Chapter 6
649words
Barely two weeks after leaving the city, I ran into trouble in Pingyang Town. Several silk-robed, heavyset men were harassing a young flower seller in the street.
I couldn't stomach the sight. Leading my horse, I strolled toward them.
"Gentlemen, with all your apparent wealth, why pick on a child?" The leader—a portly man—eyed my red outfit with disdain, clearly mistaking me for some sheltered noble's daughter.
"Mind your own business, little miss. Unless you want some special attention yourself." His pudgy hand reached for my face, fingers glistening with sweat.
I didn't flinch.
Just as his fingers nearly brushed my skin, I flicked my wrist and seized his hand.
I squeezed—just slightly.
Crack. The sound of breaking bone rang out—sharp and oddly satisfying.
The man howled like a stuck pig, his face twisting in agony.
His cronies grabbed their weapons and rushed me. I shoved their leader aside and drew my whip-sword from my belt.
Ten moves later, they were all sprawled on the ground, moaning and whimpering.
I sheathed my blade and approached the flower girl, pressing a few silver coins into her palm. "Go home. Find somewhere safer to sell." As I turned to leave, a booming voice called out:
"Damn fine moves! Which fighting school taught you, girl?" I turned to see a mountain of a man with a massive cleaver strapped to his back, grinning with open admiration.
I offered him the traditional fighter's salute.
"No school. No master. Just a wanderer—Amanda Lawrence."
"Name's Samuel Blackwood!" The giant roared with laughter. "With skills like yours and that fire in your eyes—I'm making you my friend whether you like it or not!"
And just like that, I made my first friend on the road.
We traveled together, righting wrongs wherever we found them. We rescued merchant caravans from bandits and brought down local tyrants who crushed villagers under their boots. Soon, the name "Crimson Blade" echoed throughout the martial world.
Every month, I wrote home about my adventures. I described desert sunsets that painted the sky like fire, the strange tang of fermented mare's milk on my tongue, how I defeated the so-called "Invincible Iron Palm" in just three moves. Each letter burst with life and freedom.
Back at the General's mansion in the capital…
Jessica treated my letters like treasures. She'd summon our parents to her room, clear her throat dramatically, and read aloud in her soft voice:
"Sister saw singing sand dunes at Mingsha Mountain! She says the spit-roasted lamb there makes our capital's finest restaurants seem like pig slop!"
"Listen to this! Sister dueled someone! 'He struck with his palm—air whistling like arrows—but I sidestepped and pressed my scabbard against his wrist point, paralyzing his arm instantly.' Isn't she incredible?"
Robert Lawrence arrived just in time to witness this scene.
He carried a box of newly published poetry, hoping to discuss literature with Jessica. But her attention remained fixed on my letter.
"Oh, Mr. Lawrence!" Jessica's eyes brightened when she noticed him. "Come listen—my sister is becoming a legend in the martial world!"
Without giving him a chance to respond, she eagerly continued reading:
"Sister says the martial world isn't just about fighting—it's about the people you meet. She's made friends with this giant called Samuel Blackwood who can down three bottles of wine in one gulp but does the most delicate embroidery she's ever seen. Isn't that fascinating?"
Robert Lawrence stood frozen, his carefully selected poetry suddenly seeming trivial and irrelevant.
He could only listen.
As tales unfolded about the woman he'd discarded—how vibrantly she thrived in a world beyond his reach. In that world, she was someone he'd never truly seen before: powerful, unfettered, and blazing with life.
Nothing like the pale, rule-bound ladies of the capital he'd always known.
