Chapter 48:
Shanhe Tongbei
“XUANDU’S VIOLET PALACE used to have many sets of sword techniques until my shifu Qi Fengge took over. He believed that all martial arts shared the same roots, regardless of how many superficial changes they amassed. Rather than getting caught up in the complexity and ending up with too much to learn, it’s better to hone a single set of techniques to the pinnacle of perfection. So, he reorganized our many generations of sword techniques, and in the end, only two remained.
“One of them is the Azure Waves sword technique, which he crafted by the East Sea. He saw the sunrise and moonfall, the drifting clouds atop the roiling sea, and he folded all of these experiences into his creation. Then he mixed in the essence of some of Xuandu Mountain’s traditional sword techniques. As we happen to be passing by the Yellow River today, we’ll be privy to a similar frame of mind. I’ll demonstrate the sword techniques to you once—you needn’t strain to memorize the moves. Just allow yourself to thoroughly experience the feelings within them.”
Shiwu had on a very serious face. Earnestly, he cupped his hands. “Yes, Shen-shi, this disciple will do his best to feel them.”
Shen Qiao smiled, and then he drew his sword!
The stretch of river near where they stood had breached its dike just the year before, flooding the farmland on both sides.
Even today, most of the houses remained empty—there was desolation as far as the eye could see. Only the great tides of the Yellow River endured, rushing tirelessly onward as before.
At this moment, Shen Qiao stood atop a solitary, jutting rock. Beneath him swept the ceaseless surges of the Yellow River, roaring like it wanted to devour all that was in the world.
The river waters sparkled and gleamed beneath the sunlight, crystal-bright and roiling. Shen Qiao’s lone figure looked so small and frail, defenseless against nature’s might. But the moment he drew his sword, his aura was as radiant as the river’s. Shanhe Tongbei reflected a dazzling brilliance, and as the blade rose, its sword qi overflowed. It stirred the river waters to surge ever-higher, and Shen Qiao was engulfed in the sword qi, looking elegant and poised beyond compare, like an immortal on the brink of soaring to the heavens.
Shiwu watched, overcome with wonder.
The abbot had taught them martial arts, but the man’s abilities were only average. It was hard for him to describe what truly profound martial arts looked like. He’d heard the abbot explain that a true master of martial arts could move their very surroundings, influence every blade of grass beneath heaven, and could even affect them with only their mind.
Chuyi and Shiwu were completely captivated by his words and longed to see such things themselves. “If only I could witness that kind of master one day,” they’d thought.
And now the scene he’d dreamed of was playing out right before his eyes.
Shiwu had only just started on the path to martial arts—he wasn’t even in sight of the gateway to them. But even he, as he watched Shen Qiao’s each and every move, could feel the sheer power moving nature itself. It was a picture beyond what his limited vocabulary could describe, but it was also a sight he’d never forget for his entire life.
Shifu, Chuyi, did you see it?
Hot tears brimmed in Shiwu’s eyes. He felt the impulse to kneel and bawl his heart out.
Even as Shiwu watched from off to the side, the one standing in the center, Shen Qiao, had entered into something indescribably profound.
He could feel his sword qi and the river waters invisibly influencing each other, each driving the other on. His sword intent flowed through his entire body before gushing forth from Shanhe Tongbei in his hand. His heart followed his thoughts, and his sword followed his heart. The fully formed sword intent transformed into an arc of white light, piercing straight through the dense haze of vapor. Wherever the sword intent fell, the river waters exploded with a thunderous roar. Water droplets sprayed out, sparkling with the colors of the rainbow. It was a magnificent sight.
The point of Shen Qiao’s sword quivered. Abruptly and without warning, he sprang from the rock. Though he’d been enthralled just a moment ago, Shiwu yelled at the sight and ran to the riverbank. But as Shen Qiao swiftly descended into the turbulent waters, his sword didn’t stop—it moved unceasingly, free and unrestrained. As if he were only strolling through a courtyard, plucking flowers with his sword.
The Yellow River, which had never stopped for anyone, which hungered to devour everything in its path, kept galloping onward beneath Shen Qiao. But in the one-meter radius around him, it became as gentle as the moonlight’s touch upon a breeze: leaving all unstirred, letting everything come and go.
Spring comes not from heaven but from my hands.
The rushing waters are heartless, while my sword is warmhearted.
With my warmhearted sword, I gallop through the heartless waters, alone I brace the thousand storms, continuing ever onward.
Where my sword glare falls, I obtain the essence of all beauty.
Having completed the entire set, Shen Qiao leapt from a rock in the river back onto the bank. He looked behind him, squinting—his vision was still rather lacking. Perhaps the lingering poison had stayed too long, too deep within his body, for even as he rebuilt his foundations, his eyes never regained the clarity they’d once had.
But this didn’t hinder him. During this demonstration of swordplay, he’d used his innate awareness of the world around him, utilizing his sword intent to maintain a connection with his surroundings. Hence, his steps had been absolutely precise, unaffected by his poor eyesight. He lost some, gained some—it was a blessing in disguise.
Next to him, Shiwu asked timidly, “Shen-shi, is it really possible for me to reach your level one day?”
Shen Qiao stroked the boy’s head and smiled. “Of course you can. Many thousand paths spring from the great Dao. Everyone walks their own. As long you study diligently, success will naturally follow.”
Shiwu couldn’t help but smile.
It was the first time he’d smiled since leaving Bailong Monastery.
Shen Qiao squatted so that their gazes were level. “I know you haven’t forgotten your shifu’s death. I haven’t forgotten either. We’ll keep him in our hearts together, but your shifu’s spirit in heaven surely wants you to live happily. So promise me, once we pass the Yellow River, let us throw away our sorrows and continue forward in joy. All right?”
At the mention of his shifu, Shiwu’s eyes grew moist once more, but he quickly nodded his head. “All right, I’ll live on and live well. I’ll train hard and become a good person. That way, I won’t disappoint Shifu, and I won’t disappoint you.”
Shen Qiao didn’t speak, just held him tightly for a long time. Finally, he released the boy and took his hand. Two figures, one large and one small, walked slowly along the Yellow River, moving ever-forward.
As for the Yellow River, it continued to roar onward, never-changing.