Clearly, compared to the Method of Motion, the Method of Stillness had its own advantages. For cultivation methods focused on nurturing one's own life and nature rather than combat, the Method of Stillness was definitely the better choice.
Da Chen martial arts, however, leaned toward combat and placed great emphasis on physical techniques. As a result, they did not esteem this kind of martial philosophy. An Jing had never received this sort of training before; he only knew about it.
As for advancing one's Internal Breath through the union of motion and stillness, harmonizing Yin and Yang, he had never even heard of it.
"After breaking through with the Method of Motion, the body's meridians become stronger, but control is less precise."
The Sword Spirit said, "After breaking through with the Method of Stillness, your control is initially much finer and your Internal Breath becomes powerful, but your body gains less enhancement."
"Both methods' weaknesses can be made up for through training afterward. If you practice both motion and stillness, you can save that time... It's difficult, and most people can't do it. But you have Past Life Wisdom, a powerful soul, a strong body, and excellent skills. I think you can give it a try."
At this point, the Sword Spirit couldn't help sounding puzzled. "That's strange. Do they not care about this in Huai Xu anymore? The basic requirement for Inner Sect disciples of great sects is to enter the Dao through harmonizing Yin and Yang."
—It's probably because Hanbei and Xishan are both backwater places.
That was what An Jing thought. Then he heard the Sword Spirit's instructions: "First, meditate and enter stillness. Then practice martial arts in your mind-sea. When your mind and body become one, strike once in both your mind and the real world at the same time."
"Innate Qi shifts from absolute stillness to absolute motion in an instant, possessing both the fullest strength and the finest control. It can save you a great deal of time honing your skills and let you move toward 'River of Essence and Qi' at the fastest pace."
"If your foundations are solid enough and that strike cuts straight to your true heart, you might even advance directly to River of Essence and Qi!"
Essence and qi was an ancient name for Internal Breath, commonly used in old books. The Sword Spirit was clearly an ancient sword. Though it usually used the modern vocabulary of Huai Xu, when it got serious, it used the terms from its own era. "Now, circulate Qingjing Sword Temple. Otherwise, as a Suhui Zhe entering stillness, you'll only recall fragments of your past life."
So An Jing circulated Qingjing Sword Temple.
He visualized the Rusty Sword, honing it with his anger and determination.
As the Sword Spirit had said, he began recalling many memories from his past life. An Jing even remembered where he'd put the air-conditioner remote back then. No wonder he'd searched for ages without finding it—it turned out he'd left it behind the vase in the martial arts school's practice hall.
Wait, what was an air-conditioner remote?
Shaking his head, he set the memories aside and entered stillness completely.
He sank into his mind-sea.
A hazy chaos. All light vanished, turning into utter darkness.
In the pitch-black mind-sea, An Jing saw a road.
A road leading into a dream.
He should have been practicing martial arts now, training in the sword art he was best at.
It was the weapon he had practiced most often back in the Northern Frontier. His father didn't think the sword was the perfect weapon; he'd let An Jing learn it only because it wouldn't interfere with his future studies and imperial examinations.
But An Jing himself liked swords very much.
—Because a sword had two edges, a point and a hilt; it could kill from any direction, front or back, left or right.
Yet for some reason, An Jing, who shouldn't have been wasting time, lowered his sword.
He seemed to sense a familiar presence.
The youth stepped onto the road.
As he walked, faces began appearing along either side of the road. One face after another.
Zhang Ying, Ye Xiuyuan, Zhan Feng, and more familiar faces... One by one, they appeared before him, smiling at him.
An Jing watched them in silence, looking at each face in turn.
He walked on.
The sunlight dimmed. The faces disappeared, and An Jing heard cries and weeping, seeming real and unreal, along with anguished wails from the depths of the heart.
"No! Help! Mother, save me—"
In the shadows of the trees, a child could be faintly seen screaming in utter agony. He clawed at the uneven floor, his fingernails breaking as he dug them in, but two silent cultists dragged him away. He disappeared at the end of the corridor.
An Jing stopped for a while. He looked at the calluses on the child's hands, earned from practicing archery. Memories stirred in his mind: dreams of becoming a hunter, a future hero.
They faded away.
He walked on.
The shadows thickened, and even the echoes of the wails disappeared. An Jing heard no screams, only a muffled groan and an angry voice.
"You bit me?"
In the flowing river of shadow, a child's silent resistance earned him a single blow that cleaved him in two. His entrails, flesh, and fat spilled out all at once, and blood flooded half the corridor.
An Jing gazed at the somewhat frail figure. He vaguely remembered the little gentleman's voice and heard his sighs, his unwillingness, and a resignation that seemed almost peaceful. He had already known regret, but there were greater regrets in this world.
They faded away.
He walked on.
The road grew more desolate and overgrown, cut off from the world. An Jing looked back at the way he had come. It had become nothing but darkness.
The dark river rushed by, blood-red flowers drifting on its surface.
In the deepest part of the river, a tall child was tied to a chair. He stared in terror at something approaching him, drawing closer to his eyes. Then all went black, and there was a silent scream.
"Why me?! Why me?!"
"Am I not good enough? I can be just like you!"
You can't. You have too much humanity. You still cry. You still worry about the friend who left before you. You're not like them.
He had only wanted to taste liquor. He wanted to drink an oath-taking cup of wine just once, happily eat meat with his brothers, and let loose. He thought he'd found brothers at last, but the time was wrong and the place was wrong.
They faded away.
The river rushed on, its thick stench of blood striking An Jing's face. The pitch-black river surged, and skulls rolled before his eyes.
There was no hatred, no bloodshot eyes, only familiar faces rolling past him before sinking beneath the blood.
An Jing silently met their gazes until those faces faded too, turning to dust that filled the sky.
The wind rose, whimpering and whispering, a mournful gale stirring clouds of sorrow and hatred.
Hatred beyond measure. Regrets beyond untangling.
The river receded, leaving a bed of stark white bones. Shadows flowed, revealing withered old trees behind them, their branches hung with heads like leaves. Flowers bloomed: hands soaked in blood, reaching out in search of help.
The road ended.
The dream was about to end.
It began to rain.
Blood splashed across the ground, soaking An Jing from head to toe.
An Jing had a dream.
He dreamed of the deaths and evil that had taken place around him.
Everything he had once ignored, looked away from, and kept silent about.
He had been silent through the whole dream, but now he smiled.
"Thank you."
He smiled from the bottom of his heart. Blood ran down his face, tracing its contours. "Thank you for coming to see me one last time and telling me all this."
"But this isn't everything."
"Tell me everything."
"I want to see more. I want to remember it all."
"I swear."
"I..."
"Will never forget!"
Clang!
A sword rang out.
The dead tree shuddered; waves rose in the blood river!
The eerie wind, dead trees, baleful mists, even the waves on the River of Blood—all layered atop one another, seeming to transform into countless unstoppable blades, ready to fly at An Jing.
"Sword!"
With a furious shout, An Jing reached out with one hand, seizing wind and cloud, gripping the baleful mist. A sword's edge sprang into being!
In the real world, An Jing's eyes snapped open.
Awakening from the great dream in his mind-sea, he rose to his feet. His bones and sinews sang in unison, and great clouds of white steam billowed from above his head.
From his hand, wisps of crimson aura seeped out. Taking the shape of his empty grip as their source, they condensed into a hazy, illusory Blood Fiend Sword!
An Jing stepped forward. His clothes snapped, and water mist burst outward in a circle. Without hesitation, he swung his sword ahead!
A howling gale surged; his qi transformed into a white rainbow!
A visible Sword Qi swept forward, cleaving through the sand and stones before him and carving a crack into the ground!
Internal Breath left his body, surging like a river...
This was the realm of Internal Breath Like a River!
Before you continue