Chapter 59 — Sword Practice in the Water [First Update]

Zuo Yan sat blank-faced. The scenes within the jade slip had struck him with unprecedented force.

For several days running he woke in the dead of night, the bloody, horrifying images coiling around him like a nightmare.

He sat numbly in the spirit field, dazed, his complexion dreadful. Looking around at the various spirit grasses and spirit herbs growing so well, he suddenly felt that his life had changed a great deal—that it was now entirely different from before.

How had it come to this?

He asked himself.

He suddenly thought of that strange dream that had plagued him for two years, and the somewhat familiar voice within it. Almost unconsciously, he began comparing these past two days' nightmares with the dream that repeated itself night after night. Compared to the recent nightmares, his ordinary dream held no bloodshed at all—yet every time he woke from it, he was drenched as though hauled out of water.

A dream that was by no means bloody or terrifying, and yet it always left him so tense, so afraid. Yes—afraid. When he woke, besides the sweat, there was the stiffness in his body. He did not know how his sleeping body reacted while he was in that dream. But without question, he was afraid. He did not know of what.

This dream was also the reason he kept pursuing power. He believed there must be something behind it.

That thing which "even death cannot make me forget"—what in the hell was it?

Suddenly, those bloody scenes and headless corpses no longer seemed so frightening in Zuo Yan's eyes. He did not know why, but that harmless dream, recurring again and again, brought him a terror far deeper than any of those gory images.

What was wrong with him?

Zuo Yan seemed to snap awake all at once. He slapped his own head hard.

How could a mere scene like that have frightened him? To seek the answer, had he not been ready to risk his very life?

In this world, what could be more terrifying than repeating the same dream day after day? In this world, what could be more terrifying than knowing you have something important you must not forget, yet being unable to recall any of it? In this world, what could be more terrifying than having your face erased and your mind altered by another, and yet living on in peace?

The vacancy in Zuo Yan's pupils gradually found its focus; his eyes recovered their clarity and brightness.

What was there to fear?

Was it not just risking his life?

So he told himself in his heart. If he meant to seek the answer, he would surely meet countless people more dangerous and more powerful than this. If he could not even get past this, if he shrank back even at this step, what business had he speaking of seeking answers?

The one who had altered his face and erased his mind was an expert whose cultivation even his master feared!

Zuo Yan stood up. Now that he had thought it through, his spirit was utterly clear and empty. Unknowingly, his cultivation of the mind had advanced greatly once again. He had gained an insight: to cultivate the Dao is to firm the original heart, and never waver!

He summoned the ice-crystal sword once more and began training again. Without confusion, without hesitation, he was more diligent and more bitter than before—he would win back the time he had lost.

For two full months, Zuo Yan simply refused to leave the valley. With only a month left before the sect assessment, he still had not the faintest clue about the Lishui Sword Intent.

The twenty-thousand-and-first slash!

His mastery of the sword moves had reached an extraordinary level. Zuo Yan rather suspected that even the one who had founded this sword art might not be as familiar with the moves as he was. Of the seven moves, he had altered twelve places. Countless repetitions had made every detail of those moves crystal clear to him. These alterations and adjustments were, he believed, the places where the moves could be made more reasonable and efficient.

Though he was far from confident in his heart, he made the adjustments all the same. These twelve changes he handled with the utmost caution and care; each one cost him enormous effort, requiring comparison and verification over and over before he finally settled it.

There could be no further progress in the sword moves.

When he realized this, only a month remained before the assessment.

He decided to make a change.

Below Wukong Mountain ran a great river; the Wukong砚—the Wukong Inkstone Scriptorium—had been built against the cliff wall along its bank. The river was not especially wide, but its current was fierce and rushing beyond compare. The locals called it the Dangtian River.

Zuo Yan walked to the riverbank, watched the churning water, gritted his teeth, and, gripping the ice-crystal sword, leaped into the river.

The moment he entered, he felt everything around him go still; the rushing water nearly swept him off his feet. He forced himself steady and there in the water began to practice the sword moves of the Lishui Sword Art.

This was the method he had devised.

Just when he had not known what to do, he suddenly recalled something the Calamus Demon had once said. Pu Yao had told him to find any river at will and see what water was like. Because the scene he had witnessed in the sea of consciousness that time had shaken him so deeply, Pu Yao's words had been ignored all along—until yesterday, when they burst back into his mind. He had once practiced finger techniques in water before, and it was precisely that method that had made his finger techniques advance by leaps and bounds.

In truth, the place he wanted to go was that great waterfall recorded in Senior Brother Wei Sheng's jade slip, but there was no time now.

With no other choice, he had to settle for training in the Dangtian River below the mountain.

Though the Dangtian River could not match the great waterfall in majesty and grandeur, its current was fierce beyond measure, and the riverbed was thick with hidden rocks, while beneath the surface countless undercurrents and whirlpools churned. A moment's carelessness and one could easily be swept away. Zuo Yan had cultivated the Embryonic Breathing Spirit Refinement, and his breathing was utterly different from an ordinary man's—which was what allowed him to remain underwater for a comparatively long time.

Without practicing arts like the Water Control Formula, one could not last long underwater. Of course, if one had a treasure such as a water-repelling pearl, that was another matter entirely.

Zuo Yan's first breakthrough in a single breath had come in the cold pool, so he was not afraid of water. Yet the churning, restless river and the still, icy pool gave him utterly different feelings.

The cold pool in the Cold Mist Valley was like a bottomless pit; dive in, and it was like entering a quiet world, with everything outside sealed away. No undercurrents, no whirlpools—the deeper one went, the more one felt the piercing cold. It simply released its will in silence.

But the Dangtian River—the moment he jumped in, Zuo Yan felt as though he had gone from one clamorous world into another. The slap of the current, the hiss of foam, the countless hidden currents and whirlpools below tugging at everything in the river. It was like a wild horse, violent and frenzied, utterly without the tranquility of water. It roared at every moment, churning without end.

He quickly began to feel the strain.

So-called sword control means a single thread of mind controlling a flying sword. A flying sword that has been ritually refined bears its master's unique spiritual mark, and the master need only mobilize a thread of mind to control it, without fear that his sword might be controlled by another.

But in river water, controlling a sword with the mind became far more difficult—the flow of spiritual power, in particular, was affected.