Malevolent Mist and Nether Wind, Become My Longsword

Obviously, compared to the Method of Motion, the Method of Stillness has its own advantages. If one is inclined toward cultivating one's own life force rather than combat, the Method of Stillness is certainly the better choice.

However, Da Chen martial arts lean toward conflict and emphasize physical techniques, so this type of martial philosophy is not held in high regard. An Jing had never received such training in the past; he was merely aware of it.

As for the method of advancing Internal Breath through the union of motion and stillness and the harmonization of yin and yang, he had never even heard of it.

"After breaking through with the Method of Motion, the physical meridians become stronger, but control is somewhat lacking."

The Sword Spirit said, "Conversely, a breakthrough via the Method of Stillness initially yields finer control and powerful Internal Breath, but the physical body receives less reinforcement."

"The flaws of both can be compensated for through later training. If you possess both motion and stillness, you can save that portion of time... It is quite difficult, and most people cannot achieve it, but you possess innate wisdom, a powerful soul, a robust body, and exquisite skills. I believe you can try."

Speaking of this, the Sword Spirit could not help but feel puzzled: "Strange, does the current Huaixu not emphasize this? The basic requirement for inner sect disciples of major sects is to enter the Dao through the harmonization of yin and yang."

--It is highly probable that both Hanbei and Xishan are backwater places.

An Jing thought to himself, and then he listened to the Sword Spirit's instructions: "First, meditate to enter stillness, then perform martial arts within your heart-sea. At the moment when mind and body become one, strike that blow simultaneously in your heart and in the real world."

"Innate Qi shifts from extreme stillness to extreme motion in an instant. By possessing both the most abundant power and the most subtle control, you can save a great deal of time spent on polishing and advance toward the 'River of Essence and Qi' at the fastest possible speed."

"If your foundation is solid enough and the strike you unleash is sufficiently clear to your original heart, you might even be able to advance directly to the River of Essence and Qi!"

Essence and Qi is an ancient term for Internal Breath, often used in ancient texts. The Sword Spirit is clearly an ancient sword; although it usually uses the vocabulary of modern Huaixu, it reverts to the terminology of its own era whenever it is serious: "Now, circulate the Qingjing Sword Temple, otherwise, as someone with innate wisdom, you will only recall fragments of your past life's memories when you enter stillness."

Thus, An Jing circulated the Qingjing Sword Temple.

He visualized the rusted sword, polishing it with his own anger and persistence.

In the process, it was indeed as the Sword Spirit had said; he began to recall many memories of his past life—An Jing even remembered where he had put his air conditioner remote control. No wonder he couldn't find it after searching for so long; it turned out it was behind the vase in the martial arts hall's practice arena.

Wait, what is an air conditioner remote control?

Shaking his head and setting those memories aside, An Jing entered a state of complete stillness.

He sank into his heart-sea.

It was a hazy chaos; all light vanished, turning into absolute darkness.

In the pitch-black heart-sea, An Jing saw a path.

A path leading to a dream.

At this moment, he should have been practicing martial arts, training in the sword style he was most proficient in.

This was the weapon he practiced with most often when he was still in the Northern Frontier. His father did not consider the sword the most perfect weapon; he only let him learn it because it would not hinder An Jing's future studies for the imperial examinations.

But An Jing himself loved the sword.

--Because the sword has two edges, a tip, and a hilt; it can kill to the left, right, front, and back.

Yet for some reason, An Jing, who should not have been wasting time, put down the sword.

He seemed to sense a familiar aura.

The youth stepped onto this path.

As he walked, faces gradually appeared on both sides of the road, one face after another.

Zhang Ying, Ye Xiuyuan, Zhan Feng, and more familiar faces... one familiar face after another appeared before him, smiling at him.

An Jing watched them in silence, looking at their faces one by one.

He walked forward.

The sunlight dimmed, the faces vanished, and An Jing heard sounds of suffering and weeping that seemed both real and illusory, as well as wails from the depths of the soul.

"No, help me! Mother, save me—"

In the shadows of the trees, one could vaguely see a child letting out a heart-wrenching scream. He struggled, clawing at the uneven floor until his fingernails were torn off, but he was still dragged away by two silent cultists, disappearing at the end of the corridor.

An Jing paused for a moment. He looked at the calluses on the child's hands from practicing archery, and some memories echoed in his mind—memories regarding a hunter and dreams related to future heroes.

It dissipated.

He walked forward.

The shadows grew thick, and even the echoes of the wails vanished. An Jing heard no screams, only a muffled grunt and an annoyed voice.

"You actually bit me?"

In the river of shadows flowing like water, because of a child's silent resistance, he was split in two. All his internal organs, flesh, and fat poured out at once, blood spilled, and it flowed across half the corridor just like that.

An Jing stared at that somewhat thin figure. He vaguely remembered the tone of that little teacher, hearing the sigh, the unwillingness, and the resignation that felt like accepting one's fate. He already had many regrets, but there were even greater regrets in this world.

It dissipated.

He walked forward.

The road became increasingly desolate and decayed, isolated from the world. An Jing looked back at the path he had come from, and only pitch-black darkness remained.

The dark river flowed, and blood-colored flowers drifted upon it.

In the deepest part of the river, a tall child was tied to a chair. He watched in terror as something approached him, approached his eyes, and then there was only pitch-black darkness and an unheard scream.

"Why me?! Why me?!"

"Am I not good enough? I can be just like you!"

You cannot. You are too human; you still cry, and you are still worried about the friends who left before you. A person like you is not like them.

He only wanted to taste what wine was like; he wanted to drink a toast of brotherhood once, to happily eat meat with his brothers to his heart's content. He felt he had found brothers, but the time was wrong, and the place was wrong.

It dissipated.

The river surged, the thick stench of blood hitting An Jing in the face. As the pitch-black river of blood rushed by, he saw heads rolling and tumbling before his eyes.

There was no hatred, no bloodshot eyes, only familiar faces rolling past him before sinking into the blood.

An Jing stared at them in silence until these faces also dissipated, turning into dust that filled the sky.

The wind rose, that whimpering, that whispering, the mournful wind stirring the mist of sorrow and hatred to permeate the air.

Countless hatreds, endless regrets.

The river water receded, revealing nothing but bleached bones at the bottom. Shadows flowed, exposing the withered, eerie trees behind and heads hanging like leaves. Flowers bloomed; they were pairs of blood-soaked hands reaching out, begging for help.

The road had ended.

The dream was about to wake.

It began to rain.

Fresh blood splashed onto the earth, soaking An Jing's entire body.

An Jing had a dream.

He dreamed, he dreamed of all the death and evil that had occurred around him.

Everything he had once ignored, looked away from, or remained silent about.

He, who had been silent for the entire dream, smiled.

"Thank you."

He smiled from the bottom of his heart, blood flowing down his face, tracing his features: "Thank you for being willing to see me one last time and telling me all of this."

"It's just that 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 hummed.

The withered trees shuddered, and the river of blood surged!

The eerie wind, the dead trees, the baleful mist, and even the waves on the river of blood all layered upon one another, seemingly transforming into countless unstoppable blades, flying toward An Jing.

"Sword!"

With a loud, angry shout, An Jing reached out, grasping the wind and clouds, clutching the baleful mist, and a sword edge was born from it!

In reality, An Jing snapped his eyes open.

Waking from the great dream of his heart's sea, he stood up, his bones and muscles resonating, and great plumes of white steam rising from his head.

And in his hand, wisps of scarlet aura seeped out, originating from the shape he held in his empty grip, condensing into a phantom, hazy sword of blood-malice!

An Jing took a step forward, his clothes fluttering, water mist exploding into a circle, and ignoring everything else, he slashed forward with his sword!

The gale roared, the energy turning into a white rainbow!

A visible sword qi streaked forward, cleaving through the sand, dust, and stone before him, carving a fissure into the ground!

Internal Breath leaving the body, surging like a river...

This is the realm of Internal Breath like a River!