Yet before Song Yan could shake off his surprise, the moment the words fell, the presence surrounding the man abruptly changed.
An utterly natural sharpness spread without warning, stirring the bamboo leaves around the cottage into rustling motion despite the absence of wind.
With a turn of his wrist, he brought out a Flying Sword.
The Flying Sword was about a foot long and two fingers wide, wreathed in moon-white spiritual light.
Holding it suspended above his hand, the man lowered his head.
Since his features were nothing but a blur, Song Yan could not make out his expression.
Perhaps the sight of the sword had reminded him of his mother.
Recalling the storyteller's tale, if Senior Wu Daoxuan's friend who excelled at Swordsmanship was the same person as the man before him, then his mother should already have passed away by this time.
After looking down for a moment, the senior Sword Cultivator casually waved his hand, and the Flying Sword darted away from before him.
Like a swimming fish, it circled and wheeled around him.
For a moment, Sword Qi surged through the bamboo courtyard.
Buzz-Song Yan was somewhat astonished.
The man had not performed any sword moves. He had merely stirred a little Sword Qi to control the Flying Sword.
Yet Song Yan vaguely sensed that the man's Sword-Controlling Technique was far smoother and more natural than his own.
Sword Intent flourished, endlessly renewing itself.
He controlled the sword as readily as his own fingers, without impediment or obstruction.
Wu Daoxuan's eyes also brightened slightly. Until now, his painting had focused on his old friend's relaxed bearing as he drank and chatted.
But now, with the Flying Sword drawn, that exquisite Sword-Controlling Technique and that seamless state of unity between man and sword ignited his inspiration.
"Ah."