Two young Kuai beasts were curled up and sound asleep at Xufengnian’s feet, looking exceedingly adorable. These little creatures were easy to raise; simply tossing them into the river allowed them to catch carp and crucian on their own. After feasting and playing, a paddle needed only to be extended from the boat, and the four tiny paws with sharp claws quickly grabbed hold, making it effortlessly back aboard.
Xufengnian, just beginning to rise, looked up and saw the Old Sword Sage turn back toward him.
Xufengnian had a remarkable memory, so much so that Xuwexiong claimed his only redeeming quality was his ability to remember things he read at a glance, retaining them almost forever. There were the oral instructions of Wang Chonglou, the former Taoist patriarch of Wudang, the “Green Pavilion Sword Manual,” the “Thousand Blade Compendium” by Du Sicong, the “Sword of Slaughtering Whales” from the Purple Forbidden Mansion, and three secret manuals from Qingyang Palace. Throughout all his years climbing up and down the Listening-to-Tide Pavilion, he had seen countless scrolls, unfortunately most were barely skimmed without earnest attention.
Yet the passages Jiang Ni read aloud, word by word, left a deep impression on Xufengnian, each one he absorbed and interpreted while listening. However, since he practiced the saber, Old Whitehead merely introduced the Young Master to the threshold before laughing aloud and leaving the palace. Later, his aunt at Qingyang Palace suggested that Xufengnian first master the initial fifty moves to perfection, pointing out a narrow path up the martial peak. But another problem emerged — before reaching the second-tier cultivation level, he was unable to properly evaluate the hundreds of martial techniques, and his broad reading instead became a hindrance, leaving his understanding muddled and self-limiting. It wasn’t until Li Chungan presented his challenge of flicking a walnut with his saber that a small tear appeared in the fog, a situation Xufengnian was no stranger to. His former mentor, National Teacher Li Yishan, had once taught him the game of fifteen-stone Go, delighting in testing him with newly devised Go patterns for Xufengnian to solve. Sitting in meditation until dawn, he successfully flicked a walnut into dust using his sabers Xiu Dong and Chun Lei, and still the boat planks remained undisturbed, even going so far as to effortlessly flick successive walnuts placed in line.
Sitting before Xufengnian, Li Chungan asked, “Do you know the difference between sword techniques and sword intent?”
Xufengnian shook his head in confusion.
The old man emotionlessly said, “Draw your saber.”
Xufengnian leveled his saber Xiu Dong.
The old sword sage extended his finger, lightly flicking the blade. Without visibly bending the saber, he caused the three walnuts before Xufengnian to shatter simultaneously. Casually brushing his sleeve, the old man stacked three more walnuts and flicked Xiu Dong again; as expected, the walnuts were crushed again. These two identical results left Xufengnian puzzled as to what the old swordsman was trying to demonstrate.
Seeing his bewilderment, the Old Sword Sage sneered, “Try placing Chun Lei beneath Xiu Dong.”
Xufengnian thus gripped both sabers.
The old swordsman struck Xiu Dong again, sending a severe jolt through Xufengnian’s palms, making him lose grip of Chun Lei. The saber Chun Lei had a point like thunder suddenly burst forth, spreading through Xufengnian’s arm, causing his whole arm to tingle, numb, and ache. Xufengnian immediately understood — this was Sword Force, commonly referred to by street storytellers as sword qi, though slightly different. Without giving Xufengnian a moment to recover, Li Chungan struck Xiu Dong once more. Instantly, the saber Chun Lei nearly flew from his hands, its blade sliding rapidly toward Xufengnian’s chest, missing only by an inch, yet the old swordsman caught it precisely with two fingers. Meanwhile, Xiu Dong had remained perfectly still, leaving Xufengnian stunned. This time, nothing made sense even after thinking endlessly about it.
Feeling the boy’s comprehension too slow, Li Chungan found himself unable to resist scolding him, glaring, and explaining, “When you flick Xiu Dong, anyone can see it bend in a slight arc. It might look impressive to spectators, but it’s showy, lacking real use. When I strike it, with your meager ability, how many vibrations do you actually see in Xiu Dong? Even though it appears motionless, is it truly not moving at all? I delivered two flicks: one channeling sword force through Xiu Dong to strike Chun Lei, the second abandoning sword force and instead employing pure saber technique — Xiu Dong had already bent six times, striking Chun Lei’s blade sideways, thereby causing it to slash toward you. Advanced saber techniques rely on speed and stability: fast as thunder, steady as the Five Peaks. Boy, you have much to learn.”
Still puzzled, Xufengnian asked, “Then between sword force and saber techniques, which is stronger?”
Li Chungan snarled, “If I wish to destroy an opponent with sword force, then sword force reigns supreme. If I choose to kill using pure techniques, naturally saber skills surpass all sword forces in the world.”
So much for that question.
Xufengnian was slightly taken aback.
Fair trader that he was, Old Li stood up, “Are those two flicks worth all your paper?”
Xufengnian nodded, “More than enough.”
Li Chungan strolled about the deck before heading back into the cabin, Xufengnian watching his retreating figure while feeling a rush of emotions. Where there were dragons, he slew dragons — no mere boast. The old swordsman’s two sleeves concealed azure dragons — absolute dominance, the ultimate martial vigor, capable even of shattering Taohuashan with a flurry of flying blades, embodying the very essence of the legendary swords of Lü Dongbin. This concealed double-sleeve technique naturally dwarfed even the famed sword that makes immortals kneel. At first Xufengnian wondered how the one-armed Li Chungan could wield double-sleeve sword techniques, but now, he wouldn’t dare underestimate him again.
Two flicks of Xiu Dong — one employing sword force, the other pure technique. His explanation, clear yet profound, pointed out a small trail for Xufengnian, who faced confusion on the martial road. With further encouragement from the armored female servant Zhao Yutai, Xufengnian felt as though he had passed through the gates of hell, suddenly stepping into a vast new vista. As to when he might attain the first-tier cultivation level, or even approach the threshold of the Diamond State, he no longer felt rushed. This came from the slow, patient teaching of Old Huang, who demonstrated far more than spoke. True, his sword techniques weren’t yet comparable to Li Chungan’s, but in Xufengnian’s heart, between Old Huang’s sword case and Li Chungan’s Wooden Steed, the weight was clearly distinguishable.
Riding out north beyond Liangzhou.
At last, from his father Xu Xiao, Xufengnian learned exactly what Old Huang said to Wang Xianzhi facing north before dying.
Xufengnian stood still gripping his saber, looking out over the vast river, eyes closed, breathing deeply and continuously like the flowing river, silently reciting the Huangting Sutra: “Qi returns to the cinnabar field, forming the elixir; within the gourd arise water and fire. Yin and Yang repeat their transformation, universal thunder resounds. In divination lies the profound truth: who says immortality cannot be attained? A white rainbow on a dragon soaring straight to the Tiantian Heaven…”
Generally, Daoist wisdom regarding health and immortality often leans toward intentional obfuscation—ordinary people reading these lines for the first time find them wondrous and profound. Yet without a genuine Immortal personally guiding one through specific breathing and energy-guiding techniques, one eventually wanders the mountains without finding a single Immortal, returning empty-handed. Precisely this: the Immortals won’t spell it out, misleading countless souls.
While deep in meditation, Xufengnian sensed someone approaching from behind. The only person daring to interrupt the Young Master at such a moment would be Yu Youwei. Holding Wumeiniang, she gently asked, “Wouldn’t you like something to eat?”
Xufengnian opened his eyes, saying softly, “Mm.” Glancing at her, he couldn’t help but think how bewitchingly attractive she was, though the ancestral poet Lü had long warned against her kind: “A fair maiden with a delicate figure like curd, her waist like a sword slicing through ordinary men. Though no heads fall, their minds wither secretly.” Helpless against such beauty, Xufengnian nonetheless remained composed — far from a naive youth in the flowers, he had maintained his resolve from his ascent up the mountain to the descent, his discipline unquestionable.
During the meal, seated at the table were only Xufengnian, Old Sword Sage Li Chungan, and Master Wei Shuyang.
Li Chungan munched on a piece of bread, recalling something and casually mentioning, “Though I kept that Wujia swordsman at bay, should he return, he might well have ascended in cultivation. That one sword move — you fools only saw excitement in it, but he could draw much insight, furthering his own sword path significantly.”
Xufengnian’s face stiffened, biting hard into his steamed bun.
After breakfast, Old Li unfurled sheets of paper inside the cabin, smiling at Jiang Ni, who was hiding nearby reading. “Come, Jiang girl. If you won’t learn swordsmanship, at least let me teach you calligraphy.”
Calligraphy?
Jiang Ni liked it — back at the northern palace, she had frequently drawn aimlessly in the dirt with a stick.
But the old man held the brush with one hand, his aura suddenly changing, though he still spoke kindly, “But remember — I’m teaching you calligraphy; you may watch but must never imitate!”
Jiang Ni paid it no mind, merely responding with a soft “Oh.”
Xufengnian had Qingniao warm a pot of yellow wine, sitting alone in a quiet corner.
Back then at the Wu Emperor City, at his final moment Old Huang stood unyielding before Wang Xianzhi, the Second Strongest under Heaven, simply facing north and saying softly: “Come, pour the young master some wine.”
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