Chapter 83: A Lone Wanderer's Jianghu (Part One)

Mr. Ma Dai created a set of sword techniques called Spring's Arrival, which not only gave He Chang'an an unspeakable revelation, but also left him with a lingering sense of bitterness.

Scholars from the academy, well-versed in classics and poetry, had accumulated knowledge and wisdom, and their slow, steady progress was evident. By contrast, even with the aid of the "Little Black Rod," He Chang'an ultimately lacked any true foundation, like a rootless duckweed drifting on water.

Neither accomplished in literature nor skilled in martial arts, he was utterly ignorant of any so-called cultivation methods.

He Chang'an followed the convoy transporting grain and supplies northward. His gaze remained gentle, and whenever he found a moment at dawn or dusk, he would practice boxing. Yet he knew well that, if things continued thus, his prospects were bleak.

He grew increasingly silent, often sitting alone in his tent, drinking, weighed down by gloom.

…

Past the mountain pass, not far ahead lay the great river.

That day, the convoy wound its way to the Dragon Gate ferry crossing, midway along the river. Owing to the urgent situation on the northern frontier, the local authorities had temporarily requisitioned the ferry. Dozens of boats worked day and night, ferrying soldiers, supplies, and provisions to the northern bank.

Several teams waited ahead to cross; He Chang'an's group would have to wait several days, which conveniently allowed the soldiers and laborers a chance to rest.

Everyone was pleased.

Li Yishan and other scholars from the academy traveled together downstream, fifteen miles to Dragon Gate Falls, to enjoy the scenery and pay tribute to the ancients.

The scholars believed deeply in "Fish leap over Dragon Gate." In Li Yishan's words, since they'd arrived at Dragon Gate, if they didn't leap, how would they know they were truly mediocre...

He Chang'an did not join the crowd; scholars leaped the Dragon Gate, but he, a coarse martial man, would only waste his time there.

He remained in his tent, circulating his inner energy, studying the Heaven-Lifting Demon-Suppressing Technique, and before he knew it, most of the day had passed.

As evening approached, after a simple meal, He Chang'an stepped out of his tent, found a relatively quiet spot, and began to practice boxing.

Each movement was precise; as he regulated his breath, a faint white mist issued from his seven orifices, swirling like a crouching dragon or a coiled tiger, lending an air of ancient mystery.

After finishing the set, He Chang'an untied the bamboo sword "Spring Dawn" from his waist, adjusted his breathing, and performed a set of Tai Chi sword techniques.

It felt comfortable, but ultimately useless.

He Chang'an felt dejected, stood silently for a while, and was about to return.

"Your boxing is interesting, and your sword technique is... passable." Suddenly, someone laughed lightly and spoke.

---

He Chang'an turned sharply and saw a middle-aged man approaching, dressed in coarse short robes, of unremarkable appearance. The only notable thing was the bamboo sword tied at his waist.

Bamboo Sword Mountain?

He Chang'an suddenly thought of Ajiu, and felt a warmth in his heart, his hand instinctively gripping his bamboo sword.

"Who might you be, senior?" He Chang'an bowed slightly in greeting.

Having survived an assassination attempt by remnants of the Night God Sect, He Chang'an was always cautious, never trusting anyone easily.

The middle-aged man paid no heed, smiling as he walked over, sizing up He Chang'an and clicking his tongue in admiration, "So you truly are a sword seed."

He Chang'an remained silent.

The term "sword seed" sounded odd…

"You are He Chang'an?" the man asked casually, then, before He Chang'an could respond, he straightened and declared, "I am Afey—A of Afey, Sword of Sword God.

I am a sword cultivator!"

As if making a momentous proclamation, the man stood tall and proud, appearing quite robust.

He Chang'an laughed, not out of mockery, but simply because this Afey seemed honest and straightforward, reminiscent of Ajiu, as if somewhat simple-minded.

"Senior Afey, do you know me?" He Chang'an asked with a smile.

"I didn't know you before, but someone asked me to meet you." Afey looked He Chang'an over once more, then said, "You won't do, kid. Your body isn't tough enough, your swordsmanship is poor. How am I supposed to teach you..."

He shook his head and sighed, his face openly showing his disdain.

"Did someone ask you to teach me swordsmanship?" He Chang'an was oblivious to Afey's scorn; he knew he was mediocre, so he couldn't blame others for saying so to his face.

It was the bamboo sword at Afey's waist, so similar to Ajiu's, that made He Chang'an feel a natural affection for him.

"You can't really say someone asked me. Someone wanted me to take a look at you, and if I liked what I saw, I'd teach you for a few days." Afey sat casually on a nearby stone, took the bamboo sword from his waist, and laid it across his knees.

Then, with a flick of his hand, he produced a large purple gourd.

With a pop, he uncorked it, raised it to his lips, and took a deep draught. His plain face assumed a haughty, masterly air as he smiled at He Chang'an.

As if to say, come on, I'm a sword cultivator…

He Chang'an guessed that this so-called sword cultivator Afey was likely the "little granduncle" Ajiu had mentioned.

He stepped forward, bowed, and respectfully greeted, "Junior pays respects to Senior Afey."

---

"Enough with all this junior and senior nonsense—that's just the scholars' way. When your sword surpasses mine, you'll be my uncle." Afey grinned broadly. Though his words dismissed formality, the pride and smugness on his face were unmistakable.

He was practically begging for a compliment.

But He Chang'an, lately weighed down by gloom and focused on practicing more boxing to slowly improve his strength, failed to grasp Afey's intent and, out of nowhere, asked, "So who is your uncle?"

The words slipped out, and He Chang'an instantly regretted it.

Sure enough, Afey's face darkened, veins bulging on his forehead. His large palm gripped the bamboo sword tightly as he slowly rose.

He Chang'an was startled, instinctively retreating several steps.

There was no discernible aura from Afey, but Ajiu had no aura either, yet a single sword strike from her had nearly ended him.

"Senior Afey, I..." He Chang'an forced a smile, unsure how to continue.

"My uncle—damn it, that's your uncle!" Afey spat out this cryptic threat, turned, and strode off.

He moved quickly, and in a few bounds, Afey was gone.

From afar came his voice: "He Chang'an, if you have the guts, meet me tomorrow night at Dragon Gate Falls," leaving He Chang'an both amused and helpless, muttering to himself, "A sword cultivator should fly on his sword, shouldn't he..."

…

He Chang'an looked up at the sky; it was not yet late. If he returned to the tent, he'd only end up staring blankly at his boxing manual, so he rolled up his sleeves and continued to practice.

He vaguely felt that this ancient boxing method greatly tempered his flesh, meridians, bones, and even his internal organs.

He tried combining it with the Qi-Eating technique, circulating his energy as he boxed, integrating the flow of inner energy.

Sure enough, there was noticeable improvement.

His flesh and meridians gradually became hot, as if his body were a furnace. The comfort was overwhelming, and He Chang'an couldn't help but groan softly.

A mysterious point in his right arm felt especially hot, pulsing, as if on the verge of opening.

He Chang'an was overjoyed.

He quickened his pace, hoping to break through and open his first mysterious orifice…