Chapter 11: The Maiden and the Flying Sword
A scholar with temples tinged with frost led a young man in blue robes away from the village school and over to the memorial archway. This teacher, the most learned man in the small town, looked somewhat haggard. He raised a hand and pointed to a plaque above their heads. "'When the duty is right, yield not even to your teacher.' These four characters—what do they mean?"
Zhao Yao, the young disciple who also served as the teacher's pageboy, followed his gaze and looked up without hesitation. "Our Confucian teachings are founded on the principle of benevolence. The four characters on the plaque are taken from the saying: 'When faced with benevolence, yield not even to your teacher.' This means that we scholars should respect our teachers and honor the Way, but when it comes to benevolence and righteousness, we need not defer."
Master Qi asked, "Need not defer? What if we change it to 'must not defer'?"
The young man in blue robes was handsome and refined. Compared to Song Jixin's aggressive and sharp-edged demeanor, he was gentler and more restrained—like a freshly bloomed lotus, natural and endearing. When his master posed this question, which seemed to hold hidden meaning, the young man dared not take it lightly. He carefully deliberated, thinking the master was testing his knowledge—how could he answer carelessly? The middle-aged scholar saw his disciple's tense, cautious expression, smiled knowingly, and patted him on the shoulder. "I was just asking casually. No need to be nervous. It seems I've been too strict with you, polishing you too much, making you live like a statue displayed in the Wenchang Pavilion—face rigid, following rules everywhere, reasoning about everything. It must be exhausting... Though at present, this may actually be a good thing."
The young man was somewhat puzzled, but his master had already led him around to the other side. Still looking up at the four-character plaque, the scholar's expression relaxed. For some reason, this normally stern teacher began recounting many interesting anecdotes and cases, speaking to his disciple in a leisurely manner: "Before, when the plaque bore the characters 'When the duty is right, yield not even to your teacher,' the calligrapher who wrote it was once the foremost calligrapher of his time. It sparked many debates—arguments about structure versus spirit, about the merits of 'ancient simplicity' versus 'modern elegance'—and still no conclusion has been reached. In the four elements of calligraphy—rhyme, method, intent, and form—this man achieved dual mastery over the past thousand years, leaving no room for his contemporary masters. As for the current 'Rare words follow nature,' it's a bit amusing. If you look closely, you should notice that although the four characters are similar in brushstroke, structure, and spirit, they were actually written by four Grand Masters from the ancestral court of Daoism. At the time, two of those old immortals exchanged letters and argued fiercely—both wanted to write the profoundly mysterious character 'rare' and refused to write the mundane and vulgar character 'words'..."
Then the scholar led the young man to the plaque reading "Seek nothing outside." He looked left and right, his gaze deep. "The village school where you used to study will soon lose its teacher, and the local great families will either close it down or simply tear it down to build a small Daoist temple or erect a Buddha statue for incense-offering pilgrims. A Daoist or monk will preside over it, year after year, until the sexagenarian cycle ends. Perhaps they will 'replace the personnel' two or three times to avoid raising suspicion among the townsfolk—in truth, it's a crude illusion. But here, even a sesame-sized magical technique, if performed outside, might equal the grandeur of heavenly drums booming and spring thunder shaking heaven and earth..."
By the end, the teacher's voice was as faint as a mosquito's buzz. Even though the scholar Zhao Yao pricked up his ears, he could not make out the words clearly.
Master Qi sighed, his tone weary and resigned: "Many things were once heavenly secrets not to be divulged. But now, more and more, I find it matters less. Still, we are scholars, so we must maintain some face. Besides, if I, Qi Jingchun, take the lead in breaking the rules, it would be no different from a guardian turning thief—a truly ugly spectacle."
Zhao Yao suddenly mustered the courage to say, "Master, I know you are no ordinary man, and this town is no ordinary place."
The scholar smiled curiously. "Oh? Explain."
Zhao Yao pointed to the imposing twelve-pillar archway. "This place, along with the Iron Lock Well in Apricot Flower Lane, the covered bridge where two iron swords are said to hang beneath, the old locust tree, the peach trees in Peach Leaf Lane, and the plastered anniversary posts and Double Ninth Festival scrolls posted every year by the Fu-Lu Street where my Zhao family lives—all these are very strange."
The scholar interrupted him. "Strange? How so? You've grown up here and never once left. Have you ever seen the scenery beyond this town? Without comparison, how can you speak thus?"
Zhao Yao said in a low voice, "Master, I have long memorized the contents of your books. The peach blossoms in Peach Leaf Lane differ greatly from what the poems describe. Also, Master, you only teach the three primary texts, focusing on literacy. After elementary learning, what books should we read? And why do we read? What is 'pursuing an official career' in the books? What does it mean to 'be a farm boy at dawn and ascend to the Son of Heaven's hall at dusk'? What does 'The Son of Heaven values heroic talents; the classics teach you youngsters' mean? The two successive kiln supervisors never discuss the court, the capital, or worldly affairs, but..."
The scholar smiled with satisfaction. "That's enough. No need to say more."
Zhao Yao immediately fell silent.
The scholar, who called himself Qi Jingchun, said softly, "Zhao Yao, from now on you must be cautious in your words and actions. Remember that disaster often comes from the mouth. That is why most Confucian sages keep their mouths shut. The gentlemen above the sages practice self-discipline alone, guarding their conduct like jade, fearing the slightest flaw. As for the sages—like the mountain lords of the seventy-two academies—these people, like the Grand Masters of Daoism and the Arhats of Buddhism, can make their words come true with a single utterance, their speech carrying the force of law. When such people and the masters of the various philosophical schools reach this level, they are collectively called 'Earth Immortals'—one foot already across the threshold. But these figures are each like a dragon: some are exalted and unapproachable, like the statues in Daoist temples and Buddhist monasteries; others appear and disappear unpredictably, impossible for ordinary people to find."
Zhao Yao listened in a daze, as if lost in fog.
He couldn't help asking, "Master, why are you telling me all this today?"
The scholar's expression was broad-minded as he smiled. "You have a master, and naturally I have one too. As for my master... let's not speak of him. In short, I thought I could barely hold on for a few more decades, but I suddenly realized that some people behind the scenes aren't willing to wait even that long. So this time, I cannot take you out of the town—you must walk out on your own. It's time I reveal some harmless truths to you; just treat them as hearing a story. I only hope you understand one principle: there is always a sky above the sky, and there are always people above people. No matter how 'favored by heaven and blessed with good fortune' you, Zhao Yao, may be, you must never become complacent or slack off."
The dropping water level in the well and the leaves falling from the locust tree were all omens.
The scholar named Qi Jingchun reminded him, "Zhao Yao, do you remember that locust leaf I told you to keep safe?"
The young scholar nodded vigorously. "I stored it together with the seal you gave me."
"When has a leaf ever left its branch so verdant and fresh, so delicate? Among the thousands of people in this town, only a handful have received such 'blessing.' You can fondle that locust leaf often; perhaps it will bring you another opportunity."
The scholar's eyes were profound. "Besides that, all these years, I've had you perform good deeds and build good karma in the town—treat everyone with courtesy and sincerity. In time, you will slowly understand the mystery. Those seemingly insignificant trivial matters, like water dripping through stone, will eventually yield benefits no less than clinging to a copy of the local gazetteer."
The young man noticed a yellow bird perched on the stone beam, occasionally hopping and chirping.
The scholar clasped his hands behind his back and looked up at the yellow bird, his expression grave.
The young man saw nothing unusual.
The scholar Qi Jingchun suddenly turned his gaze toward Mud Vase Alley, his brow furrowing deeper.
He sighed softly. "The hibernating insects gradually hear the sounds of spring and break out of the earth. But as a guest, to skulk furtively under the host's very eyes, playing tricks in the shadows—isn't that too presumptuous? Do you really think that with half a bowl of water taken on your own authority, you can do whatever you please here?"
Zhao Yao asked worriedly, "Master?"
The scholar waved his hand, indicating that this matter had nothing to do with the young man. He led him to the last plaque.
Young Zhao Yao suddenly felt like a hibernating insect that had just heard the first thunder of spring. He stopped abruptly, staring blankly.
Not far away, there was a black-clad maiden wearing a veil hat, the gauze obscuring her face. Her figure was proportionate—neither slender nor plump. At her waist hung a long sword in a snow-white scabbard on one side and a narrow knife in a green scabbard on the other. She stood beneath the plaque reading "Vitality Piercing the Stars," arms crossed over her chest, head tilted back.
The scholar found it amusing and gave a soft cough.
The young man stood as dumb as a wooden chicken, completely oblivious to his master's reminder of "not looking at impropriety."
The scholar smiled knowingly. Instead of scolding him, he stopped his disruptive coughing and let the young man stare infatuatedly at the maiden.
The maiden seemed not to notice the young man's gaze at all.
She appeared to be especially admiring the four characters "Vitality Piercing the Stars." Unlike the solemn, dignified regular script of the other three plaques, this one's characters were written in a running-regular script, and the spirit within them was almost willful and unrestrained.
She liked it!
The young man suddenly snapped out of it when his master patted his shoulder and said with a smile, "Zhao Yao, you should go back to the school and take your things home."
The young man's face turned red. He lowered his head and followed his master back to the school.
Only then did the maiden slowly release the five fingers that had been gripping the knife handle.
In the distance, the scholar teased, "Zhao Yao, oh Zhao Yao, I just saved your life!"
The young man was shocked. "Master?"
The scholar hesitated, then said seriously, "In the future, if you see her, you must take a detour."
The gentle, refined young scholar in blue was surprised and a little disappointed. "Master, why is that?"
Qi Jingchun thought for a moment and then spoke with an air of finality. "She is fearsomely sharp—destined to be a sword without a scabbard."
The young man opened his mouth as if to speak, then stopped.
The middle-aged scholar laughed. "Of course, if it's just a matter of secretly liking someone, not even the Dao Ancestor or the Buddha can stop you. Even we scholars, with all our rules and regulations—our Supreme Sage only admonished us 'not to speak, look, listen, or act contrary to propriety,' but he never said not to think contrary to propriety."
At that moment, as if possessed, the young man blurted out loudly, "She smells very nice!"
As soon as the words left his mouth, he was stunned.
The scholar found it a bit troublesome—not because he was angry, but because the situation was tricky. He said sternly, "Zhao Yao, turn around!"
The young man instinctively turned his back to his master.
At the archway, the maiden turned her head, her murderous intent soaring.
She first let her arms hang down, pressing her thumbs against the sword pommel and knife handle respectively.
Then she began a short run. After about four or five steps, her hands and feet suddenly exerted force. The three-foot sword in its white scabbard and the slender narrow knife in its green scabbard flew out first, slanting forward and upward. At the same time, her body sprang up from the ground. She quickly grabbed the sword and knife with both hands and, without a word, brought them down in a fierce chop!
Between the black-clad maiden and the teacher and student in the town, two brilliant crescent arcs stretched and burst forth from arms that were not particularly thick.
This was no divine power, nor any spell.
It was pure speed!
The scholar looked relaxed, showing no intention of dodging. He simply stomped his foot lightly.
A ripple of energy surged outward.
In the next moment, the maiden's body tensed, her killing intent even stronger.
Her seemingly unstoppable blade and sword had completely missed, and she found herself standing exactly where she had been when she drew them.
The scholar smiled slightly. "Not bad—using full force even when fighting a rabbit like a lion. But having said that, this disciple of mine did offend you, young lady. Was it really an offense deserving death?"
The maiden deliberately made her voice sound mature and deep, slowly sliding her sword back into its scabbard and taking a single-handed grip on the knife. She pointed the blade at the scholar. "What you 'think' is your business. I don't care."
She took one step forward. "What I do is my business. Of course, you can... try to stop me!"
She surged forward rapidly.
The ground where her feet landed caved into two small pits.
The scholar, with one hand behind his back and the other loosely clenched into a fist placed before his abdomen, said with a smile, "In martial arts, only speed cannot be broken. Unfortunately, in this realm—even if it is on the verge of collapse—before that time comes, even ten Earth Immortals joining forces to break the formation would be like ants trying to shake a tree. Let alone you."
In the next moment, the maiden inexplicably appeared again more than ten paces to the scholar's left.
She thought for a moment, then closed her eyes.
The scholar shook his head and laughed. "It's not the illusion you think it is. This realm is similar to what Buddhists call a small thousand world. Here, I am..."
"Eh?"
He suddenly exclaimed in surprise and stopped speaking. In an instant, he appeared beside the maiden, leaning in to investigate. He lightly pinched the tip of her knife between two fingers.
He asked, "Who taught you your blade techniques and swordsmanship?"
The maiden did not open her eyes. Her left hand grasped the hilt of the sword she had just sheathed, and a cold light swept horizontally toward the scholar's waist, trying to cut him in half.
The scholar, still holding the knife tip with two fingers, shouted lightly, "Back!"
A clattering sound echoed across the ground, and dust flew everywhere. After a moment, the figure of the veiled maiden emerged, standing with one foot forward and one back. Between her feet and the scholar, a furrow had been gouged out of the earth, as if plowed.
The maiden's hands were bloody and mangled.
Her knife had been drawn, and her sword had been drawn, yet she had ended up being disarmed with bare hands.
And she knew full well that the enemy, besides "structuring" this realm, had been suppressing his own strength and cultivation to the same level as hers the entire time.
This was a matter of inferior skill.
Not inferior cultivation.
She seemed on the verge of going berserk.
Perhaps even the maiden herself did not realize that the light around her, centered on her body, had begun to warp.
This village school teacher, being the most reasonable of men, kindly advised, "You'd better not compare yourself to me for now. It might hinder your martial arts state of mind. In martial arts, reaching the peak step by step is crucial."
His appearance at that moment was somewhat peculiar—holding the sword by the tip in one hand and the blade flat in the other.
He suddenly laughed and imitated the maiden's tone, speaking with an air of 'old wisdom': "Whether you listen is your freedom; whether I speak is my business."
The maiden was silent for a moment, then said in a low voice, "I have learned!"
The scholar nodded with a smile. She wasn't an arrogant, overbearing woman—that was good. He lightly tossed the knife back to the maiden. "First, I'll return your knife."
He looked down at the long sword in his fingers. It hummed softly.
The young phoenix outdoes the old.
The scholar said regretfully, "The quality of this sword is quite good, but it still falls short of the top tier. As a result, it can barely bear the weight of two characters—even that is a stretch. Otherwise, given your natural talent and bone structure, you could have easily taken three characters, if not all four..."
He sighed, then casually raised his hand and shouted, "Decree!"
Two blinding beams of light shot out from the plaque bearing the words "Vitality Piercing the Stars."
The scholar flicked his sleeve twice, slapping the light into the long sword.
On the plaque, the characters "Vitality" and "Stars" still retained their vigor.
But "Piercing" and "Stars" seemed like an old man on his deathbed, having experienced a brief rally before finally losing all vitality.
The scholar casually flicked his wrist, and in the blink of an eye, the long sword returned to its owner's scabbard. Now that it was sheathed, no one could see that two streams of energy were swimming like dragons within the blade.
What happened next shocked even the experienced Qi Jingchun.
The maiden slowly removed the sword scabbard, tossed it casually aside, and it stuck slantingly into the yellow earth. Through the gauze hanging from her veiled hat, her eyes were resolute. "This is not the way of the sword I seek."
The scholar glanced at the sword she had abandoned, feeling a deep, unfamiliar heaviness. He had to ask a question beneath his dignity: "Do you know who I am?"
The maiden nodded, then shook her head. "I heard that every sexagenarian cycle, a sage from the Three Teachings takes turns presiding over the operation of a great formation here. It's been going on for several thousand years. From time to time, people leave this place carrying rare treasures or with their cultivation suddenly advanced, so I wanted to come and see. When I saw you, I confirmed your identity. Otherwise, when I attacked, I wouldn't have been so straightforward."
Qi Jingchun asked again, "And do you know what you just gave up?"
The maiden remained silent.
In the scabbard on the ground, the long sword trembled incessantly, like a peerless beauty weeping and wailing, bitterly begging her lover to change his mind.
The young scholar had already secretly turned his head and was carefully watching the distant maiden.
The scholar, a man of profound learning, was utterly baffled. He couldn't very well force the sword infused with such immense fortune back onto the maiden. Finally, he could only remind her, "Young lady, you'd best take that sword. The town is about to become very... unsafe. Having something to protect yourself is always a good thing."
The maiden did not reply. She turned and left.
She still refused to take the sword.
Qi Jingchun was a little helpless. He flicked his sleeve, embedding the sword into a high spot on one of the archway's stone pillars. If anyone tried to forcibly pull it out, it would inevitably disturb him, as the central controller—just as the "storyteller" who had acted twice, once openly and once covertly, had failed to escape the distant surveillance of this village school teacher.
After personally escorting Zhao Yao all the way from the school to the Zhao family mansion on Fu-Lu Street, the middle-aged scholar walked slowly. With each step he took, from hidden places in the deep, imposing courtyards and grand houses lining the street, some barely perceptible gleams of light would flash and vanish.
Qi Jingchun murmured to himself, "How strange. Where did that little girl come from? Could she be from a transcendent clan outside this continent?"
When he returned to the school, he sat at his desk. On the desk lay a jade scepter, about one foot two inches long, engraved at the four corners with the four stabilizing mountains, symbolizing peace in all directions. The front was densely inscribed with seal script, no fewer than a hundred characters.
According to Confucian ritual, only the Son of Heaven of a state could hold a stabilizing scepter.
This shows just how significant this small town was.
He turned it over. On the back of the jade scepter were only two characters.
The calligraphy was rigorous in structure yet uniquely spirited.
The bones were extremely strong, and the spirit extremely enduring.
On the desk lay also a confidential letter that had just arrived.
The scholar, his temples white, had slightly reddened eyes. "Master, your disciple is incompetent. I can only watch helplessly as you are humiliated like this..."
He looked out the window, his expression neither sorrowful nor joyful, only somewhat lonely. "Qi Jingchun is ashamed before his teacher. Having lived in shame for a hundred years, all that remains is to die."
---
When Song Jixin took something from the inner room and placed it on the table, Fu Nanhua could not hide the ecstasy on his face, no matter how he tried.
It was a small, unremarkable pot, with the mark "Mountain Demon" on the bottom.
Song Jixin placed his hands folded on the table, leaned forward, and asked with a grin, "How much is this pot worth?"
The young lord of Old Dragon City finally managed to tear his gaze away from the small pot, looked up, and said honestly, "If sold in a secular dynasty, it wouldn't be worth a single tael of silver. But if I sell it, it could buy back an entire city."
Song Jixin asked, "How many tens of thousands of people?"
Fu Nanhua held up three fingers.
Song Jixin let out an "oh," then curled his lip. "So, three hundred thousand."
Fu Nanhua blinked, then burst into laughter.
He had originally expected Song Jixin to say thirty thousand.
---
At Apricot Flower Lane, a taciturn man crouched beside the Iron Lock Well, staring at the iron chain tied tightly to the base of the windlass.
He seemed to be agonizing over how to move it.
---
The black-clad, veiled maiden with a stern temperament wandered aimlessly around the town. She now only carried the narrow knife in the green scabbard at her waist, and her hands were simply wrapped in strips of cloth.
As she stepped into an unknown alley—
Whoosh!
Something shot through the air and stopped obediently behind the maiden, buzzing softly.
The maiden frowned without turning her head. She spat out a single word through clenched teeth: "Scram!"
Whoosh again.
The "flying sword" that had shot out of its scabbard and flown all the way here, as if frightened, slunk back into its sheath.
A proud maiden.
An obedient flying sword.