Bullied and Beaten

The morning sun had just risen, and all was still.

A new day dawned over the Glazed Sword Sect.

A burly middle-aged man led a group of menial workers west along a broad, straight bluestone road, the rising Sun Origin at their backs.

"The price of Exquisite Bamboo has shot up lately, and Thousand Bamboo Ridge is short-handed!"

"We're going there today to help cut bamboo! You'll earn one tael of silver for every stalk of Exquisite Bamboo you fell. Chances like this don't come often..."

The Middle-Aged Man had thick brows, large eyes, a full beard, a hooked nose, and thick lips. He spoke while munching on roasted soybeans.

At the very back of the group walked a skinny worker. His face was bruised and swollen, and his clothes were covered in shoe prints. Beside the strong, sturdy men ahead of him, he looked out of place.

His name was Fang Chen. He was fifteen, and both his parents were dead. Five years ago, his uncle had sold him to a landlord in town to herd cattle. After being sold from hand to hand again and again, he had ended up as a menial worker at the Glazed Sword Sect.

He had been at the Glazed Sword Sect for over three years, but he had never managed to cultivate. He had no Spiritual Root.

In this world, anyone who wanted to become a cultivator had to awaken a Spiritual Root.

A Spiritual Root was the bridge between a cultivator and the outside world. The higher its grade, the faster one could absorb Spiritual Qi.

Without a Spiritual Root, one could not absorb Spiritual Qi or cultivate. Everyone in the Barbaric Realm agreed on that. Even an Immortal descending from heaven could do nothing about it.

The injuries on his face came from the beating the other workers had given him that morning when he tried to grab a steamed bun to eat.

They might all be menial workers, but the others did not treat him as a person. They dumped the hardest, most exhausting jobs on him and often cursed and beat him.

He had thought that once he became a worker at the Glazed Sword Sect, he would at least no longer go hungry. But this cultivation sect was nothing like he had imagined. Since arriving, he had lived a life worse than a pig's or a dog's.

At least the pigs in the sect's livestock pens ate their fill and slept soundly every day.

Sometimes he wished he could become a pig himself—preferably a boar. Boars had sows for company almost every day. Their lives were happier than an Immortal's.

Half an hour later, Fang Chen and the others reached the foot of Thousand Bamboo Ridge.

Thousand Bamboo Ridge rose a thousand zhang high, its summit shrouded in clouds and mist year-round. All kinds of bamboo grew there, thousands of varieties according to rumor, which was how the ridge had earned its name.

At the foot of the ridge stood rows of bamboo houses. Before them lay an open stretch of sand and gravel, piled with bamboo that had already been cut.

The Middle-Aged Man led Fang Chen and the others to a bamboo house and kicked its door open. "Get inside and pick your tools! Once you've got them, head up the mountain and get to work!"

"Charge!"

The workers swarmed into the house.

Fang Chen did not follow. With arms like toothpicks and legs like chopsticks, he knew he might be trampled to death if he rushed in.

He stood quietly by the door and waited until everyone had come out before entering.

When he saw what was left inside, he nearly cursed aloud.

He had expected plenty of blades. After all, almost everyone who had gone in had come out carrying several Cleavers.

Instead, nothing remained but scrap metal. Forget Cleavers—he could not find anything remotely like a blade.

"That's too much!"

Fang Chen could not help cursing. Those men were old hands. A Cleaver grew dull with use, so they had taken spares. Once one dulled, they could switch to another instead of stopping to sharpen it. Their efficiency would soar.

After rummaging through the junk for a while, Fang Chen found a long sword covered in rust.

The sword was black from end to end, nearly four feet long and four fingers wide. It was heavy—over a hundred jin at least.

Fang Chen frowned. Swinging a sword that heavy would be a struggle. If he used it to cut bamboo, he would probably die of exhaustion before the stalk fell.

Just as he was about to put it down, the hilt trembled.

"What was that?"

Fang Chen stared at the sword in surprise. He had not expected it to vibrate.

He wondered if missing breakfast had made him so hungry that he was seeing things.

Then a thread of cool air entered his palm through the hilt and flowed along his Meridians throughout his body.

When the cool current reached his head, Fang Chen's mind suddenly cleared.

"Are you done yet? Hurry up and stop dawdling!"

Steward Cao's impatient voice came from the doorway.

This sword is definitely no ordinary sword!

Fang Chen's eyes narrowed. To avoid drawing attention, he dug two more rusty long swords out of the junk pile. They looked much like the first, but the difference in weight was more than tenfold.

He bound the two swords to the black one, hoisted all three onto his shoulder, and walked out.

Outside, Fang Chen said to the Middle-Aged Man, "Steward Cao, I'm done!"

The Middle-Aged Man was named Cao Bin. He oversaw the Dragon Tiger Mountain Errand Runner office and was mean-spirited and quick-tempered.

Cao Bin gave Fang Chen a look of disgust. "Then get lost!"

"Yes!"

Fang Chen answered, picked up a whetstone by the door, and carried the three worn swords up the mountain path.

The Exquisite Bamboo they were supposed to cut was not delicate in the least. It stood over twenty zhang tall, a lush green, with a surface as smooth as polished jade. Even the thinnest stalk was too wide for two adults to encircle with their arms.

Though it was not spiritual bamboo, it was far superior to ordinary bamboo. It took a hundred years to mature and held a distinctive fragrance. Its extracted sap could be made into Exquisite Incense, whose scent, when burned, sharpened the mind and greatly aided cultivation. Cultivators often used it while meditating.

Exquisite Bamboo was not only tall; its walls were over a foot thick and remarkably hard.

Even a sturdy worker with an ordinary Cleaver might fail to fell one stalk in an hour.

For a scrawny fellow like Fang Chen, cutting through one in three hours would be good going.

Only Exquisite Bamboo more than a hundred years old could be harvested.

Nearly all the mature stalks at the foot of the mountain had been cut. To find one suitable for harvesting, they had to climb higher or venture somewhere more remote.

Fang Chen followed a narrow trail toward a secluded area. He was in no hurry to cut bamboo. He wanted to find somewhere deserted and examine the black sword.

Half an hour later, Fang Chen reached a secluded mountain stream.

He set the swords down and rolled his shoulder. The black sword alone weighed over a hundred jin, and the three together weighed more still. Thin as he was, carrying them so far along a mountain path had left his shoulder aching.

He looked around. Only after making sure no one was nearby did he pick up the black sword to study it.

"Bzz, bzz, bzz..."

The black sword vibrated again. Threads of cool air entered his palm through the hilt and flowed along his Meridians throughout his body. When the current reached his shoulder, the ache vanished at once.