Chapter 27:
The Blizzard Saber
ON A TRAINING GROUND in the outskirts of the capital, at Shili Slope, two soldiers sparred. Both wielding long, narrow goose-quill sabers, they exchanged dozens of blows. Their blades flashed like swirling snow, dazzling the eye. The crowd surrounding them cheered now and then.
Situ Jin was busy cleaning the weapons on a rack. From time to time, though, he glanced at the ongoing match.
On his second day there, he’d received a harsh welcome. The troops of this military camp were nothing like the ranks of the imperial guard, which selected officers who did well in rigorous martial exams or came from prestigious families. The soldiers here at the camp, meanwhile, were a mixed bag—many used to be ruffians or even beggars. The veterans inevitably subjected the new recruits to hazing, forcing them to fetch tea and empty chamber pots. To escape, a recruit had to pledge allegiance to a senior and serve as their lackey. By their second year, these recruits became veterans themselves, and they could bully the newest recruits in turn.
That tradition had been passed down through the generations. The soldiers might have excelled in little else, but they’d perfected the art of hazing.
Situ Jin was relatively lucky. His aloof demeanor made the veterans hesitate to mess with him, so they instead assigned him the task of cleaning weapons. Situ Jin enjoyed that duty. He had few friends; weapons were his closest companions. He found it easier to get along with swords and spears than with people.
The two combatants were locked in battle. When Situ Jin finished cleaning the last spear, he stood on the periphery of the match to watch. The long-faced man was clearly winning, his relentless slashes nearly pushing his opponent off the platform. His sword techniques were simple—some might have called them bold, while others might’ve said that they relied purely on brute strength. The man swung his slender goose-quill saber as if it were a heavy hammer. Each blow struck his opponent’s blade with such force that both weapons shrieked from the strain.
Situ Jin shook his head. The man clearly didn’t understand the essence of the saber.
As the long-faced soldier delivered another overhead strike, his opponent spun away with a tap of his toes. The long-faced soldier twisted to follow up with a sweeping slash, his blade gleaming like snow.
“Wrong,” Situ Jin sighed softly.
“Oh? What’s wrong?” asked someone nearby.
“He’s using his saber like a hammer—he doesn’t understand the weapon,” Situ Jin replied calmly.
Sure enough, before Situ Jin had finished his sentence, the long-faced soldier cried out in pain. His opponent had slammed the flat of his blade against the man’s ankle. The tide of the battle turned instantly—the struck man staggered and tumbled right off the platform. The crowd burst into applause, but Situ Jin simply turned and walked away.
“Wait,” called the man who had questioned Situ Jin. “You seem quite knowledgeable about saber techniques, comrade. You must be quite skilled.”
Situ Jin’s deliberate mind finally picked up on the tone underlying the words. He turned and looked suspiciously at the man.
The long-faced soldier who’d just been defeated walked up behind the man who’d questioned Situ Jin. “Dage,” he muttered.
The man smiled, but his expression was unkind. “My brother and I have been studying the saber since we were five. We learned from our father. We practice the Twelve Forms of the Blizzard Saber, the strongest saber style in the north. No one has ever accused us of not understanding the saber. My brother is still young, and his skills are unrefined. As for me, I don’t claim to be unmatched, but even the Garuda of Qiye Garden would think twice before facing my blade. Tell me, comrade, what makes you so special?”
Situ Jin took a moment.
The Twelve Forms of the Blizzard Saber was the north’s most ubiquitous style. Almost everyone knew a few of its moves: for instance, “Flying Goose Marks the Snow,” or “Whirling Wind and Churning Snow.” But nine out of ten such manuals circulating on the streets were fake, so Situ Jin had never bothered with them. Instead, he’d simply followed the wandering swordsmen who passed through his small town, learning whatever moves they taught him.
He didn’t even know the techniques’ names, but he’d practiced each day against wooden stakes until he’d ingrained the nameless moves into his bones. The moment he’d first gripped the hilt of a saber, he’d known how to swing it.
Not until he’d encountered the Garuda in the palace had he understood that he’d been practicing Blizzard Saber techniques. The Garuda, who’d once assassinated a master of the Blizzard Saber, had recognized the moves. If she said they were Blizzard Saber techniques, then they must’ve been.
Situ Jin remembered an impoverished town in the north. Amid heavy snow falling like a curtain, a downtrodden swordsman had stood, delivering a breathtakingly beautiful strike. A true Blizzard Saber technique could cut through even a snowstorm.
In truth, Situ Jin wanted to tell the man, “If you ever faced the Garuda, eight lives wouldn’t be enough to save you.” But he was naturally reserved and said simply, “I only said that your brother doesn’t understand. I didn’t say that you don’t.”
The man snorted. “In that case, why don’t we spar? I’d like to see for myself whether I understand the saber!”
“What do I care whether you understand it or not?” Situ Jin said, finally growing impatient. “I still have weapons to clean. I’m busy.”
“Give him a blade!” the man roared. His wide, bulging eyes resembled copper bells, and his voice brimmed with rage.
Someone tossed Situ Jin a goose-quill saber, and he caught it reluctantly. The other man drew his blade, glaring fiercely at him.
Bored people often did pointless things, and Situ Jin had no choice but to indulge this one. He calculated how many moves it would take to defeat the man, ensuring that it wouldn’t delay his cleaning duties, then drew his saber. He held the hilt in a reverse grip, the blade hidden behind his elbow.
The crowd laughed. How could anyone fight with a reverse grip?
The man chuckled. “Who taught you that move, a butcher?”
Situ Jin looked at him but didn’t respond. His gaze was as cold and indifferent as if he were looking at an insignificant speck of dust.
That single glance made the man’s blood boil. Roaring, he raised his saber in both hands and charged at Situ Jin.
Situ Jin didn’t move. Not even widening his eyes, he maintained his reverse grip. The man’s powerful strike was inches away; the saber descended like a thousand-pound hammer invested with the forces of wind and thunder. Situ Jin moved to the side, then quickly stepped forward. The two men met for only a brief second before parting again, their backs turned to one another.
The match was over.
The crowd had only seen the man’s mountain-splitting strike. No one had noticed the clear arc of Situ Jin’s blade—except the man who felt it. He gasped for breath, reaching down to touch his waist. A long gash now split his robe, revealing his bronze skin.
The crowd fell silent. Expressionless, Situ Jin sheathed his saber. “I concede,” he said softly.
The man’s face turned red, then pale. Being bested in a single move was humiliating; he would never live this down in the camp. Suddenly, there was a burst of clapping. A man in armor entered, applauding and laughing. “Young but already so skilled! Impressive.”
The crowd saluted. “Greetings, Commander Lu.”
Commander Lu looked at Situ Jin. “What’s your name?”
“Situ Jin.”
“Ah. It’s you.” Commander Lu nodded. “You were the martial arts champion in the eighteenth year of Xuanhe. I’ve heard of you.”
The crowd gasped, But the man who’d challenged Situ Jin sneered inwardly. If this was a martial arts champion, why was he serving in the camp as a lowly soldier? He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t realize that question insulted him as well.
“I heard that you were demoted,” Commander Lu continued. “Don’t be discouraged, young man. You have a long road ahead; temporary demotion is insignificant. You can still achieve great things in the Five Armies Camp. Right, everyone?”
The crowd roared in agreement.
“Speaking of potential achievements, an opportunity has just come up! The emperor is going deer hunting in the Western Hills this afternoon. I’m here to select some men to accompany the nobles on their hunt. This is a chance for a promotion! Who wants to volunteer?”
The soldiers exchanged glances and took a step back.
Commander Lu’s words sounded wonderful, but everyone knew the reality. “Accompanying the nobles on their hunt” would actually mean hiding in the woods until the princes and nobles spotted a target, then shooting it themselves. Eunuchs would then present the prey to the hunting party as if the nobles had shot it. If a noble of decent skill did happen to hit their target, the eunuchs would discreetly remove the soldier’s arrow, leaving only the noble’s.
Simply hiding in the woods and shooting a few deer wasn’t so bad, but some of the nobles had awful aim; that was where the danger lay. Arrows could fly anywhere. Two years previously, an unlucky soldier from the Three Thousand Camp had been struck by an arrow from some duke or imperial relative. He’d been killed on the spot. The court paid out some silver in compensation, but that was little comfort to the soldier’s family, who’d depended on his meager salary. Following his death, the family’s children and elderly had no choice but to throw themselves into a river.
The man who’d challenged Situ Jin had a sly idea. He pointed at Situ Jin. “I’ll suggest a candidate! Situ Jin is not just a skilled martial artist but also an excellent archer. Why not send him?”
Commander Lu smiled. “I was thinking the same thing.” He turned to Situ Jin. “Go get ready, and report to me later.”
Situ Jin bowed his head in acknowledgment.
The man walked up to him and smirked. “You may understand the saber, but let’s see if you understand the bow—or if the bow understands you. Ha ha ha!”