Qin's Moon: Yang Shi's Long Song

It will be nine days before Gai Nie reaches Xinzheng.

When Yang Huisheng calculated the days, he didn't consult the calendar—he looked at the leaves of the old locust tree in the backyard of Zilan Pavilion. The day he rescued Yan Lingji, the leaves were still deep green; after ten days or so, the tips were starting to turn yellow, and in another nine days, they should all be falling to the ground. He stood under the tree, holding a branch in his hand—not the Wentian Sword. The Wentian Sword hung on the wall of the side room, and he hadn't touched it since returning from the dungeon.

The branch, about two feet long and as thick as a thumb, was broken off from an old locust tree, and its bark was still damp. He used this branch to practice his swordplay in the courtyard—not a defensive stance with a vertical sword, nor an offensive stance with a horizontal sword, but a "middle ground" approach that he had figured out himself. The tip of his sword neither pointed forward nor backward, but in a direction between the two, like someone who had not yet decided where to go.

Yan Lingji sat on the threshold.

She's recovered faster than Han Fei expected these past few days. She can already walk into the courtyard on her own, though not fast, but without assistance. This afternoon, the sun was shining brightly, so she moved a small bamboo stool to the doorway of the side room, straightened her clothes, and leaned against the doorframe to watch Yang Huisheng practice his sword. She watched for a long time, until Yang Huisheng had completed the sword routine seven times and a thin layer of sweat appeared on his forehead, before she finally spoke.

"You're thinking about the sword with a twig," she said. "The sword is thinking about you."

Yang Huisheng stopped what he was doing and turned to look at her. Her face was almost transparently white in the afternoon light. Her eyes were not looking at the branch in his hand, but at the direction hanging on the wall of the side room—the direction in which the Asking Heaven Sword was located, separated by the wall.

"Are you talking about the Heaven-Asking Sword?"

"Um."

How do you know it's thinking about me?

Yan Lingji turned her gaze back to her fingers. Her fingertips gleamed faintly in the sunlight—warmer than they had been a few days ago. She said, "I can feel it. That sword is heavy. When you hold it, it feels like you're holding something that isn't yours."

Yang Huisheng put the branch down and sat down on the stone steps beside her. He didn't get too close, keeping a distance of about one person's width. "It's not mine. It belongs to my master. He gave it to me, but it's not truly mine yet."

"When will it be considered settled?"

"When it's willing to follow me."

Yan Lingji thought for a moment and said, "Does the sword depend on whether one is willing or not?"

"Divide," Yang Huisheng said. "When you use it to chop someone up, it doesn't feel pain. But when it helps you make a decision, it remembers."

[At this point, I hope readers will remember our domain name 12199.99]

Yan Lingji didn't press further, asking, "How did the sword remember?" She lowered her head, picked up a fallen leaf from the hem of her robe, and examined it in her palm. It was a withered locust leaf, its edges curled, its veins dry like a spiderweb. After looking at it for a while, she asked, "What are you going to do next?"

"Waiting for someone."

"Waiting for whom?"

"My senior brother."

"What kind of person is your senior brother?"

Yang Huisheng thought for a moment and said, "A person who doesn't speak."

Yan Lingji glanced at him. "You don't talk much either."

"He has less than me."

Yan Lingji's lips twitched—that "not-a-smile, but like a smile" movement reappeared. She placed the withered leaf on her lap and said, "And then what happened after your senior brother arrived?"

"Do something."

"And then what?"

Yang Huisheng didn't answer immediately. He sat on the stone steps, the afternoon sun filtering through the locust tree leaves, casting dappled light on his shoulders. Looking at the shadows cast by the trees, he said, "I'll talk about it after I'm done."

Yan Lingji didn't press the matter. She remained silent for a moment, then stood up, turned, and walked into the room. She paused at the door, didn't turn back, and uttered a very soft sound:

"You should get a different branch. That one's too thick; it doesn't look like a sword."

Yang Huisheng glanced down at the branch in his hand—it was indeed too thick, and not comfortable to hold. He placed it on the stone steps, stood up, walked to the locust tree, and picked out a thinner one. As he broke it off, he looked up at the canopy. The leaf tips were a bit more yellow than yesterday.

Nine days. He held the new branch in his hand and walked the sword path for the seventh time in the courtyard. This time, the shadow of the tree fell on the stone steps, and the wind blew it a little slower than before, as if autumn itself was following his sword path.

A soft sound of water came from the side room—Yan Lingji was pouring water. Yang Huisheng heard it and continued walking the sword path for the eighth time.

His swordplay has become a bit more refined than last month.