Li Chen looked at the thirteen basic sword movements written in the sword manual, upon which myriad sword techniques are built. This was his main goal — not to master supreme sword techniques, but to master the basic movements so that when he chanced upon sword-based arts in the cultivation world, he would be able to master them.
Draw — Horizontal slicing motion, often targeting the opponent's wrist.
Deflect — Redirecting the opponent's blade while cutting.
Lift — Upward lifting motion, targeting the wrist from below.
Parry — Diagonal parry to deflect an attack.
Strike — Direct, flat strike forward.
Thrust — Straight, linear thrust aimed at the body or eyes.
Point — Sharp, downward jab using only the wrist.
Tilt — Sudden upward flick of the tip, pressing the wrist down.
Coil — Circular, coiling motion to entangle the opponent's sword.
Press — Downward pressing motion to control the opponent's blade.
Chop — Vertical, axe-like downward chop.
Intercept — Cutting motion to intercept an incoming attack.
Clean — Rising slicing motion from below.
The sun's melting heat fried his body and boiled his fluids. The heavens above offered no shield from this fury.
'This summer, it is going to be hell on earth. The crops will fail because of this heat, the water sources beneath the earth will dry up, wells will yield nothing, and dehydration will become common. Heat strokes may even take lives,' Li Chen thought, wiping the sweat from his body. He had not even exercised or trained, and he already looked like this from simply sitting down. He could only imagine how difficult it would be to train in this heatwave — he would need buckets full of water by his side every minute.
He closed the manual and made his way to find his teacher. He found the man meditating in the courtyard, where even the rocks seemed to melt. Today was unusually hot — the sun seemed to be on a mission to melt every evil that dwelled within.
His master rose and spoke. "If you have completed reading, demonstrate the thirteen movements. As for practice, that can continue tomorrow."
Li Chen nodded and made his way to the centre. It took him half an hour. He finished with the final posture — sword tip pointing to earth, breath steady, heart calm.
"It seems you are indeed a master of many arts. Now showcase the first movement again," Qingyan great person spoke, making his way toward Li Chen.
Li Chen reset his stance. He breathed lightly as his hand moved — the sword slicing horizontally, a clean line meant to cut across an opponent's wrist.
Master Qingyan stepped forward and tapped his wrist.
"Here."
He tapped again, harder, on the inside of Li Chen's elbow and his forearm.
"Here and here."
After saying this, he lightly flicked his forehead. "Also here."
He took the sword from Li Chen's hand and held it up. As the blade turned, it caught the blazing light, casting a brilliant glow that stunned Li Chen's eyes.
"Watch."
He performed the same form — Chōu. The blade moved horizontally, but there was something different — a softness in the wrist, a fluidity that made the edge seem alive.
"Do you see?"
Li Chen nodded, eyes intensely focused. "Your wrist... it bends. Mine is straight and rigid."
Qingyan great person explained:
'A guqin player's wrist locks before a cut — enemy strikes the wrist.
A calligrapher's grip does not change — enemy disarms at the moment of impact.
A painter's blade drifts with the eye — enemy feints, blade follows the wrong target.
A Go player hesitates before committing — enemy strikes in the gap between thought and action.'
Li Chen frowned. He had always thought that learning as many skills as he could would be a good thing — one could never know when a skill might save their life. Now he understood that learning some skills might hinder others.
Master Qingyan intercepted his thoughts. "Your wrist was locked. Because you learned to hold a brush. A brush must be steady, rooted, unmoving. The tip of a brush does not wobble." He handed the sword back. "The tip of a sword must dance. A locked wrist is a dead wrist. And a dead wrist is a gate."
"A gate?" Li Chen asked.
"An opening. A weakness your enemy will exploit." He pointed to Li Chen's forearm. "When you played the guqin, where did your strength come from?"
"Fingers rooted in the wrist, wrist in the elbow, elbow in the shoulders," Li Chen replied.
"Good. The guqin player lets the weight of the arm fall through the fingers. The wrist is a bridge, not a lock." He took Li Chen's wrist again, turning it over. "But you carried that habit here. Your sword hand moves from the shoulder, yes. But your wrist — you never learned to release it. You play the sword like you play the qin. Beautiful. But deadly for you."
Li Chen looked at his hand. He had not noticed. The guqin required stability. The brush required stillness. The sword required something else entirely.
Master Qingyan pointed to his fingers.
"These. Your calligraphy taught you to grip. A brush must be held firmly but flexibly — you learned that well. But a sword is not a brush. A brush leaves a trail. A sword cuts." He placed two fingers on Li Chen's knuckles. "When you write, the pressure is even. When you cut, the pressure must shift. The moment before impact, your grip must become iron. The moment after, it must become silk. You hold the sword like a brush — even pressure throughout. That is your second gate."
Qingyan great person spoke intermittently, pointing out his weak points, breaks, and gates one by one. Li Chen listened and committed every word to his heart.
Those who learn without teachers are either monstrous geniuses with innate wisdom or old monsters possessing young bodies. Without this teacher, who knew how long it would take to progress even half a step into the sword dao?
'The guqin taught you stillness. Calligraphy taught you precision. Painting, composition. Go, foresight. Tea, mindfulness. Wine, liberation. These are not weaknesses. They are gifts. But a sword requires what they do not teach.'
Li Chen bowed his head. "What, Master?"
"Release."
Master Qingyan took his stance, sword hanging loose at his side.
"Show me the form again. But this time, when you draw, do not grip the sword. Let it hang from your fingers. Let your wrist be water. Let your feet be roots that move."
Li Chen tried. The first attempt was clumsy. The blade wobbled.
"Again."
It wobbled less.
"Again."
This time, when his wrist bent, the blade did not falter. It sang.
Master Qingyan nodded once. "Good. Now do it a thousand times. Until your hand forgets the brush. Until your wrist forgets the qin. Until the sword teaches you what it needs."
He turned to leave, then paused.
"And Chen."
"Yes, Master?"
"The gates I pointed out? Every swordsman has them. We all carry our past arts into the sword. The question is not whether you have gates. The question is whether you see them before your enemy does."
Li Chen stood there for a long while, looking at his wrist, elbow, shoulders, and feet. His journey with the sword had begun.
---
Night slowly crept across the domain, bringing relief from the scorching day.
The empress stood in her hall, before her a spread of different dishes. She waited for her name tag to be picked, waited for the emperor to visit her abode as she did every day — but to no avail.
The servant by her side spoke. "Your Majesty, it is the hour of Hai — past the ninth hour of night — and the food has gone cold numerous times. The emperor probably..."
"Let us wait a little longer. I have a feeling he will come today. I even prepared his favourite dish, Quanjiafu, along with mashed bean cakes," the empress spoke, gazing toward the cold palace doors.
The servant sneered inwardly. 'You always feel that he will come, but he never does. If you cannot have one man there are others — the pool is filled with fish both small and large. I could never imagine waiting for my husband for years, knowing he has been with others the whole time.'
She replied outwardly, with the air of gentle advice, "Why not take a small bite, Your Majesty? It is not healthy to always eat this late."
The empress refused, waiting. Then, unexpectedly, a visitor who had never before come arrived.
The empress was overcome with joy. "This empress welcomes His Majesty," she spoke, her happiness unhidden.
The emperor took his seat and asked, "My empress, what do you think of my reign — and of my life?"
The empress answered, placing some meat and the dish she had specially prepared into the bowl before him. "In this humble one's opinion, the emperor is wise, as reflected in how you handled the plague that occurred a decade ago. The emperor is benevolent, as witnessed by the people — not only providing food during the droughts but also being fair in the judicial system. Even when the sinner was a minister and the victim a peasant, you treated them the same..."
The emperor listened quietly as she addressed his deeds one by one, as though she had memorised each of them by heart. He was essentially seeking to validate his existence — his final years in the mortal world — through her words, satisfying his vanity. His aged face showed traces of clarity and guilt, as though he had only now recognised that he had neglected someone who truly loved him for himself.
He took a bite of Quanjiafu, savouring it. Then he stood, turning to face the moon with his back to her, one hand clasped behind him, and spoke. "I did not cherish you well enough. My weak heart and brittle emotions do not deserve your sincerity. So do not blame yourself."
The empress was stunned. A single tear fell from her eyes. Looking at the bright moon, she felt as though one of the shackles around her heart had been quietly removed. The emperor's last words replayed in her mind again and again. She knew — this would be the emperor's last visit to her residence.
---
A few days had passed. Li Chen could now barely wield the sword with any competence. Having a teacher had benefited him greatly.
He was the type of person who, if he loved something, would give his all to it — no matter the hardships, no matter how long the road, he would never look back. But if it was something he disliked, he could not quite bring himself to do it. Even if reason told him otherwise, his heart would refuse. He would find even a passing colony of ants more interesting than the task he disliked — easily distracted, never taking a single step forward in anything he had no heart for. But sometimes life would depend on it. Then he would have no choice. And likely, by then, it would already be too late.
Li Chen asked his master for leave two days later, as he wished to visit the Buddhist temple that day.
---
A few days prior, news had arrived that emissaries from the Luo Kingdom would be coming to share a joyous announcement. This kingdom was ruled by women. Here, the ruling female was still addressed as the emperor, and her consort held the title of empress. There were three nations and four families, totalling seven kingdoms in the Jing Prefecture.
The Ming Nation was ruled by both men and women — both the emperor and empress entered the court, and even when one party refused, no bill could pass without mutual agreement.
The four families did not bear the word imperial, but they operated on the same principle. The court consisted of the elders of the ruling family and the subservient families governing the cities surrounding them.
Although the Luo Kingdom had said they would share joyous news, the news had in truth already arrived. During the initiation ceremony a few days ago, it had been revealed that a pair of twins possessed heaven-grade spiritual roots. The emissaries' visit was more an invitation to the twins' hundred-day celebration. After the spiritual roots were tested, qi induction must be performed within a hundred days — so this ceremony was customarily held a hundred days after initiation.