound affection for the original Lin Xinru.

Hailing from wealth, Lin Xinru mastered reading and writing early on, boasted decent looks, ran the dojo capably, and enjoyed carefree sustenance. Amid times prizing literacy as rare treasure, he stood as true nobility.

Moreover, handsome with family riches—in today's lingo, the epitome of educated wealth and charm!

"Sigh..." Pondering the elder's dying words, Lin Xin now shouldered dojo duties, no longer flinching at An Ying's shining blade, releasing a drawn-out breath.

"Straighten up, anywhere hurt?" he inquired.

An Ying's cheeks flushed crimson instantly, her body twisting shyly.

"A little bit hurt..."

"Where? Let me see," Lin Xin, versed somewhat in healing, breathed out and drew near for inspection.

"It's just..." An Ying's blush deepened further.

"Where exactly anyway?" Lin Xin grew speechless. Spotting odd gazes from Lu Yun and Lu Yu, realization dawned—this era enforced far stricter male-female divides than his old world. His conduct veered improper.

Even bold Jianghu offspring deemed such familiarity bold overreach.

"It's my leg..." An Ying murmured, head bowed, voice mosquito-soft, "I'm troubling you, big senior brother..."

"Where on your leg did you get hurt?" Committed now despite warming cheeks, he pressed on.

An Ying pivoted quietly, exposing a slender yet clear gash on her thigh's rear. Oddly, the injury stayed neat with scant blood flow.

"Sigh..." Lin Xin breathed out once more. Abruptly, he sensed adaptation seeping into this world's existence.

"Lu Yu, fetch medicine to dress it," he directed helplessly.

"Medicine... run out, must head down mountain to buy..." Lu Yu whispered.

Then Lin Xin recalled this age's crude medicine craft—many remedies faltered, spoiled fast, demanding fresh prep. Routine wound salves ran pricey too, absent bulk making, costs soared.

Normally he'd trek down to kin for supplies, yet now... no longer Lin Xinru, but Lin Xin. How face his parents?

"Hold off on that for now..." Lin Xin knew basics like dandelion for swelling relief.

Amid bustle, he foraged identifiable hill herbs, mashed them, daubed onto An Ying's cut.

Lu Yun fired up cooking as always, An Ying retreated to cultivate, leaving Lin Xin idle.

Settling somewhere, he stared at dimming skies, bewilderment flooding in.

Thrust here without reason, clueless on next steps.

Perched at dojo threshold, eyes traced endless gray steps downward, craving mere silent repose.

Smack.

Palm smacked neck, flattening a coin-sized crimson mosquito, juices bursting forth.

Neck stain clung, moistly sticky.

"Hiss... such a large mosquito..." Lin Xin grumbled, sensing swift puffing swell.

Abruptly, a dim shape hurtled up stairs toward dojo.

Form ascended nimbly, pace ferocious. Visible moments ago, now gate-bound in a flash.

Visitor: bearded middle-ager in black garb, waist knife, 'Lin' chest stitch. Burly, menacing air.

"Young master? Why are you sitting here?" Man blinked surprised at Lin Xin.

"You're... Uncle Lin Hao?" Lin Xin rifled ancestral memories swiftly.

Lin Hao, prime among Lin clan's top trio guards, renowned short blade whirls across nearby towns, elite hireling.

Lin clan loomed large locally, vast offshoots safeguarding fortunes far beyond Red Pine Sect. Guard squad alone topped hundreds, battle-hardened. A dozen could trap An Ying-level foes.

Mere sliver of Lin might.

Merchant magnate Lin Zhiwen, Lin Xinru's sire, dominated Red Pine City fame.

Lin Hao's timely summit dash screamed purpose.

Ill omen for Lin Xin. Predecessor fled uphill dodging kin schemes.

"Uncle Hao, what are you here for?" Lin Xin rose, brushed butt mud casually, queried coolly, mimicking old Lin Xinru flawlessly.

Lin Hao sighed heavily.

"The old master dispatched me: playtime's over. Return home."

Eyes flicked to shabby Red Pine Martial Arts School plaque.

"What point skulking in this rundown hall? Lin heritage awaits, old master's fortune yours eventually."

"Whether I return's my call. Old man needn't fret." Lin Xin scoffed.

Tycoon Lin Zhiwen scorned teetering Red Pine Sect naturally.

Recalls hit: home visits spotlighted him, eldest slacker amid diligent sibs handling ledgers, staff, gains. He alone begged coin, lavish spender.

Thus, he tacked on.

"I'm here to learn martial arts, aren't I?"

"Family brims with instructors. Taoist Priest Red Pine holds steady, matches your second uncle tops. No call enduring this," Lin Hao noted Lin Xinru's apathy, spared more spiel—old refrains rang hollow.

"Anyway, here to notify. Shu clan envoys arrived lately, old master tied up entertaining VIPs. Tensions rise, manpower thin—stay mountain-bound mostly."

"I understand."

"Alright, monthly stipend." Lin Hao drew forth rear black pouch, passed to Lin Xin.

Lin Xin accepted, heft noting coppers, silver bits.

"No sweat, sparse folk here, slim loot. Junior sister guards too—bandits pass," he tossed off.

Lin Hao dipped head gravely.

"Young master, stay wary. Lin Family eyed amid unrest. Old master summoned Shu experts precisely therefor." Voice dropped low.

Chill stabbed Lin Xin's core, envying Lin Hao's lithe exit, wariness blooming—this haven less secure than dreamt...

Absent An Ying beside...

Kin belittled Red Pine training,

Lin Hao's form faded afar; Lin Xin lingered seated, then pivoted into Mountain Gate.

Yard sparsely peopled, kitchen murmurs hinted Lu Yun, Lu Yu's chores.

Oil lamp glowed in An Ying's chamber, deep in training.

Red Pine Sect's modest Return to Origin Technique, basic Cultivation Technique, demanded fitting build, talent—not universal.

Headshake propelled Lin Xin roomward, Hengdao Sect clash plus fresh tidings painting world perilous.

"I must learn some self-defense arts," idea flickered.

"This frame holds swordplay basics; honing revives utility."

Musing summoned foster master's deathbed gift: slim manual.

"Could it be some Divine Technique Secret Skill?" Junior sister's Return to Origin Technique sparked envy; he and Lu duo failed it, physiques mismatched.

Qigong intrigue spurred recent trials, all fruitless.

Booklet memory today ignited faint optimism.

"I'll check again inside, perhaps secret lurks."

Room secured, ears strained outward—no approach.

Under bunk he delved, wall's inner hidey-hole pried, yielding yellowed tome, silver scraps.

Booklet clutched, he reversed from beneath bedding.

Smack.

Abrupt palm crashed shoulder.

"Who's there?!"

Lin Xin jolted, whirled to tall silhouette looming, smirk twisted.

"After days staking out, you finally fetch the Secret Technique?" Voice dripped icy menace.