One Qi Faces the Sun

"Just now... just now?"

Jiang Yang looked at the hand holding his sword, savoring the sensation he had just experienced.

That feeling of unrestrained, exhilarating freedom lingered with him. It seemed this was how a sword ought to be swung.

"Just now, I let you experience what the realm of sword qi truly feels like..."

Ever since Jiang Yang had taken hold of the sword, Bai Tang's voice had begun sounding directly in his heart.

"You merely swung a little sword light to cut grass stems and fallen leaves, and dared call it sword qi? Wouldn't people laugh their teeth out if they heard?"

At the mention of swords, Bai Tang seemed to grow considerably livelier, her voice gaining inflection.

Jiang Yang now understood where that first derisive laugh had come from, and his face flushed faintly.

He knew nothing about the Sword Dao. Having only just started, with nothing to compare himself against, he had inevitably grown a little smug. Now that Bai Tang had exposed him, he felt deeply embarrassed.

Fortunately, Jiang Yang had a cheerful disposition and soon brushed it aside, hurriedly saying:

"So this is the realm of sword qi. Senior Bai Tang, please teach me."

Of all the times he had addressed her as Senior Bai Tang, this was the most sincere and eager, with none of his earlier wariness remaining.

The reason was simple: after experiencing that fleeting moment of freely wielding sword qi, Jiang Yang could not help yearning for the Sword Dao as never before. And that had only been a casual swing.

No wonder everyone envies sword cultivators. Does a class whose basic attacks hit like ultimate skills really exist?

Jiang Yang's mind raced as he muttered inwardly.

Sword cultivators cast aside external possessions, spells and Spirit Artifacts, defense, and even life and death, devoting themselves to a single sword. In exchange, they gained offensive power honed to the utmost sharpness, forging the glory of the Sword Dao.

Reality had no notion of balance. Sword cultivators were simply that unreasonable.

"Very well."

A sword spirit's duty was to assist its master, so naturally Bai Tang readily agreed to Jiang Yang's plea.

Without delay, Bai Tang instructed him:

"Form the seal, ready your sword, thrust!"

Jiang Yang hastened to obey, recalling the earlier sensation as he thrust his sword.

This time, the sword tip did produce an explosive crack, but the sword light he released was scattered and insubstantial. It dissipated in midair only a few inches from the blade and could hardly be called sword qi.

Jiang Yang immediately felt terribly frustrated, as though he had tried to paint a tiger and ended up with a cat. He hurriedly circulated his qi and thrust again.

But he was too impatient this time, and his magical power failed to keep up. The result was even worse: a faint glow merely appeared on the sword, and he released nothing at all.

"Focus the mind and still the qi. That is a sword cultivator's first principle."

"Calm yourself. Withdraw your sword. Regulate your breathing."

Bai Tang's cold, sharp voice extinguished Jiang Yang's agitation. He followed her instructions one by one, then slowly brought the chaotic magical power within him under control.

Once Jiang Yang's breathing had steadied, she spoke again:

"Recite your sword art silently for me."

Her mind was empty of sword arts; only her experience and instincts in the Sword Dao remained. Thus, she too needed a sword art to guide her teaching.

At her words, Jiang Yang immediately recited the Cave-Origin One-Qi Sword Art once in his mind.

"Passable."

Bai Tang heard it only once and grasped it completely in an instant. In her eyes, a Third Grade sword art merited no more than a single "passable."

"Guide your qi through the twelvefold tower, past Taiyin and the triple burner, turn it through Yangming and release it. Swing!"

As he listened, Jiang Yang concentrated fully on directing his magical power through his body. At Bai Tang's command, he swung his sword.

"Humm..."

Blazing white sword qi swept forth like a taut bowstring, shooting away the instant it left the blade. Having learned from before, Jiang Yang adjusted his angle at the last moment and aimed into empty space rather than ravaging the mountainside again.

He feared he would summon a sect steward before he ever mastered sword qi.

Bai Tang offered her assessment:

"This is One Qi Faces the Sun. Its might blazes brilliantly, its sword qi spreads wide like a drawn bow. Remember this feeling. From here on, I will no longer guide you. Wield the sword yourself."

She truly was a spirit of the sword. After hearing the art only once, she had taught Jiang Yang to execute this strike.

Without sword qi, this would have been a close-range beheading strike. Now, it had become sword qi sweeping through the air, ready to slice flesh and sever heads.

Jiang Yang said nothing, merely nodding to himself.

Being able to experience firsthand how to wield sword qi already amounted to cheating. That advantage alone was countless times better than burying himself in grueling practice day after day like others.

Yet without Bai Tang's assistance, Jiang Yang still struggled to find that precise feeling. Each swing of his blade produced worse results than the last.

Bai Tang watched, speaking when the moment was right:

"Do not be impatient. Reaching the realm of sword qi certainly requires insight, but it is by no means the work of a single day."

"Yes."

Jiang Yang pressed his lips together, his gaze resolute, and earnestly repeated the sword move over and over, striving to find that spark of inspiration.

An unknown length of time passed. The moon rose above the branches, spilling its clear radiance over the ground.

Jiang Yang leaned on his sword, breathing heavily. His magical power was exhausted, and his aching, weakened arms could scarcely lift the blade.

His magical power had not merely fallen below the danger line; it had long since been squeezed dry. His sea of qi was empty, unable to muster even a trace of spiritual energy, yet Bai Tang offered no comment and simply kept ordering him to swing.

Jiang Yang had never felt so exhausted. He waved a hand, his lips moving as he said:

"I... I can't go on. I have no magical power left."

Bai Tang showed not the slightest pity upon hearing this, answering in the same cold, unyielding tone:

"No. You still have some. Swing once more."

Half of Jiang Yang's body rested against the sword hilt. He swayed, seemingly about to collapse at any moment.

Sweat trickled down his temples, his damp hair clinging to his neck. As Jiang Yang panted and struggled to blink, the cool mountain breeze brought him spiritual energy.

His parched sea of qi seemed to have encountered life-giving rain, greedily and frantically drawing in wisps of spiritual qi.

Like a sponge at the bottom of a bowl, which would always yield some water if pressed and squeezed, it finally produced a few more threads of magical power under Jiang Yang's relentless pressure.

And so Jiang Yang mustered all his strength for one final swing.

Clang!

After that strike, Jiang Yang could no longer hold himself up. His hand loosened, the sword fell, and he collapsed heavily to the ground.

A tiny streak of bright white sword qi flashed through the night sky, but no one remained to witness it.

The youth lay facedown on the ground, while the fallen spirit sword suddenly stood upright on its own.

"Shing!"

A soft sword chime rang out, and a figure appeared.

She stood with the tips of her toes upon the sword hilt, her raven-black hair loosely pinned up with a plain silver hairpin. A few stray locks brushed her cheek in the wind, setting off features as clear and cold as a sword's edge tempered in frost and snow. The fine lines at the corners of her eyes resembled faint shadows of pine branches beneath the moon. Rather than making her look old, they lent her white-jade face a measure of composure tempered by the years.

A moon-white, wide-sleeved robe patterned with flowing clouds wrapped her perfectly proportioned figure. Her slender waist could have been encircled by a single hand, accentuating the fullness of the twin peaks above it. A faint sword intent emanated from her as she stood tall and still as a sculpture—gentle as spring water reflecting flowers, yet fierce enough to split stone and cleave metal.

Most awe-inspiring were her eyes. As her gaze shifted, they seemed like rippling autumn waters, yet a closer look revealed two points of sword ray condensed deep within her pupils. It was as though a thousand streams of murderous intent lay concealed within those shimmering depths, waiting for the sword to leave its sheath and become a fleeting, breathtaking flash that could cleave all things.

Judging by her appearance, she was a graceful, beautiful mature woman whose bearing had only grown more refined under the passage of years. Yet the fierce aura radiating from her made others shrink back.

Draped in moonlight, Bai Tang gazed blankly at the heavens, her expression distant, her thoughts unknowable.

After a long while, she stepped down to the ground, crouched, and gently gathered the sleeping youth into her arms. Turning, she walked step by step into the Cave Abode.

Light spilled through the window lattice onto Jiang Yang's profile. Bai Tang sat sideways at the edge of the bed and reached out to smooth his disheveled hair.

Time seemed to stand still. Gazing at the youth's peaceful face, Bai Tang raised her hand and beckoned.

With a ringing clang, the spirit sword standing outside the Cave Abode flew to Jiang Yang's side. Bai Tang placed her palm upon its hilt, then vanished in a single flicker.