Even a Blade of Grass in Hand Can Sever the Spring Breeze

The snow and wind grew stronger.

Ji Ye walked along the bluestone path leading to the county office, his steps slow but each one precisely measured as if by a ruler.

He was adapting to this body.

Weak, depleted, with damaged lung meridians. For an ordinary person, this shell would struggle just to reach the county office. But under the microscopic control of Martial Arts Through Divinity x3, Ji Ye adjusted his breathing frequency, controlling each muscle to exert force only at the moment of landing, minimizing energy consumption.

He was walking in a manner akin to "hibernation breathing."

Passing the recruitment notice for constables, he didn't even glance at it.

In his previous life, he had relied on brute force to lift stone locks, become a constable, a thug, and finally, a knife that was broken by someone else.

In this life, he didn't want to be the knife.

He wanted to be the one holding the knife.

County office, training grounds.

"Hah!"

A fierce shout sent snow cascading from the treetops.

Wang Meng, bare-chested, steam rising from his body, wielded the Wild Goose Feather Saber like a ball of silver light, impenetrable.

This was his signature skill, Severing Gate Saber. Though only nine moves, in Black Stone County, fewer than five people could withstand three of his strikes.

"Good!"

The surrounding constables cheered in unison, their eyes filled with admiration.

"Boss's move, 'Mountain Splitting Force,' must have a thousand pounds of power, right?"

"Of course! That big bandit last time, Boss split him and his weapon in half with that one strike!"

Wang Meng sheathed his saber, exhaled a long breath, a hint of smugness on his face. Although he had an old leg injury, his hand skills had never faltered.

He took the cloth handed to him by a subordinate, about to wipe his sweat, when his peripheral vision caught sight of someone standing at the edge of the training grounds.

A scholar, dressed in ragged single-layer clothes, his face as pale as paper.

The scholar had his hands tucked into his sleeves, watching him quietly. His gaze was strange, not the awe of an ordinary bystander, but more like looking at... a child playing with mud.

Even a faint, almost imperceptible smile played on the scholar's lips.

It was mockery.

Wang Meng's brow furrowed.

"Where did this pretentious scholar come from?" Wang Meng threw the cloth to the ground and strode over. "This is an important government facility, not a place for you to wander into. Get out!"

The surrounding constables immediately surrounded Ji Ye, hands on their saber hilts, looking menacing.

Ji Ye didn't move.

He simply looked at Wang Meng and said softly:

"Your saber is slow."

His voice wasn't loud, but in the noisy training grounds, it was as crisp and piercing as a needle dropping onto a porcelain plate.

The entire place fell silent.

Wang Meng froze for a moment, then laughed in disbelief. "What did you say? Slow?"

"Not only slow, but flawed."

Ji Ye extended a pale hand, pointing at Wang Meng's left leg. "Because of the old injury in your left leg, you're afraid to put your full weight into it when exerting force, leaving your stance unstable. To maintain balance, your shoulder subconsciously tilts to the right when you draw your saber."

"This causes your saber path to deviate by half an inch."

"If this were a life-or-death struggle..." Ji Ye looked into Wang Meng's eyes, his tone as flat as if stating a fact. "Your ninth strike just now would have already pierced your throat."

Wang Meng's pupils contracted sharply.

Because everything Ji Ye said was true.

His left leg was indeed an old injury that ached on rainy days, making him hesitant to exert full force. Even his long-time comrades hadn't noticed this, so how did this stranger of a scholar know?

"You have some insight."

Wang Meng's contempt lessened, replaced by a more intense killing intent. "However, insight alone won't save your life. Since you see so clearly, why don't you lend a hand?"

He kicked up a wooden saber from the ground, caught it in mid-air, and casually tossed one to Ji Ye.

"Don't say I'm bullying you. I won't use Internal Strength, just pure technique. If you can block three of my strikes, I'll reward you with ten taels of silver. If you can't..."

Wang Meng grinned sinisterly. "Losing an arm will be your tuition fee."

The surrounding constables watched Ji Ye with schadenfreude. The scholar looked like he'd fall over in a strong wind, let alone block a saber strike; he probably couldn't even hold a wooden saber steady.

Ji Ye took the wooden saber.

It was very light, almost floaty.

He swung it a couple of times, then shook his head.

"It's not necessary."

Ji Ye tossed the wooden saber back onto the weapon rack, then bent down and picked up a dry twig from the ground.

It was as thick as a finger and snapped with a single bend.

"This is enough."

"You're asking for death!"

Wang Meng was utterly enraged. This was blatant humiliation!

He stopped wasting words, stomped his foot, and lunged forward like a tiger descending a mountain. The wooden saber in his hand whistled through the air, aiming straight for Ji Ye's right shoulder.

Although this strike didn't use Internal Strength, with Wang Meng's arm strength, it was enough to break bones if it landed.

But in Ji Ye's eyes, this strike... was too slow.

[Martial Dao Heavenly Eye] activated.

The world seemed to hit the slow-motion button. Wang Meng's every movement was deconstructed into countless lines. Red lines represented the flow of power, while gray lines represented ineffective movements.

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And beneath Wang Meng's armpit, there was a glaring red dot.

That was an opening.

Ji Ye stood his ground, unmoving. The wooden saber was only three inches from his shoulder, the strong wind already ruffling his hair.

He moved.

It was still the same minimalist movement.

Sidestep, step forward, wrist flick.

The dry twig in his hand was like a nimble snake, striking with speed that surpassed the attack, precisely piercing the gap in Wang Meng's move.

"Snap."

A soft sound.

The dry twig landed on the "Lieque Acupoint" on Wang Meng's right wrist.

With Microscopic Control, Ji Ye channeled all the strength he had into the tip of the dry twig, unleashing it in an instant.

It was like popping a balloon with a needle.

Wang Meng felt a sharp pain in his wrist, his entire right side instantly went numb, and he could no longer grip the wooden saber. It clattered to the ground.

And the dry twig stopped an inch from his throat.

If Ji Ye had pushed forward just a little more, the twig might not have pierced his throat, but it would have been enough to utterly humiliate him.

A deathly silence fell.

The constables who had been ready to watch a spectacle now had their mouths agape, their eyes bulging.

One move?

No, not even one move.

It was just a single exchange.

Black Stone County's number one swordsman, Wang Meng, defeated by a sickly scholar holding a dry twig?

Ji Ye retracted the dry twig and casually tossed it to the ground.

As the twig hit the ground, it broke into three pieces.

"Your swordsmanship is from the military style, emphasizing broad, powerful movements," Ji Ye coughed a couple of times, a sickly flush appearing on his pale face. "But you've turned it into a street fighter's style, with too many useless flourishes."

"A killing blade doesn't need to be pretty."

Wang Meng stared blankly at his wrist, which was already red and swollen. He then looked at the broken twig on the ground before finally raising his head, his gaze filled with extreme complexity.

Shock, shame, confusion... finally transforming into a deep sense of awe.

This was a master.

A true master.

"Who... who exactly are you?" Wang Meng's voice was hoarse.

"Ji Ye."

Ji Ye tidied his worn collar. Despite his ragged clothes, his demeanor at that moment made Wang Meng feel as though he were facing a dignitary from the prefectural city.

"I've read a few years of books and practiced swordsmanship for a few days."

"I've come here to do business with Constable Wang."

"Business?" Wang Meng asked subconsciously.

"I can help you complete this Severing Gate Saber technique, or even take it further," Ji Ye said calmly. "And I can help you heal your leg."

Wang Meng's breathing instantly became heavy.

Improving his swordsmanship and healing an old injury. These were the two biggest burdens in his life.

"What do you want?" Wang Meng stared intently at Ji Ye.

"I want your position."

Ji Ye pointed to the Grand Tutor's chair behind Wang Meng.

The constables around them gasped. This scholar had quite the nerve!

Wang Meng's eyes turned cold. "You want to be the constable?"

"No."

Ji Ye shook his head, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

"I mean, I want to borrow your position."

"I don't do duty, I don't clock in, I don't wear this dog skin."

"But what I say here carries more weight than yours."

"In return..."

Ji Ye walked up to Wang Meng and lowered his voice, speaking just loud enough for the two of them to hear:

"I will ensure you are in the County Lieutenant's seat within three years."

Wang Meng's body trembled.

County Lieutenant. That was a ninth-rank military official, a true officer, not some low-level clerk like a constable.

He looked at the sickly scholar before him. Though frail, he seemed to harbor a million soldiers within his chest.

After a long moment.

Wang Meng suddenly grinned, his smile a little ferocious, yet also relieved.

He bent down, picked up the wooden saber from the ground, and offered it to Ji Ye with both hands.

This was the highest courtesy a warrior could offer.

"Mr. Ji."

Wang Meng changed his address, his tone respectful.

"Please, have a seat inside."

"I'll brew the tea for you myself."

Ji Ye didn't take the saber. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back and strode into the main hall.

The wind and snow landed on his shoulders, but seemed afraid to linger.

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