"Forty-eight thousand, one hundred and eighty thrusts."
"Forty-eight thousand, one hundred and eighty-one thrusts."
Lu Wu-bing drew his sword, sheathed it, and thrust forward with meticulous precision.
His clothes had dried after being soaked, only to be soaked through again. He looked as though he had been washed in water from head to toe, while a suspicious puddle spread slowly across the bluestone ground beneath him.
Not far away, a plump black cat with white paws rhythmically waved its right paw along with him, making one clip-like sound after another in its throat.
"Meow... meow..."
Sunlight fell over the man and cat, drawing out their long shadows.
There was an indescribable harmony between them.
As long as I don't work myself to death, I'll work myself to the death.
Lu Wu-bing thought to himself. In his previous life, he had toiled like an ox and a horse for his whole life, and he had never feared anyone... much less now, when he possessed the Fate Mandate of Heaven Rewards Diligence. After testing it, he had discovered that as long as he worked hard, he would gain something.
Workers were not afraid of hardship or exhaustion.
They only feared having no hope. They only feared that all their effort would come to nothing.
Only one thousand, eight hundred and nineteen more thrusts. Soon—once I reach fifty thousand thrusts, this thrusting stance will advance from proficient to masterful... Every drop of sweat can be exchanged for improvement. This feeling is utterly intoxicating.
Lu Wu-bing let out a long breath. He only hoped there was still time.
A trace of urgency flashed through his mind, but he forcefully drove it away in an instant, concentrating fully on ensuring that every thrust was completed with full force.
When the sun stood directly overhead, his fiftieth thousandth thrust pierced the air with a sharp scream. Lu Wu-bing's entire body suddenly shuddered.
At that moment, he felt an electric current course through every muscle and bone in his body. Every pore stood on end, and his strength flowed freely through him. The longsword in his hand no longer seemed like a sword—it felt as if it had grown from his hand. Its blade was like his own skin, able to sense the tenderness of the spring breeze brushing past.
A great deal of knowledge about sword thrusts suddenly flooded into his mind: angles, force, the ideal rhythm of exertion, and the relationship between weight and lightness, speed and slowness.
His understanding of thrusting seemed as though he had practiced it for more than a decade.
He tentatively thrust again and found it incomparably natural, incomparably satisfying. There was almost no loss in the release of force. His thought moved, and the sword followed; power gathered at its tip, slicing through the airflow with the light whistle of a powerful arrow.
Compared to my previous proficient thrusts, its speed has more than doubled.
The same meager inner force, the same physical condition—yet merely because his understanding of this sword move and the way he exerted force had changed, the difference was so enormous.
Compared to this, the sword techniques the previous owner of this body practiced were nothing but flowery displays.
Lu Wu-bing felt slightly more at ease.
He lowered his head and looked at the bare skin of his left shoulder. The bluish-purple palm print there seemed to have faded further, and it barely hurt anymore.
This body had only just turned sixteen. His father, Lu Changfeng, worked in the business of healing the sick and saving the dying. He was a man of lofty ambitions, and one sentence he often muttered was, "May no one in this world fall ill, even if the medicine on my shelves gathers dust."
Because of this ambition, he had named his son "Wu-bing," meaning "without illness." He had also made the family's Hall of Returning Spring flourish magnificently. Not only had he opened a medicine hall spanning several mu in Jiangzhou, the land of fish and rice, but he had also established many branches throughout the southern seven and northern sixty-three provinces. The family was truly wealthy and powerful.
With such a family fortune, Lu Wu-bing should, by all rights, have simply enjoyed the wonderful life luck had handed him.
Yet the weather could turn without warning. Six days ago, he had been attacked during an outing beyond the city and had "nearly" lost his life... which was why this transmigrator had taken over the body.
"Young Master! Young Master! Master Du and Master Lin have been found..."
A shout came from the distance.
A little girl in a green skirt and padded jacket came running over in a panic.
This was his personal maid, Feicui.
"Where?"
"They're lying in the front courtyard."
The little girl burst into tears with a wail.
Six days ago, after Lu Wu-bing had escaped back to the Lu residence following the attack, the two martial instructors guarding the estate had immediately taken several men to pursue the bandits. They had vanished without a trace.
Now that they had finally been found, things clearly looked grim.
When they reached the front courtyard, they saw two corpses laid out to one side. Their bodies were slightly bloated, while several men who looked like constables crouched beside them, examining the wounds.
"That's right. The wounds are almost identical to those on the people who died several days ago—tearing marks like jagged saw teeth. Furthermore, the bones around the wounds have softened, which matches the attack characteristics of Surging Wave Force..."
A constable's expression was grave. He shook his head, seeming to want to say something, but stopped himself.
"The Eastern Sea Sword Sect?" The normally gentle-faced Lu Changfeng was gritting his teeth. Veins bulged faintly on his forehead; he was clearly furious beyond measure.
The black-clad constable sighed. "It should be them. Gu Dongting, the Eastern Sea Sword Sect's leader, has seven most outstanding disciples, known as the Seven Swords of the Eastern Sea... The fifth among them, Lu Zhongkui, the Life-Severing Sword, uses a broad, serrated sword.
"If it were only a coincidence of weapons, it might still be an imitation crime. But someone who possesses both that weapon and Surging Wave Force can only be him."
"As expected, the bandits who robbed the medicinal herbs at Ten-Mile Slope that day and killed the escort team and guards must be connected to the Eastern Sea Sword Sect."
The black-clad constable looked troubled. After thinking for a moment, he continued, "Elder Lu, I do not know what grudge lies between your Lu family and the Eastern Sea Sword Sect, but those who come are not kind, and the kind do not come. Please make your preparations early."
These were the words of an experienced and prudent man.
Under normal circumstances, a constable would never say such things.
The grievances of the martial world were settled within the martial world.
Those martial artists came and went like shadows, and no one knew what formidable abilities they possessed. A constable was only trying to earn a living; risking his life and standing firm for someone else's affairs was hardly realistic.
If not for the Hall of Returning Spring's Lu family being kindhearted, highly regarded, and well connected in ordinary times, they would likely have handled the matter carelessly. Why would they have run back and forth over it?
"Head Constable Li, thank you for your trouble." Lu Changfeng clearly understood the man's way of doing things. He cupped his hands and said, "Please help us find the culprit. There will surely be a generous reward afterward..."
Before he could finish, a servant staggered over. "Master, something... something happened in the rear garden..."
A flash of terror crossed Lu Changfeng's eyes. The longsword in his hand was already out of its sheath. With several leaps, he rushed toward the rear garden.
Lu Wu-bing and the others hurried after him. The moment they reached the rear garden, they saw flowers and trees blooming brilliantly everywhere. In the gaps between the trees lay more than a dozen chickens and two black dogs, all clearly dead.
Besides the corpses of the chickens and dogs, more than ten servants and kitchen maids were running about in chaos, terror written across their faces.
"Meowww..."
Mao Mao, who had been following beside him, suddenly let out a shrill, mournful cry.
Lu Wu-bing's heart tightened.
From the corner of his eye, he caught a streak of cold light.
A piercing whistle came from his left, its sharp edge driving straight toward his ear.
Every hair on his body stood on end. At that instant, his body moved faster than his thoughts.
His left foot withdrew while his right hand drew the sword from its sheath.
Like wind gliding over water, like the moon hanging high in the sky.
Smooth and natural.
His sword had already pierced through the throat of the sword-wielding ambusher.
"Gurgle..."
The ambusher wore a servant's clothes, his face smeared with patches of black grime. His eyes bulged wide in disbelief, and gurgling sounds came from his mouth.
He seemed never to have imagined that the young master of the Hall of Returning Spring—reputedly useless in all things and only capable of a three-legged cat's swordsmanship—could wield such ruthless and swift swordsmanship.
"You little bastard, I underestimated you."
Within the shadows of the flowering trees, a hunched black-clad figure had risen to his full height and pounced toward Lu Changfeng on a fierce wind. Yet halfway through the charge, he twisted sharply, roared, and turned to attack Lu Wu-bing instead.
Before he even arrived, green light shimmered in the air. Layer upon layer of sword light overlapped as one slash produced three phantom images, cutting toward Lu Wu-bing's neck.
The blade's serrated teeth gleamed ominously, savage to the extreme.
Lu Wu-bing forcefully suppressed the faint discomfort of killing someone for the first time. Having only just withdrawn his sword, he felt a fierce wind rush at his face, making it hard to breathe.
He only had time to raise the hilt of his sword and block at his neck.
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