Chapter 17: True Brotherhood and Loyalty

Third Floor.

Nine famous swords hung in a straight line on the wall. The man sat cross-legged, carefully oiling a short sword in his hands.

“Master!”

Thud!~

The sudden call startled him, causing the blade to slip and carve a deep gash into his fingertip. With a resentful glance at his attendant, the man lifted his pinky to his lips and sucked the wound.

“What is it?”

“Someone wishes to come to the third floor, so I came to ask for your permission.”

“Send them away.”

The attendant hesitated. “The man carries a chest of gold, but I see no weapons on him.”

Oh?

Shi A’s interest was piqued at once. He silently praised the man as a kindred spirit.

Someone actually dared to bring a fortune into the Hall of Heroes unarmed—what a display of trust in him, Shi A!

They were truly showing him respect!

The Hall of Heroes, for all its grand name, wasn’t exactly known for its sterling reputation. Chivalry, they called it.

Put nicely, it meant keeping one’s word, fulfilling promises, being true to commitments, and risking one’s life for friends in need.

Put plainly, it meant using force to flout the law and acting on whims—killing a whole family in a fit of rage one day, and, upon realizing a mistake, showing up the next to apologize to their corpses. Such was their vaunted sense of loyalty.

Shi A himself belonged to this world of wandering knights, so he knew just how chaotic it could be.

And yet, here was a man, carrying gold and no weapon, entering the Hall alone—what an incredible show of faith!

He mustn’t let such loyalty go unanswered!

He immediately instructed the attendant, “Invite him up!—No, never mind, I’ll go down myself!”

Shi A took a few steps, then, feeling it disrespectful to meet such a confidant empty-handed, turned back and took the sword Tai’a from the wall.

“Tai’a, the sword of high integrity. To gift a treasured blade to a kindred spirit—such is the way of a true knight!”

The attendant could only gape in astonishment. Was this really necessary?

Shi A turned and snapped, “Why are you following me?”

The attendant replied, confused, “I’m going downstairs to greet the guest.”

“Get lost! What filthy rabble dares interrupt my conversation with my dear friend?”

The attendant: ???

...

“My dear friend!”

Descending to the first floor, Shi A immediately spotted Chen Cong amid the crowd.

It was no surprise.

Of all those present, only Chen Cong was seated; the rest stood, cowered, or huddled in the corners, nursing bruised faces.

As soon as he uttered those words, the other knights’ faces turned green with envy, and angry glares shot toward Chen Cong.

Cunning rogue! To think he had feigned ignorance and tricked them into pledging loyalty, when he was already Shi A’s friend—despicable!

Chen Cong, for his part, was utterly bewildered.

Who was this man, getting so familiar right away? Was this some new kind of scam?

With suspicion, Chen Cong pulled the chest closer and shut the lid.

But Shi A, lost in his own emotion, failed to notice Chen Cong’s wariness. In a few quick steps, he stood before Chen Cong and offered the sword with both hands.

“Let this sword bear witness to our bond. May you not disdain my friendship.”

This single gesture instantly set the crowd abuzz.

“Is that... Tai’a?”

“They say Shi A loves his swords, and keeps nine famous blades on the third floor. The rumors are true!”

“So they really are close friends?”

“If Shi A calls him a confidant, the man must be a true hero. It would be no shame to pledge loyalty to such a man.”

“Hero? More like a rat skulking in the dark—he hasn’t even told us his name!”

Bang!~

Another poor soul banged his head on the table.

Chen Cong dusted his hands and stepped forward to accept the sword.

He heard clearly—the man before him was Shi A, and the sword was Tai’a.

What more needed saying?

A fool would pass up such a windfall!

“So you all know, my name is Chen Cong, courtesy name Zining. If you roam the land, mention my name—it will serve you well.”

The crowd fell silent.

Shi A’s eyes brightened. He gestured upward. “Zining, would you join me on the third floor?”

Chen Cong hung the sword at his waist, hefted the chest in one hand, and grasped Shi A’s arm with the other.

“Gladly! Let’s go together.”

Unlike the lower floors, the third floor of the Hall of Heroes was spacious and open. The center was cleared and carpeted, resembling a training hall, while the periphery was lined with sword cabinets displaying a dazzling array of blades.

The west wall had nine open slots, eight of which held swords; the empty slot in the center was clearly meant for Tai’a.

“Forgive me, Zining. Except for Tai’a, the eight swords here are all replicas.”

Chen Cong fell silent. “Why?”

Shi A folded his arms and leaned against the window, the breeze tugging at his robes.

“Are you asking why I gave you the sword, or why I keep replicas?”

“I’m asking why you can’t just sit down and have a proper conversation. The wind at the window’s strong—you might fall and embarrass yourself.”

Shi A was left speechless.

Was this man made of stone?

Still, Chen Cong spared him any further embarrassment and changed tack. “Alright, tell me first—why give away the sword?”

“Before you, no one had ever dared flaunt wealth in the Hall of Heroes. You are the first to trust Shi A wholeheartedly. Naturally, I must treat you as a true friend—such is the code of a knight.”

Chen Cong understood.

So he was a street tough with the heart of a melodramatic youth.

No wonder he’d risen to be the leader of the roving knights at the end of the Han.

In fact, this act of sentimentality was almost moving—even to Chen Cong.

Now, the question arose—was it even necessary to use any tricks on someone like Shi A?

“Let’s become sworn brothers.”

Wandering knights valued loyalty above all. With a simple oath, Chen Cong could count on Shi A’s support for life.

Nonsense! How could there be any scheming between brothers? This was pure kinship—life and death, hand in hand!

“Ah, ah?” Shi A was struggling to keep up.

A noble scion and a street knight, swearing brotherhood—was this really appropriate?

“What? Do you look down on me?”

“You are of noble birth, a descendant of the Marquis of Quni. How could I, Shi A, be worthy to swear such an oath with you?”

At last, Chen Cong began to appreciate why Cao Cao had faked his own background—pretending to be of illustrious descent was truly useful.

In a world like this, having the aura of Chen Ping’s lineage smoothed the way for many things.

Like now.

If Chen Cong and Shi A became sworn brothers, it was an act of humility and virtue—a meeting of high and low, a union of pure character.

Without that pedigree, it would be nothing more than a nest of snakes and rats.

“Enough talk. How old are you?”

“I have wasted twenty years.”

Chen Cong nodded. “Perfect. I’m twenty-one. From now on, you’ll call me elder brother, and I’ll call you second brother. We don’t need a peach orchard—let’s just swear our oath; I have business to attend to.”

“Twenty-one?” Shi A looked as if he’d just swallowed a fly.

There was hardly any sign of age on his face—was he really twenty-one?

“Pfft! As a descendant of Chen Ping, do you think I’d lie?”

Shi A scratched his head. That did seem logical, but who would so casually invoke their ancestor’s name? Truly, this elder brother was open-hearted...

However—

Land was precious in Luoyang; it wasn’t like the remote poverty of Zhuo County. Only the imperial palace had a peach orchard in the whole city.

So the two of them slaughtered a chicken, burned yellow paper, and, kneeling before a fake Chixiao sword, bowed nine times—a brotherhood sworn under the gaze of generations of emperors. Whether the counterfeit imperial sword could reach the true emperors’ spirits was anyone’s guess.

Shi A, being a knight, had no courtesy name, so Chen Cong gave him one—Ziling.

The character “A” itself implied a mound or hill, so the name Ziling followed the logic of ancient courtesy names.

At the same time—

Chen Cong had, for the third time, managed to gain everything for nothing, achieving financial freedom through sheer cunning.

After his rounds, he had Huang Zhong, he had weapons, he had the Hall of Heroes, and he had his fortune. He had accomplished everything without spending a dime.

Only Old Wang Yun remained, but Chen Cong already had a plan for him.

All he needed was a legitimate excuse to visit.

After all, the son-in-law of the traitor Cao had harassed Old Wang’s adopted daughter—going to apologize in person was perfectly reasonable, wasn’t it?

Since he was going, he would certainly have to meet Diao Chan. If only she were a little gentler, it would be perfect.