Chapter 26:
Cherishing the Late Spring
THE MOONLIGHT was like water; the wind rustled through the trees.
Xiahou Lian stood motionless, saber in hand, as swirling leaves danced before him. His robe flapped in the breeze amid the leaves’ rustling.
In the next instant, his blade flashed.
Xiahou Lian drew his saber. Under the moonlight, its gleaming edge gave the impression of rippling waves emanating outward in rings. Xiahou Lian stepped lightly on the moonlit ground, his blade’s tip tracing a graceful arc. As his gaze focused on the blade, it was as if the wind in the courtyard fell silent. Xiahou Lian’s swordsmanship was clean and precise, with no unnecessary flourishes, reminiscent of the clear breeze and radiant moon in a pine forest. When he swung the saber, it caused a wind that swept through the courtyard like a roaring tide.
After a few moves, Xiahou Lian sheathed his saber and smirked at Shen Jue, who stood nearby. “Did you get all that?”
Shen Jue thought over the moves Xiahou Lian had just demonstrated. Weighing the wooden saber in his hand, he frowned, not responding.
“Qiye Garden’s saber techniques differ from styles that emphasize physical strength and friendly sparring. Our methods are designed to kill. Every attack must draw blood. There’s no room for showy, ineffective maneuvers. It’s about being ruthless, cunning, and efficient—fast, accurate, and deadly,” Xiahou Lian explained. He gripped his saber. “You needn’t master it all, just enough to deal with those who dare cross the line.”
Shen Jue thought for a moment. “The moves you just demonstrated differ from what you described.”
“How so?”
Shen Jue glanced at Xiahou Lian, then stepped into the center of the courtyard, holding the wooden saber. He bent his knees slightly, assuming a starting stance. Xiahou Lian was leaning against the wall, watching with interest, when suddenly a piece of osmanthus cake appeared in front of him. Xiahou Lian took it absentmindedly, only to turn in shock and see Consort Gao seated on a nearby rock, happily munching her own piece of cake.
“Hey, you—”
“Shh!” Consort Gao put a finger to her lips. “Watch the saber.”
Shen Jue moved.
The crude wooden saber in his hand seemed as sharp as a real blade. Shen Jue’s strikes were fierce and unrelenting, piercing and cold; frost seemed to bloom everywhere his blade passed. The wind picked up, scattering leaves in every direction. Just as Shen Jue was about to deliver a final downward slash, Consort Gao suddenly pushed Xiahou Lian into the blade’s path.
Xiahou Lian jolted in shock. The draft produced by the blow quickly engulfed his entire body; he could almost smell blood on Shen Jue’s “blade.”
Shen Jue hesitated for a moment, and Xiahou Lian seized the opportunity to sidestep so that the blade only grazed the edge of his robe. Shen Jue shot Consort Gao a cold glance.
She clapped her hands gleefully. “How fun! Come on, you two. Fight!”
Before Xiahou Lian could scold the consort, Shen Jue’s saber turned and came straight for his face.
Shen Jue had only learned five of the moves comprising Qiye Garden’s saber arts. Now he used the third move—Swallow’s Swoop.
This kid just started learning and already wants to spar? Xiahou Lian leaned back to evade the Swallow’s Swoop, then did a backflip, avoiding a second strike. He didn’t counterattack, simply dodged left and right. Shen Jue was still a novice, and the disparity in the boys’ skills was vast. Yet somehow, in just five moves, Shen Jue had woven together a sequence of full-fledged attacks. Within a few minutes, his saber strikes had already proved relentless, never letting up nor flagging. Although Xiahou Lian dodged them effortlessly, he was still astonished.
This, after learning just five moves!
Both boys soon found themselves exhausted. They leaned against the wall, panting. Xiahou Lian patted Shen Jue’s shoulder. “Shaoye, you’re a damn martial arts prodigy!” he sighed.
“You’re just too slow.”
“Earlier, you said that my moves differed from what I’d described. What’d you mean?”
Shen Jue looked at him with a complex expression. “Well, your saber lacks killing intent.”
Xiahou Lian, stunned, recalled what the old spy in the Xie household had once said to him: “You may have the bodhi saber, but you lack the heart for murder.” At the time, Xiahou Lian had been indignant, but now he had to admit that it was true.
He hated killing, and not due to fear or incompetence—he simply despised it. Since taking up the assassin’s mantle, he’d completed only two missions. As the Garuda’s son, he was treated differently from other novice assassins: A senior oversaw each of his missions to ensure that he didn’t get himself killed. Yet on each mission, Xiahou Lian messed up—either by missing the crucial strike or by giving himself away, forcing his senior to finish the job.
The rumor that the Garuda’s son was a hopeless failure had spread through Qiye Garden. To the other assassins, his eventual death on the battlefield seemed inevitable. A tombstone would soon stand in the valley behind the Garden temple, and it would bear Xiahou Lian’s name.
But he couldn’t let Shen Jue know that he was a failure. Even if his pride was baseless, it was still pride. He feigned nonchalance and replied, “That’s because I’m not killing anyone right now, just demonstrating the moves for you. Of course there’s no killing intent.” Then he boasted shamelessly, “You have no idea how skilled I am. The saber Jingtie is already causing a stir in the jianghu. In a few years, my blade will surpass even my mother’s Hengbo.”
Shen Jue, of course, didn’t buy it. Xiahou Lian had a habit of stretching the truth. Back in the Xie household, he’d boasted about his high status, insisting that all the assassins were at his beck and call, only to end up getting whipped.
Yet Shen Jue didn’t have the heart to call him out. “Enough boasting,” he said simply. “Keep teaching.”
“Qiye Garden’s saber arts encompass many styles,” Xiahou Lian said with a flourish. “Single-handed and double-handed, using long, short, or curved sabers. They also include assassination techniques and slashing techniques. Assassination techniques are ruthless and cunning—perfect for one-on-one combat but useless against a group. I heard that the Garden’s former abbot was a master of assassination. No one could protect the targets he pursued. In the end, though, he was ambushed by ten men and died. He killed their leader, but the remaining nine hacked him to pieces.”
“So slashing techniques can handle multiple opponents?”
“Mm-hmm.” Xiahou Lian nodded. “They incorporate a number of border-army styles. They’re perfect for the battlefield. But assassins don’t fight on battlefields, so many don’t bother learning those.”
“Which do you know?”
Xiahou Lian’s face colored with embarrassment—a rare sight. “Well, I wanted to follow in my mother’s footsteps. She mastered both single- and double-handed blades, and both assassination and slashing techniques too. But this stuff really requires talent. I’m not quite at her level yet. I’ve almost mastered single-handed straight blades, and I’m halfway through the double-handed ones. My instructor only knows assassination techniques, though, so that’s all I know too...”
As a teacher, Xiahou Lian was evidently a bit lacking, but he was Shen Jue’s only option. “Teach me what you’re best at,” Shen Jue said.