The Great Song Dynasty's Soul-Forging in Progress

The second tactic is to avoid being burned by fire.

The gentle flow of water vanished instantly, replaced by a scorching, blazing sword intent. The chilling wind of the entire training ground seemed to be sucked away in a flash. Xiao Chuyun's sword strike was like a massive furnace suspended from the dome, its blazing heat sweeping across the land. Where the intense sword wind passed, the snow melted instantly, the frozen ground thawed, and the thin ice on the bluestone slabs hissed and vaporized, sending up a sudden cloud of white mist.

The most dangerous aspect of this move is not the external injury from the blade piercing the body, but the intangible and formless backlash of the blade's intent. The way of fire can burn things and also burn itself. The more the opponent tries to block and resist with all their might, the more violent the rebounding fiery blade intent becomes. It spreads up the blade, scorching the arm, disrupting the flow of qi, and crushing the will, disintegrating layer by layer from the physical body to the mind.

Countless images of life and death flooded Zhao Zongshi's mind in an instant: the scorching sun baking the earth in the Gobi Desert of Xixia, the wildfire that spread like wildfire during the autumn harvest in the fields of Chenzhou, the towering flames that were ignited by lightning on the battlefield of Dali... All the scorching heat and anxiety that he had personally experienced and endured were transformed into the oppressive force of the blades and fire that was rushing towards him at this moment.

He suddenly realized: Ning Zhongze had not taught him the art of controlling fire to kill enemies, but rather the way to coexist with fire and guard one's heart from being burned. Fierce fire is not scary; what is scary is the chaos in one's heart, being trapped in a sea of ​​fire, and burning oneself.

In a flash, he did something that shocked everyone.

Sheathing his sword, abandoning all defense and parrying, he faced the blazing sword strike head-on with his bare hands. It wasn't about brazenly resisting or dodging, but about accepting it with composure.

He regarded the scorching flames of the sword as an ordinary campfire, neither rejecting nor avoiding it. He drew a wisp of heat into his palm, and then used the hammering technique passed down by Qin Tiehua to guide the surging, backlashing fiery sword intent layer by layer, channeling it into the frozen ground beneath his feet.

The melting snow beneath his feet instantly vaporized, wisps of white mist swirling around him, forming a silent, flowing ring of smoke. A violent gust of wind grazed past him, carving a deep, charred furrow in the snow behind him. The frozen soil charred, the snowflakes burned away, yet he stood in the center of the inferno, his clothes undamaged, his skin unharmed, his mind as clear as ever.

"No matter how fierce the fire, if the heart does not ignite itself, then no fire can penetrate it," Zhao Zongshi said softly, his voice steady and calm.

Xiao Chuyun stopped silently, staring at him for a moment, the coldness in her eyes receding slightly. Half a lifetime had passed in the path of swords and fire; countless geniuses had fallen here, and no one had ever been able to catch fire with their bare hands and keep their hearts from burning. The young man before her was the first.

"Second move, passed."

The blade's momentum shifted again, alternating between cold and heat, hardness and softness.

The third strategy is to ensure that the tree does not hinder growth.

Lacking the gentleness of flowing water and the intensity of raging fire, this sword intent conceals a silent, continuous force of growth. The blade is invisible to the naked eye, yet one can sense the boundless roots of sword intent, like the veins of a thousand-year-old tree, secretly growing and spreading, intertwining deep within the earth.

Within a three-zhang radius, the space was being devoured and sealed off layer by layer by invisible roots. The fine veins of sword intent quietly closed in, weaving an impenetrable cage. The attacks were invisible, and there was no way to escape the encirclement. Every breath and every inch of movement was bound by invisible shackles, plunging one into extreme passivity and suffocation.

Zhao Zongshi was instantly trapped in a desperate situation. His eyes couldn't catch the attacks, his senses couldn't detect any openings, he was surrounded by enemies and trapped on all sides, and all his ordinary martial arts moves, dodges, and parries were rendered useless. An overwhelming sense of oppression swept over his mind, almost causing him to lose his composure and surrender.

In this critical moment, the words of wisdom from Huiming's notes struck my heart: "Go astray and return to your origin."

He suddenly understood everything. Huiming had wandered the vast ocean for 30,000 miles, witnessing all the world's treasures, and finally realized that the Great Dao was not in some distant immortal mountain, but in his own heart, under his feet, and in his very origin. The intent of the sword is like the roots of a tree, with countless branches and leaves, and intricate veins, but it never strays from the main trunk; the moves may change a thousand times, and the attacks may be ever-changing, but they never stray from the heart of the one wielding the sword.

Instead of exhausting yourself with feints and evading attacks, it's better to go straight for the source and strike at the core.

Zhao Zongshi suddenly closed his eyes, abandoning all illusions and constraints before him. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze pierced through layers of sword intent and locked onto Xiao Chuyun's true heart.

"Trees grow from roots, and skills originate from the heart."

As soon as he finished speaking, he thrust his blade straight forward. The blade didn't follow any moves or break through any encirclement; it was aimed directly at the void in front of Xiao Chuyun. The blade was still five feet away from her brow, not even touching her flesh, but the unwavering will that pierced through illusion and pointed directly to the source had already transformed into an invisible sharpness, tearing apart the countless coiled blade roots and piercing through the entire invisible cage.

Xiao Chuyun's figure suddenly paused, the continuous sword momentum abruptly halted, and obvious shock surged in her eyes. She had spent half her life studying the wooden sword intent, taking trapping and killing as the ultimate goal, and no one had ever been able to break through all laws with a single thought, or break through all moves with their own heart.

"A good person is one whose heart is in it, returning to their original state."

She sheathed her sword and stepped back, completely dispelling the sword intent emanating from her body, and nodded sincerely.

"Third move, passed."

The first three moves are gentle, fierce, and concealed, full of variations and hidden mysteries, while the fourth move completely subverts all rules.

The fourth strategy is to be indestructible.

There is no cleverness, no feint, no change, and no way out.

This was a strike of pure, unadulterated power, the culmination of Xiao Chuyun's fifty years of swordsmanship and half a lifetime of battlefield experience. It employed no fancy techniques, no cunning schemes, only an overwhelming force, like a mountain collapsing or a celestial river hanging upside down, cleaving straight down, crushing all illusions and shattering all chance.

This was the clumsiest strike, and also the most unsolvable one—to take it head-on would result in serious injury, to dodge it would result in defeat; there was no room for compromise.

A chilling blade pressure enveloped his entire body, causing Zhao Zongshi's eardrums to ring, his blood to surge, and every hair on his body to stand on end. Without the slightest hesitation, he raised his sword with all his might, using his mortal body and mortal blade to withstand the peak strike of a half-life Martial Saint.

"clang--!"

A deafening clang of metal clashing ripped through the sky, sending shivers down the spines of all the soldiers present. A terrifying force surged through the hundred-forged blade, piercing through arms, shattering shoulder blades, and crushing backs. Zhao Zongshi's hand instantly split open, warm blood gushing forth. His jaw clenched tightly, blood seeping from between his teeth. His vision went completely black, and the immense force caused excruciating pain in his knees and a deep bend in his back.

The bluestone slab underfoot could no longer bear the weight and cracked with a "crack," spreading out in several fine lines like a spider web.

The excruciating pain pierced his bones, his blood surged, and his body was on the verge of collapse. On the verge of life and death, the image of Qin Tiehua suddenly appeared in his mind. That relative who had shared poverty, faced life and death with him, and fought side by side with him, whose martial arts skills throughout his life had never been fancy, but only adhered to the word "real"—truly enduring the wind and rain, truly bearing the hardships, truly withstanding the desperate situation, and then truly launching a counterattack from the brink of defeat.

The essence of the Way of Gold is not about being competitive or aggressive, but about being unyielding and indomitable.

Taking a step back means total defeat and the destruction of the Great Way; holding on by an inch means that one's true nature remains intact and the Great Way can be preserved.

Excruciating pain, tinged with the stench of blood, swept through his limbs and bones. Zhao Zongshi endured the agony, relying on his unwavering will to straighten his back inch by inch, brace his knees, and steady himself. The cracks in the stone slabs beneath his feet grew ever more dense, and he was covered in blood and looked utterly disheveled, yet his upright back remained as steadfast and unyielding as a pine tree in the snow.

Blood dripped down the hilt of the knife, splashing onto the white snow, spreading out in patches of crimson, tragic yet resolute.

"The fourth move... is over." His voice was hoarse and dry, with blood trickling down his lips, but his eyes were clear and bright, without a trace of gloom.

Xiao Chuyun gazed silently at his figure, enduring excruciating pain yet remaining steadfast. Looking at that blood-soaked, upright figure, she took a deep breath. The scrutiny in her eyes faded, replaced by solemnity and resolve.

"The first four moves, representing heaven, earth, water, fire, wood, and metal, will temper your foundation and hone your will."

Her tone was slightly deep, yet each word carried immense weight, instantly silencing the entire training ground.

"The last four moves are not about practicing techniques or strength, but about training your mind, your will, and your destiny."

A single word can make all the difference. The first four moves defeat one's physical skills, while the last four defeat one's Daoist heart. With death and the annihilation of one's Dao, there is no chance of a second chance.

The fifth move: The beginning of chaos.

This sword was drawn silently, yet it directly overturned the eternal order of heaven and earth.

The lights, the wind and snow, the drill ground, the two armies, the city walls, and all the precious things of the world were swallowed up by a layer of hazy, chaotic white mist. The world was devoid of light and color, direction and position, you and me; all things returned to silence, and the precious things of the world returned to emptiness.

Xiao Chuyun's figure completely dissolved into the chaos, omnipresent yet nowhere to be found. The entire chaotic world transformed into her sword intent itself, simultaneously crushing towards Zhao Zongshi from all directions, past and present.

There is no move that can break it, no force that can stop it, and no way to escape it. This is a profound question that transcends martial arts, an ultimate test between life and death.

An overwhelming sense of emptiness and oppression swept over Zhao Zongshi, plunging his consciousness into a near-death experience. In a daze, he was transported back to the doomed situation in the Gobi Desert of Western Xia, where arrows pierced his ribs, blood splattered on the yellow sand, his vision blurred, his mind scattered, heaven and earth merged into one, leaving only the boundless, deathly silence of the yellow sand, the chill of death completely enveloping his body and mind.

On his deathbed, Ning Zhongze's clear and resolute voice suddenly rang in his ears, piercing through the fog of life and death and awakening him from his despair: "Wake up. You still owe the people of Chenzhou a peaceful meal, and you owe all the people of the world a wish for peace. Don't believe me? Let's see!!!"

At this moment, amidst the chaos and on the brink of life and death, that voice that transcends time once again resounded through my heart.

"Wang Zhonghua, your talk of the unity of the Han and the Hu people, and the unification of North and South, is it just empty talk or a feasible path?"

This was Xiao Chuyun's question, Ning Zhongze's unfulfilled obsession, the ultimate question after a century of strife in the world, and the fateful question weighing on his heart, a question he had to answer with his life.

Locked in chaos, his life hanging by a thread, his physical body was already imprisoned by boundless pressure, unable to move an inch. Only his pure heart remained, beating hot and clear.

Zhao Zongshi closed his eyes and concentrated, abandoning all fear of life and death and physical pain. He slowly uttered the answer, word by word, from the depths of his heart, from his very soul, from the very core of his being. His voice was not loud, yet it pierced through the chaos and resounded through time and space.

That makes sense.

"The Han people and the Khitan people may differ in their clothing, language, and customs, but their fundamental human nature has never been different. When hungry, they crave food; when cold, they crave warmth; when weary, they crave safety; when in danger, they crave survival. Loving one's children and cherishing one's family, fearing evil and turning towards good—these are the common human instincts of all people."

"The century-long conflict was caused by differences in clothing, territorial boundaries, and obsessive beliefs, not by differences in people's hearts. Though branches and leaves may differ, roots and origins are the same. The Han and non-Han peoples are one family. The barriers created by chaos can eventually be dissolved."

As soon as the words were spoken, the chaotic sky trembled violently.

In the hazy, empty world, a thin, bright crack appeared, and the light of day pierced through the darkness, falling on his blood-stained face and illuminating his clear, resolute eyes.

Xiao Chuyun's blade stopped just three inches from his left shoulder. This strike was originally intended to kill by destroying the mind and spirit, waiting for the heart to be confused and the belief to collapse before delivering a fatal blow. But he was in a desperate situation, facing death head-on, yet his Dao heart remained undisturbed and his belief unbroken. With his unwavering conviction, he forcefully broke through this chaotic killing trap.

Xiao Chuyun's voice came from the depths of chaos, carrying an undeniable tremor. For the first time, her Dao heart, frozen for half her life, truly wavered and truly acknowledged.

"Fifth move, passed."

The sixth move: All things work together.

Chaos dissipated, and heaven and earth reopened. The scene before them suddenly changed dramatically; the frigid, snow-covered training ground of Youzhou was instantly transformed into a warm and bright spring-summer field.