Chapter Sixty-Nine: Sword Intent as Fine as Silk

The sun was already high in the sky, yet He Chang’an still lingered in bed, mumbling and groaning, unwilling to get up.

Drinking with scholars made it easy to get tipsy, and being jabbed a few times with A Jiu’s bamboo sword took a toll on the body. At the slightest movement, he felt as if his bones were all falling apart.

Originally, A Jiu’s anger had dissipated when he handed over twenty taels of silver. But because he had to say, “Watching you wield your sword makes my hands itch,” the dark-skinned, slender girl jabbed him several more times.

At first, he hadn’t felt much pain, but after lying in bed for the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, he finally sensed a chilling sword energy weaving through his dantian, meridians, and the sea of his consciousness, rampaging without the slightest restraint. It was utter lawlessness.

That’s right, A Jiu had told him—the move was indeed called “Lawlessness.”

This, she explained, was the so-called sword intent.

He Chang’an had truly brought this suffering upon himself, but even so, he couldn’t help but feel a measure of gratitude toward A Jiu.

Because A Jiu had told him: if you want to practice swordsmanship, you must first experience what sword intent truly is; otherwise, even the finest techniques under heaven would be as futile as moving mountains to hurl at wild geese—tremendous effort for little reward.

And so, A Jiu jabbed He Chang’an several times.

Sword intent was like silk, like lightning, like a serpent flicking its tongue—an icy, piercing current crisscrossing inside him. It split mountains and slayed monsters in the woods. In a single night, He Chang’an’s extraordinary meridians and eight channels were riddled with holes.

A Jiu had mentioned beforehand that when she was four, her mother used this very method to help her comprehend sword intent, and it took three whole months before she succeeded.

He Chang’an knew nothing about the ways of sword cultivators, and A Jiu only half understood it herself, but the two of them hit it off, convinced that this was the true path of swordsmanship.

Afterward, thinking back on it, He Chang’an was filled with dread.

This time, he’d truly been reckless.

A mere trace of A Jiu’s sword intent had nearly cost him his life.

If it hadn’t been for his inexplicably advanced “Qi Absorption Art,” which had reached the twenty-seventh level, granting his body, meridians, and soul the resilience far beyond that of ordinary ninth- or tenth-grade warriors, the consequences would have been unimaginable.

Several hours of “a thousand swords through the heart” left him drenched again and again, coughing up fresh blood several times.

…

A Jiu had no idea that her few strands of sword intent had nearly sent He Chang’an to his grave. Carefree and unconcerned, she busied herself in the courtyard, cooking porridge and brewing medicine.

She hummed a few mountain tunes, though her singing was completely off-key, but she didn’t mind. On her dark, delicate face was a smile she herself hadn’t noticed.

She knew what it felt like to be plagued by sword intent—it was nothing but pain, really, not such a big deal…

So, early in the morning, she had run to the pharmacy and, recalling the prescription her mother had given her, bought three sets of herbs.

Hearing He Chang’an shuffling out the door, supporting himself against the wall, A Jiu stopped humming, put on a stern face, handed him a bowl of medicine, and said, “He Chang’an, time for your medicine.”

He Chang’an held the bowl of medicinal brew, his expression odd.

“‘Brother, it’s time to take your medicine…’”

“A Jiu, is your family name Pan?” He Chang’an forced a grin through his all-encompassing pain.

“I don’t know. My mother’s called me A Jiu since I was little,” she replied, tilting her head in thought before answering with certainty.

Seeing the girl’s earnestness, He Chang’an felt a little guilty. Thankfully, she didn’t know the story of Pan Jinlian and the infamous Lord Ximen; otherwise, she’d probably jab him a dozen more times with her bamboo sword.

After drinking the medicine, A Jiu took the bowl, cleaned it by the well, then brought over two bowls of porridge and a small plate of salted radish to the table. “Eat,” she said calmly.

“How come there’s no meat…” He Chang’an stopped himself mid-sentence.

He noticed that A Jiu’s face immediately grew long.

“That butcher’s wife is a real piece of work—she’s charging thirty coins for a pound of mutton! That’s half a sack of millet!” A Jiu took a sip of millet porridge, sighing. “Not long ago, a pound of the best mutton—the tender ribs—was less than nine coins. You could make soup and still have plenty of meat to eat…”

Watching A Jiu’s righteous indignation, He Chang’an suddenly thought of the little nun.

Both of them were flat-chested and small, but how could they be so different? One spent money like water, extravagant and carefree, a true princess; the other was a little miser, eager to stretch every copper coin into eight pieces.

She’d wandered the city of Chang’an for over two years, owing only twenty coins for wine, a pair of cloth shoes, and a meal of buns—less than two taels of silver in all. What kind of life was this girl living…

He Chang’an felt a sudden pang in his nose.

But it passed in a flash.

“A Jiu, from now on you should eat more meat and vegetables. We have money now—no need to be so frugal,” He Chang’an said, grinning through his pain, trying to persuade her.

There was something he didn’t dare say: “You’re still growing, and you need to eat meat to fill out…”

Sneaking a glance at her profile, He Chang’an sighed quietly to himself, muttering, “Probably a lost cause…”

“What did you say?” A Jiu’s ears were sharp, and she sensed he wasn’t saying anything nice.

“I said, if I don’t eat more meat, I’m done for.”

“Let’s wait a few days for meat prices to drop.”

“We’re not short of money anymore.”

“There’s nowhere to hunt in Chang’an, and we can’t gather herbs. Other than your wages, there’s no income. We don’t know how long the money will last, so it’s better to save where we can!”

He Chang’an had no choice but to finish his bowl of millet porridge in a few gulps, then set down the dishes and left.

“How much better things were when A Jiu was still a boy—we’d eat mutton buns together, drink wine, and wouldn’t hesitate to kill for debt. What a great friend in times of trouble!”

“But now that she’s back to being a girl—she’s just a nagging little shrew. The problem is she’s still so young…”

“He Chang’an, are you scheming something in that head of yours?” A Jiu glared at the last few grains of rice in her bowl, her face dark. “Tell me the truth—are you plotting to trick me, to get a wife without paying a dowry?”

“I…” He Chang’an was caught off guard, unsure how to reply.

“Forget it, all you men are the same with your petty tricks!” A Jiu suddenly grew angry, stuffing a bite of salty radish in her mouth, the saltiness making her gasp, her dark, thin face turning red.

“Besides, you can’t beat me anyway.” She quickly added another jab.

…

Returning to his room, He Chang’an lay down to rest for a while, then forced himself to sit up cross-legged and began to cultivate.

A night plagued by sword intent had brought him pain beyond words, but also a measure of insight.

He vaguely sensed that the mysterious barrier he’d never managed to break through was beginning to loosen under the relentless assault of sword intent.

Especially that small black rod in the spiritual sea of his dantian—it now seemed eager, darting along the eight extraordinary meridians carved open by the sword intent, as if quite excited.

Regarding this mysterious black rod, He Chang’an felt that besides devouring and refining, it must have other hidden potential.

“Unfortunately, I’ve never seen any swordsmanship manuals or techniques, so I dare not practice recklessly,” he thought.

All he could do was circulate his internal energy through the major and minor meridians, carefully mending his damaged channels, acupoints, and the sea of consciousness, letting the black rod mimic the movement of sword intent as it slowly traveled within him.

…

And so, two hours later—