One person: Starting with the Snow Drinking Blade

Over the next dozen or so breaths, their exchanges were infrequent, but each contact was incredibly intense. When Master Yunlong's Tai Chi was executed to its fullest extent, his entire body resembled a slowly rotating stream of water, his arms forming overlapping arcs, the power flowing seamlessly from shoulder to elbow to wrist without the slightest hesitation. His palms, fists, elbows, and shoulders could all change direction in the blink of an eye during extremely brief contact; sometimes, just as a palm strike was about to reach its end, a flick of the wrist would redirect the force, delivering it from the side.

Nie Lingfeng's approach was completely different. He didn't try to decipher the changes in those arcs; instead, he cut off Master Yunlong's force path with lightning speed each time, interrupting the opponent's power before it could form a complete circle. His footwork was minimal, his heels almost never leaving the ground, but his upper body movements were compact and precise. Each strike was timed precisely at the instant Master Yunlong changed his move—sometimes a beat early, sometimes a beat late, hitting the most vulnerable gap in the Tai Chi circle.

Zhang Chulan squatted beside a holly tree at the edge of the training ground, biting his knuckles, his eyes glued to the action on the field. Lu Linglong leaned against a pillar half a step behind him, her breathing becoming lighter. Wang Ye stood a little further away, arms crossed, a faint smile playing on his lips—he could see that Nie Lingfeng was using techniques to break his master's Tai Chi, each interruption precise as if he had read the game manual beforehand.

Wang Zhenqiu squatted on the other side and whispered to Chen Duo beside him, "Brother Nie's fighting style was specifically designed to break Tai Chi, right? He doesn't entangle with Master Yunlong at all, and he always manages to cut in before the opponent's movements are fully formed."

Chen Duo's gaze fell on the scene, and she simply nodded slightly.

Another ten or so moves passed on the field. Master Yunlong's breathing quickened slightly compared to the beginning, but his eyes shone even brighter. He suddenly took a deep breath, and as he exhaled, both palms retracted simultaneously, then crossed and separated in front of his chest—his two palms seemed to be drawn by the same thread, drawing a complete large circle in front of him. The circular trajectory left a layer of shimmering Qi traces in the air, and from that moment on, all the arcs connected into a single closed loop.

"Grasp the sparrow's tail."

The name of this move was softly uttered by Wang Ye. He lowered his voice, but Zhang Chulan, with his sharp ears, immediately straightened up.

The moment Master Yunlong clasped his hands together, the closed Qi ring contracted inward, like an invisible bag slung over Nie Lingfeng's head. Two forces surged in from the left and right simultaneously, alternating and intertwining, with only one purpose: to envelop the person in the middle and eliminate all his room to struggle.

Nie Lingfeng did not dodge.

He slammed his right foot into the ground, causing the fine sand in the cracks of the stone slabs to bounce up half an inch. He bent his right elbow and pulled it to his waist, then threw a punch—not at Master Yunlong's palms, but directly at the core point where the two intertwined forces converged, the bottom of the pocket that was closing in.

This punch had no curve, no variation. It was straight, fast, and solid.

The moment the fist touched the point where the force converged, a muffled shockwave exploded across the training ground. The fine sand on the ground rippled outwards in a radial pattern, and the leaves of the nearest clump of holly bent to the same side and then bounced back.

Master Yunlong grunted and took three large steps back, his heels dragging a shallow mark on the bluestone slab before he regained his balance. He looked down at his chest—there was a faint crease on his gray-white short jacket, like the outline of a fist imprinted on the fabric; the force had dissipated, but the aftereffects had not completely faded.

He raised his hand to press on that spot, and then smiled.

"Good." He lowered his hand, let out a long breath, "Excellent punch. My forty years of Tai Chi experience have been completely shattered by Benefactor Nie's single punch."

Nie Lingfeng withdrew his fist, his hand relaxing and hanging down. He gave a slight bow to Daoist Yunlong: "Daoist, you flatter me. It was your Tai Chi that led me to that convergence point."

"Finding it and being able to defeat it are two different things." Master Yunlong waved his hand, his smile undiminished. "I've practiced this move, 'Grasping the Sparrow's Tail,' for twenty-three years, and you're the first person to break it with a single punch. Alright, I keep my word."

He walked to Nie Lingfeng's side, turned to the side, and lowered his voice to a level that only the two of them could hear: "Sword Valley is about ten miles north of Zixiao Palace. There's an old stone staircase almost entirely covered by vegetation leading down to the entrance. There's a stone tablet half-buried in the ground with half of the character 'sword' carved on it. There are no signs for that place, and it's not on any tourist map."

He paused for a moment, then added, "The sword intent left in the valley by our patriarch is indeed very powerful. I went there once when I was young, and I stood at the valley entrance for the time it takes for an incense stick to burn before I could go any further. If you go in, be prepared."

Nie Lingfeng silently memorized the location and nodded, "Thank you, Daoist Master."

Master Yunlong patted him on the shoulder: "You can rest here for the night and set off for Sword Valley early tomorrow morning. The mountain paths are difficult to traverse at night, especially this month, when the dew is heavy and the stones are slippery."

As everyone left the training ground, the setting sun was sinking behind the eaves on the west side of Zixiao Palace, casting a warm, molten gold-like light on the glazed tiles. Lu Linglong took a few steps, then turned back to look at the few fine sand marks on the ground, slowing her pace slightly.

Zhang Chulan moved closer to Nie Lingfeng and finally couldn't hold back any longer, asking, "Brother Nie, how much force did you use when you fought Master Yunlong just now?"

Nie Lingfeng, who was zipping up his coat, didn't look up when he heard this, and said in a casual tone, "A little over 30%."

Zhang Chulan paused for a moment.

He followed Nie Lingfeng for a few more steps and found that the other's pace hadn't changed at all. He thought about the pathetic feeling he had when he fought with others, when he felt like he hadn't done enough, and suddenly felt that something in his chest had been overshadowed, or as if it had been pulled away by something.

He quickened his pace to catch up, without asking any further questions, and silently walked half a step behind Nie Lingfeng. The evening breeze blew through the canopy of the ancient cypress trees in front of Zixiao Palace, and the needles made a rustling sound like extremely fine tides washing over a beach, wave after wave, spreading further and further along the ridgeline.

We're going to Sword Valley tomorrow.

He clenched his fist and then relaxed it; his fingertips were a little cold, but his palms were warm.

Before dawn, birdsong began to fill the air in the backyard of Zixiao Palace. When Nie Lingfeng pushed open the door, a thin layer of frost still clung to the eaves, shimmering with silvery light in the morning glow. He stood on the veranda, tightened the cuffs of his coat, glanced down to check the location of the Snow Drinking Blade at his waist, and then strode towards the front yard.

The others were already waiting in the courtyard. Zhang Chulan sat on the stone steps, munching on a steamed bun he'd smuggled from the dining hall, his cheeks puffed out. He mumbled a "Good morning, Brother Nie" as Nie Lingfeng approached. Lu Linglong stood under the old ginkgo tree, doing a very slow stretching exercise. As she raised her arms overhead, the morning light filtered through the leaves, dancing on her face before sliding away. Chen Duo held Xiaoyun, the little girl not fully awake, perched on Chen Duo's shoulder, curiously observing her surroundings with one half-closed eye. Wang Ye stood by the courtyard gate, carrying an old cloth bag, the edge of a map peeking out from the opening. Feng Baobao leaned against a pillar, clutching her katana. Her demeanor was different from the others—as if she'd been awake for a long time, yet also as if she hadn't slept at all, her gaze calmly sweeping across the distant mountain ridge.

Master Yunlong emerged from the Sanqing Hall, now dressed in shorts and carrying a rough porcelain bowl filled with hot porridge. He handed the bowl to Wang Ye, patted his disciple on the shoulder, and said only four words: "Be careful." Wang Ye took the bowl, drank a couple of mouthfuls, returned the empty bowl, and nodded.

After exiting through the back gate of Zixiao Palace, the road begins to narrow. The bluestone slabs stop after less than two li (approximately 1.5 kilometers), replaced by a narrow mountain path covered with fallen leaves and humus. The path is soft and slippery underfoot, sinking in half an inch with each step. The vegetation on both sides gradually transitions from planted pines and cypresses to a mixed primeval forest, with vines hanging down from the high branches, some thicker than a person's wrist, crisscrossing and blocking the middle of the road.

Zhang Chulan was walking in the middle of the path, clutching a green bamboo pole that Wang Ye had handed him, which he used to clear away the vines and bushes along the way. He had just swung the pole to clear away a drooping wild kudzu vine when another one bounced back from the side and struck his backpack with a dull thud.

"This road is so narrow it's impossible to survive..." He tucked the bamboo pole behind his shoulder, squeezed past two clumps of closely packed thorns, and said, "Master Wang, when your Wudang sect elders hid things, couldn't they have chosen a closer spot? Why did they have to stuff them into such remote mountain corners?"

"If you don't hide things in a secluded place, can you even call it hiding?" Wang Ye walked at the front, his pace unhurried, probing the path ahead with a thin wooden stick as he went. "Our ancestors didn't intend for these things to be easily found by future generations. It's enough that they're meant for those with the right destiny. As for the hardships along the way—that's called a trial."

"I think 'making a fuss' is more accurate."

"You don't have to come, that's fine with us, we won't stop you."

"Since we're already here... Besides, what if there's something really good in Sword Valley? Wouldn't it be a huge loss if I missed it?"

"Your definition of 'good stuff' is something that can be sold for money, right?"

"What else? Keep it as a family heirloom?"

The two chatted casually across a few bushes, their footsteps and the rustling of leaves mingling together, which somewhat diluted the dullness of the quiet mountain path.

The scenery along the way gradually changed. After passing a patch of low-lying wild rhododendron bushes, the altitude noticeably increased by half a meter. The trees on both sides gradually transitioned from broad-leaved forests to mixed coniferous and broad-leaved forests, and the moss layer on the ground became thicker and thicker, feeling like walking on an old cotton quilt soaked with water. A very faint metallic scent began to mix into the moist smell of grass and wood in the air. It was hard to describe, but after smelling it for a while, it would create a slightly tingling sensation on the tip of one's tongue.

Lu Linglong sniffed: "Master, can you smell something... strange?"

"Hmm." Nie Lingfeng walked three steps ahead of her without turning around. "It's sword intent."

"Can sword intent even have a scent?"

"At a certain level, sword intent can influence the surrounding material environment. We shouldn't be far from Sword Valley. That sword intent permeated the surrounding rock strata and moisture, leaving its mark over time."

"Oh..." Lu Linglong nodded, then sniffed again, "So, is this smell pleasant or unpleasant?"

"It depends on which side you're on."

"Uh... I'm on our side."

"Then let's just say it smells good."