Chapter 594: Journey to Kunlun (7)

Of course, just because Qing felt wronged didn’t mean the Heavenly Martial Emperor withdrew that look.

If anything, he let out a long, deep sigh.

“What? What’s that supposed to mean? Why are you looking at me like I’m pathetic—”

“Enough. For Kunlun—three forms.”

With that, he planted his feet and stood upon the earth with a motion oddly devoid of vigor.

The sword he’d been sitting on circled him in handsome arcs, swishing about, then at some point slipped meekly into his grip and settled there.

It was cool, sure.

But after what I’d already heard...

And of course, I don’t hold back what I want to say.

“Was that practiced too? For looking cool in front of juniors?”

“Of course. You think dignity comes from standing around tight-lipped, nodding for no reason, pretending to watch everything calmly while calculating the perfect moment to step in? Does that make awe? You have to curate awe yourself. Little bits of stylishness, one by one, are what build a great presence.”

“People don’t usually say that about themselves.”

“Do you know how hard the feet churn under birds that glide aloof over water? Style is labor.”

“People still don’t usually say that about themselves.”

“Am I ‘people’? And what have you been hearing from me all this time? When a man speaks, at least pretend to listen. What do you use those ear-holes for? You’ve got two of them, and for what? What flaw is it for me to hide my effort?”

“Hngh, did you go around saying that when you were alive, too?”

“I did.”

He’s remembered as a senior whose fists spoke louder than his words, but I don’t recall the chronicles painting him as a foul-mouthed grandpa with a filthy temper and a filthier tongue.

I can suddenly picture the masters of the time clamping their mouths shut to preserve their senior’s dignity.

If they hadn’t shut them, he probably would have hit them.

“Enough. Let’s stop the dull chit-chat.”

He gripped the sword with both hands, twisted his waist, and drew the blade back.

Forearms bulged and torqued to their limit—muscles corded—prelude to a force that looked ready to rip loose—

“Three forms. ‘Be the master wherever you stand.’”

The sword edge kissed the earth, just barely.

It skimmed past the planted foot. The bold arc soared toward the infinite sky.

A single grand motion that unwound a body wound tight and swung with everything it had.

A fluid rising cut.

Somehow the shape called to mind a familiar image—ah, like driving a ball off the tee and dropping it clean into the cup.

I clapped—clap-clap-clap—like a seal.

“Wow. So you golf?”

“What nonsense? Enough.”

Either way, my reaction clearly pleased him.

Even as he cut me off, the Heavenly Martial Emperor—or the version of him—wore a broad, hearty grin.

“The strength of a warrior comes from the ground—from the soles planted firm upon the earth. I don’t mean coiling the body to wring out torque; I mean a more primal law. Your full, true strength as flesh.”

In the martial world, rising cuts are rare because they’re so inefficient.

All things fall from the sky to the earth.

So when swinging a sword, it’s easier and more efficient to use that downwards force.

“If a man tries to press down a boulder, even with the strength of a hundred thousand catties, he’ll never crush it. The rock won’t break—his feet will lift, and he’ll end up bracing with his arms and hanging from his own weight.”

That is force from above to below.

The limit of borrowing convenience from the laws of the world.

No matter how wondrous the technique, if a warrior heaps on force that way, he’s still bound by his body’s weight—never whole.

“But if a man tries to lift a boulder, he can exert the full ten thousand catties. With soles set firm to the earth, with legs and body unbent, your flesh can display its complete power. Especially a brute monster like you, stupid-strong past all reason.”

“Why do you always have to lace a jewel of an insult into the middle of a good point?”

“To plant your feet and stand upright is, in itself, to go against Heaven’s decree. All things fall from above to below—so look at the beasts.”

Beasts cannot defy Heaven’s will; they keep their bodies low and go on four legs.

“But humans—humans alone—stand on two feet, crane their necks, and stride. Thus a person can head anywhere on their own feet. What’s this ‘reason for being born’ nonsense? We are creatures who have the right to go where the heart goes. It’s the most foolish among us who prattle about fate and ‘the natural order.’”

We exist as rebellion against Heaven simply by being—and yet we talk about the natural course and destiny?

If in the end the fate of all is to die, then die early—why be born at all and fuss about Heaven’s gaze?

“Therefore, the gist is this: for humans, nothing is more important than setting your feet properly upon the ground. And so all people, from birth, strive by instinct to accomplish it.”

The world suddenly stretched into the far distance.

The earth elongated into countless cords touching the sky, and the sky flowed down like falling water, mingling with the earth.

“Have you seen how infants strain with all their might to rise? That is the very nature of humans—yearning to stand on two feet and walk on their own.”

“Ah—so this time you’re going to skip the practical portion?”

The sky and earth blurred into one, a sticky, mingled color.

The Heavenly Martial Emperor’s form, smudged and indistinct, somehow felt like it was smiling.

“So walk with all your might, little great demon. The place you stand is the very center of the world—and everything—that is, ‘where you stand, there is truth.’”

And then—

The watercolor smear that was the Heavenly Martial Emperor sharpened only at the mouth as it opened, revealing tofu-white teeth like fresh curds.

“But then—what? You don’t even know how to walk properly, and you dare say ‘Flower Realm’? You’ve merely learned to see the world and barely to stand alone. Those shaky legs are no different from a newborn’s.”

“Then we’ll cancel the practical—ah. Ahh.”

Too late. My body seized the sword, my waist turned, my arms drew—before I even swung, my muscles were already swelling, rock-hard.

“At least this time the muscles will tear, but the bones won’t.”

“Oh—because I’m a master?”

“What are you babbling? Super-transcendent or Flower Realm—three paces, five paces, they’re about the same.”

“Wasn’t that fifty paces and a hundred—”

“Your level is exactly five paces, girl. If you switch from a wine cup to a rice bowl to catch a whole waterfall, will it hold without breaking? Sure, a little more than before—but it’s the same difference.”

“Hehe, so you’ll go easier on me—”

“A predator exerts full force even against a microbe. I have never once held back in my life. It’s just a pity the third form is a study in using your own strength, so it won’t come out strong enough to damage bone.”

My lower abdomen boiled; inner-energies cackled and careened, racing through my body, flooding the meridians to bursting.

My inner-energy had long overshot any realm; even with meridians buffed by the Muscle-Bone Cleansing Sutra, I couldn’t contain it.

Ah. Right. This. It was like this.

Why... why did I... I shouldn’t have come to see the Sword-Cut Wall.

For what glory am I letting some old man do this to me?

Like that moment at the top of that hometown drop-ride—the flood of regret—and then the appointed time—

Nngh—my great and small meridians ripped, a hideous tearing pain.

Like hundreds of millions of ants filling every vein and gnawing.

Blue veins stood out on my lovely face, a visual plea of pure agony.

Time went snow-white and still with pain—and into my ear wormed that infuriating voice of the Heavenly Martial—or Heavenly Martial-ish—old man.

“Right. Next time, if you can help it, stop by Hollow Mountain Sect. And don’t you even glance at Mount Wudang. That’s a good way to die for real.”

And at last—my arms began to move.

****

The moment she entered the Sword-Cut Wall, Heavenly Flower Sword’s focus vanished; the shine fled her blue eyes as she stared blankly up at the cliff.

Kunlun’s warriors thumped with anticipation,

gazing at Heavenly Flower Sword with the hearts of children waiting for a father who promised to bring treats.

They had already heard the boasts the Zhongnan warriors had spread—then repeated them among themselves.

What art had Senior Heavenly Martial Emperor left behind?

Kunlun means Cloud-Dragon Eight Forms—refined divine skill that seems to let dragons and clouds frolic in the heavens, flying free and unleashing might.

Therefore, the Heavenly Martial Emperor’s insights would, surely, be a colossal move like the great roc that rules the open sky—a true master of the heavens.

Then Heavenly Flower Sword’s distinctive, penetrating, bell-clear voice trickled out.

“Be the master wherever you stand; where you stand, there is truth.”

Not a hard phrase. But why—here?

Afraid to disrupt her, no one spoke; Kunlun’s warriors only traded glances.

Then Heavenly Flower Sword began to move—drawing the sword back to the utmost as her muscles swelled.

They were surprisingly vicious muscles, split and carved like stone.

Their admiration took only a heartbeat—then her sword tip kissed the ground.

A brilliant radiance exploded forth.

A sword-strike that surged from the earth up to the sky.

A resplendent blade-aura, launched from below, cut space and speared heavenward.

It was a polar glow of all colors, cast from earth up into the heavens.

A thunder like the world collapsing.

Dust plumed; shards of stone blasted in every direction—what a human sword wrought: it crumpled the cliff and smashed it.

The dense dust veil settled after only a short while.

The cliff-face debris was coarse to begin with; of course it settled quickly.

Heavenly Flower Sword lay revealed where she had fallen.

Sprawled ingloriously on the ground, those once-brutish muscles trembled—visibly, violently.

A general assembly of every muscle in the body!

Heavenly Flower Sword, cease the abuse of muscle!

Torn fibers seized in unison, sending their master a riot of protest.

But Kunlun’s warriors had no attention to spare for her.

There, carved stark upon the cliff—the sword-path that ran from under the earth up into the world above!

It climbed more than a hundred feet, and at last—at the very top edge—left bold, collapsing marks.

The broken barrier’s trace rose in a winding surge.

If a dragon hunched in the earth had ascended, it would have left just such a trail—an august vista, proof that a human sword had achieved a soaring ascension.

This was the colossal teaching the Heavenly Martial Emperor wished to leave Kunlun’s disciples.

Before you gaze at the sky, first know you stand upon the earth.

Stand upon your own feet—stand firm.

Then, from where you stand, you can command the dragon and send it soaring to the heavens.

Be the master wherever you stand; where you stand, there is truth.

Wherever you are, you are the master there.

The place you stand is the world’s very center—truth itself.

And from that center, Qing barely pried open her mouth.

“Ugh—excuse—huh—hah—help, some—cough—someone—someone please help—”