Vital energy

For reasons unknown, after spending just a single day together, Zhang Ling and Qin Yi already felt a sense of closeness. Perhaps, as Qin Yi had said, it was fate.

Time was fleeting and people busy—Zhang Ling lingered at Hundred Flowers Manor for another three days. Amidst all the bustle, his activities boiled down to two things: horseback riding, and sword training with Yang Xiao. He had no idea how many times he was thrown off the horse; perhaps he had grown used to it, for he no longer felt any pain. As for the sword practice, it was always Yang Xiao bullying him with superior skill, shamelessly flaunting his status as a senior.

Aside from this, whenever Zhang Ling sneaked a chicken leg from the kitchen, he would invariably spy Qin Yi staring absentmindedly at the willow tree, which bore only a single blurred prayer ribbon. Zhang Ling could guess at Qin Yi’s thoughts, but he kept silent, unwilling to intrude.

“Zhang Ling, still no good! Three days of practice and you still can’t block my sword,” Yang Xiao said lazily, brandishing his sword with one hand while the other rested behind his back.

Zhang Ling gave no reply, focusing intently on the oncoming attacks. Compared to three days ago, he had fully mastered the “Iron Fortress” style of defensive swordplay, wielding it with nimble ease. Even as Yang Xiao’s strikes grew faster, Zhang Ling was no longer utterly powerless.

Suddenly, Yang Xiao loosened his grip, raising the sword slightly, then seized it again and swung forcefully in a horizontal slash, knocking Zhang Ling’s short sword out of his hand.

Zhang Ling’s footing faltered, as if about to topple. Yang Xiao, confident, withdrew his sword.

Zhang Ling stepped back with his right foot, regaining his balance in an instant. From leg to waist, then to his right fist, he channeled his whole body’s strength, surging like a tiger, and launched a punch at Yang Xiao.

Hidden power unleashed, stirring the air with a gust.

Yang Xiao, having already sheathed his sword, could only raise his left hand to block. The punch forced him back several meters; though it was formidable, their relative strengths made defeat impossible, yet it was enough.

Straightening, Zhang Ling said, “Thank you for the guidance, Senior Yang.”

Yang Xiao, shaking his numb left hand, looked at him in surprise. “Three days spent defending, all for one punch. Impressive.”

The “Silken Touch” sword technique was famed for its ease of defense and counterattack. Yang Xiao had expected Zhang Ling to retaliate with a sword, and after disarming him, felt confident enough to sheath his own. He never anticipated Zhang Ling would have such a startling punch. “What’s the name of that punch?” he asked.

Zhang Ling shook his head. “Sorry, I can’t say.”

“Can’t say?” Yang Xiao immediately understood. “I see. It seems your background is not simple, Zhang Ling.”

If asked about his origins, even Zhang Ling himself was at a loss. Zong Chentian would say nothing, and Zhang Ling had grown tired of all the secrecy. What couldn’t be said? He only knew that both his brother and uncle were masters of the Profound Realm—experts in the world, having attained that level, certainly counted as accomplished. Add to that Zong Chentian’s mysterious comments about his parents, and indeed, his background was not simple. Since he didn’t know either, he simply nodded.

“In that case, I must properly experience your boxing technique and discover its origins,” Yang Xiao said. As he spoke, the sword at his waist trembled violently, as if it might leap from its scabbard on its own.

Zhang Ling instinctively guessed what was about to happen.

Without hesitation, he turned and ran. Even knowing Yang Xiao meant no harm, no one would willingly take a beating for no reason. Seeing Zhang Ling flee, Yang Xiao leapt after him, only to be blocked by Lin Rui’s sudden appearance.

Lin Rui eyed Yang Xiao’s limp left hand with a teasing smile. “What’s this? Capsized in a ditch, taking it out on others now?”

Yang Xiao put on a false smile, his gaze sharp as he stared at Zhang Ling. “How could that be? We were just practicing swordsmanship, weren’t we, Zhang Ling?”

Hiding behind Lin Rui, Zhang Ling retorted, “That’s nonsense. He bullies the weak, can’t play fair.”

Yang Xiao, seeing Zhang Ling’s relentless mockery, grew agitated and lunged to grab him. Zhang Ling reacted swiftly, dodging around Lin Rui. The two chased each other like children, circling Lin Rui incessantly.

Suddenly, a well-timed cough interrupted their pursuit.

“What an unusual martial practice you two are displaying,” came a voice.

The three turned to see Qin Yi leaning against a beam, hands clasped behind his back, approaching them.

At Qin Yi’s arrival, the two separated and stood properly; after all, it was somewhat embarrassing. Qin Yi addressed Zhang Ling, “How has your sword practice gone these past three days?”

For reasons he couldn’t explain, Zhang Ling felt that Qin Yi genuinely cared about his progress. “I’ve gained some insight,” he replied.

He glanced at Yang Xiao, his expression mischievous, provoking Yang Xiao’s angry glare, though the latter had to suppress it.

Qin Yi nodded. “And horseback riding?”

Zhang Ling sighed, prompting a burst of laughter from Yang Xiao. For three days, Zhang Ling had been thrown from the horse over and over; aside from the clash of weapons, Yang Xiao’s gleeful laughter was ever-present. Zhang Ling glanced at him, tempted to call him “such an unseemly senior,” but his gaze fell upon Yang Xiao’s sword, stirring a question.

He turned back, shook his head, and said, “That horse seems to have a temper, refuses to let me ride. But I do have a question.”

Qin Yi waved his sleeve, “Speak.”

Zhang Ling asked, “Just now, I saw Senior Yang’s sword trembling on its own, without being touched. Does the sword possess a spirit?”

Before Qin Yi could answer, Yang Xiao sidled over and tapped Zhang Ling’s head. Zhang Ling shot him an annoyed look. Yang Xiao grinned, “Why ask Qin Yi? Let your senior explain.”

He removed his sword and placed it before Zhang Ling. “You’re right—this is a famous blade. But not all swords possess spirit; only those forged from fine steel by master craftsmen can be called renowned swords. These blades recognize their masters; only the chosen wielder can draw the sword, and the same goes for other weapons. Most people use only blades or swords.”

Yang Xiao partially drew his sword, revealing intricate golden patterns. Proudly, he said, “Among the world’s famed swords, there are three pairs known as ‘lover’s blades.’ Mine is called Golden Blossom; Lin Rui’s is Silver Tree. Both are rare treasures, aren’t you envious?”

His nose lifted high, but Zhang Ling paid him no mind. Lin Rui pulled him aside, and Zhang Ling looked down at his own sword, asking, “What about mine?”

Lin Rui took the short sword, drew it, and frowned, saying nothing, then handed it to Yang Xiao. “Take a look.”

Yang Xiao leaned in, his brow furrowing as well. The two seemed to share a tacit understanding. Yang Xiao said, “I hadn’t noticed before—the sword is quite ordinary, but…”

He paused, seemed to awaken to a realization, then continued, “But it carries a strong scent of blood.”

Zhang Ling took the sword back, examining it closely, but could not detect the bloody scent Yang Xiao described. Yang Xiao explained, “The smell of blood can be masked, but when a sword has soaked in too much blood, it retains a ‘blood aura’ that remains even after reforging. Most people cannot perceive it.”

Yang Xiao mused, “Ordinary martial artists would never use their sword to such an extent—it’s as if this blade has witnessed a bloody battle between armies. The number of lives it has claimed is unimaginable.”

He looked at Zhang Ling. “Where did you get this sword?”