"Nine Peaks Saber"

The next morning.

A thin veil of morning mist still shrouded the Yi Family's little courtyard. Yi Yang was alone outside; he had risen very early that day.

Time waited for no one. With no telling when Yang Da would return, Yi Yang had to seize the chance to grow stronger.

He sat beneath the eaves in an old short jacket, the thin booklet he had taken from Wang Yue spread across his knees.

"Nine Peaks Saber."

Yi Yang opened the first page and immediately saw a warning.

The saber rises through nine peaks; when the peaks end, life ends.

Leave your enemy a thread of life, and it will turn back to devour you.

Yi Yang's finger rested on those two lines for a long while without turning the page. He guessed the warning meant that once the saber was drawn, someone had to die.

"Right up this old man's alley."

Muttering softly, Yi Yang read on.

The more he read, the more he realized that the Nine Peaks Saber was no simple technique.

It was nothing like the crude chops, cleaves, rising cuts, and blocks taught in ordinary martial schools.

This saber technique revolved around nine peaks.

The first peak was weight. The saber's momentum crushed the enemy like a mountain sprawled across their path, forcing them back until there was nowhere left to retreat.

The second peak was peril. The saber took an unorthodox path, its strike like a cliff suspended over empty air. Half a step wrong, and the enemy would be shattered to pieces.

The third peak was sharpness. The saber tip darted in and out, targeting vital points such as the throat, wrist bones, and the backs of the knees.

After those came surprise, layering, severance, return, concealment, and annihilation.

The nine peaks flowed into one another. The saber's course was not a straight line, but an entire mountain range.

It looked slow, yet every step pressed closer to death.

It looked heavy, yet at the most perilous point, it could twist into a vicious change.

It was no wonder Wang Yue had used this technique to turn the tables and kill Li Shun.

Li Shun's Nine Evil Saber Technique was already cunning enough, but the Nine Peaks Saber hid its tricks even deeper. It was a genuine superior martial art.

Yi Yang read more and more slowly, running each passage's saber movements through his mind.

He had chopped firewood for decades.

In his hands, a woodcutting blade had long since ceased to be a mere farm tool.

When to use his wrist, when to use his shoulder, when to draw power from his waist and abdomen-he did not need to think about any of it.

He cut wet branches in spring, split hardwood in summer, and chopped frozen firewood in winter.

Wood could not speak, yet nothing taught a man better how to spare his strength.

Strike off course, and the blade stuck.

Use brute force, and the shock numbed his hand.

Find the grain, and with one stroke, the wood would part on its own.

Only now, reading the Nine Peaks Saber, did Yi Yang realize that killing people and splitting firewood were not so different in certain respects.

People had their grain, too.

Joints, muscles, breathing, escape routes.

Let the blade fall in the right place, and it saved strength.

Let it fall in the wrong place, and no matter how fiercely he chopped, he would only make trouble for himself.

Yi Yang closed the booklet and rubbed his eyes, tired from reading.

He tucked the booklet into his jacket, picked up his old woodcutting blade, and walked to the courtyard's most secluded corner.

It faced away from the courtyard gate, with a stretch of weeds beyond the wall, and Jiang Yuexin could not see it from her room.

Yi Yang took his stance, planted his feet firmly, and drew his waist and abdomen in slightly.

The woodcutting blade lay across his body. It was still the same old blade, its spine polished bright with wear and its edge uneven.

Yet in Yi Yang's hand, it no longer looked shabby.

It looked more like an old companion that had stayed with its master for decades.

He began with the first peak's opening movement, following the booklet.

The weighty peak.

The blade rose from below, then pressed down.

It looked clumsy.

But as it fell, the strength of his entire arm surged into the edge.

Whoosh.

The blade's wind brushed past the grass. A weed by the wall lost its upper half, the cut perfectly clean.

Yi Yang raised his eyelids slightly.

"Interesting."

The second form.

The perilous peak.

He stepped diagonally forward, sweeping the blade around from his side. It should clearly have struck the shoulder, yet in the final half-foot, it changed direction and headed for the waist and abdomen.

If an enemy guarded only their upper body, their belly would be opened up.

The third form.

The sharp peak.

The blade tip thrust out.

Fast, short, vicious.

The more Yi Yang practiced, the smoother his movements became. Decades of woodcutting experience were all brought to bear in that moment.

Shoulder, elbow, wrist, fingers-not one movement was stiff.

The woodcutting blade wheeled and turned in his hand like a mountain trail winding around the peaks. One step still lay beneath his feet; the next brought him to the cliff's edge.

His movements were not graceful. After all, he still looked like an old man.

His back was not as straight as a youth's, nor were his steps as light and nimble as a young martial artist's.

But the viciousness behind them was terrifyingly solid.

Once the blade moved, nothing was wasted.

If he could cut the neck, he would never cut the shoulder.

If he could sever a leg, he would never merely slash clothing.

If one stroke could finish things, he would never waste even half a flourish.

The saber's momentum grew faster and faster.

At first, Yi Yang could still restrain it. Later, he could no longer hold it back.

This was what made the Nine Peaks Saber so sinister.

It was not a technique meant for practicing poses.

It drove its wielder forward.

One peak bore down on the next; one stroke spurred on another.

Unless the earlier strokes drew blood, the later ones could not stop.

Yi Yang lowered his brows, turned the blade, and cleaved straight at the remnant of an ironwood stump in the corner.

Crack.

The ironwood split.

Not enough.

The saber's momentum kept driving him.

Yi Yang stepped forward again. His second stroke cut diagonally, his third swept horizontally, and his fourth rose from below.

Wood chips flew wildly as he hacked at the ironwood stump.

Only when the ninth stroke fell, cutting the entire piece of hardwood into seven or eight chunks that scattered across the ground, did the momentum finally dissipate.

Yi Yang's chest heaved, and his arm ached.

Small words appeared before his eyes.

[An old steed rests in its stall, yet its ambition still spans a thousand miles]

[Nine Peaks Saber, beginner: (60/3000)]

He had done it.

Yi Yang stared at that line for a long while without looking away.

Sixty points in one run.

Yi Yang realized how terrifying this Heavenly Mandate was. Even with his foundation in woodcutting, mastering the basics of a superior martial art like this after a single run was entirely thanks to the Heavenly Mandate.

If anyone learned that he faced no aptitude requirements or bottlenecks, and that one run of practice counted for sixty, not just Yunlin County but every sect and great family in Qing Province would go mad.

Yi Yang had lived long enough to understand one iron law.

Revealing a treasure while weak was no different from washing yourself clean and delivering yourself to the stove.

Only when strong could showing your edge be called deterrence.

Right now, he was still far from strong enough.

After practicing once, Yi Yang felt that this saber technique consumed far more energy than the Wood-Nurturing Longevity Art.

Yi Yang braced himself against the wall and took a few breaths to recover.

"Without drawing blood, it's hard to stop the blade."

He lowered his gaze to the woodcutting blade.

"No wonder it's called a superior art of slaughter."

After resting for a while, Yi Yang practiced again.

A second run.

A third.

The blade's gleam flashed again and again in the secluded courtyard.

The wind stirred the leaves of the old locust tree, making them rustle softly.

The broken wood in the corner piled higher and higher.

Four hours later, Yi Yang finally could not keep going.

The woodcutting blade slipped from his hand and fell to the ground.

He collapsed onto his back in the courtyard, his chest heaving violently. Sweat soaked his clothes, and he looked as though he had just been hauled out of a stream.

The panel displayed his progress: [Nine Peaks Saber, beginner: (300/3000)]

Qi-blood second level, Muscle Training Realm.

In Three Trees Village, that was already enough to swagger around unchallenged.

Yet even so, he could not sustain the Nine Peaks Saber for long. He could only practice it about five times.

"Brutal."

Yi Yang stared up at the locust leaves overhead and cursed between gasps.

"Truly brutal."

But after cursing, he let out a quiet chuckle.

It was already like this when he had only just begun.

Once he mastered it, who at the same level would dare fight him blade to blade at close range?

Once his blade came out, nine peaks would bear down.

Even if they survived, they would lose a layer of skin.

At noon.

Familiar footsteps sounded outside the courtyard gate, hurried and bustling, as though a dog were chasing close behind.

"Uncle Yi! Yuexin! I'm here!"

Yang Hui pushed the gate open, carrying a cleaned pheasant.

Its feathers had been plucked clean and its innards removed. Clearly, she had already prepared it on the way.

"Bought it from Zhou Liang this morning."

Yang Hui set the pheasant down in the kitchen and lowered her voice a little, though she could not suppress her vigor.

"Uncle Yi came back from the mountain with his life by a thread. He needs to build his strength back up. Don't stand on ceremony with me."

Jiang Yuexin came out of her room. The pheasant looked tempting, but she still asked sheepishly, "Aunt Yang, this must have cost quite a bit, right?"

"Enough nonsense."

Yang Hui rolled up her sleeves. "You can earn money again after spending it, but where do you find someone once they're gone? Your grandfather managed to bring those old bones back alive. Never mind a pheasant-even stewing a goose wouldn't be too much."

Yi Yang reclined in his wicker chair, still wearing a sickly expression.

"Yang Hui, if you keep being this generous, I'm afraid your cooking pot will start crying."

Yang Hui glared at him. "I don't know whether my pot will cry, but keep cracking jokes and you'll get nothing but the dregs of the chicken soup."

Amused, Jiang Yuexin pressed her lips together in a faint smile and turned to light the fire.

Before long, the fragrance of chicken soup filled the little courtyard.

The three sat around the table.

Yang Hui shoveled rice into her mouth while pouring out the village news.

"Let me tell you what happened yesterday. Last night, the village chief sent two quick-footed young men to the county town with the news."

She lowered her voice, her eyes shining.

"First, Yang Er died. That fat worm was slumped in his own chair, with a cut across his neck and a Black Iron Token carved with a ghost face lying beside him. The village chief said some evil cult might have done it. He stammered through the whole explanation, though. Probably just a half-full bottle sloshing about."

Yang Hui took a bite of chicken and snorted again.

"The other thing is that Wang Yue and his men never came back after going up the mountain to kill the snake. The village chief's scared. His hands shook so badly he had to write the letter three times. He's afraid Yang Da will go mad, and afraid the county authorities will hold him responsible."

She tapped her chopsticks against the edge of her bowl. "Serves him right. Why didn't he think about this day back when he was mixed up with Yang Er?"

Jiang Yuexin held her chopsticks without saying a word.

Yi Yang lowered his head and drank the soup. The chicken broth was hot, its rich aroma overpowering the medicinal smell and easing the fatigue still lingering in his body.

Yang Hui added, "Yesterday, the village chief sent Zhou Liang up the mountain with four hunters. When they came back that afternoon, Zhou Liang's face looked awful."

She glanced toward the doorway and continued only after making sure no one else was there. "In that forest clearing halfway up the mountain, they found Yang Dongxi's body, along with those of Wang Yue's three men. Liu Biao, Chen Liu, Han Zhu-all dead."

Jiang Yuexin tightened her grip on her chopsticks.

Yang Hui sighed. "They died horribly. Some had their bones snapped by the snake's tail, some had their shoulders bitten through. Snake blood and human blood were everywhere. Zhou Liang said the place didn't even look like a forest anymore. It was like a butcher's stall had been overturned."

Yi Yang picked up a piece of chicken and placed it in Jiang Yuexin's bowl.

"Eat."

Jiang Yuexin lowered her head and ate the meat, then gave Yi Yang and Yang Hui a piece each.

Yang Hui continued, "But Wang Yue wasn't there. They didn't find his body."

Yi Yang raised his eyes slightly.

Yang Hui lowered her voice. "Zhou Liang followed the snake blood farther into the mountains. He said the farther he went, the more blood there was, and the harder the trail became. He didn't dare go any deeper."

She curled her lip. "He said the trail was difficult, but I think he was afraid the big snake wasn't dead yet and would kill him. What seasoned hunter is afraid of a difficult trail?"

"Zhou Liang reckoned Wang Yue either chased the wounded snake deeper into the mountains or died in there too."

Jiang Yuexin glanced at Yi Yang, her eyes full of lingering fear and relief.

Yi Yang kept eating steadily, his expression impassive.

"That snake in the mountains was vicious."

He said vaguely, "If Constable Wang chased it in there, he probably won't be coming back."

His words carried both sympathy and relief.

For an old man who had rolled down a slope and survived by sheer luck, saying something like that was perfectly reasonable.

Yang Hui sighed. "Those poor officers. They came all the way from the county town, only to lose their lives in our impoverished mountain backwater."

As the meal drew to an end, Yang Hui helped clear the bowls and chopsticks, then suddenly leaned closer.

"There's something else."

Yi Yang's chopsticks paused for half a beat over the pickled radish.

Yang Hui lowered her voice. "Zhou Liang said he found some footprints near the clearing on the mountain. They didn't look like they belonged to the six men who went up yesterday. One set of boot prints didn't match the official boots Wang Yue and his men wore. He mentioned it to the village chief and said there might have been someone else on the mountain at the time."

Jiang Yuexin's little face creased in a frown.

"Someone else?"

"Who knows?"

Yang Hui stacked the bowls, her manner turning secretive.

"These days, you find all sorts in the mountains-hunters, fugitives, Evil Cultists. There's no telling."

Yi Yang put the pickled radish in his mouth and chewed twice.

"Is that so? I wouldn't know either. I fell and lost consciousness early on."

His tone was so natural that there was nothing to fault.

Yang Hui nodded.

"True. You were nearly dead yourself then. How could you have known whether anyone else was there?"

She carried the bowls and chopsticks over to the well.

Jiang Yuexin, however, remained seated at the table, quietly watching Yi Yang.

Yi Yang lifted his soup bowl and drank the last mouthful.

The hot broth slid down his throat, its warmth settling in his belly.

Outside the courtyard, Three Trees Village grew noisy again.

Some people were discussing Yang Er, others the giant snake, and still others whether the people coming from the county town would hold them responsible.

Yi Yang set down his bowl, his eyelids half lowered as he thought, The footprints were Li Shun's. It's no surprise that sharp-eyed Zhou Liang spotted them, but they're only footprints.

One night of wind, a passing spell of rain-the mountains can swallow up so much.

The real trouble wasn't on the mountain.

It was in the county town.