Why do I have so many masters?

Every day, fresh events unfold in the Jianghu of the Great Qin, yet the most significant and eye-catching in recent months is undoubtedly the two great battles that occurred on the Jiangnan Road.

The first involved a Grandmaster, where after having lost his arm years ago, the reclusive champion of the Heavenly Mountain Sword reemerged. With a single stroke that cooled the autumn air, he cleaved with a might rivaling the three thousand li sword light of Qingfeng Edge's Great Elder.

The second event was the reappearance of the once controversial Divine Martial Mansion in the Jianghu.

Twenty years ago, the Qin Dynasty's Imperial Court had disbanded the Divine Martial Mansion. Now that it had reemerged, silence prevailed, yet the Jianghu was stirred with activities.

In the past, the Divine Martial Mansion had played a tremendous role in annexing the Six Kingdoms, making numerous sworn enemies in the process. Even after more than twenty years since Great Qin unified the realm, a Second Rank Pillar of the State was still attacked on the road, forced to draw his sword in defense.

The reason was that this Pillar of the State had been a leading Strategist within the Divine Martial Mansion, and this time, the reemergence was led by none other than the progeny of the Divine Martial Mansion's Great Marshal, Wang Tiance.

Wang Tiance, alas...

How many people were lost in reverie.

New generations replace the old on the Jianghu; the once vigorous General Tiance, who almost trampled the entire Jianghu, had faded from the memory of the younger generations. Only the older generation of martial artists still remembered the shadow and suffocating oppression brought by that Scholar.

Fear, in many cases, turns into hatred and hostility.

Incapable of contending themselves, they also resent the success of others. If they see someone fall into misfortune, they feign regret on the surface but are secretly pleased, whispering unto themselves, "So, you too have your day."

To see a once dominant figure who could summon a tidal wave of responses with a mere gesture fall to dust is even more gratifying. Unable to witness the downfall personally, they still wish to claim a share of the triumph verbally.

Once that person completely loses his vitality, they stand on this 'great figure's' head, pontificating and expounding as if they were laying out strategies, their spittle flying in their self-perceived cleverness.

Inside and outside of Jiangnan Road, virtually everyone was curious how the Divine Martial Mansion would collapse.

A tavern was erected within the city, where several young martial artists sat under the flag of liquor. They ordered jugs of fine wine and several plates of braised appetizers.

It was summer, the perfect season for enjoying dishes like chicken feet, lotus roots, gizzards, and pig's feet, all pickled in brining sauce and excellent for accompanying wine.

Several robust youths drank and ate heartily as they debated loudly, possibly because they had seen a pretty young lady passing by the road and the alcohol emboldened their voices.

One side claimed that the fortunes of the Divine Martial Mansion had dwindled, a direct consequence of the sins committed and lives taken in the past, which had provoked a Grandmaster of Jiangnan to take action.

Another sighed, wishing only that they were closer to witness personally how the once invincible Divine Martial Mansion, as their fathers had told them, would fall.

Their voices grew louder as they spoke.

They talked about how the "bastard offspring" of the Wang Family, emerging from the mountains of the Wen Family, had brought doom upon the life of the Wen Family Head and had trampled over Jiangnan, causing countless harms.

Just then, a gray-haired shopkeeper came out from the back with wine, overhearing the martial artists' conversation. He halted, no longer moving forward, his wrinkled face under the sunlight akin to a silent statue.

The bystanders, curious, only heard a crash as a barrel of wine smashed to the ground. The elder suddenly grasped a long wooden ladle used for serving liquor, and with big strides, approached the young martial artists.

The slightly drunken youths barely bothered with this white-haired old man; one of them frowned impatiently and said:

"We don't need more wine here. Old man, move aside, lest you spoil our mood,"

The old man did not reply; instead, he raised his left arm high like a tensed longbow, casting shadows across his face. After a slight pause, he smashed it down on the young martial artists.

His face was fierce, and he shouted angrily:

"Damn your mother!"

Clashes and clangs ensued.

The old man's right sleeve was empty, showing he was a one-armed amputee, yet the object in his left hand struck with brutal force, quickly felling the robust young martial artists to the ground, blood flowing.

But this elder showed no concept of holding back, his expression fierce. His strikes grew heavier with each hit, until the young men lay unmoving on the ground; only then did he throw down the blood-stained ladle heavily.

Out of breath, his eyes swept across the surrounding patrons. The usually amiable old man now resembled an incensed tiger, his aura so intimidating that no one dared come near.

The more timid patrons already trembled as they set down their bowls with a clink.

As if snapping back to reality, the elder withdrew his gaze, fell silent, and waved dismissively,

"No more business today!"

"Go, go, all of you, leave..."

With that outburst, he drove the patrons away. The temperamental elder, flinging his empty sleeve, step by step retreated to his home, his facial expression gradually calming, not as furious as before.

The elder staggered as he pulled a small wooden box from a cabinet, then stood like a statue before slowly bending down, dusting off the surface. His left hand gently brushed over the box, opening it to reveal the still menacing sword within. He grinned and said: