The next day, in the duty room, Yi Yang took off his official robes and draped them over the back of a chair. Wearing only a short, close-fitting tunic, he stood in the middle of the room.
With the Heaven Patrol Office's standard-issue saber in hand, he began the day's training, starting with the Nine Peaks Saber.
He opened with Heavy Peak, sinking his waist and settling his hips. Force surged upward from the soles of his feet, through his knees, waist, and shoulders, before pouring into his saber arm. The scabbard traced a low hum through the air, making the teacup at the corner of the desk tremble.
The second peak was perilous, its blade taking an unorthodox line that revealed a ruthless edge. Sharp Peak followed. The flow of force narrowed, squeezing all his strength into a single line, with the saber tip aimed three inches ahead.
Strange Peak, Overlapping Peak, Severing Peak, Returning Peak, Concealing Peak-by the time he finished the first eight forms, a thin sheen of sweat had appeared on Yi Yang's forehead.
The ninth form, Perfection Peak!
Yi Yang had already gained an understanding of it. With a turn of his wrist, he slashed the scabbard diagonally downward.
This strike made no sound. Not because it was light, but because it was so fast that the air had already closed before it could be torn apart.
The instant his strike stopped, the numbers on the panel jumped.
[Nine Peaks Saber, perfection: 36000/36000]
The moment the progress filled, Yi Yang felt something shatter in his mind-not the shattering of something broken, but the cracking of a cocoon. The nine saber forms were no longer nine separate moves, but nine states of mind belonging to the same blade. The gaps between the forms disappeared.