Chapter 277: Raising the Blade

"The twenty-seventh gate, Yang-Style Taijiquan."

"The thirty-first gate, Xingyiquan."

"The thirty-eighth gate, Hongquan."

"The forty-third gate. I choose Wing Chun." He had lost track of how many dawns had passed.

The old man looked at the rising sun in the distance and fell silent.

The past few days of combat had made him forget the time.

He only noticed the sun now because he had exhausted all the martial sects he felt confident challenging. In fact, starting from three gates ago, he knew it was highly likely the remaining sects would test blade techniques.

He had been incredibly lucky. For three consecutive gates, none had tested the blade.

Until this gate.

"Wing Chun focuses on defending one's own central line while attacking the opponent's central line. The so-called unity of offense and defense means targeting the opponent's vital points from top to bottom as the central line, using it as an axis to respond as swiftly as possible, whether attacking or defending. Among Wing Chun Weapons, this principle is best embodied by the Eight Slashing Knives. Today, we shall compete in this discipline."

The phantom opposite him spoke slowly. Judging by his hairstyle, he was likely a figure from the Minhu era.

The old man nodded and picked up the knives.

The Eight Slashing Knives were short blades, typically used for close-quarters combat and alley brawls.

In Wing Chun, there were only two commonly used weapons: the Six-and-a-Half-Point Pole and the Eight Slashing Knives.

The Eight Slashing Knives closely resembled the Single-Peak Sword, but they featured a handguard, allowing for a wider range of adjustable angles and far more versatility than just a reverse grip.

A master could even swap the blades between their hands mid-combat to strike with greater flexibility.

Compared to the Six-and-a-Half-Point Pole, the Eight Slashing Knives—shorter than an arm's length—truly aligned with Wing Chun's philosophy of unified offense and defense.

He had originally chosen this gate gambling that his opponent would test fist techniques. Unfortunately, he lost the bet.

Looking at the blades in his hands, the old man took a deep breath.

He thought he had overcome his fear of blades. But having not touched one in over a decade, the sheer unfamiliarity gave him a clear premonition of how this would end.

Sure enough...

After exchanging salutes, it took merely five moves before the opponent's Eight Slashing Knives were pressed against his chest.

Left with no choice, the old man closed his eyes and conceded.

The Old Man on the steps watched this scene, his eyes flickering.

From Liu Fu's earlier choices, he had already seen that the challenger was deliberately avoiding blade-wielding opponents. The same had been true in the previous martial arts gym trials; from start to finish, Liu Fu hadn't used a blade once.

Within those five moves, Liu Fu had shown flashes of brilliance, but that was all. Examined closely, the level of blade mastery he displayed wasn't even on par with a blade Master Rank.

"It seems this is as far as he goes," he muttered.

It wasn't just a matter of rusty technique, nor a lack of talent. He had finally seen the real issue with this "successor."

The old man lacked the reckless courage of a true bladesman.

There was a saying that youths were best suited for the blade, and it wasn't without reason.

Throughout history, the blade had always been the most prominent weapon in martial arts. It demanded sweeping, unbridled momentum.

When swinging a blade, one needed the courage to face stronger foes and the sheer will to cut down everything in their path. A youth's ambition soared higher than the sky; no matter how poor their technique, they would never lose that momentum. That was the essence of the blade.

But just now, whether the old man was attacking or retracting his blade, every movement revealed a faint, lingering timidity.

This wasn't something that could be fixed in a short time. No matter how much he honed his technique during these exchanges, it was impossible for him to win this bout.

What he was considering now was how to save the old man's life.

Though the Heavenly Gate Challenge was lost, the fact that the old man had made it this far far exceeded his expectations.

No matter what, he had to keep him alive.

But this wouldn't be as simple as he imagined. Although he held the highest seniority and greatest strength in the Martial Guild, a few old fools just a bit younger than him had long since chosen their sides.

Whether allying with the business world or the political sphere, those people had already clung to powerful backers, fully prepared for the Martial Guild's complete decline.

Therefore, even for him, saving the old man would inevitably require a steep price.

"This is going to be a bit troublesome." He lowered his gaze.

Following this defeat, the old man spent a full half hour readjusting before he stood up again. He cupped his fists toward the phantom and initiated the next exchange.

But mere seconds later, the opponent's blades were once again hovering at his throat.

This time, they had exchanged seven moves.

Two more than the previous attempt, yet the old man's eyes remained as heavy as stagnant water.

He knew just how difficult those extra two moves had been.

Then, half an hour later, he challenged it again.

After eight moves, the Eight Slashing Knives slipped beneath his armpit, forcing him to call a halt once more.

He rested for another hour, but... he still couldn't survive past the tenth move.

Down in the crowd on the ground.

The ordinary residents, who weren't Martial Instructors, were whispering among themselves.

It had been three days since the old man began his Heavenly Gate Challenge, and this was the first time he had been defeated within a hundred moves.

"It's already over," a nearby Martial Instructor muttered softly.

"Why?" a bewildered street vendor asked.

"Master Liu is not skilled with the blade. He was defeated by a blade back in the day, and it has likely become a mental demon for him," the Martial Instructor explained.

Hearing this, the surrounding vendors were thrilled, clapping and cheering:

"He really lost! I knew this guy was no good! There was a reason we exiled him back then!"

"I've been waiting for this, hahaha! I even made a bet with my wife. I told her he wouldn't make it!"

"Bah! What garbage! Acting all high and mighty, and he still lost!!!"

The crowd hurled insults, but unexpectedly, the surrounding Martial Instructors grew furious. The instructor who had explained earlier turned red in the face.

"Shut up!!!"

"What do you know?! Losing Master Liu is a loss for our Third Lake Prefecture!!!"

The crowd was stunned, completely unprepared for the sudden outrage from the very Martial Instructors who had previously shared their disdain.

"Who are you trying to impress..." someone muttered under their breath. "Weren't you all wishing for his death before? Now that you've seen how tough he is, you change your tune? Pah! The Martial Guild this, the Martial Guild that... it's going to collapse sooner or later..."

"You!!!"

Martial Instructors had excellent hearing, so naturally, they caught every word. But as the angry retorts reached their lips, they didn't know how to argue back.

It was true. Until recently, they had been no different from these commoners...

In the midst of the crowd, Bi Jie listened to the Martial Instructors' words and stomped his feet in panic. He grabbed Liu Ye beside him and whispered, "What do we do now? Old Liu can't use a blade, he's going to lose!"

Liu Ye's triangular eyes flickered. He stroked his chin. "Didn't County Magistrate Luo give you something earlier? Now's probably the time to use it, right?"

"Oh, right!"

Bi Jie had been too panicked to think straight. Remembering it now, he immediately reached into the bundle on his back and pulled out a few rolled-up scrolls.

It was Liu Ye's first time seeing Luo Sheng's paintings bound like this, and he found it curious.

"County Magistrate Luo's paintings are actually tied with Wutong Branches. Is there some special significance to them?"

"They say it repels insects."

Bi Jie struggled for ages but couldn't undo the knots, sweat beading on his forehead in frustration.

"I see," Liu Ye nodded.

He had thought there was some profound meaning behind it.

He remembered certain rumors—the saying that phoenixes rest upon the Wutong tree. There seemed to be some lore there.

Watching Bi Jie's hands tremble in sheer panic, he sighed. Weird Energy extended from his fingertips, cleanly slicing through the branches binding the scrolls.

Clack—

The scrolls fell to the ground, unrolling smoothly to reveal a painting to everyone nearby.

"This is..." Bi Jie was taken aback. The painting depicted a boy in ragged clothes lying flat on a bluestone street, pressed tightly against the base of a wall, seemingly relying on its pitiful sliver of shade to escape the scorching sun.

His eyes were squeezed shut, his face twisted in agony. His chest barely rose and fell, exhaling more than he inhaled. He was on the verge of death.

"Who is this?" Liu Ye asked.

"I don't know," Bi Jie shook his head. He felt the boy looked familiar, but he couldn't recall where he had seen him.

However, the boy's posture reminded him of how he had almost died against a wall in the Third Lake Prefecture all those years ago.

Just as he fell into thought, a faint spectral light suddenly surged from the scroll. As the paper trembled, the painted image actually levitated off the page, rising high into the air until it hovered before the old man, who was resting with his eyes closed.

Sensing something, the old man opened his eyes. Looking at the ink and pastel colors floating before him, his gaze froze.

Because the person in the painting was him at nine years old.

And the location in the painting was exactly Paima County.

Back then, just like in the picture, he had found a wall to lie against, clinging to the meager coolness of the bluestone against his back as he gasped for his last breaths.

That was why, when he saw Bi Jie lying on the street that day, he instantly recognized that the man was dying and dragged him to the clinic.

"Dying men like to lie on the stone slabs by the road, waiting for someone who isn't dead yet to reach out and save them. I know this. I understand. I get it."

That was what he had told Bi Jie at the time.

He really did understand.

Because at nine years old, he had been just like Bi Jie, quietly watching the crowds pass by.

And he, too, had waited for the person who would save him.

Under his reminiscing gaze, the image actually began to move.

At the end of the street, a man in a brown robe strode over. He crouched down, looked at the boy by the wall, and opened his mouth.

No sound came from the image, but as the old man watched, a voice seemed to ring in his ears.

"You're going to die. But you have talent. Take me as your master, learn martial arts under me, and then help me challenge the other gyms. How about it?"

At that time, he hadn't known what challenging gyms meant, nor did he know what martial arts were. But with his sole lifeline appearing before his eyes, all he could do was reach out and grip it tight.

Just like in the vision, he had used his last ounce of strength to nod.

Then the man took him away.

The man fed him, bought him medicine, and finally had him kneel and kowtow to formally acknowledge him as his master.

"Yiqi Dao."

"This is my sect, and from now on, Ah Fu, it is your sect too."

"In our Yiqi Dao, our most formidable discipline is the blade. But your cultivation isn't high enough yet. You can't touch a blade."

In the image, the man drew a Broadsword and aimed it at a piece of cured meat hanging from the ceiling beam. With a casual flick, the meat was severed cleanly into two pieces. He placed them on a scale, and both halves weighed exactly the same. "Yiqi Dao values balance. That is the Martial Dao of our sect," the man said.

The youth kneeling on the floor stared with shining eyes. It was his first time seeing such incredible blade work. In his eyes, the man looked like a god.

To one day wield a blade of his own, the youth trained bitterly day and night. Finally, the day came when he earned the man's approval and was given a blade.

"Ah Fu, this is your blade."

It was a very ordinary Broadsword, not even sharpened. Yet the youth refused to let it go, clutching it tightly as he slept through the night.

The vision abruptly came to a halt.

The old man stared blankly. Before he could figure out where the painting had come from, another image suddenly rose into the air.

In the vision, a twelve or thirteen-year-old boy stood in a clearing with a blade in hand, swinging his arms relentlessly, sweating like rain.

Not long before that, the youth's master had told them about the concept of Martial Cultivation.

"Martial Cultivation is the ultimate goal of all martial artists."

"It is not a mere symbol, but a spirit. To practice martial arts is not for violence, and absolutely not for slaughter. It is to turn weapons of war into kindred spirits, to harmonize heaven and earth into one breath."

"The Martial Dao has no end. If someone achieves Martial Cultivation, it doesn't mean they have reached the absolute peak of the Martial Dao for themselves; rather, it means they can guide the way for all who practice martial arts."

"To pass down millennium-old ultimate arts, to keep the fire burning, to pave the way for millions of martial artists."

"That is what it means to reach Martial Cultivation."

"I hope you all will strive toward this direction."

Looking back now, the youth's master had merely mentioned it in passing. In the Third Lake Prefecture, such rhetoric was like a standard opening speech—every master recited it to their disciples.

But to the youth at the time, those words gave him a purpose.

He had sparred with his junior brother and knew his own talent was inferior. He wasn't even considered good compared to the ordinary disciples. Most of the time, the people in the sect were just indulging him.

But he had already found a way to break through. Even if he couldn't catch up to his junior brother or reach Martial Cultivation, he firmly believed that with sheer diligence and bitter practice, he would eventually narrow the gap between them.

Just like that, he became obsessed. He swung his blade from the first spring rain, through the sweltering summer and cool autumn, all the way until heavy snow blanketed the ground.

Spring, summer, autumn, and winter. He swung his blade for six whole years.

His mindset had long since changed.

He didn't know when it started, but grasping the blade in his hands gave him an immense sense of peace. Perhaps swinging the blade wasn't just about winning anymore.

Perhaps, he truly loved the Martial Dao.

When he was nineteen, he sparred with his junior brother again.

This time, he finally won.

But he didn't feel particularly happy.

His junior brother stood opposite him, eyes welling with tears and glaring at him with resentment. He noticed it, but he didn't know what to say.

He had a clumsy tongue and always had since he was a child. Otherwise, his parents wouldn't have kicked him out of the house.

The few lines of poetry he nervously recited lacked the natural spark his younger brother possessed.

A household could only keep three people, so his parents, both Scholar Cultivators, drove him out of the village.

"Ah Cheng, my goal isn't to beat you," he tried to console him.

Little did he know that those words offered absolutely no comfort to his junior brother.

From then on, their relationship deteriorated drastically. Although it had never been great to begin with, it had at least been passable. After that, aside from their daily training, they became like strangers.

More than once, he heard his master scolding and beating his junior brother, shouting, "If you put in half of Ah Fu's diligence, how could you be worse than him?!"

Perhaps...

He shouldn't have won that spar, he thought.

The vision froze on an innocent youth, gripping a blade and gazing up at the sky.

"Quick, throw the next scroll!" Bi Jie hurriedly urged Liu Ye, who was standing by.

The scroll soared into the air.

The youth was now in his twenties.

Over the years, he had shifted his focus from blade mastery and started dedicating more time to other martial arts, from fists to palms to legs...

His junior brother had long since succeeded in entering the ranks. In their daily spars, he once again became the one who lost more often.

But he felt that this was fine. After his junior brother started winning again, a smile finally returned to the boy's face, and even their master seemed much happier than before.

Winning or losing was no longer that important to him.

He often pondered that perhaps he should find a girl he liked, have a few children, and start a new life.

Though every night, that ambition unique to the people of Minhu would burn like wildfire, he would always stamp it out.

This life continued until he was thirty-one.

That year, he succeeded in entering the ranks.

He had to.

His physical condition had become a bottleneck for his martial arts progression. If he didn't enter the ranks, his mastery could no longer improve, which was utterly unacceptable to someone who loved martial arts as much as he did.

Furthermore, if he couldn't progress, he wouldn't be able to defeat other gyms for his sect.

He put away his blade and stopped sparring in blade techniques with his junior brother. Weapons had no eyes, and as he grew older, he began to prefer the restrained exchanges of fists and palms.

Only deep in the quiet of the night would he take out his blade and practice alone.

A few years later, he got his wish and met a girl he loved.

She was introduced by a matchmaker his master had hired, and was nearly twenty years younger than him. At first, he felt it was inappropriate, but his master and junior brother both insisted it was a good match. Besides, he genuinely liked her. Just like that, in a dizzy blur, he got married.

After getting married, he rejoiced; he had found the right person.

Every time he saw her face, his heart hammered wildly in his chest. The books said this only happened when meeting one's true love. Moreover, he had listened to her heartbeat—it was racing too, which meant she must have liked him as well.

He finally had a family of his own.

A few more years passed, and the girl gave birth to a baby.

As he looked at himself approaching forty, he sometimes found it unbelievable. To think that he, Liu Fu, could actually have a day like this.

And precisely because of this, he became even more desperate to successfully challenge other gyms for his sect.

The gym challenges had become a massive mountain in his heart, gradually pressing down on him until he could hardly breathe.

The sect's rules dictated that one could not make a name for themselves before formally finishing their apprenticeship.

And he had a premonition that there wasn't much time left before his apprenticeship ended.

Until the day he turned forty-one. His master called for him and his junior brother, announcing that he was ready to graduate.

When the master said this, he stared intensely into his eyes.

He understood that his master's gaze was telling him:

"It is time to challenge the gyms."

And when he challenged them, he swept through sixteen gyms in a row.

Until the seventeenth.

Before the fight, his junior brother had come to find him, warning him that this opponent was incredibly formidable and wielded a pair of Meridian Mandarin Ducks.

Because of this, he took out the blade he had stored away for so long and had it sharpened.

But the moment he stepped onto the arena, he sensed something was wrong.

The opponent wasn't using Meridian Mandarin Duck Blades at all; he was wielding a Waist Saber.

He himself was using a Broadsword.

Logically, against a Waist Saber, he should have had the advantage, but he knew that wasn't the case.

He suffered from a hidden ailment.

If the opponent had used Meridian Mandarin Duck Blades, the weapons would be harder to maneuver freely, leaving fewer chances to target his hidden injury. A Waist Saber, however, was far more flexible. If the opponent discovered the location of his old wound, he might lose.

Although the probability was low, he didn't want any accidents. Therefore, he decided not to use the Broadsword and instead switched to the equally agile Single-Edged Sword.

But his master behind him spoke up, his voice stern:

"Draw your blade, Ah Fu."

"Master—"

"The Broadsword holds the advantage over a Waist Saber! Draw your blade!" his master barked again.

Left with no alternative, he could only brace himself and bring out the Broadsword.

It would be fine. As long as the opponent didn't notice his hidden injury, there wouldn't be a major problem.

He could only comfort himself this way.

However...

The old man looked at his forty-something-year-old self collapsed on the ground, his eyes glistening with tears.

At this moment, across the three paintings, versions of himself from different ages were showing him how he had swung a blade in his youth.

Yet he felt the Eight Slashing Knives in his hands were incomparably heavy; he couldn't even lift them.

"No, no, that's not right!"

Bi Jie panicked. "Damn it, I think I messed up the order!!!"

"It was supposed to be the other way around!!!"

He recalled the last painting Yan Jing had handed him; he seemed to have played them in reverse.

Liu Ye's eyes went wide. How could he screw up something so important?!

"What do we do? What do we do?"

Bi Jie was drenched in sweat.

The three scrolls he had brought were all used up.

Right at that moment, under his shocked gaze, yet another scroll descended from the sky and slowly unrolled.

The old man also looked at the painting in shock.

It was... the courtyard of the Lin Estate.

A young girl in coarse linen clothes dragged an old man into the kitchen and said something.

The old man frantically waved his hands in refusal. The girl tugged at his sleeves, refusing to let go, but the old man ultimately fled in a panic, bolting straight into the house.

In Old Master Liu's mind, he remembered that day.

"Master Liu, could you help me sharpen a knife?" Fei Yu had pleaded, tugging at his sleeve.

"Sharpen—sharpen a knife?"

"That's right," Fei Yu smiled. "This Lin Estate really is a grand household. They don't even throw away knives with curled edges. People are in a panic lately, and there are no knife sharpeners on the streets. Help me out, won't you?"

"Well... well, Xiao Yu... I haven't been feeling too well lately..."

Saying that, he had turned tail and ran.

Immediately after, the scroll shifted to another scene.

"Old Man! Help me chop some firewood—" Tiger called out in the yard.

"Chop firewood?"

He pushed the door open and walked over. Weird Energy extended from his hands, ready to split the wood, but Tiger pulled him back.

"That won't work, Old Man. The Young Master is picky. He said this firewood can only be chopped with a Woodchopping Knife, so it has blade qi!"

"Blade qi..."

His gaze hardened, and he forced a smile. "Huzi, I think the Young Master is testing you! Think about it, he's never made a demand like this before. Why say it all of a sudden? He's hinting that you need to train more!"

"I'm heading off first. I'm feeling a bit unwell, maybe my hidden injury hasn't fully healed."

Then, the scene shifted again.

"Old Liu! Is the great County Magistrate Luo around?"

Bi Jie walked in from outside the yard.

"The Young Master isn't here. What are you doing here, kid?"

He shot a sideways glare at Bi Jie.

"Look at you!"

Bi Jie sighed in exasperation. "I just asked a question, why the sour face?"

"Let me tell you, I came specifically to offer a treasure!" Bi Jie said mysteriously.

"A treasure? What treasure?"

He looked curiously at Bi Jie's arms, where there was an object wrapped in red cloth.

Bi Jie chuckled mischievously and pulled back the red cloth, revealing a jewel-encrusted scabbard.

"Old Liu, I'm telling you, this is a precious blade from the West Lake Prefecture. Do you want to touch it? Legend has it that during the West Lake Prefecture's centennial celebration... Hey, don't leave!"

Finally, under Old Master Liu's dazed gaze, Yan Jing gathered everyone into a room and secretly discussed something.

There was no sound, and he had no idea what Yan Jing was saying.

But he guessed it.

The very last scene was back at the Lin Estate, when Yan Jing had pestered him to teach him martial arts.

"Young Master, what do you wish to learn?" he had asked, looking at Yan Jing.

"Blade techniques!" Yan Jing had smiled.

"Blade techniques?"

He widened his eyes. Why did it have to be the blade?

"Blade techniques aren't that great... Please pick something else..." he had stammered, bracing himself.

"Are blade techniques not good?"

Yan Jing blinked. "To be honest, Master Liu, your young master here has loved the blade ever since he was a kid."

"Why do you like blade techniques, Young Master?"

"Me?" Yan Jing laughed.

"I just like them, I guess."

"I'm young. Whenever I see something cool, I like it. Master Liu, don't you think the image of 'holding a blade and laughing at the sky' is incredibly heroic?"

"You are as impulsive as ever, Young Master," he said with a helpless smile.

"Not impulsive," Yan Jing grinned.

"Sometimes, liking something requires no reason, Master Liu. It's like when I paint. If I consider too much or overthink things, I won't be able to put brush to paper."

"If you truly like something, don't think about anything else. Just do it. That is my life's motto."

"For example, a second ago, I wanted to practice the blade. Now, I'd much rather visit a brothel."

"Let's go, Master Liu. To the brothel."

The old man watched the scene of Yan Jing conversing with him in the hovering ink painting, his gaze frozen.

Then, he suddenly noticed that the Yan Jing in the painting was looking right at him.

His mouth opened and closed, seemingly saying something.

The lips drew flat first, then parted. The old man stared at his mouth in astonishment, as if he had genuinely heard a voice.

It was Yan Jing's voice.

At this moment...

Outside the Third Lake Prefecture.

Fei Yu sat in the passenger seat, while Yan Jing leaned back in the driver's seat of the car, his eyes closed.

Having received the message from Xiao Xin that the painting had been thrown out, he tapped his finger lightly against the steering wheel and spoke softly:

"Raise the blade, Master Liu."

"Raise the blade."

...

Up on the Celestial Steps.

Suddenly, a fierce gale surged from nowhere.

Amidst the howling wind, the cross-legged old man abruptly stood up, his green overcoat whipping wildly in the gale.

An inexplicable aura erupted around him.

The Old Man on the steps saw this, his pupils contracting.

"This is..."

The old man kept his eyes tightly shut, his face entirely serene. His tears scattered in the wind, his hair whipping wildly in the air. Despite a complete absence of Weird Energy fluctuations, his aura was incomparably sharp, akin to a colossal blade slowly rising before returning to tranquility.

Then, he opened his eyes, and a piercing sharpness bloomed from his gaze.

Taking a step forward, he cupped his fists toward the phantom opposite him.

In the next instant, right before everyone's eyes, the old man raised his blade!

A streak of silver light soared upward, seeming to cleave open the Firmament. The clouds high above the sky slowly parted, allowing the mist-like sunlight to pour down without obstruction.

The old man and the phantom had somehow swapped positions, standing back-to-back.

A breeze swept past, and the phantom dissolved into scattering golden fragments.

Only the old man remained, his back to the crowd under the sunlight, the hem of his coat swaying gently.