Before him lay a martial arts manual that all men of the jianghu dreamed of possessing—a treasure coveted by heroes and villains alike. "Let it rest in the hands of the virtuous; let it rest in the hands of the capable," the old saying went. Wu Tong could not help but reflect inwardly: What virtue, what worth do I truly possess, that fate keeps placing great masters in my path to aid me? Yet with each gift came an unseen weight.
This blade art was vicious beyond compare. The late Sect Leader of the Crouching Dragon Sect, Li Wenzhong, had long believed that unless the inheritor possessed the highest moral character, the technique would easily lead its wielder astray into the demonic path, and thus must never be handed out lightly. Even his chief disciple—known in the martial world as the Loyal and Courageous Blade Guo Yuan—had received only six of its moves.
On the table rested a single blade—Li Wenzhong's own Crouching Dragon Saber from his lifetime—with a letter tucked beneath its scabbard. Wu Tong took the letter and unfolded it. The words read:
"I have a treasured saber, named Crouching Dragon, that has ever been by my side—through windswept plains and neighing horses, through the rivers and lakes, through life and death. Today I gift this saber to you. May you use it to slay demons, subdue evil, rescue the people, and match its virtue with your own. Let not its great name be sullied."
Wu Tong's heart gave a faint tremor. With a ringing shua, he drew the blade—blue light flared forth, dazzling like a rainbow. Upon its surface were carved eight bold characters:
"When the Crouching Dragon Saber is drawn, no demon can stand."
The edge was steady yet razor-sharp, carrying an invisible aura of pressure—truly a divine weapon.
He no longer hesitated. Opening the manual, he studied its contents carefully. The Crouching Dragon Blade Technique was composed of twelve moves, including Three Blades to Each Side, Orderly Flight of the Wild Geese, Summoning Clouds and Calling Rain, Soaring to the Heavens, Lure to Capture…
There was only one saber in the room, so Zhao Rou unsheathed her sword, and together they followed the diagrams to practice. This blade art was absolute in its ferocity, while Wu Tong's own Thirteen Swords of Lingxiao emphasized agility and swiftness. Saber and sword were worlds apart—the saber heavier, broader, its force weighty and fierce; the sword nimble and ever-changing, swift as the wind. At first, both felt awkward, struggling to adapt, and had to work doubly hard to grasp the essence of the moves.
They practiced with full concentration for an entire day before gaining their first real insight. When night fell, they rested there. At dawn, refreshed, they took up the saber again, refining their understanding, determined to make the technique second nature.
By the third day, under a sky where the stars had wheeled and the rooster's call heralded the dawn, light speared through the forest canopy. Wu Tong and Zhao Rou packed their things, bowed three times, Zhao Rou taking the manual and Wu Tong the Crouching Dragon Saber. Mounting their horses, they set out once more:
Riding west wind, the gallant youth's grace;Again the Crouching Dragon Saber shows its face.Demons will envy such peerless skill;To smite the vile is the hero's will.
Just as the far-sighted Qian Kunzi had foretold, this youth had journeyed from afar—the very man Li Wenzhong had sought for years, a paragon of virtue and talent. The Crouching Dragon Sect's leaders had always valued honor, selflessness, and the protection of the weak. For years the late sect leader had waited with almost obsessive hope. Now, even in death, he not only passed down the manual but also entrusted his treasured saber to Wu Tong, that the youth might accomplish great deeds for the benefit of the realm.
Wu Tong understood the depth of this trust. Since stepping into the manor he had received honor after honor. Such gifts could not be refused lightly, nor borne without resolve. From this day forth, he would hold fast to loyalty and righteousness, pressing ever forward, so as not to betray that trust.
Yet as they were about to leave the manor gates, the Crouching Dragon Saber upon Wu Tong's back suddenly gave a low, resonant hum—as if alive—sounding a warning. Wu Tong was startled. "Sister Rou, I fear another fiend draws near."
Sure enough, just beyond the gate a crowd of martial artists had gathered.
Suddenly a voice rang out: "The Crouching Dragon Blade Manual is famed across the realm. Leave the manual, and you may go!"
It was the handiwork of the Black Dragon Sect. After their earlier defeat, they had spread word through the jianghu that Wu Tong now possessed the manual, drawing greedy souls to lie in wait. The old saying was true: The innocent man bears no guilt, yet possessing treasure invites disaster.
The speaker was Xie Feng, a notorious devil in the martial world, famed for his bloodlust. Age and innocence meant nothing to him—he slew indiscriminately, his cruelty beyond human bounds. Known as the Bloodthirsty Saber, his crimes were too many to record. To him, human life was but grass.
Wu Tong said coldly, "Your tone is not small, stranger. May I know your name?"
The Bloodthirsty Saber replied, "Boy, my name is feared throughout the jianghu—don't let it scare you. I am Xie Feng."
Wu Tong knew the man's reputation: a murderous thief whose depredations the martial world avoided at all costs. "So you come here to seize the manual—have you considered becoming a ghost beneath my blade?"
Xie Feng's face darkened. "Boy, what skill do you have?"
A cold gleam flashed in Wu Tong's eyes. "I have few skills—save that I specialize in killing the wicked. Take my advice and think twice."
At this, Xie Feng's expression faltered. Then he snarled, "Don't think that just because you've beaten a few of the Black Dragon Sect's lackeys, you are invincible!"
Wu Tong dismounted lightly and gave a cold smile. "No more words. If you seek life or death, I will oblige." Holding the saber, his upright bearing radiated an unspoken authority. The surrounding martial artists, impressed by his fearless stance, instinctively fell back.
All eyes turned to Xie Feng. Step by step, he advanced, eyes sharp as an eagle's, the long saber in his hand quivering as his inner strength built. He gave a cold smile. "Ignorant brat—most who hear the name Bloodthirsty Saber beg for their lives. Leave the manual and go, before you die needlessly."
Wu Tong thought to himself: With so many gathered here, all coveting the Crouching Dragon Manual, if I don't establish my authority now, trouble will hound me forever.
He raised his voice so all could hear. "Heroes of the martial world, hear me! I would have spoken peace, but this Bloodthirsty Saber forces my hand. If I yield again, it will tarnish the name of the Crouching Dragon Blade. So let this saber bear witness to the justice of the jianghu!"
Before his words had faded, the saber in his hand lifted high, flashing with light that made the crowd's eyes widen.
The Bloodthirsty Saber Xie Feng snorted, murder in his gaze. "And what is this so-called justice? I'll show you today!"
With that, he swung down in a ferocious chop, the strike howling with killing wind, aimed straight at Wu Tong's head.
Wu Tong's expression did not change. With a sharp shua, he drew his saber—cold light burst forth, dazzling as a rainbow. Standing firm, his aura compressed inward, he spoke in a voice that rang like a bell:
"When the world has the Way, I devote myself to it.When the world has lost the Way, I give my life for it!"
The words rolled across the field, shaking the hearts of all who heard.