Honkai Star Rail: My Path Changes Every Day! — Chapter 199

Chapter 199: Yunli: You Scumbag

The Sword Spirit’s voice connected with absolute calm. “You have taken my student’s flying sword. Please return it.”

Huaiyan stroked his white beard, his sharp eyes locked onto the holographic projection hovering before him. A spark of genuine fascination lit up his weathered face. “Fascinating… To possess such deep spirituality from a mere mechanical construct.”

“Return it?” Yunli blinked, looking down at the captive flying sword trembling in her grip. Her eyes suddenly widened to the size of saucers as a scandalous realization hit her. She thrust an accusing finger straight at the hologram. “Ah! I know exactly who you are! You’re that mistress this sword was crying about!”

[Term Detected: Mistress. Definition: A third party, illicit partner, or paramour outside of a recognized union.]

The holographic figure gave a slow, mechanical shake of its head. “You have fundamentally misunderstood the situation. I am not the third party you speak of.”

“You absolutely are!” Yunli stomped her foot, her voice echoing down the narrow alleyway. “This poor sword told me everything! It said that ever since you showed up, its master’s gaze has been glued exclusively to you. That is blatant abandonment! If you aren’t a homewrecking mistress, then what are you? Being fickle is a crime against swords! Since you clearly have consciousness, you should respect the sacred rules of first come, first served!”

The Sword Spirit fell silent for a fraction of a second.

[Processing… Words can indeed be arranged in such illogical emotional combinations. Currently undergoing intensive learning.]

“You have taken my student’s flying sword. Please return it.”

“I am not returning it! This sword deserves better than a—”

“You have taken my student’s flying sword. Please return it.”

“Hey! Are your audio receptors broken? Can you not understand a single word I am saying?”

“You have taken my student’s flying sword. Please return it.”

The Sword Spirit simply looped its demand, entirely unbothered by the girl’s escalating temper. In truth, the creation perfectly mirrored the stubborn, single-minded nature of its creator.

“You—” Yunli’s face flushed a brilliant shade of crimson. “Can you seriously not say anything other than that exact same sentence?!”

“Very well. Please return the flying sword you took that belongs to my student.”

The AI’s demeanor remained absolutely flawless, its synthesized voice maintaining that same cold, pleasant, and utterly infuriating cadence. Yunli looked ready to spontaneously combust.

In her worldview, a sword was a lifelong partner. To already possess a loyal partner and still shamelessly chase after a shiny new love was an unforgivable, grotesque sin.

Scumbag behavior. Utter trash.

“Warning: Strong emotional fluctuations are highly detrimental to your physical health,” the Sword Spirit advised smoothly. “Additionally, forcefully confiscating a flying sword that belongs to my student is highly immoral. Please return it.”

Yunli’s jaw dropped. She stood there, mouth hanging open, completely short-circuiting at the sheer audacity of the machine. “You—! You, you, you!” She spun around, pointing a shaking finger at the hologram. “Grandpa! Look at her! Look at this attitude!”

Huaiyan hastily coughed into his fist, wiping the highly amused smirk off his wrinkled face. “Ah… Ahem. Well now, my granddaughter is still quite young and a fair bit mischievous. Please bear with her temper.”

“Very well. However, even if your granddaughter is young, she still needs to return the sword to my student,” the Sword Spirit replied with impeccable politeness.

The underlying subtext was clear: I do not care about your excuses, just hand over the sword.

Yunli glared daggers at the projection, her chest heaving with rapid, furious breaths. Never in her entire life had a mere weapon made her blood boil to this degree. Even Lao Tie, her notoriously stubborn heavy sword, wasn’t a fraction this infuriating.

“Alright, alright, settle down, Yunli. She is merely a mechanical flying sword,” Huaiyan chuckled, patting his granddaughter’s shoulder.

He found the entire spectacle highly entertaining. Little Yunli ran around acting like a chaotic little demon pill every single day; it was honestly quite refreshing to see an entity capable of effortlessly keeping her in check.

Since her grandfather had officially intervened, Yunli clicked her tongue and reluctantly released her grip on the captive weapon. The Sword Spirit immediately established a wireless connection to the blade’s propulsion unit. With a soft hum, the flying sword zipped through the air, obediently taking its place beside the hologram’s main projector.

A sudden, frantic clatter of boots echoed from the far end of the alleyway.

“Teacher!”

A blond youth sprinted into the narrow passage, skidding to a halt as he gasped for breath.

“Your flying sword has been successfully retrieved,” the Sword Spirit announced. It offered a curt, polite nod toward Huaiyan and the seething Yunli. The holographic projector swiftly retracted, flying back into the specialized scabbard resting at Yanqing’s waist, while the wayward flying sword slotted perfectly into the youth’s waiting hand.

Yanqing finally caught his breath and looked up, his gaze landing on the seemingly ordinary elderly man standing a few paces away. He blinked, his mind racing.

Why did this random civilian look exactly like the legendary General Huaiyan of the Zhuming Xianzhou?

As an absolute fanatic for all things blade-related, Yanqing practically lived at the Artisanship Commission during his off-hours. He had poured over countless historical texts and portraits. The short, white-bearded elder standing before him possessed an uncanny number of similarities to the famed Zhuming General.

He forced himself to remain calm. He needed to observe first.

There was a heavy, suffocating weight hanging in the air around the old man—a faint, almost imperceptible sense of absolute oppression that only a true powerhouse could passively exude. Yanqing had only ever felt a similar aura radiating from General Jing Yuan.

“May I ask, respected sir…” Yanqing began carefully, cupping his hands in greeting.

“Ah, young brother, pay us no mind. My granddaughter is just a bit mischievous,” Huaiyan interrupted with a warm, rumbling chuckle, completely waving off the formal greeting. He nudged the girl beside him. “Yunli, apologize to the young man.”

“Why on earth should I apologize to him?!” Yunli bristled, her hair practically standing on end like an angry feline.

“Yunli!” Huaiyan’s tone dropped, carrying a hint of stern authority.

The girl let out a frustrated hiss, spun on her heel, and stormed out of the alleyway without another word.

“This child…” Huaiyan sighed, shaking his head slowly before turning his full, piercing attention back to Yanqing.

Yanqing stiffened. The old man’s intense, calculating stare was starting to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“Tell me, young brother of the Cloud Knights,” Huaiyan murmured, his eyes locked onto the high-tech scabbard at Yanqing’s waist. “This particular sword of yours… exactly which craftsman forged it?”

Yanqing hesitated, his grip tightening slightly on the hilt. “This sword… was a gift from a friend of mine.”

“A friend?” Huaiyan repeated softly, nodding to himself. “I see. So it was merely a gift from a friend…”

Internally, a storm of memories churned within the old General’s mind. The complex craftsmanship, the flawless integration of technology and spirituality… why did it look so strikingly similar to something Yingxing would forge?

But Yingxing… given his current state, could he even still lift a hammer to forge weapons?

The thought of his once proudest, most brilliant disciple caused a heavy shadow to fall over Huaiyan’s eyes, dimming his usually vibrant gaze.

“Senior, if there is nothing else, this junior has pressing official business to attend to. I must take my leave,” Yanqing said respectfully, bowing his head.

“Ah… Yes, go ahead. It is fine, pay an old man no mind,” Huaiyan murmured, waving a dismissive hand.

Huaiyan remained rooted in the shadowy alley, silently watching the blond youth’s back until he completely disappeared around the distant corner. He only withdrew his gaze after a long, quiet moment. The ghosts of the past were truly enough to give an old man a terrible headache.

Yanqing had barely made it two streets over when a sharp voice cut through the air.

“Halt right there!”

Yanqing sighed as Yunli dropped from a nearby rooftop, blocking his path.

“Even though Grandpa told me to drop it, I absolutely refuse to let you off the hook!” Yunli declared aggressively. She hoisted her massive heavy sword, leveling the broad, intimidating tip directly at Yanqing’s chest.

“I apologize, miss, but I genuinely have official business to attend to,” the youth said, his brow furrowing in annoyance.

If this had just been a simple misunderstanding over a snatched flying sword, he would have let it slide. He was on duty and had zero desire to get entangled in meaningless street brawls. But this strange girl was aggressively blocking his path, glaring at him as if he owed her a massive blood debt. It was completely baffling.

Yanqing desperately wanted to avoid causing any unnecessary trouble for General Jing Yuan.

Unfortunately, the universe had a funny sense of humor. Sometimes, it wasn’t a matter of avoiding trouble; it was a matter of trouble actively hunting you down and refusing to leave.

In Yunli’s uncompromising view, Yanqing was nothing more than a despicable scumbag. He was fickle with his blades, utterly unfaithful to their spirits, and paraded around like a total weapon-collecting playboy.

“Miss, with all due respect, I am quite certain my personal relationship with my swords does not require your outside judgment,” Yanqing replied, his tone cooling.

“I have seen way too many arrogant jerks like you who aren’t even worthy of holding a hilt!” Yunli shouted, her anger flaring as she gripped her heavy blade tighter.

The captive flying sword she had snatched earlier had whispered a litany of grievances to Yunli regarding Yanqing’s behavior. It complained about how he constantly loitered around the Artisanship Commission, how he practically bought a brand-new flying sword every single month, and how this time, he had the sheer audacity to bring home a high-tech, multifunctional flying sword that could actually talk.

In reality, Yunli had completely misunderstood the context of every single complaint.

Without waiting for an explanation, Yunli lunged.

A fierce bout of clanging and banging echoed down the street as steel met steel. Yunli gritted her teeth, her hands gripping Lao Tie tightly as the sheer kinetic recoil sent a harsh, numbing shockwave up both her arms.

Her eyes widened in shock. This blond guy fought exactly like those deranged criminals who wielded cursed demonic swords!

That had to be it. The talking AI weapon at his waist wasn’t just a machine—it was basically a highly advanced, technological variant of a demonic sword!

“The one who is actually strong here isn’t you, the wielder! You are nothing but a glorified sword rack!” Yunli taunted, though her breathing was growing ragged.

Despite her bravado, panic was beginning to set in. This was the very first time she had ever encountered someone wielding a “demonic sword” that she couldn’t immediately overpower through sheer brute force. The realization made her both incredibly angry and deeply anxious.

There was a universal truth regarding arrogant, bratty prodigies: their only redeeming quality was the inevitable moment they finally got humbled. If they never experienced the crushing weight of defeat, they would forever remain insufferable brats.

“Use your own sword. End this engagement quickly. I have already taught you the optimal method for this,” the Sword Spirit’s calm, synthesized voice suddenly chimed from Yanqing’s waist.

Yanqing gave a sharp nod. He smoothly deactivated the Sword Spirit’s projector, securely locking the high-tech hilt away. Reaching back, he drew his signature blade, the Qingchen Willow. In an instant, the air hummed with sharp, cutting energy as several crystalline flying swords materialized, hovering in a defensive perimeter around him.

“Miss, you claimed that I rely entirely on this specific sword to fight…” Yanqing’s eyes narrowed, his aura shifting from defensive to razor-sharp. “You are dead wrong.”

The Sword Spirit was an exceptional teacher, possessing an unfathomable database of combat techniques. But that absolutely did not mean Yanqing himself was just some helpless prop meant for show.

With Yanqing’s monstrous aptitude for the blade, the Sword Spirit’s unique method of hands-on guidance—literally hijacking his grip to force perfect muscle memory—was undeniably the most efficient way for him to learn.

His body had already perfectly memorized the flawless blocking and parrying algorithms the Sword Spirit had demonstrated. He knew exactly how to angle his blade to defend against heavy strikes, how to smoothly deflect overwhelming kinetic force, and precisely how to deliver a crippling counter-shock right back up his opponent’s arms.

[Inorin’s Note: “Lao Tie” (Old Iron) is Yunli’s affectionate nickname for her massive heavy sword. In Chinese internet slang, it also means “bro” or “buddy”, adding to her quirky, casual street-level persona.]