The south wind blows and the clouds gather.
The rain gradually became heavier. Although there was still half an hour before dawn, the surroundings were still as dark as the eternal night.
Beside the cliff of the mountain path, the purple-robed swordsman straightened his sword and placed it quietly under the raindrops, letting the rain wash away the blood stains on the sword.
He hadn't been this miserable for a long time. His clothes were torn, and he counted seven wounds: three on his thighs, two on his arms, and one on his waist. None of them were fatal, just scratches on the skin.
The most dangerous spot is between the ribs. If the short knife is inserted from the bottom at an angle, it will penetrate the chest and go straight to the heart if it is half an inch deeper.
Yet she was still half an inch short.
Perhaps if she had grown a little taller, she would have been able to reach that half inch and take his life.
But she had no chance. No chance to grow taller, no chance to strike again.
The fights between masters were so cruel, and he often indulged in this cruelty, even the pain caused by the knife wounds on his body fascinated him.
He had always been insensitive to his surroundings, but now he felt an unprecedented sense of existence, and even the passage of time became tangible.
When he was young, he often sat upright on the stone steps for the entire day and night.
His days are quiet and boring, but his nights are hot and noisy.
His grandfather, who was obsessed with meteorite iron ore, always tempered his swords at night, because the pure darkness of the night allowed the human eye to distinguish the color of burning copper and iron, and tempered them at the most appropriate time.
The sound of swords striking echoed throughout the night, yet he never found it monotonous. He knew it was the sound of a sharp blade being forged. To become the sharpest and strongest substance in the world, it required such refining day after day, year after year.
He can remain calm even though copper and iron can endure loneliness.
Most of the time, his heart is empty. He was born this way, has always been this way, and will always be this way.
This is his unique talent.
Before he was eight years old, his hands had already touched the sharpest blades and knives in the world, and his desire for perfection was becoming increasingly difficult to satisfy.
He would spar with the wuxia warriors who came to take their swords. It would usually take him less than a stick of incense for him to understand their moves and deliver a fatal blow.
The praise and compliments gradually became less and less, and gradually, he read fear and disgust in those astonished faces.
He knew they could no longer give him what he wanted. He had to go to a higher and more dangerous place to glimpse the ultimate of the extreme.
When forging a sword, the fewer impurities there are in the copper and iron, the purer the sword will be after annealing.
This is the principle his maternal grandfather taught him.
When you hold a sword, the fewer distractions in your mind, the faster the sword will be.
This is the truth he discovered on his own.
The day he was admitted to the hospital was the day she left An Daoyuan. At that time, he didn't know who she was.
He saw the short and fat figure being dragged out of the courtyard in a rage, cursing Xie Li every few steps, and finally spat fiercely before being stuffed into a carriage.
He thought: He must be a useless person with poor roots and unskilled skills.
Andaoyuan is indeed worthy of its reputation and will never take in the weak.
The strong prey on the weak, and the winner is king.
He never loses, so he is always at ease in this world. He is very satisfied with his choice.
On the night of admission, Dean Xie Li gave the new disciple a name in Hanling Pavilion.
The so-called bestowed names are actually a lottery. Since the founding of Andoyuan, all disciples have been named after the first dean, Yin. It is said that Yin favored feathers and collected millions of feathers from all over the world in his pavilion. Disciples in the pavilion are named after these feathers, and no one can be removed from the name without expulsion from the master's school, and no one can change their name without the approval of the emperor.
The current dean, Xie Li, was originally named Xie Li, but he changed his name after taking office as dean.
When a name is given, the disciples who enter the temple will choose a sealed bamboo basket from the pool where feather names are placed. The tail feather placed in the basket represents the name they will receive.
And in his hair is a gray-purple tail feather.
Those are the feathers of a swallow, and his name is "Yan".
He didn't like this word. The swallow was a domestic bird that flew into the homes of ordinary people, while he was a kite that could not calm down even when looking at the peak.
No problem, let him stay for a while inside this square wall that is less than three meters high. Once he has mastered the legendary sword technique, he will leave.
He thought that with his talent, Dou's swordsmanship would be his sooner or later.
However, three or four springs, summers, autumns and winters passed, and Xie Li still did not mention the matter of teaching swordsmanship.
"There is no distinction between high and low in military affairs, and no distinction between superior and inferior in martial arts. Why should we be obsessed with a particular sword or a particular sword technique?"
This was the answer he got after asking Xie Li.
He thought that was not an answer, it was just a perfunctory response.
He later heard that Xie Li had passed on his swordsmanship to a disciple named Qing Zhuang. He pondered for a long time, but still couldn't recall the man's face. He only vaguely remembered that he seemed to be a quiet man who liked to wear green clothes, so ordinary that people would forget him at first sight.
It doesn’t matter who the person who mastered the swordsmanship is. What matters is that the person is not him.
Forging a sword from raw iron is a soul-refining process, a truth he'd witnessed countless times since childhood. No two weapons in this world are exactly alike, and the sharpness of a sword is determined from the day it's forged.
Whether a top martial artist can reach the pinnacle of martial arts is determined at birth.
He was born to be equipped with the sharpest sword and the most powerful martial arts in the world.
Anyone who enters the An Dao Monastery remains a member until death. Without the permission of the abbot, no one may leave the abbey.
But if he wants to leave, no one in this world can stop him.
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