Li Ping'an had not quite expected the Short Sword to unleash such power at the very last moment.
But... this was as far as it went.
With a thought, he sent True Qi pouring steadily into the Short Sword.
The weight that had built up over several days gave him a feeling of exhilarating release.
Before long, the Short Sword stopped humming.
Like a bird that had lost its wings, it fell back into Li Ping'an's hand.
He held it before his eyes, opened his pale eyes, and examined it closely.
He flicked the blade gently with a finger, and a ripple of swordlight flashed across it at once.
A fine sword!
Li Ping'an pondered for a moment.
There seemed to be an invisible thread within his thoughts.
Suddenly, that thread became much clearer, its light much stronger.
A strange power slowly rippled outward.
The three-foot Short Sword floated slowly into the air, tracing an arc.
Within a few breaths, beads of sweat appeared on Li Ping'an's forehead.
Whoosh, whoosh!
The three-foot Short Sword began flying wildly, tracing a swift, rounded arc through the air.
Before long, leaves came falling like rain.
Li Ping'an could not control it at all. It was like holding a kite string when a gale suddenly struck.
Suddenly, with a soft thud, the Short Sword fell to the ground.
It had lost all its power.
Li Ping'an let out a long, stale breath. It really was fiendishly difficult.
He would need more time to control it completely.
Li Ping'an stroked the Short Sword, thinking he ought to give it a name.
After pondering a moment, he said softly,
"Dust from distant campaigns mingles with wine stains on my robes; nowhere in my far wanderings does my soul escape sorrow.
Was this body meant to be