Tian Boguang killed Disciples of Hengshan at the foot of Mount Heng. Not only was the justice-loving Dingyi Shitai furious, even the Sect Leader, Dingxian Shitai, was enraged. However, the opponent’s qinggong was extraordinary, and by the time they descended the mountain, he was long gone. All they could do was collect Ding Yan Shitai’s body and bring it back to Baiyun Nunnery for burial.
Zhao Xiaojie was among those traveling with them. As a sheltered young lady, she couldn’t find a sharp blade, so she gave herself a cut with a pair of scissors. Fortunately, after days of fasting, she lacked the strength, so she didn’t cut any major arteries. Ding Yan Shitai saved her with Tianxiang Duanxu Paste.
Zhong Lingxiu also learned the details of what happened that day from her.
She was fortunate to have been saved by Ding Yan Shitai. Seeing her parents weeping bitterly, she felt deeply unfilial and gave up on seeking death. But just as the family was embracing and crying, Tian Boguang suddenly appeared on the beam, tossed down a bottle of healing medicine, and said something like, “It’s such a pity for a little beauty to die like this,” making her so ashamed and angry that she wanted to die all over again. She turned and ran straight into the wall.
Ding Yan Shitai, both shocked and furious, drew her sword to strike for fear he’d say something even more offensive, which led to the scene Zhong Lingxiu witnessed later.
Since Jin Boran died because of her, Zhao Xiaojie no longer wished for death. She begged her parents to let her become a nun and repay the kindness of the Mount Heng Sect.
Zhao Zhanggui’s family only cared that their daughter was alive, so they agreed without much hesitation.
So, Zhao Xiaojie followed them up the mountain, shaved her head, and became a nun. When Dingxian Shitai learned the reason, she said that only the mortal body had been sullied, but her heart remained pure, and bestowed upon her the Dhamma Name Yizhen.
“Thank you, Sect Leader.” Yizhen bowed in gratitude. “From now on, there is no Zhao Zhen’er, only Yizhen.”
From then on, she cared deeply for Zhong Lingxiu—not only spending her own money to make clothes for her, but also personally cooking snacks for her to eat.
Zhong Lingxiu was not truly a thirteen-year-old child. Though she was sad, she was not so lost as to need constant, meticulous care. “Senior Sister, you don’t have to do all this.”
Yizhen said, “I see that these days, apart from eating and sleeping, you’re always practicing martial arts. Are you… are you thinking of seeking revenge on that man?”
Zhong Lingxiu nodded. “The hatred of a master’s murder cannot be reconciled under the same sky.”
“I’ve asked around. That scoundrel’s qinggong is impressive, and his saber skills are excellent. It won’t be easy.” Yizhen hesitated, “Junior Sister, you must not be careless.”
Though she called herself Senior Sister, she was only seventeen. Zhong Lingxiu worried about her more and replied gently, “Don’t worry, Senior Sister. I won’t act rashly. Are you getting used to living on the mountain?”
Yizhen forced a sad smile. “I’m used to it. It’ll just be like this.”
Zhong Lingxiu opened her mouth but didn’t know how to comfort her, so she fell silent.
After a couple of days, seeing Yizhen busy preparing to make new shoe soles for her and showing no signs of trouble, Zhong Lingxiu finally went to find Yihe, who taught martial arts.
“Senior Sister, my martial arts haven’t improved at all these past six months,” Zhong Lingxiu got straight to the point. “Please enlighten me.”
Yihe, five years older than her, was responsible for teaching the junior sisters hand-in-hand. “Show me your skills from start to finish.”
“Yes.” Zhong Lingxiu was prepared. She drew her sword and performed a full set of Hengshan Swordplay in the courtyard.
This was the Mount Heng Sect’s secret art, the sword moves intricate and focused on defense over offense, a superior martial skill in the jianghu. Though it was her first time formally apprenticing, Zhong Lingxiu could see its excellence and practiced diligently every day. She had memorized all forty-eight sword techniques, with barely a single mistake.
Yihe nodded repeatedly. “You’ve worked hard, Junior Sister.”
Counting even the secular disciples, Mount Heng had about fifty or sixty people, with varying talents. Those with decent comprehension could wield a sword proficiently by eighteen or nineteen; those less talented struggled in their own ways—either clumsy and unrefined or forgetful and careless, good only for strengthening the body.
Yixiu was the most remarkable. In the harshest winter, she’d carry a jar of spring water down the mountain without complaint; in the blazing summer, she’d hold horse stance for two hours without tiring. She started formal training at eight or nine, and whatever three moves she was taught, she’d master them thoroughly, working far harder than anyone else.
But… “Junior Sister, your sword moves are skillful and your foundation is solid. For your age, that’s already impressive.” Yihe advised tactfully, “Martial arts can’t be mastered in a day. Don’t be impatient.”
Zhong Lingxiu was stunned, then understood and said gratefully, “Senior Sister is afraid I’ll act rashly for revenge and lose sight of what’s important. I understand. But Tian Boguang’s martial arts are so high; I just want to know if I have what it takes to one day avenge this hatred.”
She still didn’t understand what the Hong Guang on Tian Boguang meant, but their enmity was set—she would have to kill him.
“Please enlighten me, Senior Sister,” she pleaded. “Am I… am I really lacking in talent?”
Yihe frowned in thought for a moment before saying, “You’re diligent and intelligent, Junior Sister. You’ve already mastered Hengshan Swordplay. I don’t have much more to teach you. It’s just—” She chose her words carefully, “Martial arts isn’t just about perfecting forms. You have to learn to apply them.”
Zhong Lingxiu quietly let out a breath.
She’d thought her own body was lacking and she couldn’t develop much inner strength. As long as it wasn’t a physical limitation, that was good. “Please teach me, Senior Sister.”
Yihe nodded. “Alright then, Junior Sister, be careful.”
She gave a light pat, and the sword beside the meditation mat rang out as it left its sheath. Zhong Lingxiu saw a streak of sword light turn gracefully and point toward her chest. She blocked horizontally with “Po Yun Jian Ri” from Hengshan Swordplay.
But as soon as the blades met, Yihe’s wrist dipped, and she suddenly slipped past Zhong Lingxiu’s sword, avoiding her chest and aiming for her legs instead.
Zhong Lingxiu instinctively took two steps back. With a “rip,” the corner of her robe was sliced off.
“Junior Sister, when you practice with fellow disciples, every move is by the book. But the jianghu is vast, and there are countless techniques you can’t anticipate.” Yihe spoke sincerely, “Hengshan Swordplay excels at defense. You must keep learning and comprehending.”
Zhong Lingxiu nodded silently.
She actually understood the problem. Hengshan Swordplay was like a set of formulas—offense and defense both had ready-made methods. To attack the upper body, use “Morning Bell and Evening Drum”; to defend the lower body, use “Under the Bodhi Tree.” Sparring with fellow disciples was like doing after-class exercises, plugging in the formulas with a ninety percent success rate. But fighting people in the jianghu was like facing questions from a different province. If you weren’t familiar with their methods, you might not be able to use any moves at all in a panic.
But how should she practice?
Endless practice problems?
Seeing the confusion on her face, Yihe added, “As they say, one force can overcome ten skills. No matter how exquisite your moves, if your inner strength is deep, you can adapt to any change. On the other hand, if your inner strength is weak, even the best sword skills can’t harm a master.”
Zhong Lingxiu nodded, knowing it was time to end for today. She bowed. “Thank you for your guidance, Senior Sister.”
When Ding Yan Shitai was alive, she made Zhong Lingxiu copy scriptures and do assignments every day, teaching her Buddhist principles. Now that she was gone, the shishu pitied Zhong Lingxiu for escaping death and didn’t require anything of her, giving her plenty of free time.
She carefully considered her next steps. Since she’d already mastered Hengshan Swordplay, there was no need to keep drilling it rigidly. What she needed to improve was real combat experience and qinggong.
Mount Heng Sect’s qinggong was fairly well-known in the jianghu—good enough for traveling and climbing trees, but not top-tier. Tian Boguang was nicknamed Wandering Alone for Ten Thousand Miles, his qinggong superb. Without true skill, she’d never catch even a corner of his robe.
After much thought, Zhong Lingxiu decided to imitate what she’d read in wuxia novels and practice by catching a hundred sparrows every day.
Having made up her mind, she put it into action.
The next day, at dawn.
Zhong Lingxiu helped the old woman in the kitchen start the fire, packed two vegetarian buns, borrowed a pot of hot water, and set off alone for the back mountain.
Mountain sparrows chirped crisply. Dew clung to her clothes, the chill not yet faded.
She fixed her eyes on the sparrows flying past, her mind swirling with countless thoughts.
Even now, Ding Yan Shitai’s death didn’t feel real. Crossing over once was already fantastical; to do so a second time, and into a world she’d read about in a novel, felt even more distant.
Besides, Ding Yan Shitai died too quickly.
One flash of a blade, and a living person was gone.
More than grief or hatred, Zhong Lingxiu felt confusion and shock.
What had happened? Was this what a master was?
I didn’t see anything, and my shifu was killed just like that?
What is wuxia, what is the jianghu? Is it really okay to kill people so casually??
Even with a cheat, I’m worlds apart from a flower thief? Am I just too weak? It all feels so unreal. Maybe all these years after crossing over are just a dying fantasy? What kind of world am I really living in…
She spread her slender palm. In the sunlight, her fingers were nearly translucent.
Breaking the Void—it felt so distant.
Fighting and killing—it felt so unreal.
After living in this world for thirteen years, today was the first time she felt truly awake.
Let’s start here.
Zhong Lingxiu clenched her fist and gathered her energy, leaping forward.
Her robe brushed past branches and leaves, startling the resting birds. Their feathers trembled as they took off at a speed almost too fast to see, “whoosh”—one swept past her cheek, flying lightly into the distant sky.
Missed.
So fast.
No, she was too slow.
Zhong Lingxiu stomped her foot and locked onto her target again.
She gathered her energy, leapt, avoided the thick branches, reached out again… and “whoosh,” landed on the ground.
The birds on the branches preened their feathers, casting her a disdainful look.
She stopped aiming for height, climbed the tree first, then jumped again to catch.
Missed again.
Try again.
The day passed in a flash, and her results were… a big fat zero!
Zhong Lingxiu gnawed on her cold buns, drank cold water, and dragged herself exhausted to the dorm to sleep.
Snore, snore.
Wake up, try again.
Today, there was some progress—she caught two clumsy sparrows.
Still ninety-eight sparrows to go before reaching a hundred.
The third day, again.
After all, Zhong Lingxiu had martial arts training. She’d been toughening her body since five or six, started formal training at nine, and four years of foundation wasn’t for nothing.
Though she hadn’t truly entered the door, hadn’t touched the real threshold of martial arts, she was able to use her brain—every failure, she’d summarize her experience, review, and try again, gradually gaining bird-catching experience.
Be light, be fast, be nimble.
Her steps used to be too heavy, her limbs always making extra movements—either her elbow hit the trunk, or her hair snagged a branch, dragging her down. That just wasn’t right.
No need to rush; she was only thirteen. Her body and strength still needed to grow, so she’d take it slow and improve bit by bit.
Talent determines your ceiling; effort determines your floor.
The road doesn’t end here—there’s always hope.