Chapter 18: Heavy Swords Lack Edges, Great Skill Appears Unskilled

White mist buries the shadowed gullies, while crimson clouds enhance the dawn’s light.

Floating Cloud Mountain, Seeking Truth Monastery, the Scripture Repository.

Outside, the world is frozen in the grip of winter, with autumn frost covering the ground. Inside, however, it is warm as spring, filled with the curling fragrance of tea. The scent of incense clears the mind, and the aroma of books soaks into the soul.

An elderly Taoist with white hair sits at his desk, absorbed in the scriptures. His focus is so intense that he forgets both himself and the world around him, remaining seated for two hours. Once he has thoroughly grasped the Taoist text in his hands, he stands to stretch his limbs, walks to the window, and gazes into the distance from the heights to relieve his fatigue and relax his body and mind.

He gazes at the colors of the distant mountains and listens to the sound of the nearby waters. Looking toward the Sword Cliff on the western side, he gently strokes his beard.

More than two months have passed since the Sword Cliff was unveiled. It is now late autumn; the autumn winds are biting and the world looks desolate. The vegetation on Floating Cloud Mountain has withered, leaving only the pines, cypresses, and bamboo forests to remain evergreen, displaying strong resilience and vigorous vitality.

Just as full of vitality are the disciples of the Seeking Truth Monastery. Despite the freezing weather, their enthusiasm remains undiminished, and they frequently linger beneath the Sword Cliff. Some sit cross-legged on the ground, intently observing the sword marks; others practice their swordplay on the spot, hoping to resonate with the carvings. Some train alone, while others engage in sparring drills. The atmosphere of sword practice is intense, and the disciples are in high spirits.

Some disciples even brandish sabers or practice with other weapons beneath the cliff. Young minds are expansive and full of ideas; in their own words, while the manifestations are myriad, the essence remains the same—all weapons share common principles. They believe that by practicing martial arts under the Sword Cliff, they might draw analogies and gain new insights.

There are even disciples who bring scriptures and scrolls to read under the cliff. They feel that the Sword Cliff is beneficial for cultivation, that the human clamor is good for tempering the heart, and that the competitive atmosphere stimulates their fighting spirit.

He heard all of this during the intervals of his reading, while listening to the conversations of the disciples entering the library. He was somewhat surprised by this. He had not expected the Sword Cliff to have such an effect. It had become not only a treasure land for practicing swordsmanship but also, in a way, another sacred site for cultivation in the Seeking Truth Monastery.

However, Xuanming and the other third-generation Taoists did not stop them; they were happy to see it happen. When a hundred boats compete and a thousand sails race, it is the perfect time to ride the wind and break the waves. The disciples are young and in the prime of their ambition. As long as they are driven, any place can be a site for the Way. Furthermore, the more intense the atmosphere of cultivation under the Sword Cliff, the more beneficial it is for the disciples and the inheritance of the Seeking Truth Monastery.

Xuanxu even took the opportunity to order the construction of meditation pavilions, sword-discussion platforms, and dueling arenas beneath the cliff, with the clear intention of developing the Sword Cliff into a holy land for cultivation within the Seeking Truth Monastery. In seizing opportunities and handling administrative affairs, Xuanxu was truly worthy of his title as Abbot; he was highly capable and skilled.

***

Mountain winds brush by, and white hair dances in the breeze.

Xuanming stands by the window, gazing at the Sword Cliff for a while. His ears twitch slightly, and his eyes fall upon a figure on the Hidden Tao Peak.

On the steep mountain path, a young Taoist is carrying an old log as thick as a millstone and a zhang long, trekking up the mountain. Sweat soaks the ground, veins bulge on his forehead, and his Taoist robe clings to his body. Despite being exhausted, he does not stop to rest, nor does he give up, gritting his teeth and persisting. He climbs slowly, his steps steady and firm.

Only when he reaches the marble plaza in front of the Scripture Repository and sets down the heavy load to pile it with other giant logs does he collapse onto the ground, uncaring of his image, gasping for breath. After recovering a bit of strength, the young Taoist grits his teeth, stands up, and begins to carry the giant logs back down the mountain.

This young Taoist laboring under a heavy burden is none other than Chang'an Zi.

Watching the lad, Xuanming smiles with satisfaction. Under his near-rigorous training, Chang'an Zi spends every day without using a shred of magic—carrying water, chopping wood, performing heavy physical training, and swinging a heavy sword. At first, he was covered in bruises, too tired to speak, his arms aching and his body swollen. Every night he would hide under his quilt and cry, yet the next day, he would appear on time at the foot of the Hidden Tao Peak to haul water, move heavy objects, and practice swordplay.

Up the mountain and down the mountain, over and over, in a never-ending cycle. The heavy objects grew heavier each day, and the heavy sword grew more substantial with every passing sun, yet he remained steadfast and tireless. Because of this, his appearance changed drastically in just half a year. His fat had turned into solid muscle; his frame was sturdy, his features rugged, and he had become a tough-as-nails Taoist.

Watching the bustling Chang'an Zi, Xuanming sighs softly: "Without the bitter cold that pierces the bone, how can the plum blossom emit such a fragrant scent? You brat, wanting to be reborn is no easy feat. Just keep grinding."

After these reflections, he turns and sits back down. With a wave of his hand, a Taoist scripture flies from the shelf to the desk. He has already read all eight hundred scrolls on the first floor. The second floor originally held one hundred precious Taoist scriptures, and after receiving rewards from the imperial court, more than two hundred were added. Now, there are over three hundred, enough for him to continue reading and contemplating for a while.

Once he has contemplated all one thousand-plus scriptures in the library, it will not be too late to seek out others. When the cart reaches the mountain, there will surely be a road, and when the boat reaches the bridge, it will naturally straighten. By then, he should have achieved the status of a Qi-Refining Master, which will make things much more convenient.

***

Contemplating the Way through scriptures, practicing techniques and swordplay, absorbing Qi and breathing, studying arrays, practicing calligraphy and tasting tea, tutoring Chang'an, pouring his feelings into the landscape, and learning from nature...

Xuanming's life is busy and fulfilling. In addition to being well-organized, he balances work and rest, speed and slowness. His cultivation, magic power, and physical body are all steadily growing, his Taoist heart becoming clearer and his foundation deeper. There is a sense of serene freedom in his life, as if to say, "Let the red dust of the world be busy as fire, yet I remain carefree, drifting like the clouds."

***

Snow covers a thousand mountains in white, and ice seals the vast expanse for ten thousand miles.

In the blink of an eye, heavy snow seals the mountains, cloaking everything in silver. On the Hidden Tao Peak, a figure moves forward under a heavy load.

Gazing at the Scripture Repository, which looms in the distance, Chang'an Zi takes a deep breath, his eyes firm, and continues his ascent. With three logs as thick as millstones strapped to his back, his steps remain steady—slow but powerful. His fair skin has turned dark, and his expression is resolute and calm.

After moving one hundred giant logs, he runs down the mountain to a hundred-foot waterfall. In the dead of winter, he grits his teeth and stands beneath the cascade, letting the wind and snow pierce his bones and allowing the icy water to rush over him.

This is a training exercise added by his martial uncle after winter began. At first, he did not understand its purpose, but out of trust, Chang'an Zi simply obeyed and buried himself in the bitter practice. Even when frozen until his body was bruised and purple, his internal organs damaged, and he was coughing up blood, he never complained or doubted. He remained as immovable as a mountain, seeing it through to the end.

This is all because he knows: his martial uncle would never harm him.

And because he is clear: he must uncover the truth about his master's fall.

Before fulfilling this obsession, he will never slacken. Even if a gale rises from the earth, he will ride the wind for ten thousand miles. If he meets a mountain, he will open it; if he meets a river, he will cross it; if he meets a wave, he will slash through it. For this, he is willing to accept any training and bear any cost; his will is like iron, and he will never say die.

Moreover, Chang'an Zi is not stupid. Having practiced this self-torturous method for several months, combined with the body-tempering techniques passed down by his uncle, he can clearly feel his own progress. Today, he can shatter a thousand-pound boulder with a single punch.

An hour later, Chang'an Zi finishes his physical training, pulls his heavy sword from the stone, and steps into the pool to begin swinging it.

The heavy sword has no edge, relying on its massive weight for strength. This is the essence of the swordsmanship his uncle taught him. Although Chang'an Zi's understanding is still shallow, he can use the "clumsy" method to hone it, practicing the sword over and over again. The heavy sword in his hand has grown alongside his strength, increasing from thirty catties to fifty, then to over a hundred. Practicing in the water is also a trick taught by his uncle.

Only half a year remains until the Taoist Origin Assembly. If he wants to stand out, he must work even harder.