Chapter Twenty-Six: The Martial Realm Has No Roots

In a restless corner of the city, the Wu family had already come to see the young man and his companions as thorns in their side, obstacles that must be removed.

Yet the young man remained blissfully unaware, lost in his dreams of chivalry and heroism.

The morning sun shone gently as he walked along the country path, the Yanluo Resonant Blade in his hand. Among the fields, he moved with the grace of a jade-like youth, brimming with youthful pride.

Passing along the muddy village road, villagers who saw him greeted him respectfully as “Master Zhong.” Tools in hand, they all made their way outside the village; today was the first day of land distribution. Joy lit up their faces as they went to see their newly allotted fields east of the city, ready to turn the soil and pull weeds in preparation for spring planting.

When Zhong Ming arrived outside Old Man Sun’s courtyard, the old man was just shouldering his hoe, preparing to leave with Sun Longhu and Sun Luolian.

Seeing Zhong Ming arrive, Old Man Sun called out warmly, “Good morning, Xiao Zhong! Up so early—are you coming with us to see the fields on the ridge?”

The old man’s face was always wreathed in smiles, and he greeted the young man with particular warmth.

Though Zhong Ming had land of his own, he had no intention of tending it himself, entrusting it instead to Liang Blackie. Liang Yu, ever the free spirit, had no patience for farming either, so he passed the fields to Fei Dacheng and the gap-toothed one to manage. Thus, the brothers became absentee landlords.

With a faint smile, the young man replied, “Good morning, Uncle Sun. I’m not going to the fields today; I have important questions to ask Brother Longhu.”

Old Man Sun’s eyes caught the ring-handled blade in the youth’s grasp, and he understood the boy’s intent at once.

“The Zhong family has always been made of martial men. It’d be a waste for you to spend your days farming. Xiao Zhong, you were born for greater things, destined for greatness—you shouldn’t be stuck hoeing fields.”

The village chief was always reasonable. Turning to Sun Longhu, he added, “Huzi, you stay behind and discuss martial arts with Xiao Zhong. There’s not much work on the ridge anyway; I’ll go with Lian.”

Sun Longhu could hardly refuse. “Don’t work too hard, Father. When I’m done here, I’ll come and help.”

Old Man Sun nodded and strode out, hoe over his shoulder. Sun Luolian, quick-eyed and considerate, took the hoe from her brother and hurried after the old man in tiny steps. Throughout, the young girl didn’t dare meet the young man’s eyes, her face flushed with shy embarrassment.

Zhong Ming, too, felt a touch awkward at the sight of Sun Luolian. He lowered his voice and said, “Uncle Sun, Lian, don’t rush. There’s no need to hurry the planting.”

“How can you say that? You don’t yet understand, Xiao Zhong. If you’re careless with your fields in the spring, the harvest will be just as careless with you come autumn.”

Old Man Sun stooped with his hoe, singing as he walked, “Spring planting, spring planting, time to till the fields in spring, fighting heaven for rain, fighting earth for grain seed…”

Watching the old man and the girl disappear from view, the young man finally breathed a sigh of relief.

Last night, after Sun Luolian’s song, there had been an unspoken mood among all present, something tender and unspoken.

When the young man turned back, Sun Longhu was already beaming. “So, Xiao Ming, you’ve gotten your hands on a fine blade and can’t wait to test yourself against me?”

The young man chuckled awkwardly. “You give me too much credit, Brother Longhu. I wouldn’t dare challenge you. I’m just a frail scholar, not fit for heavy lifting. I only wish to ask your advice.”

Sun Longhu laughed and beckoned him into the courtyard. They sat together on the doorstep.

Sun Longhu asked, “What do you wish to know, little brother? Speak your mind. I’ll answer whatever I can.”

Zhong Ming replied, “Brother Longhu, I looked through the sword manual last night and realized my body is too weak to begin training as instructed. I don’t know where to start. I wanted to ask your advice—how should a scholar like me begin?”

After the young man described his experience the previous night, Sun Longhu paused in thought.

Instead of rushing to teach him, Sun Longhu asked, “In your view, Zhong Ming, what is the path of martial cultivation?”

The question caught the young man off guard. He hadn’t expected Sun Longhu to open with such a lofty, abstract theme.

After some thought, Zhong Ming carefully considered before answering. Sun Longhu, in no hurry, simply waited, smiling on the doorstep.

To the young man, it seemed a clever and profound question. In truth, Sun Longhu himself had little idea how to instruct others. He knew how to fight, to charge on horseback, but not how to teach martial arts. Teaching was a subtle and difficult art. As the saying goes, it is easy to find a teacher of knowledge, but hard to find a true mentor.

To instruct a student well, one must have deep understanding of martial cultivation—but Sun Longhu was far from such mastery. He was simply imitating his own teacher, General Yang Yanlang, who had once asked him the same question.

In short, it was not Sun Longhu who was teaching the young man, but rather the general, through borrowed words.

After a while, Zhong Ming replied, “Brother Longhu, I’ve only just heard of such things as martial realms. But I’ve listened to storytellers say that martial artists train their bodies to such strength that they can shatter stone with a punch, or even mark rivers and mountains with a finger, causing earth and sky to tremble. That must be the physical aspect of the martial path.

“And I’ve heard it said, ‘The chivalrous use their strength to defy injustice, the scholars their words to challenge the law.’ A true warrior stands alone against a thousand, driven by a sense of justice. Perhaps there is a state of mind, too—a realm of spirit that is also part of the martial path?”

Sun Longhu laughed heartily, hands clasped behind his back, pacing the courtyard in delight, calling out “Excellent!” again and again.

Outwardly, he seemed pleased with the answer; in truth, he was a little embarrassed, sweat beading on his brow.

When the general had asked him this, he’d stammered and failed to answer, until the general had smiled and said, “The martial path has no root; it comes from diligence.”

He hadn’t expected Zhong Ming to answer so well, even touching on truths he himself only half-understood.

Clearly, this younger brother was bright and perceptive.

After several rounds of pacing, Sun Longhu finally said, “Indeed, you are wise, little brother, to have such understanding at your age. But remember: the martial path has no root; it is gained through diligence.”

With that, Sun Longhu stood with hands behind his back, imitating the general’s air of mystery.

The young man frowned slightly, muttering the words “The martial path has no root; it comes from diligence,” again and again.

After a while, understanding dawned. “I see what you mean, Brother Longhu. You’re saying my foundation is too weak—I need to begin from the basics, not aim too high too soon.”

Sun Longhu turned away, saying, “A teachable child indeed.” He quickly wiped the sweat from his brow, relieved that he had managed to muddle through.

The young man was still lost in the joy of realization, oblivious to Sun Longhu’s little ruse.

Hastily rising from the doorstep, Zhong Ming went to stand behind Sun Longhu. “Please, Brother Longhu, show me how I should begin.”

Moving beyond that philosophical discussion, Sun Longhu grew more confident. He was, after all, a drill instructor for the fine-scaled cavalry, well accustomed to training new recruits in the basics. Teaching the young man to strengthen his body was no problem.

Sun Longhu squeezed the youth’s shoulder, frowning. “You’re far too frail, little brother—you can’t even lift a blade. Better start with the simplest forms.”

He took the Yanluo Resonant Blade from the young man and said, “I’ll teach you the basic sword techniques. Once you’ve built up your strength, we’ll move on to more.”

“Thank you, Brother Longhu—I’ll do exactly as you say,” Zhong Ming replied, his eyes bright with anticipation, watching every move.

With a metallic ring, Sun Longhu drew the blade from its sheath; the pitch-black steel glinted coldly in the sunlight.

Legend said the Yanluo Resonant Blade was forged from meteorite iron, passed down for a thousand years. Only two such black blades existed in the world: this one, and the Grandmaster’s Sword of the Mo family. Both were heavy, sturdy weapons forged by the same legendary craftsman.

This was Sun Longhu’s first time seeing the blade up close. Running his hand along its length, he exclaimed, “No wonder it’s called the Great Blade of Yanluo—what a magnificent weapon! A true treasure!”

He swung the blade; at once, from the large ring at the hilt, a dragonfinch whirled, emitting a cry like an eagle’s shriek.

Only then did Zhong Ming realize why it was called the Resonant Blade—so it truly could sing.

“Watch closely, little brother. In these basics, every move must be solid. Form and force must be one!”

With a shout, Sun Longhu gripped the sword in both hands and began to demonstrate the fundamental techniques.

The strength of a blade lies in its cut.

The primary moves were all about chopping, but from there extended techniques like lifting, thrusting, intercepting, blocking, snapping, wiping, carrying, winding, and wrapping. Simple as chopping seemed, many subtleties lay within.

The blade style Sun Longhu used was that of the New Tang Cavalry: fierce, swift, and powerful, relying on momentum like a tiger descending a mountain, capable of cleaving through an enemy in one stroke. It was not the most sophisticated or varied style, but it was honest and effective.

A style focused on strength was perfect for Zhong Ming to build his foundation. It would train his control and fortify his body.

After Sun Longhu’s demonstration, Zhong Ming was left dazzled and deeply impressed.

Sheathing the sword, Sun Longhu, a little out of breath, remarked that the Yanluo Resonant Blade was far heavier than an ordinary Tang sword—at least twice the weight—and even he found it taxing to wield. No wonder the young man struggled to lift it.

Handing the blade back, Sun Longhu said, “This sword is too heavy for you, Xiao Ming. Why not ask the captain for a lighter Tang sword?”

“It’s all right. I’m thin and weak as it is—using a heavy sword will help me build strength.”

Once you’ve seen a legendary weapon, who would choose a mere ordinary blade? Zhong Ming’s mind was made up.

On the surface, this seemed reasonable enough. Sun Longhu, who was never particularly strict himself, didn’t object further.

Little did he realize that for a beginner to use a heavy sword did more harm than good. It might build strength, but it would exhaust the student, making progress twice as hard for half the result.

Sun Longhu stepped back to the threshold and said, “Go ahead, little brother. Show me what you’ve learned—I’ll see if you’ve grasped the moves.”