Slumber

The sky was clear and the air was fresh; even without a special occasion, it was enough to lift one’s spirits. In the following days, every morning, Zhang Ling would drive his carriage for a circuit around Jinyu City, picking up Ren Pingsheng before heading together to Luoxia Cave. Upon arrival, Ren Pingsheng would show his silver token to Tang Yong and enter ahead. Neither Zhang Ling nor Song Linjie possessed such a token; and since Lü Qingci guarded the silver strictly, Tang Yong had no coins to offer, leaving him only with the opportunity to spar with Zhang Ling whenever possible.

Zhang Ling entered the cave at a measured pace. Sensing an approaching presence, he leaned back slightly, internal energy swirling within him and gathering in his left fist. He twisted his body and struck out. As his fist met Tang Yong’s chest, he deliberately held back, only knocking him a few steps backward.

Without pausing, Zhang Ling continued deeper inside. Tang Yong hurried after him, laughing, “Your aura is practically tangible now, Zhang Ling. Looks like you’re about to reach Third Grade!”

Zhang Ling replied coolly, “Mind your own business. There are only a few days left before the academy examination, yet here you are, idling away.”

Tang Yong shrugged helplessly. “What can I do? There aren’t many skilled fighters in Luoxia Cave. Practicing alone is just too dull. I’ve recently learned a move called Tiger Seizing Fist—want to give it a try?”

Zhang Ling brushed him aside, quickening his pace toward the library, leaving only a parting comment: “If you’re really so bored, go challenge the retainers from the great clans like Song Linjie does. Stop buzzing around me like an annoying fly.”

Crossing into the library, Zhang Ling did not proceed toward the martial arts section, but instead approached the shelves of literary and historical works. In recent days, apart from cultivating his internal strength through the Mirror Reflections meditation, he had been seeking inspiration from various weapons to make a breakthrough in swordsmanship. At his current pace, he was certain to achieve Third Grade before the academy examination. In his spare moments, Zhang Ling would browse the historical texts, tracing the beginnings of the Empire of Light and Shadow five centuries ago, when its emperor unified the Central Plain, and the founding of sects became widespread. This emperor was acclaimed as the greatest martial artist in five centuries—the first to reach the realm of sage and immortal. It was he who divided the four grades of martial cultivation, treading all under heaven beneath his feet, wielding power of life and death, driving the barbarians beyond the borders so that not a soul was seen for a thousand miles of prairie, and establishing an era of unprecedented splendor. Yet, after crowning himself the greatest of all time with blood, he turned tyrant, unleashing a reign of terror and slaughter until the Central Plain itself resembled a living hell. At last, the feudal lords rose up and destroyed the Empire of Light and Shadow, dividing the world into seven realms, each lord proclaiming himself king and swearing a century of peace to allow rest and recovery. This peace persisted to the present, though ambition still lingered in men’s hearts.

As Zhang Ling read the accounts of this legendary emperor’s countless crimes, he could not help but marvel at his undeniable achievements. Such a figure could never have endured long in the world, and history, after all, was not always to be trusted.

Replacing the history book, Zhang Ling circled past several shelves and came upon a row of old tomes, each thick with dust. No one ever read these; even the servants neglected to clean them. It was here he had previously found Ren Pingsheng’s book. To him, these volumes were worth more than gold. Zhang Ling randomly pulled one out; its title was “Slumber.” He smiled—it was true, the books here were unique.

Opening the first page, he saw verses about the unity of man and nature, the tranquility of forgetting oneself, the birth of steadfast dreams, the fall of silicon into vast waves, and then, sleep...

For some reason, Zhang Ling suddenly felt his body grow heavy. What he could once hold in one hand now required both; it felt like gripping a massive stone. His eyelids seemed weighted with bricks that no strength could lift, and he could only hold on by sheer will.

What was happening?

Forcing himself to turn the next page, Zhang Ling’s body finally gave out. He collapsed to the ground, the book slipping from his grasp and falling open to the final page, where only a single word remained: Sleep.

---

Within his mind, Zhang Ling struggled desperately. Darkness enveloped his vision. After what felt like ages, his strength finally returned, and he burst open his eyes. Blinding light flooded in, and he instinctively shielded his face.

He found himself surrounded by yellow sand beneath a cloudless sky, yet the air brimmed with a chilling sense of menace. Zhang Ling flexed his limbs—everything was clear. He had been whisked here from Luoxia Cave in an instant. He remembered this feeling from his time in Luochuan County—a state between dream and reality.

Suddenly, the wind stirred the sand, and in the distance, a black speck resolved itself into the figure of a youth approaching at a steady pace. The young man carried a long spear and wore plain clothes; beneath the endless, yellow sky, he looked all the more heroic. He spoke first: “You’ve arrived.”

Zhang Ling got straight to the point, “What’s the test this time?”

The youth sat cross-legged, laying the spear across his knees, eyes bright with spirit. “No rush. First, tell me—have you found the answer you seek?”

Zhang Ling shook his head and sat calmly upon the sand. “My heart feels shrouded in mist, bound by invisible chains. It’s a stifling sensation, but it allows me to remain calm, unruffled no matter what. I know what gave rise to it, but I have no other path to take. Helpless, I forced my heart to become like this. Though I’m no longer troubled as before, I also have no desire to seek that key.”

The youth said calmly, “Such a complex heart has spared you many disasters, but with a strategist’s mind, you’ll never truly set foot on the martial path.”

Zhang Ling smiled faintly, “What choice do I have? When you see through everything, who would still choose to play the fool?”

The youth countered, “Are you sure you’ve truly seen yourself clearly?”

He deliberately emphasized the word “yourself.” Zhang Ling chuckled, “It doesn’t matter. At least, right now, I have no time to worry about such things.”

The youth sneered, “You already know the answer. You’re just running from it.”

---

Rarely did Zhang Ling feel anger rise, but he quickly suppressed it and said impatiently, “Enough talk. What’s the test this time?”

The youth stood, brandishing his long spear in a sweeping arc, half-tucked under his arm, the tip pointed at Zhang Ling. In the light of the rising sun, it gleamed brilliantly. He declared, “It’s simple. Kill me.”

Zhang Ling drew his short sword and charged without hesitation. He knew the spear needed space to generate power—at close range, his opponent could not fully use its strength.

The youth raised his spear, using Zhang Ling’s downward sword stroke to slide backward, leaving a straight line in the sand. The spear spun half a turn in his grasp, its tip bracing against the ground behind him, stabilizing his stance in an instant.

The spear traced a subtle arc in the sand, then stood upright at his side. Dragging the weapon, the youth rushed at Zhang Ling, the tip scraping the ground with a sibilant hiss, the furrow in the sand lengthening. At five paces, the spear swept up in a sideward slash.

Zhang Ling parried with his sword, but it was like being struck by a boulder—he was flung aside. Once he could use the momentum, he let the tightly wound spear spring away; with one unit of force, it stored three and delivered five in return.

After training with many weapons, Zhang Ling knew the strengths and weaknesses of the spear intimately. Unless his opponent’s martial skill far exceeded his own, he had room to maneuver—victory by skill over strength was possible.

As the youth attacked again, Zhang Ling began to circle in the opposite direction, making the spearman the center and himself the circumference. Within this outer ring, the spear could reach its greatest power; too close and it could not be fully unleashed, too far and its force would begin to wane.

Only when the youth retracted his spear did Zhang Ling strike back, his superior agility allowing him to dart and weave, chasing and retreating in a relentless contest of pursuit and evasion.