What Was It Like to Become a Blade?

Once upon a time, Du Chengfeng had loved reading fantasy novels.

Within those wild flights of fancy, he could watch protagonists become dragons, cats, pandas, or all manner of strange and curious things. The feeling of seeing the world from another perspective had once fascinated Du Chengfeng deeply.

So, what was it like to become a blade?

Du Chengfeng had never considered that question, but now he had no spare strength left for any thought at all.

What came first was round after round of forging. A massive hammer crashed down upon him again and again, shattering his outer shell and stripping away layer after layer of slag. Immense force tore apart his flesh and twisted his bones, before brutally pounding those things back together into something firmer and harder.

The searing pain sank into his marrow and nailed itself into his soul, leaving Du Chengfeng unable to breathe.

Could a blade breathe?

It truly could, because after enduring the hammering, he was thrown back into the furnace once more.

The blazing fire scorched him, a torment even worse than a thousand hammer blows. Du Chengfeng felt his entire body melting and warping. Yet just when he thought it was all about to end, he was taken from the furnace and plunged into cold water.

The icy water soothed Du Chengfeng's nerves, but the bone-boring pain never ceased. In only moments, his body had become even harder, as solid as stone.

Then came polishing, again and again.

By then, Du Chengfeng had gone numb. He let fragments of flesh fall from his body, and beneath the grinding of stone, his form began to grow smooth. A sharp edge had even emerged upon his face.

Only then had he truly become a blade—a blade capable of cutting things apart.

The blade measured two feet three inches, while the hilt was a full foot eight inches. Its body was thick and heavy, its edge keen and sharp. Anyone who saw it would have said it was a fierce two-handed war blade—if it had one flaw, it was that the blade was too heavy, with its center of gravity set far too forward.

But Du Chengfeng, now transformed into a blade, would never admit that this was a flaw. If someone could not wield it, that only meant the wielder was inadequate. It had absolutely nothing to do with him.

So in an age of such low productivity, a two-handed war blade like him had to be worth a fortune, right?

"Two hundred coins. Take it."

"Alrighty, take the blade."

Even after the burly fat man carried him all the way home, Du Chengfeng could not believe that such a fierce two-handed war blade as himself was worth only two hundred coins.

What kind of joke was this? That small courtyard in Yang Family Fort had cost him five hundred coins, and that was only because Carpenter Li had been kind-hearted enough to lend a hand to an outsider and refugee like him. Yet a fine blade like him, tempered through countless hammer blows, had sold for only two hundred coins?

"The iron is poor. In the end, it's only for show... but it'll do."

The burly fat man gave the blade that appraisal, making Du Chengfeng itch to give the idiot a slash.

Yet this fat man surnamed Yang was no fool. On the contrary, he was a clever fellow. As the town butcher, he had always made his living slaughtering pigs. However, although Fatty Yang was a skilled butcher, he was an outsider after all. Unlike the local butchers, he had no channel for purchasing live pigs himself, so he could not slaughter pigs while running his own butcher shop. Having only recently arrived and possessing no connections, Fatty Yang could only wait for someone in a nearby village to slaughter a pig, then go over to lend a hand and earn a few hard-won coins.

As the old saying went, even fragrant wine feared a deep alley. Fatty Yang knew his skills were good, but when it came to slaughtering pigs, everyone tied the pig up, cut into its neck, and thrust a blade into its heart. Any experienced butcher could do that much. Why should people hire him?

So after much deliberation, the burly fat man spent two hundred coins to have a blacksmith forge him a cheap, extravagantly shaped greatsword.

From then on, the burly fat man's story changed. He claimed to be the descendant of some renowned butcher. As for what made that butcher so renowned, naturally, others slaughtered pigs by tying them down and bleeding them, while he simply cut off their heads.

At first, people treated Fatty Yang's claim as a joke. Anyone who had eaten pork knew that pigs had to be bled when slaughtered. Taking a greatsword to chop off a pig's head was rather showy and attention-seeking. Still, while mocking him, some people found his claim amusing and specifically hired him over just to watch the spectacle.

That was exactly what Fatty Yang wanted.

The blade rose and fell, and a pig's head as large as a bucket was split off in a single stroke. The sheer clean decisiveness of it stunned even Du Chengfeng, who was the greatsword itself.

The people who had gathered to watch the slaughter had never seen anything like it. Fatty Yang became unforgettable overnight. Before long, all of Ji Town knew that a descendant of a famous butcher had arrived in town, with his own method for slaughtering pigs. There were even rumors that pigs slaughtered by Fatty Yang differed from those killed by others—not only was their meat several degrees fattier and more tender, eating it would even give one several extra degrees of strength.

After gaining that reputation, more and more people came to Fatty Yang to slaughter their pigs. Before long, he had accumulated a considerable sum of money, even starting his own pig farm and butcher shop. His life was plainly getting better and better.

This made Du Chengfeng secretly admire him. After all, his own circumstances were somewhat similar to Fatty Yang's. They had both begun as rootless, wandering refugees, yet Fatty Yang had turned the whole situation around with just two hundred coins. Speaking honestly, if it had been Du Chengfeng, he might not have been able to act with such quick wits, much less possess such a flexible mind.

Yet beyond his admiration, what Du Chengfeng experienced most was still pig slaughtering. This was another reason he found Fatty Yang impressive.

As the blade in his hand, Du Chengfeng personally experienced every one of Fatty Yang's pig slaughters. Though Fatty Yang's sword-wielding posture was rather exaggerated, Du Chengfeng, as the greatsword, could sense that Fatty Yang's methods were not without order.

Every time he slaughtered a pig, the edge would easily cut through its neck. The keen blade slid along the gaps between bones, then the thick body of the sword forced the wound apart and widened it, causing the pig's head to fall before the blade. Even when Fatty Yang was not in good form and failed to find the bone seams precisely, this forward-balanced greatsword could still cleave through the pig's neck bones with its tremendous weight, allowing Fatty Yang to complete his performance.

In a sense, Fatty Yang had not been boasting at all. At least when it came to slaughtering pigs, he truly had his own set of methods.

And Du Chengfeng, as the blade in his hand, naturally learned that technique amid the blade's endless rises and falls.

They said that in ancient times, Butcher Ding had carved up oxen, and practice made perfect. Du Chengfeng simply named this technique Butcher Ding's Pig Slaughtering, which happened to match the identity Fatty Yang had bragged about.

However, after becoming a famous butcher known far and wide, Fatty Yang personally slaughtered pigs less and less often. Most of the time, he had the butchers he employed do the work. Apart from occasions where he needed to show off his skills, Fatty Yang preferred staying home with his wife and children.

Clearly, like Du Chengfeng, Fatty Yang was not someone with lofty ambitions. So long as he had no worries over food and drink, a place to live, and family by his side, that was already the best life Fatty Yang could ask for.

But good times did not last.

No one knew who had spread the gossip, but Fatty Yang's skill reached the ears of the Governor of Jizhou. The Governor of Jizhou was a man fond of such diversions, and specifically sent for Fatty Yang, ordering him to slaughter a pig for him to see. Though Fatty Yang rarely slaughtered pigs anymore, he could not refuse an invitation from the Governor of Jizhou. He could only bring his blade over, intending to kill the pig, exchange a few polite words, and hurry home.

But who would have thought that, this one time, his blade failed to kill the pig?

Du Chengfeng, as the greatsword, felt it most clearly. Fatty Yang raised and brought down the blade just as usual, yet the greatsword failed to enter the gap between the bones and instead lodged against the hard neck bone—this was not because Fatty Yang's skill had declined. Rather, the position of this pig's neck bones had been different from that of other pigs from the very beginning. In other words, there was something wrong with this pig.

Fatty Yang, holding the blade, had clearly realized it as well. But by then, it was too late to say anything. The live pig, wracked by pain, had broken free of its ropes and bolted wildly, throwing the entire governor's residence into chaos. The Governor of Jizhou himself was even knocked to the ground by the pig.

That very night, Fatty Yang was thrown into prison on the charge of "attempted assassination." The wealth he had amassed through years of toil was divided up completely, his wife and children were all driven to their deaths, and Du Chengfeng, as the greatsword, was sealed away in the storeroom as evidence.

Clearly, the invitation itself had been a trap. Only rival butchers whose business had been stolen could have known to tamper with the pig that was to be beheaded. Yet apart from Fatty Yang himself, only Du Chengfeng, as the greatsword, could have realized this.

What was it like to be a blade?

When he had first been forged, Du Chengfeng might have answered: pain. After the years of slaughtering pigs, what he felt more than anything was sharpness. But now, sealed away in the storeroom, he came to understand that perhaps what a blade felt most was loneliness.

No one came to clean the old storeroom. As a greatsword, Du Chengfeng could hardly grow arms and legs. He could only lie upon the rack, watching cold moons and warm suns take turns falling over his body. Occasionally, sparrows landed upon the window lattice. Those were perhaps his happiest moments. Even their noisy chirping made Du Chengfeng feel lighter. But most of the time, the storeroom was silent. No one came, and no one spared him a glance.

With nothing better to do, Du Chengfeng could only study Fatty Yang's Butcher Ding's Pig Slaughtering. Though he currently had neither hands nor feet, he could still think endlessly in his mind, endlessly simulating that single stroke.

Fortunately, those days did not last too long. Just as Du Chengfeng had spent day and night killing tens of thousands of pigs in his mind, the storeroom door opened.

To Du Chengfeng's surprise, the one who pushed open the door was Fatty Yang. Yet Fatty Yang no longer wore his former genial expression. His vicious bearing was like that of an evil ghost descending into the world.

"Blade... my blade..."

Muttering to himself, Fatty Yang gripped the hilt.

This time, the greatsword did not slaughter pigs. It slaughtered people. Fatty Yang, crazed as a demon, cut down everyone in the governor's residence one by one, killing them all cleanly.

In a sense, this was also Du Chengfeng's first time killing people.

If he had still been human, perhaps he would have felt sympathy for those of his own kind, perhaps he would have been unable to bear it. But now he was a blade, a sharp blade. He suddenly realized that he instinctively craved blood. Or rather, that feeling of passing and wandering through flesh and blood was a blade's greatest purpose, its most glorious moment. In the instant he pierced through flesh, Du Chengfeng had never felt such exhilaration.

Fatty Yang craved slaughter, and so did he. At that moment, the two of them nearly became one, nearly slaughtering everything before them.

Until a huge hand seized the blade.

Though it was bare-handed, that hand was not harmed in the slightest by the sharp edge.

"Yang Huchi! Would you kill even me?!"

The man who shouted those words possessed an extraordinarily towering body. He was the tallest man Du Chengfeng had seen in both his lives. That massive body, over a zhang tall, stood with the sunlight at its back and cast a vast shadow. Even Fatty Yang's thick, sturdy figure was now completely enveloped within it.

Then, Du Chengfeng vaguely sensed something dispersing from his body—or rather, from the blade itself.

Only then did Du Chengfeng realize how absurd his thoughts had been just moments ago. As someone who had always kept the peace, he had never fought with the world, wanting only to live his own life well. Yet just now, he had become fiercer and more vicious than any murderous fiend.

"Sha Qi has entered your body. You've killed too many people."

The extraordinarily tall man casually pushed the blade aside.

And Fatty Yang, his senses restored, went weak at the knees and collapsed to the ground.

"Thank you, my lord, for grinding the blade and saving my life!"

...Grinding the blade?

Du Chengfeng suddenly felt that something was off. If he remembered correctly, a long time ago—or rather, before he had met Fatty Yang—someone had also sought him out to grind a blade. Back then, he had thought it was easy work with little risk. But now that he thought about it... there was clearly much more to it.

Later, Du Chengfeng learned that there truly was much more to it. As the saying went, when one carried a sharp blade, the urge to kill arose of itself. The more killings a weapon had seen, the more inconceivable power it possessed when wielded. Like Fatty Yang, who had just slaughtered the entire governor's residence by himself, he had relied on that savage Sha Qi that only grew bolder with battle.

But a blade could harm others, and it could harm its wielder as well. Using such power naturally came at a price. In mild cases, Sha Qi would invade the mind, driving one mad on the spot, no different from death. In severe cases, one would become like Fatty Yang had been just now: Sha Qi entering the body, reason lost, utterly transformed into a murderous demon that knew only killing and bloodshed.

Only a few people of great will and great courage could remain untouched by Sha Qi, even turning the tables to grind and cleanse the blade, dispersing its Sha Qi.

And the lord Fatty Yang spoke of was precisely such a person.

Carried at Fatty Yang's side as his weapon, Du Chengfeng gradually learned that this man was now the leader of the strongest rebel army under heaven. He was also the Founding Emperor of Great Chen, the man who had personally ended the previous Great Yu dynasty. As they fought across the land at his side, Fatty Yang wielded this greatsword and slaughtered countless beings—though, of course, they were all pigs. After that slaughter at the governor's residence, with his great vengeance fulfilled, Fatty Yang remained shaken by the experience and no longer killed people. Instead, he returned to his old trade and began handling provisions and meals for the rebel army.

After the founding emperor of Chen established the dynasty, Fatty Yang, who had never possessed great ambition, wisely chose to withdraw while the current was still swift. He decisively removed himself from the undercurrents of the imperial court, took his second wife and newborn son back to Ji Town, and peacefully lived as a wealthy man, carrying the Yang clan onward through the generations.

Of course, as the Yang clan continued, Du Chengfeng, as the greatsword, was used more than once. But those who wielded him were no longer Fatty Yang, who had long since died of old age, but Fatty Yang's descendants. Some wished to experience their ancestor's glory, while others sought to protect their kin. Fortunately, these descendants all understood the dangers of Sha Qi entering the body. Therefore, whenever the Sha Qi coiling around Du Chengfeng was about to affect their reason, a grinding craftsman would cleanse it away.

After being ground so many times, Du Chengfeng learned some of the grinding craftsmen's methods as well. Yet he was more curious about how those craftsmen managed to remain unaffected by Sha Qi. In his eyes, those grinding craftsmen fell far short of possessing great will or great courage, yet they could still grind the blade efficiently, even scrubbing away every trace of Sha Qi.

Perhaps he should find a chance to learn more about it. After all, he now understood that if he wanted to live an ordinary life, settle down, and work in peace, he needed strength to protect it. And power beyond imagination like weapon-born Sha Qi was clearly something that had to be taken into consideration...

Wait, he was obviously a blade. Why was he talking about settling down and working in peace?

"Who am I, exactly?"

Du Chengfeng suddenly felt lost. He was supposed to be a blade. From the moment he came from the furnace, to falling into Fatty Yang's hands, then being passed down through the Yang clan... wait, was he really a blade? Or rather, if he truly was a blade, why did he possess consciousness?

"Am I human? Or a blade?"

As time passed, the tearing within Du Chengfeng's mind became more and more violent. He clearly remembered that he should be a blade. He had existed as a blade for who knew how long. Yet he also always felt he should be human. After all, a blade could not possibly possess a human's consciousness, much less have its own thoughts and intentions like a person.

But with each successive use, Du Chengfeng found it harder and harder to distinguish what he truly was, what sort of thing he truly was.

Until he was raised once again.

The wielder was a strong, sturdy descendant of the Yang clan, broad of build and bearing a resemblance to Fatty Yang. Faced with mounted Hu light cavalry carrying sabers, this younger version of Fatty Yang showed no fear. His greatsword came crashing down from above, chopping those Hu riders down one after another. He even severed their horses' heads alongside them!

That Yang clansman had the time of his life killing, but Du Chengfeng suffered for it. His consciousness had already been torn into hazy confusion, and now he was tainted with the savage Sha Qi of slaughtering nearly a hundred Hu riders in succession. The thirst for blood returned to his heart once more. At that moment, he completely regarded himself as a bloodthirsty mad blade!

"Kill!"

At that moment, Du Chengfeng's heart contained only slaughter. Only more blood and corpses could satisfy him. He desperately longed to tear open those fragile bodies, for that was a blade's mission.

But just as he was about to raise himself, just as he was about to slaughter in all directions, an even firmer will surged forth from within his mind.

Do I really want this? Is this really me? Or is what I want truly no more than this?

In his dazed state, he even vaguely saw Fatty Yang's figure.

Though he had once harbored resentment toward that fool for believing he was worth only two hundred coins, at least at this moment, as he remembered that figure, he vaguely saw his own shadow upon it.

That was the wish he had always held, the thing he considered most important.

All I want is to settle down and work in peace, to live an ordinary life.

Clenching both fists, Du Chengfeng finally opened his eyes.

At the very instant his consciousness was about to be completely destroyed, he finally recovered his true self.

He was not a blade.

He was human.

New author, new book. Please bookmark and recommend it. Thank you, everyone.