HCAW 14
by LiliumChapter 14 – The Vipashyin Blade
In front of the training ground, dust choked the dim daylight.
Fang Jingyu stood with his pommel-guarded sword in hand, gazing into the distance. Yellow sand drifted endlessly; city towers loomed, rough and worn. In the darkened sky, a peregrine falcon cut through the stormy wind like a blade.
All at once, Fang Jingyu thought of the slave imprisoned in his courtyard. That man had hawk-like, razor-sharp eyes. The menace in his bearing, paired with unexpectedly delicate features, was strikingly familiar. Once again, the question that had haunted him for days echoed in his mind: where had he seen this man before?
Just as he was distracted, a flash of blade light burst like a surging rainbow, streaking toward him. A black-clad old woman emerged from the sandstorm. Her figure ghostlike, she wielded an iron saber, emanating killing intent. Fang Jingyu jolted and hurriedly raised his sword in defense.
The old woman bellowed, “Too slow!”
The saber light shot forth like purple lightning, raining strikes upon Fang Jingyu’s whole body. He scrambled to block, steel flashing like a downpour of blades, barely fending her off. But she raised her weapon again. This time, the blade came like a crashing wave of frost, slamming down on his crossed sword and saber with a force that made his wrists creak.
“Weak!” she shouted.
Another strike flew out, this time like a wolf’s fang, slashing toward his chest and abdomen. His flesh was split open, and blood sprayed into the air.
The old woman quietly retracted her blade. Finally, she said, “Dull.”
Fang Jingyu knelt on one knee, gripping his sword, shaken. His master had held back—if it had been a real enemy, he’d already be dead.
“Jingyu, have I not warned you repeatedly? In battle, the worst thing is a scattered mind. You’ve been listless during these two weeks of training. Tell me, what’s troubling you?”
Pressed by his master, Fang Jingyu shook his head. His expression remained calm, hiding his thoughts perfectly. “This disciple hasn’t been distracted.”
“Liar.” The old woman sighed, turning away. At the center of the training ground stood a gold-painted zitan wood chair. She sat cross-legged upon it, calming the storm with her presence.
After the assassination attempt at Zui Chun Garden, she had summoned Fang Jingyu here to train. It was both punishment and instruction. Since childhood, she had honed and shaped him in this very place—sculpting him into a weapon of sharp edge and ruthless intent. Yet this blade, though talented, was still green and needed further sharpening.
The Yu Yin Guard suddenly sighed. “Jingyu, you truly are a block of rotting wood beyond carving. First, you acted rashly and dared to draw your sword on the Yu Ji Guard. Second, your talent and wit are lacking—you’re nowhere near the level of your late brother. I only accepted you as my disciple due to Mohe Guard’s request. Was it just to add to my frustrations?”
Fang Jingyu didn’t deny it. He had drawn his sword on the Yu Ji Guard—and indeed, he could not compare to his brilliant brother, Fang Minsheng.
The Yu Yin Guard said, “Enough. Diligence can make up for lack of talent. From now on, you must train day and night. If your blade technique reaches mastery, and you manage to capture Penglai’s most wanted criminal—‘King Yama’—you’ll earn high honors and be granted the ‘Immortal Elixir’ by the Immortal Palace.”
“‘Immortal Elixir’?”
Fang Jingyu lifted his head in surprise. He had heard the term whispered among other Xian Mountain officers—it was said to be an exalted honor. In Penglai, only the imperial kin and nobles of the Immortal Palace could cultivate immortal arts: focus the spirit, refine the body, and lay a foundation for eternal life. It was rumored they worshipped the great Immortal Yonghe, who bestowed divine powers like Xingtian’s might or Pengzu’s lifespan.1Xingtian (刑天) A headless warrior spirit who defied the supreme god. Pengzu (彭祖)a legendary sage known for living over 800 years, often cited as a symbol of longevity.
The old woman nodded. “Yes. The ‘Immortal Elixir’ is the divine nectar bestowed by Immortal Yonghe. The Immortal once planted a celestial seed in Penglai’s sacred soil, and from it grew the Sweetwood Tree, which bears immortal fruit once every hundred years. Some of those fruits can unite the soul and spirit, granting eternal life. Some open all meridians and divine channels, giving strength beyond measure. Others allow to perceive the Grand Luo Heaven and cultivate divine arts.2”大羅天 (Daluo Tian) the highest heaven in the Taoist celestial hierarchy—the ultimate realm where immortals dwell after attaining true enlightenment.
“After the previous emperor’s downfall, Emperor Changyi issued a decree: any who render great service shall receive a cup of nectar brewed from immortal fruit—that is the ‘Immortal Elixir.’ If you earn it, perhaps you, too, can rise high in Penglai.”
Fang Jingyu nodded silently. He knew all Xian Mountain officers yearned for it. It was a reward more coveted than wealth or rank.
They, the ones who fought and bled with mortal bodies, lived in constant danger. But those who drank of the ‘Immortal Elixir’ wielded strength unmatched, fearsome beyond belief.
After a moment, he asked, “If it’s so wondrous, then wouldn’t the more one drinks, the closer to immortality one becomes?”
“Not so,” the old woman replied. “The Elixir is no ordinary thing. Too much of it clouds the mind and brings death. A common man who drinks even a second cup would bleed from every orifice and die. Even so, the benefits are immense—worth the risk.”
She added, “Do you still remember how the Yu Ji Guard fought?”
“I do.” Fang Jingyu’s back prickled with cold sweat. He remembered the towering elder outside Baicao Pass—how he crushed his sword and saber barehanded in a flash. He remembered the night in Zui Chun Garden, when the same elder flicked two fingers and shattered an assassin’s bones from four hundred steps away.
“That terrifying strength comes from the ‘Immortal Elixir’,” the old woman said calmly. “He’s the only one to drink so much of it and still survive.”
She added, “Jingyu, let me tell you this: all current Xian Mountain Guards have consumed more than ten cups. I, too, owe my blade mastery to it. The vast gulf between commoners and Xian Mountain Guards comes entirely from that.”
The black-robed youth nodded. Penglai was like a towering mountain—only a rare few ever reached the peak. Without the ‘Immortal Elixir’, most would live and die at its base.
The old woman sighed. “A pity! I’ve had ten cups myself, yet I still can’t match the Yu Ji Guard. I rank only tenth among the Xian Mountain Guards—a joke, really.”
“Master, you say I can’t match even you. How long would I need before I can wield a blade like you?” Fang Jingyu asked.
The old woman looked at him for a long moment… and then burst into loud laughter.
Fang Jingyu had never seen her laugh before. Since the day they met in his childhood, his master had always been like a long-dead corpse—eyes cold and voice dry. But now she was laughing aloud.
“Give it a hundred years, Fang family brat!”
But Fang Jingyu replied, “How would I know if it’ll take a hundred years if I don’t try?” Then he asked, “And the Yu Ji Guard—how do I compare to him?”
The Yu Yin Guard’s laughter faded. She extended her hand and pinched a grain of yellow sand between her fingers. She said to Fang Jingyu, “You are this grain of sand.”
Then she released her hand. The fine grain was carried off by the wind, swallowed into the endless desert.
“And the Yu Ji Guard is this whole stretch of wasteland before you.”
Fang Jingyu gazed out over the boundless sands, saying nothing for a long while.
He had already sensed it—Yu Ji Guard’s strength was unfathomable. A man he might never reach, even in a lifetime. That man had consumed over ten cups of ‘Immortal Elixir’ and understood martial arts on a level far beyond Fang Jingyu’s own. How could he ever match him?
“Don’t lose heart, Fang family brat,” the old woman said, for once offering a shred of comfort. Her voice grew gentler. “Have you heard of ‘blood jade’?”
Fang Jingyu nodded again. It was a type of artificial jade. Some were placed into coffins, nourished by corpse blood for a thousand years—these became corpse-blood jade, marked by crimson threads throughout. Others were sewn into the flesh of plump sheep legs or dog bellies and retrieved years later—those became sheep-blood or dog-blood jade.
“I’ve always wanted to carve a blade of jade,” she said. “Jade blades were emblems of kingship in ancient times, symbols of authority and dominance. I took you in at first because your bones were soft and pliant. I thought to embed the jade into your body and temper a blood jade blade through you.”
Her voice was calm as she said this brutal thing. Fang Jingyu shivered.
“But the moment I first saw you, I changed my mind. I saw your eyes. The eyes of a lone wolf. You are not suited to nurturing blood jade—because you are a natural-born blade of iron. Jingyu, you will be my proudest disciple.”
She stood and walked to him, placing her hand lightly on his shoulder. Side by side, they gazed through the blowing sand into the distance. A peregrine falcon soared with wide wings, flying toward a single point of light in the sky.
“Jingyu, what do you long for? What do you seek? The ambition in your heart determines the sharpness of your blade,” the Yu Yin Guard asked.
“I want to follow in my father’s footsteps, the Langgan Guard, and defend Penglai.”
The old woman chuckled, then shook her head. “That is not your ambition. I can see the blood and fire in your eyes.” She turned her face aside. “You’re thinking of something else.”
They stood in silence, watching as dusk swallowed the light and night spread across the heavens.
When they parted that day, the old woman said:
“Jingyu, continue to refine yourself. One day, you must draw the Vipashyin blade, embedded at Zhenhai Pass. Even Yu Ji Guard could not pull it free—it was the blade Emperor Bai himself.”
She lifted her saber lightly. Fang Jingyu saw a speck of sand resting upon the blade’s edge, glowing like a pearl under the moonlight.
“If you can do that, then even a tiny ant like you will have the strength to shake a towering tree.”
———
Mulling over her words, Fang Jingyu walked the road home in silence.
He was still too weak—just a nobody at the bottom of Penglai. If he could climb higher, perhaps the Fang family would not be in decline. Perhaps his brother would not have died in vain.
Night had fallen over Penglai. A sliver of moon hung in the sky. The houses along the alleys were shuttered and quiet. He didn’t return to Qingyuan Alley right away, but instead turned back toward Zhenhai Pass. The ocean was pitch-black like ink, not a single starlight reflected on its surface. The waves crashed endlessly against the reef, like an eternal roar.
Several guards were playing cards under a lantern. Seeing him, they jumped to their feet, weapons ready. “Who goes there? What’s your business?”
Fang Jingyu held out his token. “Officier Fang Jingyu. I’ve come to see the Vipashyin Blade.”
The guards exchanged looks, then sat back down with grins. “Oh, one of our own. Take a look, as you please! Just don’t cross the Ming Sea Bridge.”
The Vipashyin Blade had become a famous landmark in Penglai—only the reclusive Yu Yin Guard still didn’t know of it. During the day, even commoners could freely approach. But for decades, no one had ever budged it an inch.
Fang Jingyu stepped before Zhenhai Pass. The gate was built of dark Taoyuan3Literally meaning “Peach Source stone.stone, cold and solid to the touch. An ancient blade was embedded in the archway. Four and a half feet long, its surface was stained with age, now overgrown with moss and vines. Crimson flowers bloomed around it—red as blood.
He placed both hands on the hilt. In an instant, a shock surged into his chest. His eardrums pounded, his heart felt like it was about to burst. Within the blade, it was as if a dragon roared in fury. Eighty-one years ago, Emperor Bai had driven this sword into the pass, leaving it here to rest. Now, eighty-one years later, a lowly official gripped the hilt, hearing its call echo across time.
The hilt suddenly turned scalding, like a brand. Fang Jingyu clenched his teeth until his jaw creaked and molars nearly shattered. The guards dropped their cards, watching him in astonishment. They saw the youth’s face flush with blood, blue veins bulging violently. His limbs cracked with tension. The dragonhead iron inside his body scraped against his flesh. Pain thundered through him like lightning slamming down.
“Wmmm—”
A soft hum rang out from the blade. The guards gasped and stared, dumbstruck. Even Yu Ji Guard couldn’t move this blade—could this youth really be about to draw it?
Fang Jingyu gritted his teeth. Blood streamed from his palms. The iron inside him shifted, stabbing through skin and muscle. Blood seeped from every pore. He poured every ounce of his strength and focus into the hilt, thoughts narrowed into a single thread. He couldn’t stop thinking—
Eighty-one years ago, when Emperor Bai drew that peerless blade, what was he thinking as he drove it into the stone?
If I devote my whole life, pour in everything—can I bridge the gap between me and that Heaven-born prodigy?
At last, he understood the yearning in his heart. He was never someone content with mediocrity. A feral wolf had always lurked in his soul. He wanted to climb higher—to reach the peak of martial mastery. Only then could he prevent another tragedy like his brother’s death from happening again. Even if it meant ending up shattered like a moth to flame—he would still do it.
Suddenly, a sharp pain overwhelmed him. His vision went black.
The guards watched in alarm as the youth released the hilt and fell backward, gasping for air. His hands were torn and bleeding, flesh peeled back.
The Vipashyin Blade stood still in the night, unmoved and silent. In the end, no one had drawn it.
The youth stood up unsteadily, wiped the blood from his cracked lips, and put on his blank expression once more.
“Bad grip today,” he said, turning his back to them as he walked into the dark. “I’ll try again tomorrow.”
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