The National Preceptor's Residence.
Before the bamboo house.
Jiang Ning held a longsword, its blade trembling faintly in his hand.
He could feel that the sword in his hand seemed alive.
Su Qingying's bonded sword! he thought.
The next moment, he gripped the hilt and raised his arm. Sword light suddenly poured forth like moonlight.
He delivered the most ordinary of moves-a thrust.
Yet wherever the blade passed, the air remained undisturbed, while the light abruptly flickered.
Within roughly ten feet of him, everything suddenly seemed to plunge into a cold night. Yet three inches before the sword's point, a searing speck of white light appeared, like sunlight bursting forth.
Light and darkness alternated without a sound. Not even the faintest whistle of displaced air came from the sword's tip.
This strike seemed to have brought speed and momentum into perfect balance, the circulation of yin and yang leaving barely perceptible traces upon the blade.
Watching this, Su Qingying's eyes brightened slightly.
With her discernment, she naturally recognized that this strike had gone beyond mere swordsmanship.
It was mastery over yin and yang and space, an interpretation of the way of the sword.
Is his primordial spirit about to form? she murmured inwardly.
Hum-
At that moment, the blade trembled faintly, giving off a subtle resonance.
Jiang Ning withdrew the sword and stood still, lowering his head to examine the blade.
The moment he had taken it in hand, he had sensed its peerless sharpness and indestructible strength.
Now, after delivering a single thrust, he felt his thoughts resonate with the sword. Holding it, he was naturally in harmony with the way of the sword.
"A fine sword." He held it horizontally before him and praised it sincerely. "Does it have a name?"
Su Qingying stood upon the bamboo steps,