Chapter 96 — The Sword Walks Ten Thousand Miles of Rivers and Mountains

The Village Head's vital energy spilled outward, slowly taking shape as legs and feet, then arms. He rose gently from the stretcher, beckoned with his hand, and the Chubao Sword in Shen Mu's grasp flew from his fingers into the old man's "hand."

The old man's gaze was distant and unfocused, as though he had fallen into some far-off memory.

Zheng—

The cry of the sword rang out. The Chubao Sword floated in the air. Its movements seemed slow, each stance sharply defined: lifting cut, sweeping cut, cleaving cut, thrust, cloud cut, hanging cut, dotting cut, bursting cut, flicking cut, chopping cut, intercepting cut, brushing cut, flourish cut, propping cut. Every technique was among the most basic in the sword canon—yet what set them apart was that the Village Head combined these simplest of moves, executing them in a strange and singular manner for Shen Mu to witness.

The Sword Walks Rivers and Mountains.

Under his swordplay, the blade's light cast shadows and silhouettes—towering and majestic as mountains, swift and winding as rivers, rising and falling. The light and shadow of the sword actually assembled before Shen Mu into a vast, billowing chronicle of rivers and mountains—a map of the land!

The first stance of the Village Head's sword art was incomparably complex, carrying a grandeur as sweeping as mountain ranges, cloud seas, and long rivers!

It was geography rendered through the light and shadow of a blade!

The Village Head's sword formula shifted, and the mountains and rivers shifted with it. The old man rode his sword and sang, and his song carried both heroic ambition and desolate sorrow.

"Strategists in the hall devise their plans; brave generals at the frontier wield their spears! Heaven's timing, earth's advantage, and human harmony. Can the gods be smitten?"

"He answered: They can!

"Today the tower and terrace, the tripods and cauldrons; tomorrow the sword walks rivers and mountains. The people of the capital all join the Great Wind Song. Commanding all the gods to come and pay tribute!"①

His sword was slow—to accommodate Shen Mu, to let him see the trajectory of each technique. Slow as it was, the vastness of the sword art was displayed to the fullest in every pointing gesture!

Shen Mu devoted himself to memorizing it. Though the Village Head's sword art was complex, even the most complex sword art was composed of the most basic moves—thrust, lift, flick, dot, and so on. Once the basic techniques were mastered, no matter how complex the sword form, it could be learned.

By the time the Village Head had demonstrated the stance once through, Shen Mu had already committed it to memory. He used a numerical mnemonic: thrust was one, sweep was two, cleave was three, and so on.

He need only remember the sequence of numbers to memorize the most complex sword art in the shortest possible time.

This too was the Village Head's painstaking design. For the past two or three years, the old man had never taught him any sword art, only made him practice the basic moves—thrust, sweep, lift, cleave, chop—over and over, pushing the power of those foundational techniques to their absolute limit.

With an incomparably solid foundation, learning complex sword arts now became simpler, easier.

Shen Mu closed his eyes and reviewed the numerical sequence of the Sword Walks Rivers and Mountains stance in his mind, again and again, then converted the numbers back into moves and rehearsed them once more, again and again.

After a long while, he finally commanded his flying sword with vital energy, guiding the Chubao Sword through the sword art the Village Head had taught—slowly, clumsily.

His execution was labored, awkward, stiff, and ungainly. Every so often he had to stop and search his memory.

But by the second attempt, Shen Mu was already much smoother—only occasionally pausing to think.

By the third pass, he could execute the entire sequence of sword moves fluidly. Only the Village Head's near-supernatural quality—sword art like rivers and mountains—still eluded him.

Shen Mu practiced again and again, and his mastery over Sword Walks Rivers and Mountains grew stronger and stronger. Yet to grasp the profundity of the stance and unleash its full power in so short a time remained difficult for him.

Before long, Granny Zhu finished preparing lunch and called him to eat. Even at the table, Shen Mu would from time to time curl his vital energy around his chopsticks and drill the sword forms in the air above the dishes.

At night, he practiced for a long while more before sleeping, and even in his dreams he was practicing the sword.

This continued for more than ten days, until at last he grasped the key to the Sword Walks Rivers and Mountains stance!

Read a book a hundred times and its meaning reveals itself—so too with sword art. How many thousands of times had Shen Mu practiced this single stance?

He knew it by heart. This time, as he executed it, a sudden flash of insight came to him. He felt vital energy and sword fuse perfectly—high mountains and flowing water, mountain ranges like dragons, long rivers like hanging banners. His sword art poured forth with incredible speed, and blade-light and shadow painted a scroll of rivers and mountains!

Ding—

The blade-light snapped shut, returning into the fish-dragon hilt. Before him, the sword map of rivers and mountains slowly faded away.

Shen Mu stood stunned. He had finally mastered this stance after all.

"Shen'er, you have come of age."

The Village Head smiled and said, "From today on, you are an adult, not a child. You may leave Yincan Village—leave the Wasteland Ruins—and make your own way in the world."

Granny Zhu leaned against the doorframe and watched the sword map appear and vanish, a feeling in her heart she could not name.

"Shen'er, you have grown up," she said with a smile.

Shen Mu remained in the village a few more days, learning the Stealing Heaven and Swapping the Sun Hand from the Lame Elder. Once he had mastered it, the day of departure finally arrived.

Granny Zhu prepared his traveling supplies—a great bundle stuffed with all manner of things that seemed to Shen Mu entirely unnecessary—and turned the Dayu Youmo Sutra into a pair of white gloves for him to wear on his hands.

After the farewell wine was drunk, Shen Mu finally set out from the village. The youth looked back and saw all nine villagers of Yincan Village standing at the village entrance—even the Village Head, who had manifested both legs and stood there among them.

Shen Mu turned back, embraced Elder Huo, then the Lame Elder, then each one in turn. Then he stepped back two paces, kowtowed three times to Granny Zhu, and turned to leave.

"Shen'er, if you can't win, run!"

The Lame Elder called out loudly, "There's poetry in distant lands—and also drudgery!"

Elder Huo waved his hand: "Be strong! If someone bullies you, hit them back. Don't just keep yielding!"

The Butcher raised his butchering knife: "Don't disgrace us old cripples! Whoever bullies you—chop them up!"

"Be a cultured man!"

"If you can't win, you can always use poison!"

"Aaah, aaah aaah!"

...

Shen Mu looked back, waved, and broke into a sunny smile.

Before long, he arrived at the valley of the Mizai Palace. The Xuanliao Demon Ape was cultivating, breathing in and out, a Zen staff planted upright beside him.

The Xuanliao Demon Ape had grown ever more massive and imposing, his cultivation deep and profound. He had trained in Elder Huo's boxing art, and Shen Mu had taught him the Profound Body Three Cinnabar Art. He handled the Zen staff with ease as well, looking more and more like a demon monk—his whole body covered in black fur, immensely powerful.