Chapter Four: Mastery of Swordsmanship

Strangely enough, ever since Pei Jingyuan resolved to live on as Pei Min, his spirits had improved dramatically. When he awoke, he felt refreshed and invigorated; most of his physical discomfort had vanished, and his limbs were no longer weak as they had been the night before—he moved freely. Ancient clothing was elegant but complicated to wear, and though Pei Jingyuan had inherited Pei Min’s memories, it still took him some time to dress properly. By instinct, he buckled the sword hanging on the wall to his waist and, gazing at the vigorous and dashing youth reflected in the large bronze mirror, nodded with satisfaction before stepping out of the house.

The Pei family was not wealthy, residing in the northernmost mountains of Huairou County, with only a handful of scattered neighbors. Life and shopping were inconvenient, yet the seclusion amidst mountains and water lent a certain charm to their poverty. Especially the spot where the Pei family lived—it was called Emerald Bamboo Hill, a stretch of about three li in circumference, carpeted with wildflowers, crisscrossed by clear streams, and thick with bamboo groves. Three shallow peaks embraced it, its scenery serene and beautiful. Nearby, woodcutters and hunters made their homes, and over a dozen families lived in honesty and simplicity—rising with the sun, resting at dusk, cultivating their own fields, living peacefully as if in a secluded paradise.

It was precisely because of its remoteness that the area had avoided the raids of the Xian forces—a rare stroke of fortune for the humble Pei family.

Near the Pei household was a bamboo grove. In previous years, when at home, Pei Min would rise at the crow of the rooster to read and practice swordplay among the bamboos, never missing a day, possessing the resolve of an ancient hero who would leap up to train at the first sound of morning.

By the time he entered the grove, dawn had long since passed and the sun was high. The few folk who lived nearby had set out on their daily toils, and all was quiet as in the early morning.

Pei Min stilled his breath and focused, recalling the sword techniques in his memory. Pei Min’s greatest talent lay in his swordsmanship. As one of the three prodigies personally decreed by the emperor, and a subject for poets and scholars, the Sword Saint’s fame was well deserved. Pei Jingyuan longed to experience Pei Min’s sword for himself, to see whether his own soul’s possession had changed anything.

As he reviewed the techniques in his mind, Pei Min was surprised to discover that his swordsmanship was utterly without structure or rule. No master had ever taught him; his mother opposed his practicing the sword. His entire style was learned by watching others, picking up moves here and there, piecing them together into a patchwork. Relying solely on his innate gift for the sword, he had trained himself—becoming self-taught, a master without a teacher.

The summer wind swept through the grove, stirring the bamboo with a rustling sound, and the breeze lifted the fallen leaves from the ground, scattering them into the air. Most of the leaves were yellowed, but among them were five freshly fallen green leaves.

He moved in an instant, and the sword left its scabbard.

A metallic ring resounded.

The long sword, swift as a serpent, flashed in the sunlight, weaving among the swirling dead leaves and slicing through each green leaf with unerring accuracy.

All five green leaves were severed at the center almost simultaneously and drifted away on the wind.

This move was originally called “Mercy Beneath the Sword” and was the signature technique of a famed northern swordsman. Despite its gentle name, it was ruthlessly lethal—the blade would strike at four vital points on the arms, disabling an opponent with a single strike. If all four thrusts were successful, the adversary would be utterly crippled.

Pei Min had witnessed the technique once, memorized it, and practiced it at will. Yet he felt the move too dangerous and hard to control, so he refined it, making it more agile and responsive to his intent, capable of both mercy and ruthlessness. In his memory, during the bloody battle against the Xian, more than thirty elite foes fell to this very move, leaving them no chance to retaliate.

Having executed the move, Pei Min realized that his sword skills had not diminished, but instead, tested by real combat, had become even more fierce and precise, embodying the essence of speed, accuracy, and ferocity.

His sword style was unorthodox, and so too was his practice; he worked through every technique he had picked up, exploring and perfecting them himself. For those raised amidst the martial worlds of Jin Yong, Gu Long, and Liang Yusheng, who does not harbor the dream of becoming a hero, yearning for mastery of the sword?

At this first true encounter, Pei Min was thoroughly engrossed and wanted to practice more. Yet in the distance, he caught sight of a figure approaching from the direction of the stream, heading home.

Startled, he hesitated, then smiled and sheathed his sword, hurrying toward the figure and calling out from afar, “Mother, you’re back?”

Pei’s mother trembled all over, standing in shock.

Not until Pei Min reached her, taking the wooden basin brimming with clothes from her hands, did she come to herself. Her eyes reddened instantly, and tears rolled down her cheeks. It turned out Pei Min had not been ill, nor had he suffered any injury; the bloodstains on him that day belonged to the Xian soldiers he had slain. Pei Min himself had not received a single wound. Yet after destroying the enemy, he had collapsed as if struck by grave illness and fallen into unconsciousness.

Pei’s mother had summoned every doctor and healer in the county, all of whom gave the same diagnosis: a sickness of the heart, brought on by the trauma of taking a life and seeing blood for the first time. Only the heart could heal such an ailment; only Pei Min could save himself.

It was impossible for even the greatest healers of legend to know that the true cause was a transmigration of souls.

Every day, amid her busy chores, Pei’s mother would talk aimlessly with Pei Min, hoping to help him untie his knots, but with no results. She forced herself to smile, lest her worry further distress him. Now, seeing him emerge from the shadows, all her pent-up anxiety at last found release, and her tears would not stop.

It took Pei Min a great deal of effort to comfort his mother, and together they made their way home.

Seeing the sword at Pei Min’s waist, his mother frowned, “You’ve been sick for so many days—who knows how much schoolwork you’ve missed. Now that you’re better, instead of reading to catch up, you’re fooling around with a sword?”

Pei Min quickly nodded and replied with a smile, “You’re right, mother. It’s just that after lying in bed so long, my body was stiff and my mind sluggish. I thought I’d stretch my limbs a bit before returning to my studies—I’ll make up for all the lessons I missed.”

At his words, Pei’s mother’s face lit up with a smile. She snatched the basin away, saying, “These are women’s chores—leave them to me. You go inside and study, make up your work. There are some flatbreads on the stove; have a few if you’re hungry. When I’m done here, I’ll make something delicious for you...”

Pei Min wanted nothing more than to stay and help, but he knew his mother would never allow it. She didn’t mind her own hardship, only whether her child could one day make something of himself. For that dream, no toil or fatigue would ever draw a complaint.

With heavy steps, Pei Min entered the house.

His mother watched him go, holding the basin of clothes, calculating how much money she might earn from this load, weighing whether it was more profitable to ask Hunter Zhang’s family for copper coins or to trade directly for fresh game. Then, remembering something, she slapped her forehead. “Ah, how forgetful I am! I must tell the clan that Min has recovered.”