Chapter Twenty-Two: The Temple Master Speaks of the Sword

As a few uncles and aunts stirred up a commotion, the whole town was set ablaze with excitement.

Zhangxiang Town was famed far and wide for its prosperity, neighboring Baoguan as well, yet for years it had not produced a single immortal, leaving its reputation somewhat diminished. Fortune smiled last year when the young scholar of the Cheng family was accepted into the immortal mountain, and the townsfolk felt their honor restored.

As for the Chengs being outsiders, having moved here twenty years ago, no one dared mention it. Zhangxiang was ever a town of varied surnames—what harm in adding another?

Master Cheng was a scholar revered for his wisdom and teaching, Lady Zhu of the Chengs was famed for her virtue and benevolence, and the young scholar was now counted among the disciples of immortals. These accolades were personally inscribed in the “Zhangxiang Town Chronicle” by the village elder—who would gossip otherwise?

Now that an immortal had returned home, festivities were inevitable.

Yunqi could not restrain the tide, nor explain he was but a mere qi-refining novice, not yet having opened his spiritual mansion.

The aunts who first entered Yunqi’s courtyard were sharp-eyed; they instantly noticed the absence of dust throughout the house. Yet from the moment Yunqi opened the door to their entry, so little time had passed—how could the place be so clean?

It must be, they whispered, that the immortal’s abode naturally repels all filth.

As this miracle quietly spread, the banquet grew ever grander. Everyone insisted Yunqi stay in town a while longer, not hurrying back to the mountain, so that the town might bask in a bit more immortal aura.

Yunqi could only laugh and acquiesce to remain a few days more.

The persistent rain could not dampen the neighbors’ enthusiasm—they stretched cloth for shelters, gathered firewood for warmth, slaughtered chickens and sheep, brought out wine, filling the air with merry bustle.

That night, Yunqi was thoroughly drunk.

———

The second day.

The mundane world is the gentlest homeland, yet it wears away one’s resolve.

For the first time in years, Yunqi rose late; he slept soundly in his own bed.

He stepped into the courtyard, the rain had stopped, and a rainbow hung in the sky—a blessing from the heavens.

Following his usual routine, Yunqi exercised, then practiced breathing and visualization.

Once his spirit was settled, he shouldered a large bamboo basket, took paper candles and offerings, and headed toward the wild hills.

At the ancestral graves, he found no weeds or stones—clearly well tended by the townsfolk, and surely they would care for them even more now.

Yunqi wiped the stone tablet, added fresh earth, set out offerings, and spent a while speaking.

Afterward, he ventured deeper into the wilds, leaping several times until he vanished from sight.

He returned to the town by afternoon, his basket brimming.

He set a large pot in the courtyard, politely declining the aunts’ help, and began boiling the herbs.

When the neighbors heard Yunqi was preparing medicine for the townsfolk, their bodies trembled with anticipation.

Some kept their composure, quietly spreading the news among the heads of each household.

In no time, the town fell silent; even a dog barking at any door was met with a stick.

Those with no outsiders at home rubbed their hands in glee, waiting. Those with visiting relatives or friends, though hearts pounding, kept their faces calm, lowered their voices, and feigned nothing unusual.

The village elder had made it clear: whoever leaked this news to outsiders would not be welcome in Zhangxiang.

There were bonds of kinship and distance among the neighbors. The ten or so households in Green Tile Alley, for example, had immortal-carved plaques for peace and safety—even if made before the immortal ascended, they surely held some spiritual energy, and others envied them deeply.

But today was different. The young scholar had declared: every family would have a pill—an immense blessing. No one must let word slip.

Though called a town, Zhangxiang was no more than a village. Its wealth came from backing Rainlin Temple and the fame of the Three Pure Immortal Mountains, built on ancestral land and inherited incense-making craft. Brick houses and stone roads transformed the village into a town, but the people remained few, their unity in facing outsiders instinctive.

Everyone waited until the next day; all relatives and friends were sent away by their hosts with various excuses.

By noon, the summer sun shone bright after the rain, the air grew hot, and anticipation mounted. At last, the Cheng family’s gate opened.

Yunqi carried a rough cloth pouch, handing it to Uncle Wang, who waited outside.

“These are not miraculous pills, merely qi-tonics for illness. If there’s ever a grave injury or sudden sickness beyond the doctor’s help, you may try one. Please, Uncle Wang, distribute them. If some families have extras, gather them, share more with the elderly or weak. I’ll leave it to you.”

Uncle Wang received the pouch with trembling hands, and without waiting for Yunqi’s response, knelt and bowed with a thud.

Yunqi hurried to pull him up, assuring him it was unnecessary.

Watching Uncle Wang leave, full of gratitude, Yunqi felt rather embarrassed—the pills in the pouch were dull gray, and if taken to the mountain’s pill workshop, he’d likely be beaten for them. But this was the extent of his alchemy—he could brew medicine in a big pot, what more could he ask?

Now that the master had returned, no one dared enter the courtyard uninvited, so none realized that the large bundle in Yunqi’s room had already shrunk by half.

———

The third day.

Yunqi rose at dawn, the sky still dim, and made his way slowly toward Rainlin Temple under the lingering starlight.

Meanwhile, in the temple:

“Master, will you practice swordplay again today?”

A young novice, cradling a sword, arrived at the door of Elder Zhenwei.

The child was puzzled. In his short memory, the temple master had never practiced swordplay, only breathing and boxing. Why the sudden interest?

Since parting from that handsome young man two days ago, the master had sought out a sword, and at dawn yesterday, practiced swordplay in the temple’s main square. Visitors were thrilled, as the master trained for over an hour under their watchful eyes. Even the novice was surprised at the master’s vigor, and the guests exclaimed he was truly an immortal.

“Practice!”

The old master pushed open his door and strode briskly to the front courtyard, swift as a meteor, hardly resembling a centenarian.

The temple was bustling today—partly because the rains had finally ended and everyone wanted to be out, partly because word had spread of the master’s swordplay, drawing crowds eager to witness it.

Zhenwei paused at the rear courtyard, seeing the throng, his expression stiffened. He tiptoed to the back window for a quick glance, saw no one he sought, and whispered to the novice, “We’ll practice in the back today. Watch the front—if anyone seeks me, say I’m not here. But if someone named Cheng Yunqi comes, bring him in.”

“That’s the handsome brother you saw off the other day?” the child asked, tilting his head.

“Sharp as ever,” the old master replied, patting the child’s head with a smile.

The novice eyed the master, calling assent, but his dark eyes spun—was the master practicing swordplay for that handsome brother?

Luckily, Yunqi did not keep him waiting; as the sun touched the temple, Yunqi arrived, gazing at the bustling scene and marveling at Rainlin Temple’s thriving incense.

He had just entered when a jade-cheeked novice ran up.

Yunqi looked at him, puzzled.

The child beckoned, signaling Yunqi to lean closer.

Curious, Yunqi bent to listen.

“Are you here to see the master?”

Yunqi nodded.

“Then follow me.”

The novice tugged Yunqi’s robe, guiding him.

Thus, Yunqi followed through the crowd to the rear courtyard.

The back was the domain of the temple’s monks; visitors never entered. With the crowd in front, it was empty now.

“Swish! Swish!”

A series of sword sounds caught Yunqi’s attention.

The novice led him over.

Behind a strange rock, Elder Zhenwei was wielding a sword, robes billowing, hair and beard flowing like a waterfall, movements as graceful as dragon or crane. The old master was no pretender—though Yunqi was a novice himself, he could see the sword in the master’s hand moved as swift as a gale, as powerful as thunder, its song unceasing.

“Marvelous swordplay!” Yunqi praised.

“The master is practicing for—”

“Guest is here, child, leave us!” the old master suddenly interrupted.

The novice huffed softly and ran off to play.

“Yunqi, you’ve come,” the master greeted him with a smile.

Yunqi bowed. “I did not know the master practiced swordplay so often.”

The master coughed lightly; subtlety was not his forte, so he got straight to the point. “Yesterday, you mentioned your fondness for sword arts, but because they require much time and resources, you had to set them aside—is that so?”

———

Yunqi nodded—it was true. He cursed his elder brother Bingkun, who before leaving the sect, mocked his ambition to be a swordsman without even owning a sword.

“Do you understand sword arts?”

“I know a little. In the sect, Sword Mountain specializes in flying swords and magical sword arts, while Mirror Stone Forest focuses on physical sword arts, paired with star-stepping techniques.”

The old master nodded. “Which do you prefer?”

Yunqi smiled. “It’s said sword training is costly, but among the three, flying sword and magical sword are the most expensive. So, I rarely touched them. Physical sword arts are somewhat more accessible, but even the cheapest refined iron sword in the sect is not cheap. I never had one, only carved bamboo swords for practice. I’ve tried some physical sword forms, but am no expert in any. If you ask which art I prefer, I couldn’t truly say.”

On hearing Yunqi say that even physical sword arts were costly, the master subtly shook his head but smiled at the rest.

“I have cherished the sword my whole life. Though I never achieved much, I lingered in the sect for decades. Would you like to hear my thoughts?”

Yunqi was eager; such wisdom was not false—after all, the master had cultivated in the mountains for decades, and his sword practice surpassed even his qi-training. To guide a novice like Yunqi was more than sufficient; there was no such opportunity in the sect, where everyone was busy.

“Flying sword, magical sword, physical sword—each has its merits. I was first enrolled in Sword Mountain, but later found myself more interested in physical sword arts.”

The master first confessed his own preference.

“Flying swords are most famed these days, truth be told, due to the influence of several Western Shu sects.”

He mentioned Western Shu, a place Yunqi had often heard since entering the mountains.

“Emei, Qingcheng, Qingyang, and Heming are all major sects specializing in flying swords. They focus on flying swords paired with the Primordial Spirit; at a single thought, the sword soars through the air to strike a foe a thousand miles away—truly formidable.

“The essence of flying swords lies in ‘speed’ and ‘sharpness’. To achieve speed, one must command powerful mental force; to achieve sharpness, the sword must be of superior quality, and constantly tempered. How? Two methods—by external means, like sword gourds, whetstones, wind caves—all expensive; or by personal cultivation, nurturing the sword in the lung or purple palace, tempering it with vital essence or mental force.

“In our Sword Mountain, external nurturing is primary, internal secondary. As always, qi cultivation is fundamental, inner alchemy the great path—how can one feed an object with one’s own body? Even internal nurturing has rules; for example, you may not open the gold palace solely for sword nurturing, but must open a fire or earth palace to suppress the metal nature. Mental tempering is only allowed at the second stage.

“In contrast, the Shu sword sects treat the body as the sword’s sheath, the spirit as the true soul, cultivating the lung palace as the sword chamber from the start, aiming to ascend with the sword by spirit.

“My teacher once said, jokingly, that the Shu sects are fiery and vengeful at best, and at worst, their obsession with the sword has addled their minds.”

Yunqi laughed along.

“Yet, they have carved out a name among the western lands, beset by demons. They command the sword by thought, temper it with thought, and in truth, temper their minds by the sword. Over time, their mental force carries the sword’s sharpness—they call this sword intent.

“When you encounter them, you’ll feel it—even without drawing their swords, standing quietly, they exude sword intent, making others uneasy.”

Yunqi nodded inwardly—his journey to the Southern Wilderness was close to Western Shu.

“Magical sword arts are the oldest tradition. Practitioners use them to channel magic—the magical sword is a medium connecting personal power and heavenly qi, also called the talisman sword, so even the poorest must be forged from refined five-element metals.

“The essence of magical swords, I believe, is in ‘nurture’ and ‘empowerment’. Nurture means daily refining with magic, empowerment means inscribing talismans—whenever inspired, one writes it upon the sword. Magical swords are usually dormant, but when activated, magic floods forth like rivers, commanding heavenly qi, performing wonders.

“Flying swords can strike from afar, but magical swords are similar—a single swing unleashes magic like sunlight, cleaving clouds and mountains—that is sword qi.

“Thus, magical swords require painstaking cultivation and the owner’s insight, only revealing their power over time.

“The most famous magical sword is, of course, the Celestial Master Sword of Longhu Mountain, bearing eight thousand years of empowerment from generations of masters. No one would dare test it—not even immortals.”

The foundation of the Celestial Master’s Mansion was awe-inspiring; Yunqi marveled inwardly.

The master paused, then continued, “Physical sword is the worn sword, an external object, pure in its sharpness. Some call it a mortal’s sword, but I disagree.

“Physical sword is a martial sword, its essence lies in ‘courage’ and ‘adaptability’.

“What is courage? It is pressing forward, finding life amid death. In physical sword arts, fate hangs in inches, life and death in fractions, stepping forth, one may stand against nations.

“What is adaptability? All phenomena change in an instant—striking like a deer’s leap, elusive and unpredictable, impossible to guard against. Whether flying sword or magical sword, they lack adaptability, but wielding a sword in hand, it moves with the heart—the enemy will never know its next target.

“This concerns the hand’s technique, but physical sword arts rely equally on footwork, the true highlight.

“Physical sword arts pair with star-stepping techniques: one step shifts the stars, that is adaptability; one thrust pursues stars and moons, that is courage.

“When the sword has both, it forms momentum—when momentum rises, the enemy cannot defeat you.

“The best practitioners are the Hengshan branch of Sword Sect; their swords reveal the Milky Way. The Hengshan master once left the mountain, entered the Southern Wilderness alone, and swept countless demon lairs. He was praised: ‘One step, three thousand miles in battle; one sword, a match for a million troops.’ How can such swordplay be less than flying or magical swords? Who dares call it a mortal’s sword?”

At this, the master’s passion overcame him, and he struck the table.

Yunqi, hearing the discourse on the three sword arts, was stirred in spirit and heart, unable to judge which was superior or inferior.