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Those eyes shimmer like the very stars above in this, dark, cold, cloudless, night. They reflect the light-blue energy of the array as it surges, trembling, shaking, killing… me…
— The final thoughts of Cultivator, Lu Tianzhan.
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Long Tianyu stood in the same old clearing beneath the shade of the Shadowjade bamboo. Hua Qingqing sat down on a flat stone, a book in her hands — its cover bound in faded leather, embossed with faint dragon patterns.
"This is it," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. ''This book describes the most basic about swordsmanship. At least according to the old merchant I bought it from."
Long Tianyu adjusted the grip on his practice sword, a sturdy wooden sword. "Basics, huh? Then let's see how fast I can learn it."
Hua Qingqing gave him a sidelong glance, not bothering to hide her amusement. "You? Fast at learning? You still hold the sword like you're about to chop firewood."
He looked at his hands, gripping the handle tightly enough for his knuckles to pale. "What's wrong with that?"
She sighed and flipped to the first page. "Listen. A warrior should grip the sword lightly, but firmly when needed. The sword is not a tool to be forced, it is an extension of one's arm. A grip too tight will tire the hand and stiffen the wrist; too loose, and you invite death."
Long Tianyu frowned. "Lightly, but firm? That makes no sense."
Hua Qingqing said. "Don't just question the book before you have tried it. Try it,"
Reluctantly, he loosened his hold. The sword felt strange in his hand, too light, almost slippery. But when he moved his wrist, something changed — the motion was smoother, faster, and less forced.
"It feels… easier," he admitted, surprised.
"See? The sword should flow with you," Hua Qingqing said with a knowing nod. "Not fight against you."
"But if I grip it this weakly, won't it just fly out of my hand?" he asked, testing a few cautious swings.
"Idiot," she said flatly. "You tighten your grip when you strike."
"Oh." He blinked, realization dawning. "So I just need to react faster?"
"Exactly."
He grinned. "Then I'll just get faster."
Hua Qingqing rolled her eyes. "You always make it sound so simple."
"It is simple," he said with a smirk, swinging again — this time smoother, lighter, almost graceful. Almost. The sword slipped out of his hand flying into the nearby grass.
"Simple, huh?" Hua Qingqing said dryly, not even trying to hide her laugh.
"Just testing the ground's stability," Long Tianyu muttered, picking up the wooden sword.
Long Tianyu's Shadow Pulse Twinswords remained at home, in their leather scabbards. He hadn't touched them since awakening his qi. Song Ming had said that it was too risky, at least until he could control his qi and know how to use the sword in a simple manner. Until his control improved, wooden swords would have to do.
Hua Qingqing shook her head and went back to reading. "The next part," she said, "is about strikes. It says to learn the paths of the sword. From top to bottom, left to right, slashing, thrusting, sweeping — each motion must be one with the flow of your body."
She glanced up. "Try those."
Long Tianyu nodded and began practicing. He swung downward, then sideways, then from a diagonal. The air whistled faintly as the wooden blade sliced through it. Hua Qingqing watched quietly, her sharp eyes catching every mistake — every uneven stance, every unbalanced turn.
"Your arms move, but your legs don't," she said finally. "You're slashing like a tree with roots. You need to move like the wind, flow like water."
He stopped mid-swing and turned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
She read aloud again, "'Don't think swordsmanship is only about slashing. Without proper movement, a thousand strikes are useless. The sword's beauty lies not in its edge, but in its grace. Move your legs like you would dance.'"
Long Tianyu stared at her, disbelief on his face. "Dance? In swordfighting? Are you serious? Just slash harder and you win!"
Her gaze lifted from the book. "Then show me."
He blinked. "What?"
"Fight me," she said simply, standing and brushing off her robe. Her movements were calm, but her eyes carried that quiet sharpness that made Long Tianyu's stomach twist a little. She picked up her wooden sword and walked to the center of the clearing.
"Qingqing, we both know I'm stronger—"
"Then it'll be easy for you," she interrupted. "Unless you're scared."
He scoffed. "Scared? I— fine. But don't cry when you lose."
"Just come." She smiled, her peach blossom eyes curving into crescents.
They faced each other, bamboo swaying above them, sunlight dappling the grass. Hua Qingqing's stance was low, balanced, her wooden sword angled downward. Long Tianyu's was proud and firm, blade raised high, ready to strike.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then, like a flash, he lunged.
His blade swept down from above — but Hua Qingqing had already sidestepped. The air parted where she had stood, and the next instant, something tapped his shoulder.
Thwack.
He turned, startled. "You— you hit me?"
"Keep your eyes open," she said lightly, stepping back into stance.
He gritted his teeth and swung again, horizontal this time. She ducked under the strike, spinning lightly, her robes fluttering in the air. Another thwack struck his knee.
"How are you—"
"You're too stiff," she said, voice calm but teasing. "Your body doesn't follow your sword."
He charged again, frustration rising. Their wooden swords met with a crack, echoing through the clearing. He pressed forward, muscles straining, but she yielded, turning her body with the motion. Her footwork was smooth — elegant — her steps tracing a looping pattern, an eight shape, weaving around him. Every time he thought he had her, she was gone, like mist.
Thwack.
Another strike hit his back.
It must be the skin refinement stage that is helping me, these hits would actually hurt, a lot. Damn, Qingqing isn't showing mercy. Long Tianyu thought.
He turned wildly, swinging again, faster this time. But she moved even faster, her sword tracing arcs that gleamed faintly in the sunlight, her movements so fluid that for a moment, he forgot they were fighting at all.
Her body flowed like water, her blade like wind.
Long Tianyu froze, panting. "You're… dancing."
She smiled faintly, her breath steady. "Now you understand."
He lowered his sword, breathing hard. "I couldn't even touch you."
"You were trying too hard," she said. "Swordsmanship isn't about strength. It's about rhythm — movement — flow. Even if your sword is dull, if your movements are alive, you'll win."
He sank to the ground, the wooden sword resting across his knees. "So that's what the book meant."
She nodded, her gaze softened. "My mother once used to play her zither here too. She said both music and swordplay follow the same truth — it's all about harmony."
Long Tianyu looked at her for a long time. The breeze carried her words through the bamboo grove like a soft melody. He didn't reply — there was nothing to say.
Instead, he picked up his sword again.
"Again?" Hua Qingqing asked, surprised.
"Again," he said. "Until I can touch you."
Her lips curved slightly. "You can try."
They fought again. And again.
Long Tianyu stumbled, rolled, missed — and still he rose. Each movement became a little smoother, his steps less clumsy, his grip more natural. The sword began to move as if guided by something beyond him, as if it wanted to strike on its own.
Hua Qingqing's movements never lost their grace. She stepped lightly, parried softly, and struck with precision. But slowly — very slowly — his strikes began to graze her robe, forcing her to move faster.
Hours passed. The sun dipped low, painting the clearing in gold and amber.
Finally, both stood still, breathless, sweat glistening on their faces. The wooden swords hung low at their sides, trembling slightly from exhaustion.
"You've improved," Hua Qingqing admitted, brushing her sleeve. "You're still terrible, but better."
Long Tianyu grinned. "Then I'll just keep being terrible until I win."
"Stubborn as ever," she said softly. "That might actually suit swordsmanship."
He laughed, leaning on his sword. "You think the others are practicing as hard as we are?"
"Very likely, each in their own way" she said, smiling faintly.
The bamboo leaves rustled, their shadows dancing on the grass. The faint sound of cicadas filled the air. It felt peaceful — yet alive, as if the world itself was breathing along with them.
Hua Qingqing looked at him, her expression unreadable. "Tianyu."
He glanced up. "Hm?"
"Don't forget what this really is," she said quietly. "We're not just swinging wood. We're walking a path — and it only gets harder and more dangerous from here."
He nodded. "Then we'll walk it together."
She hesitated, then smiled — a small, genuine smile. "Alright."
As twilight descended, they took the practice swords and began walking back toward the village. Hua Qingqing decided to bring back her zither home from the village hall, for she felt the need to practice more. Swordmanship was enjoyable, but it wasn't the thing that stirred her ambition and heart, it was music.
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End of chapter 15 - Wooden Swords In The Grass