The Girl and the Flying Sword

A scholar with Temples Frost White left the village school with a green-robed youth and arrived beneath the archway tower. This teacher, the most learned man in the town, looked somewhat haggard. Pointing at a plaque overhead, he asked, "How do you explain the four words 'Do not yield in benevolence'?"

The youth, Zhao Yao, was both a disciple of the school and the teacher's book boy. Following his gaze upward, he answered without hesitation, "Our Confucian school is founded upon benevolence. These four words come from 'When it comes to benevolence, do not yield even to your teacher.' It means that scholars should Respect teachers and value the Dao, yet before righteousness and morality, there is no need to yield."

Mr. Qi asked, "No need to yield? What if it were changed to 'must not'?"

The green-robed youth had refined, unworldly features. Compared with Song Jixin's aggressive manner and Sharp edge revealed, his temperament was gentler and more restrained, like a lotus just breaking the water—natural and lovely. When his teacher asked this question with hidden depths, the youth did not dare take it lightly. He considered it carefully, believing his teacher was testing his learning. How could he answer carelessly? Seeing his disciple's stiff posture as though facing a mighty enemy, the middle-aged scholar smiled knowingly and patted the youth's shoulder. "It was merely a casual question. No need to be nervous. It seems I was too strict in restraining your natural disposition before, carving you too excessively until you lived like a statue displayed in Wenchang Pavilion—wearing a Stern Face, observing rules everywhere, reasoning through everything. Aren't you tired of it...? But for now, it seems to have been a good thing instead."

The youth was somewhat puzzled, but his teacher had already led him around to the other side. Still gazing up at the four-character plaque, the scholar's expression relaxed. For some reason, this teacher who rarely smiled began recounting many interesting tales and old cases. He explained them to his disciple in detail. "The previous plaque bearing 'Do not yield in benevolence' was written by the greatest calligrapher of the age. It sparked countless disputes: arguments over its overall structure and the sinews and bones of its spirit, praise and criticism of 'ancient simplicity' versus 'modern beauty.' Even now, there is no Final judgment. Rhythm, method, meaning, bearing—the four principles of calligraphy. For a thousand years, this man held first place in two of them, practically leaving his fellow grandmasters no path to survive. As for this 'Speak little, be natural,' it is rather interesting. If you examine it closely, you should notice that though the brushwork, structure, and spirit of the four characters are similar, they were actually written separately by four True Persons from the ancestral courts of Daoism. Back then, two old Immortals even exchanged letters and quarreled fiercely. They both wanted to write the profound and mysterious character 'speak,' unwilling to write the utterly commonplace character 'little'..."

Then the scholar led the youth around again, to beneath "Do not seek externally." Looking about him, his gaze distant, he said, "The village school where you studied will soon be shut down by several great families because it no longer has a teacher, or simply torn down and turned into a small Daoist temple, perhaps with a Buddha statue erected for worshippers to burn incense before. A Taoist priest or monk will preside over it year after year, until the sixty-year term ends. During that time, they may 'change people' two or three times, so the townsfolk do not grow suspicious. In truth, it is merely a crude Illusion Technique. Yet completing a Magical Power as small as a sesame seed here, if done outside, might possess the majestic force of a heavenly god beating a great drum, spring thunder shaking heaven and earth..."

By the end, the teacher's voice had become as faint as a mosquito's buzz. Even with scholar boy Zhao Yao straining his ears, he could no longer hear clearly.

Mr. Qi sighed, his tone carrying helplessness and weariness. "Many things are originally Heavenly Secrets Cannot Be Revealed. Yet at this point, it matters less and less. But we are scholars, after all, and must still preserve some dignity. Besides, if I, Qi Jingchun, took the lead in breaking the rules, it would be no different from a guard stealing from the storehouse. That would truly be an ugly sight."

Zhao Yao suddenly gathered his courage and said, "Teacher, I know you are no Mortal, and this town is no ordinary place."

The scholar smiled curiously. "Oh? Tell me."

Zhao Yao pointed at the imposing Twelve-legged Archway. "This place, along with the Iron Lock Well in Apricot Blossom Alley, the covered bridge rumored to have two iron swords hanging beneath it, the Old Scholar Tree, the peach tree in Taoye Lane, the Valley Rain posts and Double Ninth Posts put up every year on Fulu Street where my Zhao Family lives—they are all very strange."

The scholar interrupted him. "Strange? How are they strange? You have grown up here since childhood and never once left this place. Have you ever seen the scenery beyond this town? Without comparison, how can you say such a thing?"

Zhao Yao lowered his voice. "I have long memorized the contents of the books you gave me. The peach blossoms in Taoye Lane differ greatly from how they are described in the poems. And why do you teach only the three books of Elementary Education, focusing on literacy? After elementary learning, what books should we read? And why do we read? What does 'the civil service examination' in the books mean? What does 'a farmer's son at dawn, ascending the Son of Heaven's hall by dusk' mean? What does 'The Son of Heaven values heroes, and teaches you all through writing' mean? The two Kiln Affairs Supervisors, though they never speak to anyone about the imperial court, the capital, or affairs beneath heaven, but..."

The scholar smiled approvingly. "That is enough. Saying more is useless."

Zhao Yao immediately fell silent.

The scholar calling himself Qi Jingchun said softly, "Zhao Yao, in the future, you must be cautious in word and deed. Remember: disaster comes from the mouth. That is why most Confucian worthies keep their lips sealed. Gentlemen above worthies speak of being watchful when alone, disciplining themselves like polished jade, fearing even the slightest flaw. As for Sages, such as the Mountain Lords of the seventy-two academies... such people can, like Daoist True Persons and Buddhist Golden Arhats, make a prophecy come true with a single word, their words becoming law. These people, along with experts among the Hundred Schools of Thought, are broadly called Land Immortals after reaching that realm. They have one foot across the threshold. But such figures are all like dragons. Some stand high above, like divine statues in Daoist temples and Buddhist monasteries, beyond all reach. Others show their heads but never their tails; ordinary people cannot find them at all."

Zhao Yao listened in a muddle, as though he had fallen into clouds and mist.

Unable to help himself, Zhao Yao asked, "Teacher, why are you telling me all this today?"

The scholar's expression was open and unburdened as he smiled. "You have a teacher; naturally, I have one as well. And my teacher... best not speak of him. In any case, I had thought I could linger on in wretched survival for a few more decades, but I suddenly discovered that certain people behind the scenes are unwilling to wait even that long. So this time, I cannot take you away from the town. You must leave it yourself. Some harmless truths should also be revealed to you. Just treat them as a story. I only hope you understand one principle: There are heavens beyond heavens, and people above people. No matter how Zhao Yao may be 'favored by heaven, with fortune at his crown,' you must never grow complacent or slacken your heart."

The well water falling, the sophora leaves leaving their branches—both were omens.

The scholar named Qi Jingchun reminded him, "Zhao Yao, do you remember the sophora leaf I told you to keep?"

The scholar boy nodded vigorously. "I put it away together with the seal you gave me, Teacher."

"What tree leaf remains so lush, fresh, and tender after leaving its branch? Among the several thousand people in this town, those who receive such 'blessed shelter' can be counted on one hand. You may handle that sophora leaf often. Perhaps one day, it will bring you an opportunity."

The scholar's gaze was profound. "Besides that, all these years, I have had you perform good deeds and forge good ties throughout the town. No matter whom you meet, treat them with courtesy and associate with them sincerely. In time, you will slowly understand the mystery within it. Those seemingly insignificant little matters, Drip Stone, may ultimately bring benefits no less than clutching a copy of the County Annals."

The youth noticed a Yellow Bird perched upon a stone beam, occasionally hopping about and chirping.

The scholar stood with his hands Behind Back, gazing up at the Yellow Bird with a grave expression.

The youth could not see anything unusual.

Qi Jingchun suddenly looked toward Mud Bottle Alley, his brow furrowing ever tighter.

The scholar sighed softly. "Hibernating insects gradually hear the sounds of spring and break through the earth. But as a guest, sneaking about beneath the host's very eyes and employing such ghostly tricks—isn't that rather too presumptuous? Do you truly think that with your self-appointed half bowl of water, you can do whatever you please here?"

Zhao Yao asked anxiously, "Teacher?"

The scholar waved a hand, indicating that it had nothing to do with the youth, and merely led him beneath the final plaque.

Like a hibernating insect suddenly hearing spring thunder, Zhao Yao abruptly stopped in his tracks, his eyes blank and fixed.

Not far away stood a black-clothed girl wearing a Veiled Hat. Thin gauze concealed her face. Her figure was well-proportioned, neither slender nor plump. At her waist hung a long sword in a snow-white scabbard and a Green Scabbard Narrow Saber. Beneath the plaque reading "Qi Chong Dou Niu," she stood with her arms folded and her head raised.

The scholar found it amusing and gave a light cough.

The youth stood dumb as a wooden chicken, utterly failing to understand his teacher's reminder: Do Not Look At Improper Things.

The scholar smiled knowingly. Not only did he refrain from rebuking him, he also stopped coughing and spoiling the scene, allowing the youth beside him to stare foolishly at the girl.

The girl seemed never to have noticed the youth's gaze.

She appeared especially fond of the four characters "Qi Chong Dou Niu." Compared with the solemn dignity of the other three plaques written in Regular Script, the large characters on this plaque alone had been written in semi-cursive regular script. Their spirit was almost wantonly unrestrained.

She liked them!

The youth suddenly woke from his daze. His teacher had patted his shoulder and said with a smile, "Zhao Yao, it is time for you to return to the school and move your things home."

The youth's face reddened. With his head lowered, he followed his teacher back toward the school.

Only then did the girl slowly loosen the five fingers gripping her saber hilt.

From afar, the scholar teased, "Zhao Yao, Zhao Yao, I just saved your life."

The youth asked in shock, "Teacher?"

After hesitating a moment, the scholar said seriously, "If you see her again in the future, you must Take a Detour."

The gentle and refined blue-robed scholar was surprised and somewhat disappointed. "Teacher, why?"

Qi Jingchun thought for a moment before delivering a Final judgment. "Her sharpness is unmatched. She is destined to be a sword without a scabbard."

The youth wanted to speak, yet held back.

The middle-aged scholar smiled. "Of course, if you merely secretly like someone, not even the Dao Ancestor or Buddha can stop you. Even among scholars like us, with the most rules and restraints, our Venerable Master Confucius merely warned, 'Do not speak, look, listen, or act upon what is improper.' He never said, 'Do not think upon what is improper.'"

At that moment, the youth seemed possessed. He blurted out loudly, "She smells wonderful!"

The instant the words left his mouth, the youth froze.

The scholar had a headache—not because he was angry, but because the situation was troublesome. In a deep voice, he said, "Zhao Yao, turn around!"

The youth instinctively turned his back to his teacher.

Beneath the archway tower, the girl turned her head, killing intent surging into the heavens.

She first lowered both hands, placing the thumbs of each hand against the sword hilt and saber hilt.

Then she began a short run. After four or five steps, her limbs suddenly exerted force. The three-foot sword in its snow-white scabbard and the slender narrow saber in its jade-green scabbard drew first, slanting upward and forward. At the same time, her body sprang from the ground. Both hands swiftly seized sword and saber, and without a word, she chopped downward at his head!

Between the black-clothed girl and the teacher-student pair from the town, two not particularly strong arms stretched and burst forth with two dazzling arcs of crescent light.

It was no divine ability, and even less a Magical Power.

It was simply speed!

The scholar remained at ease, showing no intention of dodging. He merely stamped one foot lightly.

A ripple surged outward.

The next instant, the girl's body tensed, and her killing intent intensified.

The sword and saber strike that had been Like splitting bamboo had not only missed entirely, but she herself was now standing where she had been when her sword and saber first drew.

The scholar smiled. "Not bad. A lion uses its full strength even to hunt a rabbit. But then again, my disciple did offend you, miss, yet his crime does not warrant death, does it?"

The girl deliberately made her voice mature and dull. Slowly sheathed the sword, she shifted to holding only the saber in one hand and pointed its tip directly at the scholar. "What you 'think' is your business. I do not care."

The girl stepped forward. "What I do is my business. Of course, you may... try to stop me!"

She charged forward with explosive speed.

The ground beneath her front and rear feet instantly caved in, leaving two small pits.

The scholar stood with one hand Behind Back. His other hand formed a loose fist before his abdomen as he smiled. "In the martial path of the Military Strategists, only speed is unbreakable. Unfortunately, though this world may be on the verge of crumbling apart, before that happens, even ten Land Immortals joining hands to break the formation would be no more than ants shaking a great tree. Let alone you?"

The next instant, the girl inexplicably appeared again more than ten paces to the scholar's left.

After a moment's thought, she closed her eyes.

The scholar shook his head and smiled. "It is not the Illusion Technique you imagine. This world is akin to what Buddhists call a minor chiliocosm. Here, I am—"

"Eh?"

He suddenly cried out in surprise and stopped speaking. In an instant, he arrived beside the girl to investigate. Two fingers lightly gripped the saber tip.

He asked, "Who taught you your saber techniques and sword arts?"

The girl did not open her eyes. Her left hand gripped the hilt of the sword that had just returned to its scabbard, and a cold flash swept across the scholar's waist, attempting to cut him in half.

The scholar, still pinching the saber tip between two fingers, shouted, "Retreat!"

A clattering sound rang across the ground, Dust Flying. After a moment, the girl in the Veiled Hat emerged. Her feet were planted one before the other, and a trench had appeared from beneath her feet to before the scholar, as if plowed out by a blade.

Both of the girl's hands were Flesh and blood blurred.

Her saber had drawn, and so had her sword, yet she had actually been reduced to having her White Blade seized barehanded.

Moreover, she knew perfectly well that aside from manipulating the "framework" of this world, her opponent had kept his cultivation and strength suppressed at a realm equal to her own.

This was inferiority in skill.

Not insufficient cultivation.

Her entire body seemed on the brink of erupting into madness.

Perhaps even the girl herself had not noticed that the light around her, with her as its center, had begun to warp.

As expected of the schoolteacher who valued reason above all else, he thoughtfully advised her, "For now, you should not compare yourself to me. It may hinder your martial state of mind. Reaching the summit of martial cultivation requires advancing step by step. It is of utmost importance."

At this moment, he looked somewhat strange. One hand held the Sword Tip, while the other held the Sword Body horizontally.

He suddenly laughed, imitating the girl's manner of speech in an Old and Dignified tone. "Whether you listen is your freedom. Whether I speak is my business."

After a moment of silence, the girl said in a low voice, "I have received your instruction!"

The scholar smiled and nodded. She was not merely an arrogant and overbearing young woman, which was good. He lightly tossed the saber back to her and said, "I will return your saber first."

He lowered his head to look at the long sword at his fingertips. It gave a slight Trembling Sound.

The fledgling phoenix's cry was clearer than the old phoenix's.

The scholar said regretfully, "This sword is of quite exceptional quality, but it still falls somewhat short of the very finest. It can therefore bear at most the weight of two characters, and even that is rather forced. Otherwise, with your talent and natural gifts, not to mention taking all four characters, taking three would certainly be more than easy..."

As he sighed, he casually raised his hand and shouted, "Edict!"

Two blinding masses of light shot out from the plaque bearing "Qi Chong Dou Niu."

With two sweeps of his sleeve, the scholar struck them into the long sword.

Upon the plaque, the characters "qi" and "niu" retained their force.

The characters "chong" and "dou," however, were like an aged elder lying on a sickbed. After a final flare of life, they had at last completely lost their vitality and spirit.

The scholar carelessly flicked his wrist, and the long sword returned to its owner's scabbard in the blink of an eye. Since it had already been sheathed, no one yet knew that two currents of aura were coursing across its blade like Flood Dragons.

What happened next shocked even Qi Jingchun, who had weathered countless vicissitudes.

The girl slowly removed her sword scabbard and casually flung it away. It slanted into the yellow earth, embedded there like a nail. Behind the hanging gauze of her Veiled Hat, her gaze was firm. "This is not the sword Dao I seek."

The scholar glanced at the sword the girl had abandoned. Deep within his heart, he felt a long-forgotten heaviness. He had no choice but to ask a question beneath his dignity. "Do you know who I am?"

The girl nodded, then shook her head. "I heard that every sixty years, one Sage from the three teachings is replaced here to oversee the operation of a great formation. It has been so for several thousand years. From time to time, people leave this place either carrying rare treasures or advancing rapidly in cultivation. So I wanted to see it for myself. When I saw you, I confirmed your identity. Otherwise, I would not have struck so directly at that time."

Qi Jingchun asked again, "Then do you know what you just gave up?"

The girl said nothing.

Within the sword scabbard on the ground, the long sword trembled without end, like a Beauty whose kingdom-felling looks mournfully sobbed, desperately begging her lover to turn back.

The scholar boy had already secretly turned around, cautiously watching the girl in the distance.

The scholar could hardly be called anything but profoundly learned, yet even so, he could not fathom it no matter how he thought. He could not very well force that long sword containing immense fortune upon the girl, so in the end, he could only remind her, "Miss, you had best take that sword with you. The town is about to become very... unsettled. Having one more thing to protect yourself with is always good."

The girl still said nothing and turned to leave.

She still refused to take the sword.

Qi Jingchun was somewhat helpless. With a sweep of his sleeve, he nailed the sword high upon one of the archway's stone pillars. Should anyone forcibly pull it out, it would certainly alert him, the one seated at the center of the formation—just as the storyteller's two moves, one overt and one concealed, had not escaped this schoolteacher's distant notice.

After personally escorting Zhao Yao from the school all the way to the Zhao Family estate on Fulu Street, the middle-aged scholar walked slowly. Each time he took a step, certain concealed spots within the towering mansions and deep courtyards lining both sides of the street would flash with Flowing Light and Color before vanishing in an instant.

Qi Jingchun murmured, "How strange. Where did that little girl come from? Could she be a disciple of an immortal family from beyond this continent?"

After returning to the school, he sat before his desk. Upon it lay a jade tablet, one chi and two cun long. The four corners were carved with the four mountains that stabilized the realm, symbolizing peace in all directions. Its front was engraved with densely packed Small Seal inscriptions, more than a hundred characters in all.

According to Confucian ritual, only the Son of Heaven of a nation was originally permitted to hold a Town Jade Tablet.

This alone showed the immense significance of this town.

When he Flipped Through it, only two sparse characters were carved upon the jade tablet's reverse.

The strokes were rigorous in their method, yet uniquely elegant in spirit.

Its sinews and bones were immensely powerful, its spiritual meaning profoundly far-reaching.

There was also a Secret Letter on the desk, one that had arrived not long ago.

The scholar with Temples Frost White had reddened eyes. "Teacher, this student is useless. I can only watch helplessly as you suffer such humiliation..."

The scholar looked out the window. He did not feel much grief or joy, only a lonely desolation. "Qi Jingchun has failed his respected teacher. Having dragged out this wretched life for a hundred years, I owe only death."

When Song Jixin took something from the inner room and placed it on the table, Fu Nanhua could not conceal the wild joy on his face, no matter how he tried.

It was an inconspicuous little pot, with the maker's mark "Mountain Goblin" on its base.

Song Jixin folded his hands atop the Tabletop, leaned forward, and asked with a smile, "How much is this pot worth?"

The young city lord of Old Dragon City finally tore his gaze away from the little pot. Looking up, he answered frankly, "If sold in a mortal dynasty, it would not be worth even a tael of silver. But if left to me to sell, it could buy back an entire city."

Song Jixin asked, "How many tens of thousands of people?"

Fu Nanhua held out three fingers.

Song Jixin gave an oh and curled his lip. "So, three hundred thousand."

Fu Nanhua paused, then burst into laughter.

He had originally thought Song Jixin would say thirty thousand.

Over in Apricot Blossom Alley, a dull-witted man crouched beside the Iron Lock Well, staring at the iron chain fastened tightly to the base of the pulley cart.

He seemed to be agonizing over how to move it away.

The cold-tempered girl in black, wearing a Veiled Hat, wandered aimlessly through the town. At this moment, only the Green Scabbard Narrow Saber hung at her waist, while her hands had merely been crudely wrapped in strips of cloth.

Just as she entered an unnamed alley—

With a whoosh, something tore through the air. It obediently stopped behind the girl, humming.

The girl frowned. Without turning her head, she forced out a single word through clenched teeth. "Scram!"

With another whoosh—

The "flying sword" that had flown here after drawing from its scabbard was so frightened that it truly hid back inside its scabbard.

A proud girl.

An obedient flying sword.