Chapter 9: Saber Technique

Chapter 9: The Art of the Blade

Early the next morning, Zhao Changhe stared speechlessly at the cornbread sent by the servant, complaining with a hint of grievance: "This is breakfast? It's worse than what we had at the inn on the road."

Luo Qi wanted to say something but held back. After last night's nonsense, this guy had gone back to squatting in a horse stance for half an hour, collapsing from exhaustion before sleeping, his head hitting the table and snoring loudly, keeping Luo Qi awake all night.

But his effort was truly commendable.

Luo Qi didn't know whether to mock him for overreaching or encourage him. He silently gnawed on his cornbread and said, "In the dead of winter, having something to eat is already good enough. You and I had chicken legs last night—do you know how many people were drooling?"

Zhao Changhe came to his senses. Whether this was a world of martial arts or one where only scholarship mattered, it was ultimately an ancient world template. With ancient productivity, even landlords couldn't necessarily have meat at every meal, let alone in this "chaotic era," where many couldn't even get enough to eat. Having a full stomach in the morning was already a decent treatment...

Thinking about it, he felt a bit worried. The nutritional demands of the Blood Fiend Art were no joke; cornbread alone wouldn't suffice. He wondered if there were tasks to earn better food.

Would he have to resort to robbing?

The discomfort wasn't limited to the cornbread; everything else was equally inconvenient.

For instance, behind the stronghold was a waterfall that fell into a pool, from which a stream branched off and wound down the mountain. The scenery was actually quite pleasant. Daily water was fetched from here by servants... but no one would fetch water for you to wash your face—that water was for drinking. In this weather, who could jump into the pool to bathe? How was one supposed to live like this...

Luo Qi scratched an itch and complained, "I've never gone this many days without a bath... What a lousy place. The Luo family's conditions were something countless people dreamed of, but you had to go and become a wanted fugitive."

Zhao Changhe sighed. "Why bring that up again now..."

Luo Qi turned his head away, ignoring him. He knew his complaint was unreasonable; blaming Zhao Changhe for this wasn't fair.

In truth, Zhao Changhe felt the same. From a comfortable modern life to this miserable state, he fully understood Luo Qi's irrational complaints. If that blind man were in front of him now, Zhao Changhe figured he'd slap him across the face.

He wondered how other mountain bandits managed to enjoy themselves... But he knew that no matter how they did it, they had to be the bandit chief, not a mere foot soldier.

"Enough of this. I'm going to train." Zhao Changhe didn't linger. He finished his cornbread and headed to the stronghold's training ground.

As a complete novice with no prior exposure to martial arts, just reading a "manual" wouldn't teach him anything. He needed someone to answer his questions; otherwise, even the terminology would be hard to understand. Luo Qi's path was different from the Blood God Sect's, so asking him was useless.

Fang Buping, as the branch leader, didn't personally teach here. There were dedicated instructors for that, so he could just go and learn directly.

There was no snow today. When he arrived at the training ground, many people were already practicing. Zhao Changhe noticed they were all training with blades.

The instructor's voice echoed across the ground: "Though the blade is easy to pick up, it's not just random slashing! Look at this simple turning slash—how many times have I said it? Don't overextend, or you'll leave too many openings and won't be able to recover in time. Zhang Quan! Look at how you're twisting your waist—are you dancing a yangge?"

Zhao Changhe watched closely as the instructor pointed at Zhang Quan. Zhang Quan executed a turning slash, incredibly fast, as if anyone attacking from behind would be cut in two, yet he was scolded harshly.

The instructor snatched Zhang Quan's blade: "Let me demonstrate one more time. Watch closely!"

He slightly bent his legs, shifted his feet lightly, and twisted his waist. Zhao Changhe saw a flash of the blade as it stopped firmly at a 90-degree angle behind him.

The blade was clearly faster than Zhang Quan's, yet it stopped with perfect stability, not advancing a single inch further, as if an invisible wall had blocked it.

The instructor shouted, "Don't use all your strength, so you can remain flexible. With a slash like this, whether it achieves the desired effect or not, you still have strength left to adapt!"

So that was it. So that was it.

Back in the dream, how had he been killed?

Even the simplest martial arts had their tricks. If he had trained in such a move back then, even just the basics, the outcome might have been different...

The purpose of "entering the dream" was probably to learn these things, wasn't it?

After all this wandering, he had finally started... Though it might have deviated from the blind man's original intent, that could be a good thing...

Then Zhang Quan said, "But Instructor, I didn't mean to use that much force. But you also demand speed, and once you go fast, you can't stop..."

"That requires practice! Just this turning slash—how much force to use, where to stop—practice it a thousand times a day, and you'll get it!" Instructor Sun's voice was still loud. "Besides that, did you all see how I coordinated my waist and legs just now? You think I have you squatting in horse stances for nothing?"

"Huh?" Zhang Quan scratched his head. "I didn't quite catch it. Instructor, could you..."

"Hmm?" Instructor Sun glared.

Zhang Quan shrank back with an apologetic smile.

The other trainees chimed in, "None of us saw it clearly. Instructor, demonstrate it one more time..."

Instructor Sun shook his head, disappointed. This wasn't the first time he'd explained it. They were all as stupid as oxen, forgetting what they learned yesterday and shamelessly claiming they hadn't seen it clearly.

He looked around, hoping to find someone who understood, and spotted Zhao Changhe standing at a distance, looking thoughtful.

"You there, Zhao Changhe, right?" Instructor Sun called out. "What's that expression? Did you understand?"

"Oh..." Zhao Changhe snapped back to reality and stepped forward hesitantly. "Let me try with a blade?"

Instructor Sun handed him the blade directly but added, "Head up, chest out! Speak louder! Whispering like that—what kind of outlaw are you? Trying to pass the imperial exam?"

Zhao Changhe twitched his cheek. "I'm joining a demonic sect. Aren't there supposed to be sinister types too..."

"Ha, you've got a sharp tongue! You're not in the sect yet; you're just... forget it." Instructor Sun waved his hand, holding back. "Anyway, speak up! Haven't you eaten?"

Zhao Changhe shouted, "Give me the damn blade!"

Instructor Sun handed it over with satisfaction.

Zhao Changhe: "..."

What kind of person was this?

Taking the blade, he found it surprisingly light, maybe two or three jin... It was an ordinary single blade, like the one he had used to stab Luo Zhenwu, not the heavy broadsword from his dream, which weighed dozens of jin. He doubted such a blade even existed in reality.

When swinging that broadsword, he had to throw all his strength into it, unable to control where it stopped. But this single blade seemed manageable. Recalling Instructor Sun's movements, Zhao Changhe bent his legs, turned, and with a "swish," slashed backward, trying to stop at the same position as the instructor. It looked decent.

Instructor Sun showed a hint of surprise. "Good comprehension! With this kind of talent and a solid physique, how come you're only starting martial arts now? What a pity, what a pity."

Zhao Changhe returned the blade and clasped his fists. "Please guide me, Instructor."

"Your hand isn't steady enough, and your positioning isn't precise enough. That requires practice... Here..." Instructor Sun adjusted Zhao Changhe's hand, guiding it to a stop at a certain position. "Remember this sense of position. Find it. Swing the blade like this every day, as many times as you can. The more you do it, the faster and steadier your swings will become. That's the essence of all martial arts!"

Zhao Changhe exhaled and said sincerely, "Thank you, Instructor."

Instructor Sun squinted at him for a moment, then turned to the crowd in the training ground and shouted, "What are you all staring at? Practice! Learn from Zhao Changhe! He nailed it on his first try, and you still look like a mess. Do you have any shame? No food for any of you today!"

A group of people glared at Zhao Changhe with unfriendly eyes.

Zhao Changhe twitched his mouth. He dreaded being held up as an example. Had he already offended all his classmates on his first day?