When Fang Jie witnessed the old cripple's sword technique under the withered plum tree in the backyard of the Red Sleeve Inn, he stood there dumbfounded, like a withered branch of that plum tree. Only after the old cripple finished demonstrating his technique did he realize how terribly wrong he had been.
"One sword technique" is not just one move.
"One sword technique" is an entire style of swordsmanship.
Leaving aside the astonishing power of this swordsmanship, the way it was wielded was terrifying.
Every strike followed a single line, each angle of attack so bizarre that it seemed as if the wielder's arm was broken. Because to anyone, a normal human arm could not possibly have so many movements. A human wrist can exert force in six directions, which is already the limit of the flexibility of the human arm joint. But the old cripple's elbow was even more flexible than his wrist.
How could a normal person's elbow bend in the opposite direction?
If a sword is struck like this, who could predict it?
Therefore, Fang Jie was dumbfounded, utterly dumbfounded. He subconsciously glanced at his right arm, and the thought of it bending backward sent shivers down his spine. The more he imagined his broken arm, the stronger the chill and fear intensified. He had no doubt that every bone in the old cripple's body was broken, allowing him to bend and abuse his limbs at will.
"This... is too difficult."
Fang Jie swallowed hard, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead, and asked hesitantly, "If I want to master this sword technique, do I need to break every bone in my body and not set them? Then gradually adapt to having so many additional joints? But what I don't understand is... how can the muscles withstand that?"
"If the bones can withstand it, what can't the flesh?"
After completing the sword technique, fine beads of sweat appeared on the old cripple's forehead. This showed that even at his age, many things remained unchanged.
He tossed the rusty knife in his hand to the ground, sat down on a rock, and drank, catching his breath. "This swordsmanship was my go-to technique fifty years ago when I first ventured into the martial world. I did my fair share of murder and robbery back then, and this style of swordsmanship was quite famous. But as I grew older and my temper softened, I gradually stopped using it. The martial world hasn't seen a single sword style like this in fifty years; even if you learned it and used it, no one would necessarily recognize it."
He waited until his breathing calmed down before continuing, "This swordsmanship is too insidious and ruthless. The unpredictability of the blade lies entirely in the unpredictability of the mind. A ruthless heart makes for a ruthless blade."
"You think I'm ruthless?"
Fang Jie asked. The old cripple chuckled and said, "No one wants to believe they harbor violence within themselves; no one dares to face the murderous impulse within. The thrill of killing often resides in dreams, and upon waking, one often feigns remorse. Whether you are inherently ruthless or not is unimportant; what matters is whether you want to learn this ruthless swordsmanship."
"A single sword strike, each strike's method and angle are difficult to anticipate or predict. Using this swordsmanship in combat, even those far more skilled than you will be forced into a frantic struggle." "Chaos. Because it violates normal human thinking, it boils down to one word: 'cunning.'"
The old cripple paused, then said with a touch of self-deprecation, "No matter what you do, if you focus solely on this 'cunning,' you're bound to fall into a lower realm. In my youth, I roamed the martial world only seeking the thrill of killing and indulging in revenge, so my mind was inevitably biased. This sword technique followed suit; in fact, it could be said that among the hundreds of sects large and small in the martial world, no martial art is more cunning or insidious than this sword technique."
Fang Jie nodded, agreeing with the old cripple's words.
No matter who or what, once you delve into the word 'cunning,' you indeed fall into a lower realm, losing all sense of righteousness and integrity.
But this world, in itself, has no such thing as righteousness and integrity.
So Fang Jie smiled and said, "The lowest of the low is the highest. Regardless of its cunning, this particular sword technique is top-notch. The ruthlessness of swordsmanship lies in the ruthlessness of the heart. If the heart isn't ruthless, even a ruthless sword technique can be executed with a touch of uprightness."
He said something that pleased the old cripple greatly; his flattery was masterful.
"I never saw how you used a sword fifty years ago, nor do I know how ruthless a single sword technique was back then. But seeing you use this technique today, besides shock and astonishment, I am filled with endless admiration. There is not a trace of ruthlessness in the technique; on the contrary, it is a righteous and upright expression of the human body's potential to its fullest extent."
The old cripple was stunned, then couldn't help but laugh and curse, calling it shameless. Fang Jie was never one to feel guilty for his shamelessness, so he smiled and asked, "The Martial Arts Academy's exams are in a month. In a month, how much of my swordsmanship can I master?"
The old cripple thought carefully for a moment and then said, "It depends on... how much perseverance you have."
Fang Jie remained silent. After a moment's thought, he suddenly swung his right arm and slammed it horizontally. His right forearm slammed hard against a withered plum tree. With a crack, the plum tree, as thick as a calf, snapped in two, and his forearm bone also broke in two. Gritting his teeth, Fang Jie used his other hand to grip the broken arm and bend it backward at a ninety-degree angle. The sight was enough to send chills down one's spine. It was exactly the same as the image of the severed arm he had just imagined in his mind.
The old cripple's eyes narrowed, then he shook his head and cursed, "Yesterday I said you were smart, but today I realize you're just a damn idiot! I hadn't even finished speaking before you broke your own arm. How can you practice your swordsmanship now? Damn it... I said you were ruthless, so you're ruthless now. Couldn't you at least ask me if I have any tips on how to reverse joint movement?"
Fang Jie pushed his severed arm back, beads of sweat the size of soybeans streaming down his face. He picked up a broken plum branch from the ground, tore off a piece of his sleeve with his teeth, and used both his hands and mouth to tie the branch to his severed arm. After finishing, his back was soaked with sweat.
The old cripple didn't help, continuing his incessant cursing.
His anger only grew stronger with each curse.
Fang Jie slumped to the ground, grabbed the old cripple's gourd, took a swig, wiped the sweat from his face, and chuckled, "A person who's too clever can't be single-minded, so you have to find a way to leave yourself no other way out. A month of sword practice, and with only one arm, I guess I don't have the mind to think about shortcuts anymore."
"Idiot?"
The old cripple paused, then asked.
Fang Jie nodded earnestly, "Idiot, very idiot!"
"Grandpa, which hand did you use to wield the sword just now?"
"My right hand."
"Now my right hand is gone."
Fang Jie said seriously, "Then you can only teach me the left-handed sword?"
The old cripple's expression changed; he suddenly understood Fang Jie's intention. His shoulders trembled slightly as he bent down, picked up the rusty sword, and handed it to Fang Jie's left hand. After a moment of silence, he looked into Fang Jie's eyes and asked, word by word, "How did you know... I'm best with a left-handed knife?"
...
...
When a gecko encounters danger, it will deliberately break off its own tail to lure the enemy away. A wolf caught in a hunter's trap will bite off its own leg and escape.
Beside the dead plum tree in the backyard of Hongxiuzhao, Fang Jie severed his own right arm.
The old cripple's face changed, but Fang Jie, who had acted foolishly, seemed without a trace of regret or remorse.
He used this method—which could be described as tragic, or even ruthless—to exchange for the old cripple's left-handed knife skills. No one knew how he had known. The old cripple asked, but he didn't answer. The old cripple hadn't traveled the martial world for fifty years. The name of Master Luo, the left-handed knife master who struck fear into the hearts of the outlaws of Jiangnan fifty years ago, had long been forgotten. Fifty years of trials and tribulations in the martial world had replaced the old with the new.
Who still remembered his left-handed knife? Fang Jie wasn't left-handed; he ate, drank, and even wiped his bottom with his right hand. Yet, without the slightest hesitation, he broke his own right arm—something perhaps only a madman could do.
So the old cripple, somewhat lost in thought, couldn't help but ask, "Do you have a deep-seated grudge?"
Fang Jie shook his head.
"What single-minded goal do you have that you absolutely must achieve?"
The old cripple asked again.
Fang Jie thought for a moment, then shook his head again. Up to this point, whether in Fangu or in the capital, he seemed to have no unwavering purpose. He wanted to enter the Martial Arts Academy, but if he couldn't, he wouldn't commit suicide. As a second choice, if he couldn't enter the Martial Arts Academy, he wanted to become a civil official; if he couldn't, he wouldn't be filled with regret. He was never the type to get stuck in a dead end; there might be regrets, but regret was never the main theme.
"No long-term considerations, just getting into the Martial Arts Academy right now, is it worth it?"
The old cripple asked again. Fang Jie pondered for a long time, then nodded and said, "Worth it."
The old cripple didn't ask any further questions, but just looked at the rusty knife in Fang Jie's left hand and muttered, "You have a foundation in knife skills, and your knife work has already reached a certain level. Practicing a knife technique with your right hand, even if you only achieve a minor level of proficiency within a month, at least you can use it decently, which counts as entering the door… But now, using your left hand, it's difficult to enter the door in a month…"
After saying this, he turned and walked away, seemingly full of regret. But Fang Jie couldn't help but laugh as he watched the old cripple's retreating figure; it was quite cheeky.
"Show me a few moves."
The old cripple, having walked a dozen steps, sat down in a recliner, squinting his eyes. He hadn't drunk much, but he looked slightly tipsy.
Fang Jie nodded and took a deep breath.
He closed his eyes, carefully recalling the knife techniques the old cripple had used earlier.
One practiced, the other watched.
One cursed, the other was cursed.
In a fit of pique, the old cripple leaped up and kicked him, the one who was kicked grinning foolishly, completely unconcerned.
About a hundred meters from where they practiced their swordsmanship was the three-story wooden building in the front courtyard of Hongxiuzhao. The building was enormous, with at least a hundred rooms throughout, not including the very large main hall on the first floor. With many hands making light work, the building had been thoroughly cleaned the previous day and night by the girls of Hongxiuzhao, their servants, and the neighbors. However, because it had been uninhabited for so long, it had a musty smell that was unpleasant to the ear.
The girls all lived on the third floor, each with their own room, leaving many rooms empty. This gave a glimpse into the original scale of Hongxiuzhao, and the sheer number of girls it housed was truly remarkable.
Hongxiuzhao was merely a performance venue; it did not engage in brothel business.
In the capital, while entertainment troupes weren't countless, there were certainly dozens of well-known ones. But this was the only troupe that didn't engage in prostitution and focused solely on singing and dancing. When Prince Yang Qi raised the banner of Hongxiuzhao, he declared he would build the most elegant and pure entertainment troupe in the capital.
Given his status, it would be difficult for him not to achieve this.
Only someone with a death wish would ask the girls at Hongxiuzhao if they would accept clients.
The girls didn't go to sleep until dawn, so the brothel felt somewhat empty. The attendants and servants were still busy tidying up, while Tu Wu, the steward of considerable status, had left early with two men to report to the Chang'an government office and recruit more help.
Most people were still asleep, but Xi Huamei was wide awake.
Perhaps the return to the capital after eleven years stirred some emotions within her; she stood by the back window of the wooden building, gazing blankly at the backyard. Standing there motionless, she couldn't tell if she was seeing the present scenery or the scenery of eleven years ago.
A long time passed as if the scene had frozen in time. She slowly took a breath and asked the beautiful woman beside her, "On the way here, I asked you what you thought of this young man."
Looking at the young man wielding a sword with his missing arm, she asked again, "To practice a sword technique with his left hand, he severed his right arm. Such courage, determination, and willpower are rare, at least in the Sui Dynasty. Now… what do you think of him?"
The ethereal Xi Zhuxin, dressed in white, watched the young man's figure, her face perpetually calm, seemingly unmoved by anything. She looked out the window, unsure if the young man outside was in her eyes. After a moment of silence, she raised a single word of judgment.
"Greed."
Xi Huamei was slightly taken aback, then couldn't help but smile. "Without greed, where does obsession come from? Without obsession, how can one achieve anything? Greed… has always been the strongest and most enduring driving force for human growth."