The Evil-Repelling Sword Technique had repeatedly failed in battle, yielding no progress for a long time.
Zhong Lingxiu thought it over and suspected that her lack of skill was the reason she couldn’t learn it properly. She then changed her mind and sought guidance from Master Dingxian on the future direction of her training.
The Sect Leader did not disappoint. She said that Lingxiu’s internal cultivation had already reached a modest level, and that mountain climbing and water carrying could no longer help her improve.
She needed to gradually shift from external to internal focus, concentrating on the nurturing and control of internal energy, aiming to eventually reach the state of “all phenomena are empty.”
“The supreme realm of Hengshan’s swordsmanship is ‘deep Bodhi roots, smiling while plucking a flower,’” Master Dingxian said calmly as she twisted her Buddhist beads.
“Branches flourish and leaves thrive, roots grow deep and firm; plucking a flower with a gentle smile, lightly controlling and releasing with natural ease.”
Zhong Lingxiu seemed to have a sudden understanding.
In novels, the references to cultivating internal energy over sixty years or so have already explained it clearly enough: to deepen one’s internal power, one must practice tirelessly day and night, accumulating bit by bit, day by day, year by year. The more accumulated, the deeper the internal skill.
This so-called “deep Bodhi roots” simply means laying a solid foundation for an explosive release.
“Smiling while plucking a flower” is easier to grasp. She couldn’t repel enemies with a mere embroidery needle—it was impossible to wield the sword as lightly as required. If the true energy injected into the needle wasn’t controlled, it would damage the needle first before harming the enemy. To truly injure with falling leaves and flying flowers, one must be able to control the energy’s release and withdrawal freely, moving it at will.
“I accept your teaching.”
Zhong Lingxiu returned to her previous routine, practicing according to the seasons.
In winter, she drank wine and ate meat, closing her door to cultivate internal energy.
Mornings were spent sitting in meditation, breathing exercises to gather the true energy generated by her meridians, letting it settle and blend, storing it in her dantian. At the same time, no matter when or where, a thread of internal energy would roam within her, keeping her body still yet in motion, poised and ready to burst forth—a kind of internal breath endurance training.
Afternoons she embroidered, channeling a thread of true energy into a slender iron needle, carefully threading it with thread and sewing.
After some time, the walls, floor, and desk in her room were full of tiny needle holes; scraps of fabric scattered everywhere—all casualties from her internal energy collapsing the needles.
Yet Zhong Lingxiu was enthusiastic and didn’t find it boring at all.
She felt this training was much like the cultivation scenes in old comics—others climbed trees or stepped on water; she embroidered and sewed clothes. Essentially, they were different paths leading to the same goal, perfect with some soothing background music.
Unfortunately, her flute skills were still not fully learned; only the fire in the brazier crackled occasionally, emitting a few “pop” sounds.
Come early spring in February, as ice melted and all living things awakened, it was just right to release the energy stored all winter into swordsmanship.
Zhong Lingxiu changed into thin clothing and went deep into the mountains to practice swordplay.
Hengshan swordsmanship was intense, starting with the foundational Return Wind and Falling Geese Sword, practiced until her qi and blood surged, and her condition was excellent. Then she switched to the Evil-Repelling Sword Technique, using qi to control the sword.
This was the insight she had developed over winter. The origin of the Evil-Repelling Sword Technique lay in the Sunflower Manual, which had once caused disputes over sword qi at Huashan. In other words, this skill’s key was the relationship between sword and qi.
Previously, she thought the sword stimulated the true energy, but that was completely wrong. The correct approach was true energy guiding the sword’s movement.
The former is about release; the latter is about control.
This time, it was indeed much better.
No wonder Yue Buqun was able to master it; he truly had a connection with Huashan.
Spring in the mountains lasted a long time, until the Dragon Boat Festival when the heat of summer began.
Zhong Lingxiu darted around Hengshan, searching many peaks, and finally discovered a suitable small waterfall.
Overjoyed, she chopped wood and drove stakes, building a triangular shelter nearby. She took three days’ provisions from Baiyun Temple and set up camp by the waterfall to train swordsmanship intensively.
This was indeed the quintessential sword training spot in wuxia novels: the water flow was invisible yet mighty; when gentle, it was like facing a reclusive master with profound internal power; when rapid, it was like a crowd of fierce warriors attacking. The variability kept training fresh.
Every morning she boiled water in an iron pot, added rice, bird eggs, and cured meat, making a hearty stew before starting practice.
Hungry, she ate; thirsty, she boiled water; tired, she slept.
Every ten days, she returned to the temple for a hot bath and played the qin to digest her insights.
At month’s end, she descended the mountain to check for letters and buy daily necessities like brown sugar, fine cotton cloth, and realgar wormwood—essential to fend off mountain insects and ants.
In June, two letters arrived.
One was from Huashan; Linghu Chong said he had received her letter and would try to help. He was also learning the Purple Mist Technique, recently practicing atop the Taiyue Three Green Peaks under their master. Though it had only three sword moves, its power was formidable. He looked forward to sparring and seeking her advice in the future.
The other letter came from Hengyang; Liu Zhengfeng had returned home and answered her questions about flute playing, urging her to practice diligently. He also enclosed two musical scores and mentioned retirement from the martial world, indicating he had yet to make a final decision.
Zhong Lingxiu took some time to reply to both, sending along some Hengshan specialties as gifts.
Autumn’s golden waves surged forth fiercely.
Farmers busied themselves with harvest; the court hurried tax collection; wild beasts hunted more aggressively, disturbing the peace.
Zhong Lingxiu was busy for three months, though unsure what exactly she was busy with—it just felt like a lot.
Then in the blink of an eye, the first snowflakes began to fall, and the year had reached the fourth quarter.
She took on firewood duties, gathering trees into a thick stack, tying it tightly with ropes, and carrying it down the mountain.
The pile of wood was taller than she was, yet carrying it didn’t feel heavy. Only her shoes wore through again.
Zhao Zhen’er sent shoes with soles sewn by her husband, and passed a message that she was pregnant. After the baby was born, she urged Zhong Lingxiu to be sure to come for the full-month celebration.
Zhong Lingxiu promised wholeheartedly.
–
Time passed unmarked in the mountains.
In her memory, it seemed as if children would start calling for people in a blink of an eye; they were held by their mothers, silver lock pendants in place, hair almost pulled apart.
Now she was Hengshan’s own, yet she was still made to look so disheveled—it was truly terrifying.
Linghu Chong seemed much more mature. Last month’s letter said he had been sent down the mountain by order of his master, but he was no match in battle and had been mockingly nicknamed “Qingcheng Mountain Beast.” Because of this, he was locked away at Huashan’s secluded cliff for reflection.
Liu Jing was fifteen; Liu Zhengfeng had arranged a marriage for her, marking the year he officially retired from the martial world.
Unlike the grand gesture of washing one’s hands of the world in the original story, Zhong Lingxiu and Linghu Chong were already in on the secret, and likely not the only ones. Yue Buqun was shrewd, and Master Dingxian was experienced; it was hard to guarantee the children would not give any hints.
Liu Zhengfeng dared not take risks. Fortunately, the demonic cult was pursuing Qu Yang; the two conspired in a ruse, killing several cult disciples together. Qu Yang faked his death, and Liu Zhengfeng feigned serious injury. Though his life was barely spared, he could not use internal energy recklessly, or risk demonic deviation, forcing him into retirement.
He sent letters to friends explaining the situation, saying he had given up a military post and would henceforth live as a wealthy gentleman, no longer meddling in martial affairs.
Compared to a public announcement, letters were far slower.
By the time major sects received the news, it was already a done deal—Liu Zhengfeng had left Hengyang and returned home to “recover.”
He also wrote an extra letter to Zhong Lingxiu, saying all he sought in life now was music, hoping to compose a world-shaking duet for qin and flute. This was a subtle way of indicating that both he and Qu Yang had withdrawn from the martial world and posed no threat to the righteous sects.
This was naturally a good outcome.
Zhong Lingxiu replied, pleading for a copy of the score once composed, and sent Liu Jing’s trousseau gifts.
Liu Zhengfeng did not reply.
At the same time, Master Dingxian received a letter from Zuo Lengchan, saying Liu Zhengfeng’s sudden retirement seemed suspicious. He had heard Liu had a master-disciple relationship with Hengshan’s disciple Yi Xiu and hoped she could travel to Songshan to clarify the matter.
Master Dingxian, though not involved in the martial world, was well-informed. She asked, “Do you know the reason behind Liu Zhengfeng’s retirement?”
“I do,” Zhong Lingxiu answered calmly. “Uncle Liu is fond of music and originally wanted to focus entirely on it. But the Hengshan Sect’s Elder Mo ignores sect affairs and refuses to let disciples practice, so he was indecisive. Still, rumors circulate that he and Elder Mo are at odds, and Liu wishes to take the sect leader’s position. Gossip is dangerous; Uncle Liu probably used this as a pretext to retire and was not truly injured.”
The leaders of all major sects were sharp. Liu Zhengfeng’s supposed injury was hard to believe, and given Hengshan’s internal strife, the explanation seemed reasonable.
Master Dingxian pondered for a moment. Although she suspected Zuo Lengchan’s letter had ulterior motives, Liu Zhengfeng was Hengshan’s own. Whatever Elder Mo said, there was no need to offend them. Sending her disciple alone to Songshan was out of the question. She wrote back a direct refusal, saying she had already asked, but the child didn’t understand anything, wasting the alliance leader’s effort.
The Songshan Sect did not press the matter, seeming to lower their flags.
Zhong Lingxiu suspected Zuo Lengchan was still alive, but mere letters could not gather momentum. Even if suspicious, why would the sects bother with someone who had withdrawn? Yue Buqun would be unwilling to do such a thing. Liu Zhengfeng’s retirement meant one less competitor for the Five Mountain Alliance leader position.
Thus, the whole matter quietly sank without a trace. Though there were lingering ripples, none surfaced.
The next year, Liu Jing was escorted by her brother to marry peacefully.
Rumor had it that Old Liu San had passed away.
–
In the second half of the year, the Fuwei Escort Agency was ambushed by unknown assailants. Lin Pingzhi saved Huashan disciples and joined the Huashan Sect, becoming Yue Buqun’s apprentice.
All this was provided by the unlucky Linghu Chong as a friendly update.
He wrote that he, along with second junior brother Lao Denuo and junior sister Yue Lingshan, went to Fuzhou to investigate unusual activity by the Qingcheng Sect. They happened upon the Fuwei Escort Agency being attacked. The head escort Lin Zhennan held a torch in one hand and a tattered old book in the other. Before the attackers, he set fire to the agency, threw the Evil-Repelling Sword Manual into the flames, and then stabbed himself with his sword.
The attackers were dissatisfied and dug deep to find a copy. They encountered the returning junior escort Lin Pingzhi, and a fierce battle broke out, from which the three disciples rescued him.
The enemy was numerous and skilled; the junior sister and Lin Pingzhi left first, while Linghu Chong and Lao Denuo stayed to fight. The two got separated on the way; Linghu Chong was nearly killed by the leader but was saved suddenly by Qu Yang. Unfortunately, they could not communicate because Lao Denuo arrived just in time.
The next day, Qu Feiyan secretly found Linghu Chong and handed him a musical score for a qin-flute duet, entrusting him to deliver it to Zhong Lingxiu.
Linghu Chong agreed.
Shortly after, they reunited with Yue Buqun. Lao Denuo told them about the mysterious savior; when Yue Buqun asked who it was, he lied that he didn’t know. However, he unwittingly gave himself away and was suspected of being a cult disciple. Upon returning to Huashan, he was punished to meditate on the Thinking Mist Cliff.
He dared not send letters casually, fearing his master would notice. He waited until he and his master’s wife left the sect before entrusting his sixth junior brother to send this letter.
The musical score was precious; he feared losing it. After completing his meditation punishment, he planned to deliver it personally to Hengshan. Until then, they would meet again.
When Zhong Lingxiu received the letter, it was late autumn—unsuitable for traveling northwest—so she patiently waited for him to come.
But she waited and waited, until Hengshan’s spring thawed the ice and snow, yet she still had not received her Smile, Proud Wanderer composition.
Of course, this could not be blamed on Linghu Chong.
He was restless on the Thinking Mist Cliff, anxious to descend the mountain and deliver the score to her, but fate was unkind. What happened next was full of twists and turns, and he was unwillingly caught in a vortex, unable to extricate himself.
–
Half a year later, in Green Bamboo Lane.
Linghu Chong woke from sleep and saw a crescent moon outside the window, feeling a sense of being from another world.
Since half a year ago, after the Peach Valley Six Immortals forced the Six Paths True Energy into his body and tortured him, he hadn’t slept this well. Fortunately, the elderly lady of Green Bamboo’s master’s household was skilled in qin arts and used the “Pure Universal Goodness Mantra” to regulate his internal breath, granting him brief peace.
But this peace was only superficial. His heart remained in pain, and he struggled to get up and seek wine.
“You shouldn’t drink,” the old lady said from behind the bamboo curtain. “It harms your injuries in every way.”
Linghu Chong, thinking she was just an old woman, replied respectfully, “I apologize, but—”
“But your heart aches,” she interrupted, plucking the qin strings. “I understand. Would you like to talk to me about it?”
Linghu Chong smiled bitterly. How could he begin?
Should he say he met Grand Uncle Feng Qingyang below Thinking Mist Cliff, learned the Lone Dragon Nine Swords from him, but was caught in the crossfire when the Peach Valley Six Immortals kidnapped people? That the Sword Sect accused him of stealing Lin Pingzhi’s family’s Evil-Repelling Sword Technique? Or that Sixth Brother Lu Dayou died mysteriously, and his master suspected him, causing Huashan to be wary? Or the incident in Luoyang when Lin Pingzhi’s cousin forced him to hand over the “Smile, Proud Wanderer” score, which only Green Bamboo’s master and his wife confirmed as a musical score to clear suspicion?
But these were sect matters and could not be revealed to outsiders.
He could only say, “I just wonder when this ‘Smile, Proud Wanderer’ score will reach her hands.”
“Who is she?” the old lady asked.
“A friend.”
She smiled lightly. “Is she your friend who you play ‘Yearning’ with in the daylight?”
“Nothing escapes a senior,” Linghu Chong self-mocked. “Recently I’ve been thinking. I grew up with junior sister and always felt happy seeing her. But since Lin Pingzhi arrived, she rarely played with me and seemed often sad. But ‘she’ is different—no other meaning, and actually not unhappy.”
He sighed, “I yearn, yet cannot understand. Linghu Chong has lived a muddled first half of his life and is still a fool.”