"I'll definitely be able to do this..." Xiang Fan silently said to himself. He repeatedly adjusted the angle of the sword, the strength of his wrist, and the rhythm of his steps. His spiritual energy was so weak that it couldn't even fully cover the blade. The light that appeared at the tip of the sword suddenly dissipated, as if it had never existed.
Failure again and again. Xiang Fan's brow furrowed slightly, but he felt no regret or resignation. His gaze fell on the sword's edge, a faint trance.
"Is it the sword's momentum that's too slow, or is it the lack of consistency in the flow of spiritual energy?" He muttered to himself, as if asking himself, or analyzing his own shortcomings. His tone was calm, yet it revealed an extremely stubborn strength.
The morning light gradually dispelled the mist from the martial arts arena, and the sun shone on each disciple's sword, reflecting dazzling rays of light. However, Xiang Fan's sword light was still weak, almost negligible compared to the spiritual energy of his brothers and sisters.
"The foundation is very important..." Xiang Fan's gaze fell on the sword blade and he whispered, "If even the foundation cannot be perfected, the subsequent training will be in vain." His tone was firm and focused. Although the hands holding the sword trembled slightly due to fatigue, there was no sign of loosening.
He was well aware of the gap between himself and those around him, and he also understood that the comments were not without reason. But he just couldn't bring himself to go against his heart and skip this dedication to the basics in order to pursue faster progress.
He feared failure, but even more so the laziness that lay behind it. He feared being laughed at, but even more so the fear of giving up on the fundamentals and stagnating forever. He chose to stand in the last row, to practice in silence, to be one of those "ordinary people." But behind that ordinariness, every ounce of his effort concealed a weighty obsession.
"This is good..." Xiang Fan held the sword, a smile appeared on the corner of his mouth, and his voice was as low as a breeze.
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