Daily Sword Practice, Abstract Mom

"The sword should be swung like this; your point of force is wrong."

"Do it again!"

Early in the morning, in the open space outside Shen Nanxun's courtyard, a six-year-old child gripped an iron sword that was half a head taller than he was, sweating profusely in the morning light.

"Wrong."

A cold, clear voice came from Shen Nanxun's shoulder. A chibi-style Qian Renxue sat cross-legged on his right shoulder, her small hands folded across her chest, her tiny wings flapping rhythmically as her round, purple eyes stared at his sword-wielding hand.

Shen Nanxun adjusted his grip and swung the sword again.

"Still wrong. The shoulder blade drives the arm, and the arm drives the wrist; the three must act as one. You are using your wrist, while your shoulder blade is dead."

He swung the sword once more.

"The waist. Your waist must turn with the sword; wherever the sword goes, the waist must follow. Did you grow nails in your waist?"

Shen Nanxun took a deep breath, suppressing the vein throbbing at his temple, and adjusted his posture once again.

The iron sword tore through the morning breeze, carving out a dull arc.

"..."

Qian Renxue was silent for a moment. "Barely acceptable. Practice again."

This had been Shen Nanxun's daily routine for the past few days.

After his injuries healed, he did not rush to attend classes; his current plan was to reach level ten before officially starting.

His current situation involved being woken up by Qian Renxue before dawn every morning, starting with half an hour of basic sword stances, followed by various advanced sword techniques—all of them ancient.

To be honest, practicing swordplay with a six-year-old body was quite a stretch. The iron sword was a lighter one specifically commissioned from a blacksmith, but it still felt heavy to Shen Nanxun. For the first two days, his arms were so sore after training that he couldn't even hold his chopsticks, and his fingers trembled while he ate. When Shen Xing saw this, she felt so distressed she nearly hid the sword, and it took a great deal of persuasion from Shen Nanxun to stop her.

Qian Renxue's training method was so strict it bordered on cold-blooded. If one stance was wrong, he did it again. If it was wrong ten times, he did it a hundred. If it was wrong a hundred times, he practiced until it was right. Sometimes, Shen Nanxun even wondered if this Angel God had forgotten that he was only a six-year-old child.

Yet, he never complained.

His adult soul made him understand better than anyone that Qian Renxue's training method was not harshness, but protection. Those evil soul masters would not show mercy just because he was only six years old.

He had to grow up as quickly as possible.

Qian Renxue landed back on his shoulder, sat cross-legged, and folded her small hands across her chest again.

"Stop."

She spoke suddenly. Shen Nanxun halted his sword stance, panting heavily, sweat dripping from his forehead. His clothes were soaked through, and even his sword-wielding hand had developed blood blisters.

"Rest for a quarter of an hour."

At the same time, she extended her small hand, and a faint, gentle golden light lit up in her palm, landing on Shen Nanxun's hand to cover the broken skin at the base of his fingers.

Warmth seeped into his skin, and the slight stinging sensation slowly dissipated like a receding tide. Although the broken skin did not heal immediately, the redness and swelling faded significantly, and the pain was reduced by more than half.

The healing power of the holy attribute. Although Qian Renxue was only in her soul spirit form and her power was far inferior to the true Angel God, she could still mobilize some of this most basic healing ability.

Shen Nanxun felt the pain in his hand subside and finally had the leisure to ask, "Sister Xue, the Angel Sword is your divine artifact, right?"

Qian Renxue did not stop her movements, nor did she look up. "Yes. The Angel Sword is the inherited divine artifact of the Angel God. Every successor to the Angel God can summon the Angel Sword after fully merging with the god position."

She paused, withdrew the healing golden light, and looked up at Shen Nanxun.

"I make you practice swordplay not just because the Angel Sword requires it. Divine artifacts have spirits; once summoned, they can naturally communicate with the user's mind. But the prerequisite for that connection is that the user's body must be worthy of the sword."

"The Angel Sword is extremely heavy. This is not reflected in its physical weight, but in the weight of its laws. The laws of light and holiness are imposed upon the blade; if a mortal body lacks a sufficiently solid foundation, they cannot even hold it. Your soul power will grow as your level increases, but your physique, your sense for the sword, and your combat instincts can only be honed through long, arduous practice."

Her purple eyes looked at Shen Nanxun earnestly, her voice cold yet every word clear.

"In the end, combat depends on yourself. A soul spirit can give you power, soul skills, and guidance based on experience. But the one who truly holds the sword will always be your own hand."

Shen Nanxun looked at the palm-sized little angel before him, was silent for a moment, and then nodded.

"I understand."

He was never someone afraid of hardship. The twenty-plus years of his previous life had taught him one thing: there are no shortcuts to any place worth going. This was especially true on the path of a soul master.

The quarter-hour rest ended quickly. Shen Nanxun picked up the iron sword again and began the monotonous but grueling practice of each stance.

"Sister Xue?"

"What is it?" Her voice was as cold as ever.

"For this stance, should I press my wrist when retracting the blade?"

Qian Renxue blinked, seemingly satisfied with his proactive questioning, and explained:

"Press. But not downward; retract it inward. Retracting the sword is like retracting a fist—keep three parts of your strength in reserve, never expend it all."

Shen Nanxun nodded, reset his posture, and continued practicing.

"Raise the tip of the sword an inch."

"Do it again."

In the empty courtyard, the sound of the iron sword cutting through the wind rang out once more. Once, twice, again and again. The morning light moved from the east wall to the west, and the shadow of the locust tree in the corner of the yard went from long to short, then from short to long.

After finishing a day of sword practice, Shen Nanxun finally had time to return to the house to eat.

As soon as he entered, he smelled the fragrance of food. By the table, a woman stood there, looking at Shen Nanxun as he entered with a gentle gaze.

Her features bore a striking resemblance to both Shen Yue and Shen Xing. She was the matriarch of the Shen family and his adoptive mother.

She appeared gentle and graceful at the moment.

In reality, that was far from the truth!

"Mom, why are you here?" Shen Nanxun asked, pleasantly surprised. He hadn't expected his perpetually busy mother to show up in North Sea City.

"I was worried about my precious son, of course." Ye Li leaned down slightly and pinched Shen Nanxun's cheeks.

"Hurry, I just finished cooking. Come and eat."

Shen Nanxun had intended to sit down at the dining table happily, but that changed the moment he saw the chicken stew, which was missing its drumsticks and feet, and the stir-fried meat, which consisted of nothing but chili peppers and scraps.

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Mom, are you sure this was just made?"

"Of course!" Ye Li replied crisply.

Shen Nanxun pointed at her face and said, "But Mom, you still have crumbs on the corner of your mouth that you didn't wipe off."

Caught red-handed, Ye Li felt not a shred of embarrassment. Instead, her face darkened instantly as she feigned anger and glared at him. She tapped her chopsticks lightly against the table and pretended to scold him, "You brat, are you questioning your mother's sincere love for you?"

Looking at the strangely shaped chicken butt, Shen Nanxun weakly suggested, "Can I not eat it?"

"No! You must eat it! If you don't, it means you don't love your mother." Ye Li crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, her attitude exceptionally firm with no room for negotiation.

Thus, Shen Nanxun was forced to pick up the chicken butt.

But just then, Ye Li raised an eyebrow again and slammed her hand on the table. "You didn't even offer the first bite to your mother."

Shen Nanxun froze, then quickly followed her lead, raising his chopsticks to bring the chicken butt toward her mouth. "Then Mom, you eat it. You have it first."

To his surprise, Ye Li dodged backward, her expression turning even fiercer. She put her hands on her hips and feigned indignation. "You actually dare to make your mother eat a chicken butt! Shen Nanxun, are you looking for a beating?"

Her mood shifted as fast as a flipping book.

Shen Nanxun: "..."

He knew his mother's maternal love usually lasted less than a short while. But then again...

An eccentric mother made for a happy home, after all.