The weather was clear, with not a cloud for ten thousand miles. In the dry little courtyard, a fierce wind suddenly rose, howling without cease. A young man in his twenties wielded a wooden saber, shifting his form and changing positions as he slashed horizontally and vertically at nonexistent foes in the air. Faint blood-colored flashes gleamed from the blade.
Yet every time the young man swung his saber, he bared his teeth in a grimace. Amid his ferocity, he seemed deliberately to be holding back. As a result, his true qi churned endlessly within him, leaving his chest tight and making him feel as though he were about to vomit blood. It was exceedingly uncomfortable.
It was like going to the latrine: clearly capable of unleashing a torrent, yet insisting on clenching and holding it in. The feeling was simply exhilaratingly agonizing.
In one corner of the courtyard, Xiang Yang sat leisurely in loose white robes. Before him, the stone table held fruit, pastries, and fragrant tea steaming with white vapor. Seated beside him was Ning Ke, clad in a pale blue dress. Though she wore no powder or paint, she was still naturally beautiful.
"Xiang Yang, you just said my cousin's saber technique had too much ferocity and too little calmness, which was why you taught him to deliberately restrain himself.
"But I once saw a handwritten scroll that said martial artists must avoid mediocrity and must bring their strengths fully into play. The Asura Blood Sea Saber is an incomparably savage saber art. Isn't doing this putting the cart before the horse?"
With brows like painted moths and a smile like blooming flowers, Ning Ke pinched a piece of peeled, snow-white fruit between her slender fingers and gently fed it into Xiang Yang's mouth. Her heart overflowing