The Daoist stepped into the courtyard, his cloth boots treading softly on the fresh snow.
As his sword rose, scattered snowflakes whirled into a vortex in the flowing air, circling with the three-foot blade. His movements were slower and weightier now. He turned, and snow dust billowed wherever his blue robe swept past, clearing a perfect circle several feet around him and exposing the stone paving below.
Black Snake remained expressionless.
In truth, he simply had no way to show his astonishment.
He swung the Azure Sword in his hand, imagining himself sweeping the snow off the rock, only to nearly fall off it.
I have to learn this! I absolutely have to!
The Daoist sheathed his sword and returned indoors, while Black Snake kept practicing intently, making an utter mess of the movements.
Throughout the winter, the snow on the rock thickened and thinned again.
Azure Sword in hand, Black Snake plagiarized sword techniques in the bitter wind. From his initial puppet-like stiffness, he had progressed to wild flailing, acquiring the air of someone who scorned all rules and forms-and feeling rather pleased with himself.
Thunder rumbled through the depths of the clouds, and the frozen ground softened.
Inside the cave, Black Snake, who perhaps could no longer even be called a snake, raised his eyelids. His nictitating membranes slid forward to reveal vertical pupils, and he lifted his enormous head slightly.
Then he lowered it and went back to sleep.
Drowsy and dazed, with no idea how many days had passed, he flicked his tongue and slowly slithered out of the cave.
The snow outside had melted.
Moisture lingered beneath the fallen leaves, and tiny winter aconites swayed in the wind. He raised his head, his vertical pupils gazing blankly toward the hillside, where an apricot tree was