Chapter 196: We Warriors
The small green sword held in his palm was named Fifteen.
Chen Ping'an felt that the way this sword was named was even more careless than his own naming.
Chen Ping'an clearly felt a faint, cool aura seeping into his skin. But afterwards, it actually made him feel warm, comfortably warm all over, like basking in the winter sun. Chen Ping'an sensed that mysterious aura flowing along the meridians in his body, slowly passing through one Qi Mansion and acupoint after another, finally choosing to rest in the place where a strand of sword aura had previously been hidden. It darted inside, circling leisurely in the empty "residence," echoing from afar with the other acupoint where the silver sword embryo was resting.
Old Man Yang blew out a smoke ring and nodded. "Unexpected. This sword has some affinity with you. Normally it shouldn't have gone this smoothly. I was thinking of seeing you through to the end, helping you once by subduing this flying sword in some acupoint of yours first, and then relying on your perseverance to make it obey your commands later."
Using his divine abilities, the old man observed the unusually docile and peaceful flying sword in Chen Ping'an's Qi Mansion. He hesitated for a moment, then said, "I'm quite curious. Let me ask you two questions. Whether you're willing to answer or not is up to you. Chen Ping'an, you've been practicing boxing for so long now, but you only have one foot on the threshold of the Third Realm. Are you anxious or not? And another thing, when you practice boxing, have you ever had any thoughts that have supported you to this day?"
Chen Ping'an answered honestly, "I do get anxious, but I know being anxious is useless. It's like pulling a clay blank for porcelain-making—the more anxious you are, the more mistakes you make. So I don't dwell on it much. Sometimes when I really can't stop the thoughts, I let my mind go blank, relying on instinct to walk the stakes, or I choose an open area to practice the Sword Furnace. If that still doesn't work, I read or practice calligraphy. If that fails too, I'm at my wit's end, so I just let my thoughts run wild—like thinking about how much money I have right now..."
Saying this, Chen Ping'an felt a bit embarrassed.
Old Man Yang's expression remained unchanged. "Continue with the second question."
Chen Ping'an instinctively straightened his back, not intending to conceal anything, unwilling to hide or hold back. It was like a destitute pauper bragging about the most valuable thing in his home, filled with unreasonable confidence. "After I fought someone on the Embroidery River, I became more sure of one thing: when I think I'm right, no matter who the opponent is, every time I throw a punch, I can be fast! Every next punch can only be faster!"
Old Man Yang asked, "Fast? Even if you throw ten thousand or a hundred thousand punches, can you even touch the edge of my clothes?"
Chen Ping'an showed no sign of discouragement, blurting out naturally, "I'll first compare with myself. Once I feel I have a clear conscience, then I'll compare with others!"
Old Man Yang grunted, "Thinking this way is good for you."
Ma Kuxuan, also from the same town, was the extreme of another path. He pursued true dominance over ten thousand people, leading his peers. This wasn't Ma Kuxuan being too arrogant, but that his innate talent and bone structure were simply too good. Not thinking this way would be a waste of heaven's gifts. If heaven bestows something and you don't take it, you'll suffer the consequences instead.
As for the ragged alley boy in front of him who had just taken off his jade hairpin, he was probably on a different path. At first glance, he seemed unremarkable; on second glance, still inconspicuous. No matter how many times you looked, at most you'd think he was passable, not as stupid as he seemed—there was a bit of flair to him. But then most people would stop paying attention.
Old Man Yang said seriously, "I'll teach you two sets of incantations to control 'Fifteen.' One set is for nurturing sword essence, the other is for unlocking and closing your spatial artifacts."
Chen Ping'an asked in advance, "If I have two flying swords being nurtured in my body at the same time, won't they conflict?"
Old Man Yang sneered, "Doesn't Ruan Qiong have two lifebound swords? And that's despite him having to consume a massive amount of rare materials for forging swords and being distracted by some personal matters. With his talent and background, he could nurture two more without issue. Lifebound flying swords depend on fate. If the time isn't right, you might seek them for a hundred years without success. When the time comes, nothing can stop them. But a lifebound sword isn't like mustering troops on a battlefield—the more the better. The realm that sword cultivators dream of is called 'One Sword Breaks Ten Thousand Laws.' Why isn't it called 'Two Swords' or 'Three Swords'? Because truly enlightened peak sword cultivators only need one flying sword that suits their heart. Any more would be a burden. As for you, Chen Ping'an, practicing boxing is how you keep yourself alive. Why you practice swordsmanship, I can't be bothered to guess. But those other things like mountain peaks and magical artifacts—you're like a miser saving copper coins. Do you think money is too much to carry in your pocket? Would you?"
Chen Ping'an felt a bit embarrassed and scratched his head. "How big is the space inside 'Fifteen'? How much can it hold?"
Old Man Yang laughed. "It's about the same length, width, and height as your locust wood sword. Not bad, actually a bit better than ordinary spatial artifacts. It can't hold a mountain of gold and silver, but at least you won't have to carry a big bamboo basket around the martial world. Remember, don't put living things in the spatial artifact. For example, that sword embryo Chu Yi—if you forcibly pull it in, it will break certain rules of the 'Cavern Heaven and Blessed Land,' and both will be destroyed. Then you'll be left grieving."
After that, Old Man Yang taught Chen Ping'an two sets of incantations, repeating them twice. Once Chen Ping'an had them memorized, the old man continued smoking his dry pipe, and smoke rose in curling wisps.
In some mysterious way, it felt like Chen Ping'an had built a single-log bridge to that small green jade sword in his Qi Mansion, allowing him to communicate with it. The feeling was indescribably wonderful.
The moment Chen Ping'an moved his mind and his soul trembled slightly, the flying sword darted out of his body without any hindrance. But it couldn't stop in time and shot straight toward Old Man Yang. The old man didn't even blink. The small, glittering green flying sword hit an invisible wall like it had crashed, dizzily bouncing back to Chen Ping'an. In a flash, it slipped back into his Qi Mansion like a sulking child, refusing to respond to Chen Ping'an's mental calls.
Chen Ping'an was panicked.
Old Man Yang found it amusing and said slowly, "Every previous owner of Fifteen was a fairly famous figure. They never had such a foolish owner before. Your control of the sword is so terrible that it naturally feels embarrassed and doesn't want to show its face. It's fine. As long as you practice diligently, the bond between you will become stronger. Once you truly earn its recognition, you, as its owner, will have more control. Even making it shatter itself and disappear from the world won't be difficult."
Chen Ping'an nodded, relieved. As long as he could work hard and do better, he wasn't afraid of anything. What he feared were things that, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't do well—like making porcelain.
Old Man Yang suddenly said, "Do you know why Fifteen is willing to share your honor and disgrace, even though it knows your talent is mediocre? Because you've thought of a crucial word: 'fast.' This is naturally connected to the fundamental sword intent of Fifteen. This flying sword, Fifteen, is all about speed—fast enough to catch every opponent off guard, seize the initiative, and be unbeatable with the first move."
Chen Ping'an suddenly understood, and at the same time thought of that sword embryo named "Little Fengdu." It clashed with him probably because he hadn't yet comprehended its sword intent.
Old Man Yang waved his hand. "Don't move around much lately. Just wait quietly for news from Ruan Qiong."
Chen Ping'an seemed to want to say something but stopped.
The old man said irritably, "New Year's gifts? Put aside whether I'm willing to make an exception and accept—can you, kid, take out anything worthy of my attention? And even if there was something I fancied, would you be willing to give it? Go, go. Since the important matters are settled, hurry back to Fallen Mountain and stay put. I'll have someone bring the things you left at the blacksmith's shop. Showing up near the Sword Furnace now would be too conspicuous."
Chen Ping'an knew the old man's temper well. Without lingering, he got up and left Yang's Medicine Shop.
But just as he stepped out of the shop's main door, Chen Ping'an couldn't help turning back. He went past the side room, saw the old man sitting there puffing clouds of smoke, and bowed deeply to him.
Old Man Yang accepted the bow calmly.
As Chen Ping'an left again, the old man tapped his yellowed bamboo pipe, lost in thought.
Over the long years, the old man had secretly made countless deals. Even now, he still wasn't too optimistic about that boy. Some people were truly blessed, so lucky it could be called boundless good fortune. They would keep being lucky until a single moment of bad luck arrived—cataclysmic, epic, and tragic. But those with tough luck still struggled to stand out. Ups and downs, one after another. If they really wanted to climb high, it was hard. They could easily be left in the dust by the favored sons of heaven.
Chen Ping'an was like a wild weed beside the old man's field. Time and again, it was crushed down in the wind and rain, barely surviving—maybe even a stray dog wouldn't bother to piss on it. But every time the spring breeze blew, it would blossom anew.
So Old Man Yang was willing to go with the flow and place a bet. He bet on this boy, who was originally the least promising. A small gamble for fun—if he lost, it wouldn't break his bones; if he won, it would be an extra surprise.
Those blessed by fate should strike while the iron is hot.
Those with tough luck had more endurance to keep going.
But Old Man Yang knew the trend of the times. In this great age of contention, a hundred schools of thought vying, heroes rising together would produce a "big year" of geniuses—a once-in-a-millennium event.
On the path of cultivation, one step slow means every step slow. Chen Ping'an, you really will have a hard time standing out.
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Chen Ping'an walked down the small street, muttering to himself, "Fifteen, I'm sorry for making you lose face. From now on, I'll definitely practice the sword control incantations hard, so I won't embarrass you like this again."
He actually felt guilty. When others showed him kindness, if he couldn't do something in return, his conscience would trouble him.
The green flying sword in his Qi Mansion gave a slight twitch, as if its mood had suddenly improved and it had forgiven Chen Ping'an for his clumsy sword control earlier.
Chen Ping'an couldn't help but smile. He thought to himself that compared to the hot-tempered Chu Yi, Fifteen, also a lifebound flying sword, was much gentler.
But the moment this thought crossed his mind, the sword embryo Chu Yi started stirring in its nest. It churned like a tempest, causing Chen Ping'an such pain that he curled up, standing still, unable to take a step.
Fifteen sensed the abnormality. With a whoosh, it shot out of its Qi Mansion, traveled through the body, passing numerous barriers, until it reached the "doorway" of Chu Yi's home. It hovered in the air, gently spinning, as if hesitating whether to pay a visit.
Chen Ping'an couldn't move forward normally. He had to painfully shuffle to a step at a street corner and sit down.
Perhaps distracted by Flying Sword Fifteen, the sword embryo Chu Yi let Chen Ping'an off.
These two lifebound flying swords, both having encountered unworthy owners, each hovered at their own Qi Mansion's inner and outer gates. It was like a fierce standoff, yet also like a hesitant encounter.
Taking advantage of this break, Chen Ping'an gasped for air. After a brief rest, he jogged toward Qilong Lane to call the green-clad child and pink-dressed girl, then headed back to Fallen Mountain.
Chu Yi saw Fifteen, but didn't engage.
They parted unhappily.
Near Pearl Mountain, Chu Yi tormented Chen Ping'an once more, nearly making him roll on the ground. He had to grit his teeth and squat down, drenched in sweat, almost blacking out. Chen Ping'an could only desperately activate the breathing technique of Eighteen Stops. Now that he had broken through the major bottleneck between Sixth and Seventh realms, during his tug-of-war with the sword embryo, he could barely maintain a sliver of clarity. But the price he paid was feeling every bit of the immense pain from the soul-shaking agony. This torment was no less than flaying or dismemberment.
Fifteen stirred in response but still didn't leave its resting place. It was like it was still making up its mind, temporarily staying out of the fire.
When Chu Yi finally calmed down, satisfied, Chen Ping'an felt like he had just been pulled out of water. He staggered on, his stake-walking wobbling and unsteady. But even Chen Ping'an didn't realize that the boxing intent flowing through him was becoming more solid and profound.
Deep in the mountains, there was a ragged, barefoot old man. His vision was blurry, and he wandered aimlessly, stumbling like a headless fly, repeatedly muttering, "Where is Master Chan's teacher? Where is my Chan's teacher..."
All of a sudden, the mad old man's eyes brightened slightly. He looked around, then didn't launch into the air or fly with the wind. Instead, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, carefully investigated the mountain range's layout, and then took one step, appearing directly in front of a line of three people. The old man looked at the sweating youth who had been doing stake-walking and asked, "Are you Chen Ping'an?"
Chen Ping'an tensed up and nodded. "Yes, sir. Is there something you need?"
The green-clad child's eyes went blank. Her heart was dead as ashes.
What, they had left the town, thinking they could fly free under the sky? And now, on a remote mountain path, they had to run into a god or monster that could crush them with one punch?
The old man looked flustered and urgently asked, "I am Cui Chan's... I am Cui Chan's grandfather. Are you his teacher now?"
Chen Ping'an was taken aback but remained cautious. "In a way, yes."
The old man spoke rapidly, "How is he doing now? Will he be bullied?"
Chen Ping'an thought about it. It was hard to answer. The young national advisor, Cui Chan—or rather, Cui Dongshan who went to the Cliff Academy—really hadn't had it easy on that long journey. Chen Ping'an didn't want to deceive this ragged old man who claimed to be Cui Chan's grandfather, but he also didn't dare tell the truth. Instinctively, Chen Ping'an felt that the old man in front of him was similar in aura to the Mountain-Moving Ape from Zhengyang Mountain before. The difference was only in their cultivation level—whether it was the ape that was stronger or this old man. Chen Ping'an, with such low cultivation, couldn't discern any depth at all.
Just a frown from the old man made Chen Ping'an and the two little ones feel a suffocating pressure. The old man snorted coldly, "Even though you are my grandson's teacher, I should respect you. But a pure martial artist who hasn't even reached the Third Realm—how can you be his master?! If my grandson gets into trouble later, as his teacher, will you just stand by helplessly and watch from afar?! No, absolutely not!"
The disheveled old man's eyes were sharp as knives, fixed on Chen Ping'an. "Take me somewhere you think is safe. I want to give you a hand!"
Without waiting for Chen Ping'an to nod or shake his head, the old man stood beside him, grabbing his shoulder with fingers like hooks. "Hurry! There's no time! I'm only lucid for about an incense stick's time. Don't waste it!"
Chen Ping'an was completely baffled.
But the old man's casual grip on his shoulder caused not only excruciating pain but also made both Chu Yi and Fifteen buzz and whine mournfully. After all, the power they could exert was closely tied to Chen Ping'an's level of cultivation. They simply couldn't stop the old man's aggression.
The green-clad child and the pink-dressed girl dared not move, not because they didn't want to, but because they couldn't.
It was said that supreme pure martial artists in the world, like those in the Mountain Peak Realm of the Ninth Realm, could condense their aura to such an extent that it burst forth like sword energy, unstoppable. A mere roar could shatter an enemy's courage. Such feats were not uncommon, whether in the martial world or on the battlefield.
The old man roared, "Speak! If you keep dawdling, I don't care if you're my grandson's teacher—I'll break your arms and legs with one punch!"
Chen Ping'an's eyes were resolute. He gritted his teeth and channeled his Qi, preparing to fight to the death for a sliver of hope.
The old man met his gaze, laughed heartily, released the boy's shoulder, and stepped back. "Kid, you've got some skill. Not bad, not bad! You're good material! Left in the hands of other so-called martial arts masters, no matter how much effort they spent polishing you, you wouldn't amount to much. But I'm different!"
Wei Bo, dressed in white, appeared elegantly on the mountain path as if floating. He was silent for a moment, then said with a smile to Chen Ping'an, "Why not take this old gentleman to the bamboo building? If you agree, I'll lead the way."
The old man looked at Wei Bo. "Oho, long time no see such a dandy mountain god. Interesting, interesting. Once I recover some strength, I'll be sure to spar with you."
Wei Bo smiled. "Master, don't bother sparring with me. Looking after the martial arts realm of your grandson's teacher should keep you busy enough."
The old man's face was full of sarcastic amusement. "Less nonsense. Take me to Chen Ping'an's territory. It's called Fallen Mountain, right? I know there's a suitable place there for sharpening blades. Lead the way!"
Wei Bo wasn't annoyed by the old man's overbearing attitude. He smiled and snapped his fingers. The scenery shifted, and in an instant, they were outside the bamboo building on Fallen Mountain.
Chen Ping'an looked at Wei Bo, who gave a slight nod.
The old man grabbed his shoulder again, lightly leaped to the second floor, and pushed the door open with Chen Ping'an in tow. He raised an eyebrow and laughed heartily. "Good place! What a good place! I can stay lucid for at least an hour a day here—this is no less than a Cavern Heaven or Blessed Land. At least it's got something of my Chan's teacher's bearing."
The old man stepped back a few paces. "Chen Ping'an, can you endure hardship?"
Still confused from beginning to end, Chen Ping'an instinctively nodded. "I can."
The old man asked again, "Can you endure great hardship?"
Chen Ping'an dared not answer.
The old man was a bit annoyed and grumbled, "Acting like a little girl. Yes or no—it's no big deal! You're not straightforward at all. If you were anyone else, I wouldn't bother!"
Chen Ping'an silently told himself that this old man's mind wasn't entirely clear. No need to take it to heart; just let him talk.
The old man stepped forward with one foot, assuming a simple, ancient boxing stance—one fist suspended forward in the air, the other fist drawn back against his chest. It was straightforward, but in an instant, his aura became astonishing.
The old man said in a deep voice, "One must endure the hardest of hardships to rise above others. For us martial artists, if we want to climb higher, before reaching the peak, we must be like stray dogs scrounging for food by the roadside! We must tell ourselves, if we want to live freely, we must contend with the Heavenly Dao! Contend with those damned deities! Contend with our fellow martial artists! And finally, contend with ourselves! Fight for that one breath!"
"When that breath is released, it should make heaven and earth change color! Make deities kneel and kowtow, and make all martial artists in the world feel that you are the heavens above!"
At this moment, the white-haired old man, whose appearance was worse than a beggar's, radiated an unparalleled heroic spirit and peak vitality!
The old man seemed to be clearly telling the boy a truth.
The person before him was invincible under heaven!