The Temple Master Discussed the Sword

As several uncles and aunts stirred up a commotion, the whole town burst into excitement.

Camphor Fragrance Town was famed far and wide for its wealth and stood beside a venerable temple, yet it had produced no immortals in many years, leaving it a head shorter than its neighbors for no good reason. Fortunately, last year, the Cheng family's young master had entered the immortal mountain, and the townspeople felt their faces shine a little brighter too.

As for the Cheng family not being natives, having moved here twenty years ago, no one dared bring that up. Camphor Fragrance Town had always been a town of mixed surnames. What was wrong with adding another family named Cheng?

Old Master Cheng's learning encompassed heaven and humanity, and he had rendered great service in educating the people. Cheng Zhu was virtuous, gentle, and widely renowned for her kindness, while Young Master Cheng was a disciple of immortals. The town head had personally written all of this into the Camphor Fragrance Town Gazetteer! Who dared wag their tongue?

Now that an immortal had returned home, naturally they had to celebrate in grand style.

Yunqi could not stop them, nor could he explain that he was merely a small fry in the Qi Refining realm who had yet to open a palace.

The first few aunts to enter Yunqi's courtyard had exceptionally sharp eyes. They immediately noticed that not a speck of dust remained in the house. But how much time had passed between Yunqi opening the door and their arrival? How could he possibly have cleaned it all?

Surely, wherever an immortal dwelled, filth dispersed of its own accord.

Once this miracle quietly spread through town, the banquet grew larger and larger. Everyone insisted that Yunqi stay longer and not rush back to the mountain, so the town could bask a little longer in his immortal aura.

Yunqi did not know whether to laugh or cry, but he agreed to stay a few more days.

The steady rain could not dampen the neighbors' enthusiasm. They stretched cloth over makeshift shelters, gathered firewood to warm the stoves, slaughtered chickens and sheep, and carried jugs off to fetch wine. What a bustling scene!

Yunqi got thoroughly drunk that night.

The next day.

The mortal world was the gentlest haven, wearing away one's resolve.

For the first time in years, Yunqi rose late. He had slept especially soundly in his own bed.

When he got up and entered the courtyard, the rain had stopped, and a rainbow hung along the horizon. Heaven truly favored the occasion.

As usual, Yunqi performed his exercises, then attended to both his breathing practice and visualization.

Once he had collected himself, Yunqi shouldered a large bamboo basket, took paper offerings, candles, and sacrificial gifts, and headed into the hills.

At his ancestors' graves, he found no weeds or scattered stones. Clearly, the neighbors had tended them well. No doubt they would tend them even better from now on.

Yunqi wiped down the gravestones, added a handful of fresh earth, laid out the offerings, and spoke for a while.

Then he ventured deeper into the hills. A few bounding leaps later, he vanished from sight.

It was afternoon when he returned to town, his basket filled to the brim.

He set up a large pot in the courtyard, politely declined the aunts' offers of help, and began boiling medicinal herbs.

When several neighbors heard that Yunqi was making medicine for the townspeople, they began trembling all over.

A few who managed to keep their composure quietly spread the news first, passing it to the heads of each household.

Before long, the entire town fell silent. Even a dog barking outside someone's door would earn a smack with a stick.

Those without outsiders in their homes rubbed their hands together in delight as they waited. Those entertaining relatives or friends restrained their expressions despite their wildly pounding hearts, pretending nothing had happened, though they unconsciously lowered their voices.

The town head had already declared that if anyone let the news slip to outsiders, this town would no longer have room for their family.

Even among neighbors, some were closer than others. Look at the dozen or so households in Green-Tile Alley: they had door plaques carved by an immortal to wish them peace and safety. Though he had made them before becoming an immortal, they surely possessed spiritual energy. Everyone else envied them endlessly.

But today was different. The young master had said every household would receive pills. This was a blessing as vast as heaven, and word must never leak out.

Though called a town, Camphor Fragrance Town was really only a village. It had grown wealthy through its proximity to Rainfall Temple and the reputation of Three Pure Ones Immortal Mountain, along with ancestral property and hereditary incense-making skills. After building brick houses and paving stone roads, they had renamed the village a town, but it still consisted of the same people. Closing ranks against outsiders came instinctively to them.

Everyone waited until the next day. Those relatives and friends were all sent off one after another, their hosts finding excuses without any prior agreement.

It was around noon. The clear summer sky after the rain was exceptionally bright, and the weather suddenly grew hot. Just as everyone was becoming anxious with waiting, the Cheng family's courtyard gate finally opened.

Yunqi carried out a linen bag and handed it to Uncle Wang, who was waiting outside.

"These aren't miraculous elixirs, just pills to replenish vitality and dispel illness. If someone suffers an injury or sudden illness that a physician can't treat, they can try taking one. Sorry for the trouble, Uncle Wang, but please distribute them to everyone. If there are extras, you can keep them together or give more to the elderly and infirm. I'll leave that to you."

Uncle Wang accepted the linen bag with trembling hands. Before Yunqi could react, he dropped to his knees with a thump and kowtowed.

Yunqi hurriedly pulled him up, repeatedly saying there was no need.

Watching Uncle Wang carry off the bag with endless thanks, Yunqi felt deeply embarrassed. The pills inside were grayish white. If he tried selling them at the mountain's Pill Workshop, he would probably get beaten to death. Still, that was the extent of his pill-refining skill. Having managed to produce medicinal pills in a big cooking pot, what more could he ask for?

Now that the owner had returned, no one dared enter the courtyard uninvited, so no one knew that the large bundle in Yunqi's house had already shrunk by half.

The third day.

Yunqi rose very early. The sky was still dim, and by the lingering starlight, the youth strolled slowly toward Rainfall Temple.

Meanwhile, inside the temple:

"Temple Master, will you practice your sword again today?"

A young Daoist attendant came to Daoist Zhenwei's room with a sword in his arms.

The young attendant was utterly puzzled. In his short memory, the old temple master had never practiced with a sword, only breathing exercises and boxing. Why had he suddenly thought of sword practice?

After parting with that very handsome older boy the day before yesterday, he had asked for a sword. Then, early the next morning, he had gotten up to practice, right in the square outside the temple gate. The incense-offering visitors and lay devotees had been thrilled. Under everyone's gaze, the old temple master had practiced for over two hours. The attendant had never known his health was so good, and the devotees had loudly proclaimed him an immortal.

"Yes!"

The old temple master pushed open his door and strode toward the front courtyard, swift as a shooting star. He hardly looked like a hundred-year-old man.

The temple was packed today. First, the endless rain had finally stopped, and everyone wanted to get out. Second, news had spread of the old temple master's two-hour sword performance yesterday, and everyone wanted to see it.

Just as Daoist Zhenwei emerged from the rear courtyard, his expression stiffened at the dense throng inside the temple. He immediately stopped, stood on tiptoe, and leaned against a rear window for a quick look. Not seeing the person he wanted, he told the attendant quietly, "I'll practice in the rear courtyard today. Watch the front courtyard. If anyone comes looking for me, say I'm not here. But if someone calling himself Cheng Yunqi comes, bring him over."

"The handsome older boy you saw out that day, Temple Master?"

The young attendant looked up as he asked.

"Aren't you a clever one."

The old temple master smiled and patted the attendant's head.

The attendant studied the old temple master and answered obediently, but his dark eyes rolled slyly. Could Grandpa Temple Master be practicing his sword for that handsome older boy?

Fortunately, Yunqi did not keep the attendant waiting long. Just as sunlight reached the temple, Yunqi ambled up as well. Looking at the bustling crowds, he could not help marveling that Rainfall Temple still enjoyed such flourishing patronage.

He had only just entered when an exquisitely pretty young Daoist attendant ran over.

Yunqi looked at him in puzzlement.

The attendant beckoned, signaling for Yunqi to lean down and listen.

Curious, Yunqi lowered his head.

"Are you here to see the temple master?"

Yunqi nodded.

"Then come with me."

The young attendant tugged Yunqi's robe, signaling him to follow.

Thus, Yunqi followed the attendant through the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd all the way to the rear courtyard.

The rear courtyard housed the temple's Daoists, and worshippers did not enter it. It was daytime, and with so many visitors, all the Daoists were busy in the front courtyard. The rear courtyard was empty, with hardly anyone around.

"Whoosh! Whoosh!"

Repeated sounds of something cutting through the air caught Yunqi's attention.

The attendant led Yunqi over.

Behind an oddly shaped rock, Daoist Zhenwei was performing a sword dance. In his loose robe and broad sleeves, with beard and hair cascading like waterfalls, he moved like a dragon or crane. Nor was the old man merely going through the motions. Though Yunqi was a novice himself, he could see that the temple master's sword was swift as a gale and powerful as rolling thunder, its ringing never ceasing.

"Excellent swordsmanship!"

Yunqi praised him.

"The temple master is doing this just for-"

"Our guest has arrived. You may leave!"

The old temple master abruptly stopped his sword and interrupted before the attendant could finish.

The attendant gave a little huff, then ran off to play.

"You're here, Yunqi."

The old temple master smiled at him.

Yunqi bowed with clasped hands. "I hadn't realized you still practiced your sword so regularly, Temple Master."

The temple master coughed lightly. Subtle preliminaries really were not his strength, so he simply got straight to the point. "Yesterday, I heard you say you enjoyed swordsmanship, but had to set it aside because practicing it consumes time and resources. Is that right?"

Yunqi nodded. That was indeed the case. That wretched Brother Bingkun had even laughed at him before he left the sect for aspiring to become a wandering swordsman without owning a single sword.

"Then how much do you know about swordsmanship?"

"Only a little. Within the sect, Sword-Casting Mountain primarily practices the Flying Sword Art and Spell Sword Art, while Bright Mirror Stone Forest focuses on the Body Sword Art, paired with the Astral-Stepping Art."

The old temple master nodded. "Which kind do you favor?"

Yunqi smiled. "Everyone says sword practice costs money, but of the three, flying swords and spell swords are the greatest money pits, so I've barely had any contact with them. Body swords are a little better, but even the cheapest hundredfold-forged refined iron sword in the sect costs quite a bit. I don't have one either. I've only carved bamboo into a sword and practiced a few Body Sword Art moves. I haven't crossed the threshold in any of the three, so if you ask which I favor, Temple Master, I truly can't answer."

When the temple master heard Yunqi say that practicing the Body Sword Art cost less than flying swords or spell swords, he shook his head almost imperceptibly. By the time he heard the rest, he was smiling again.

"This old man has loved the sword all his life. Though I never achieved much in all those years, I did spend decades shamelessly hanging around the sect. Would you care to hear what I have to say?"

Naturally, Yunqi was willing. The old temple master was not making empty claims. After all, he had cultivated on the mountain for decades and valued sword practice even more than Qi Refining. Giving pointers to a novice like Yunqi would be more than within his ability. Yunqi had never had such a fine opportunity in the sect, where everyone was busy.

"Flying swords, spell swords, and body swords each have their merits. I first enrolled as a nominal disciple at Sword-Casting Mountain, but later became more interested in the Body Sword Art."

The old temple master first told Yunqi frankly which kind of swordsmanship he favored.

"Flying swords have enjoyed the greatest renown in recent years. To be honest, that trend was led by several sects in Western Shu."

Daoist Zhenwei mentioned Western Shu, the place Yunqi had heard about most often since entering the mountain.

"Emei, Azure City, Azure Goat, and Crane-Cry in Western Shu are all major sects that practice flying swords. They cultivate flying swords as their main discipline, paired with the path of the primordial spirit. With a single thought, their flying swords dart through the sky and take heads a thousand miles away. Truly formidable.

"A flying sword is a supreme treasure of slaughter. Its essence lies in just two words: 'speed' and 'sharpness.' For speed, it must be driven by powerful mental force. For sharpness, its own quality cannot be poor, and it must constantly be tempered and honed. How is it honed? There are two methods. One relies on external objects, such as a Sword-Nurturing Gourd, a Sword-Grinding Stone, or a Wind Cavern. Which of those doesn't burn through money? The other relies on the cultivator, nurturing it within the lung aperture or the purple tower, tempering it with the lung aperture's essence blood or with mental force.

"Here is where the differences emerge. At our Sword-Casting Mountain, we advocate nurturing through external objects as the main method, with personal nurturing as a supplement. Again, Qi Refining is the foundation, and the inner elixir is the great path. How could we feed our bodies to an object? Even personal nurturing has many rules. For instance, one may not open only a metal palace to nurture a flying sword. One must also open a fire mansion or earth palace to suppress its metal nature before nurturing the sword. As for honing a sword with mental force, that is only permitted in the second realm.

"The Shushan Sword Sect is the complete opposite. They regard the physical body as a vessel for the sword and the primordial spirit as their true soul. They cultivate only the lung palace as a sword sheath. From the very beginning, they aim to ascend by having the primordial spirit command the sword."

At this point, Daoist Zhenwei chuckled. "I remember my instructor saying back then that, to put it kindly, those people from Shushan were impatient as fire and hated evil as they hated their sworn enemies. To put it unkindly, practicing the sword had addled their brains."

Yunqi laughed along with him.

"Still, they carved out a reputation in the western lands, surrounded by hordes of demons, so naturally they have real ability. They drive their swords with thought and hone their swords with thought, but isn't that also honing thought with the sword? They attach their mental force to their swords, and over time, it naturally takes on the weapon's sharpness. They call this sword intent.

"When you encounter people from there on your travels, you'll feel it for yourself. They need not draw their swords. Simply standing quietly, they radiate a sword intent that makes you feel as though thorns are pressing into your back."

Yunqi nodded inwardly. His destination in the Southern Wastes was actually quite close to Western Shu.

"In truth, spell swords are the oldest school. They are treasures cultivators use to cast spells, a medium linking the body's magical power with the spiritual energy of heaven and earth. They can also be called talisman swords, so even the poorest spell sword must be forged from five-element essence gold.

"I believe the essence of spell swords lies in 'nurturing' and 'empowerment.' Nurturing means washing, refining, and nourishing it daily with magical power. Empowerment means inscribing talismans and incantations on the blade. Whenever one gains an insight, one writes it onto the sword. A spell sword ordinarily remains still, but once it moves, magical power pours out like rivers and seas, commanding the spiritual energy of heaven and earth to perform the works of gods and ghosts.

"Flying swords are said to take heads a thousand miles away, and spell swords are much the same. With a single swing, magical power erupts like the radiance of the blazing sun, severing clouds and cleaving mountains. They call this Sword Qi.

"So spell swords place the greatest emphasis on patient, painstaking effort and their master's comprehension. Only over a long time does their might become apparent.

"The most famous spell sword is naturally the Celestial Master Sword of the Celestial Master Residence on Dragon-Tiger Mountain. An eight-thousand-year-old spell sword, empowered by successive Celestial Masters-I imagine no one would willingly test it. Not even a heavenly immortal."

The Celestial Master Residence had profound reserves. Yunqi inwardly clicked his tongue in wonder.

The old Daoist paused, then continued, "A body sword is a sword worn at one's side, an object outside the body, relying purely on a physical weapon's sharp edge. Some say it is a sword for ordinary mortals, but I disagree.

"The body sword is a sword of martial combat. Its essence lies in 'courage' and 'change.'

"What is courage? Advancing without retreat, finding life only after placing oneself in death's jaws. When practicing the Body Sword Art, advance and retreat occur within a few feet, life and death within a hair's breadth. Wherever you set foot, every person is an enemy nation.

"What is change? The myriad forms of all creation contained in an instant. A sword strike is like an antelope hanging by its horns: no trace to follow, no defense to mount. Whether a flying sword comes through the sky or a spell sword sweeps in broad, powerful strokes, both ultimately lack variation. But with a sword in hand, the blade follows the heart, and the enemy will never know where the next strike will fall.

"That only covers the work of the hands. The Body Sword Art gives equal weight to hands and feet, and footwork is the stroke that brings the dragon's eyes to life.

"The Body Sword Art must be paired with the Astral-Stepping Art. One step turns the Dipper and shifts the stars: that is change. One thrust pursues the stars and chases the moon: that is courage.

"When a sword possesses both courage and change, momentum is born. Once you build that momentum, your enemy can no longer defeat you.

"The Hengshan lineage of the Sword Sect is universally acknowledged as the finest in the Body Sword Art. When their swords emerge, the river of stars appears. In those days, the Hengshan Mountain Master left his mountain with sword in hand and entered the Southern Wastes alone, sweeping through countless demon lairs. Someone praised him thus: 'One step carried his battle three thousand miles; one sword once stood against a million troops.' Where does such swordsmanship fall short of flying swords or spell swords? Who would still dare call it a mortal's sword?"

At this point, the old temple master could no longer contain his feelings. He slapped the table and rose.

After hearing this discussion of the three kinds of swords, Yunqi's heart and mind surged. Searching his heart, he truly could not say which was superior or inferior.

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