Chang'an's Sword Principles (1)
Master. When discussing the mysteries of the sword and fist, one often speaks of swiftness, weight, and entanglement. Speed is power, so why are swiftness and weight treated as separate? It is because the force one can exert when swinging a sword is fixed. Neither the strength of muscle nor the strength of will is infinite. Since force determines speed, speed naturally has its limits. Viewed this way, pursuing swiftness seems a futile endeavor. Yet once one understands that in the sword, "swift" refers not to velocity but to time, the principle becomes clear. To shorten the time until the blade reaches the enemy, one need not increase speed. One can simply reduce the distance. The swift sword is a sword that closes distance. Before the strike is launched, one has already drawn near, and by pushing the structure of body and blade to their extremes, the sword's trajectory wastes no motion. The ideal swift sword has already touched the enemy's vital point before it is even swung.
Then what of entanglement? The principle of the entangling sword arises from the complex, interwoven structure formed by two blades and two bodies. The entangling sword is a sword that leaves room. Through the entanglement of movements, countless weaknesses appear where a small force can suppress a greater one. By conserving the strength to move, by keeping one's direction ambiguous, and by chasing the flaws in the opponent's motion, one prevents the opponent from using their strength freely. The ideal entangling sword leaves the enemy unable to move until the blade touches their skin.
Lastly, weight. The weighty sword is a sword that increases force. If entanglement reads and exploits the structure of interweaving, weight creates a structure favorable from the very beginning. It forges an entanglement in which one's own muscle and will can exert their maximum power. The ideal weighty sword fulfills exactly what it intends the moment the blade is raised.
Cho Yak's sword was heavy. Watching the blade come crashing down, I thought: even in purely physical terms, her greatsword was more than twice as heavy as my slender straight sword. But the same held true when measured by the principles of swiftness, weight, and entanglement. Cho Yak's swiftness did not seek to pierce; it sought the proper distance. She did not aim to touch first, but to meet the enemy at the moment her swing reached its peak. Her entanglement did not waver ambiguously while conserving strength; it did not seek to halt the opponent's movement, but to collide before the opponent's force was fully spent. Through swiftness she became heavy, and through entanglement she became heavy. That straight, heavy sword was the school Cho Yak had established as a swordsman. Her steel-like resolve and straightforward nature were laid bare in it. I found myself smiling. This younger sister of mine was truly better at introducing herself with a sword than with words.
Yet from the perspective of a slightly senior practitioner, pursuing the ideals of swiftness, weight, and entanglement was merely a wall one had to abandon in order to go further. There were countless paths that allowed one to strike after the opponent yet arrive first, but she had deliberately chosen the path of complete suppression. Against the thick, pressing blade, I met it with my sword tip, adding force at a single point, and took a step back. It was like riding gently upon a rushing river. If Cho Yak's sword, carried by its own momentum, brushed past me and fell, I intended to ride that blade upward like a carp ascending a waterfall and end it there.
At that moment, Cho Yak's sword fractured. It wavered like a cloud and scattered like mist. To achieve the ideal of weight, she cast aside everything she had held without hesitation, shaking off the pursuing blade. To speak of the mystery of the weighty sword in this way would be called foolish. She had discarded excellence to conceal her own shortcomings. When an obstacle appeared, she should have advanced straightforwardly and struck it down decisively. What remained in a weighty sword that had abandoned its weight? But I knew. This was not abandoning weight. She had merely erased illusion from her eyes and cast off dullness from her fingertips.
Now, even as it wavered, scattered, and broke, Cho Yak's sword did not grow light. Just as swiftness had become weight and entanglement had become weight, weight now became swiftness, weight became entanglement, and weight became weight again, until even those boundaries collapsed and it grew heavier still. The net of sword paths extending from my blade to envelop Cho Yak was crushed beneath that weight, torn apart and unraveled. Though she began moving her sword in haste, Cho Yak's blade was no longer a rooted boulder but a massive landslide rushing down a mountain. The net caught in it lost its shape, leaving only a few trembling strands.
At that point, my sword could no longer press down its weight, and finally the liberated tip of Cho Yak's blade surged upward in a single motion.
"...You startled me. Are you all right?"
Beside Cho Yak, who was coughing while clutching her throat, her greatsword lay on the ground. Even in obvious discomfort, she managed a difficult nod. It was very like her. I let out a deep sigh inwardly. Baek had been the same. It seemed everyone I knew in the martial world regarded me as a human sandbag they could use lethal techniques on. I wanted to complain. It was fine for now, but what if one day my head actually flew off? Someday I would have to make them stop, but knowing they trusted my skill so completely, and understanding how much this "human sandbag you can use lethal techniques on" helped their improvement, I could not bring myself to speak harshly. Especially when the mood was this good.
I glanced sideways at Cho Yak. She seemed to have taken a harder hit than expected and was still catching her breath. I simply waited. There was no need for me to speak first. She herself would find even the time to breathe frustrating. When her breathing finally steadied, Cho Yak opened her mouth.
"...Was that correct?"
It was a foolish question. What was she going to do if I said no? I had been prepared to agree even if she praised herself, but hearing such unnecessary words made a curt reply come out reflexively.
"Is that something you need to ask?"
"I suppose not."
Despite my scolding, Cho Yak smiled brightly. It was an expression I had never seen before. Watching it, my own heart softened at once.
* * *
The journey to Chang'an took longer than expected. Both of us were martial artists, so the original plan had been to travel on foot without a carriage. But on the second day of walking, Cho Yak collapsed from heatstroke. From the first day I had seen her dozing and growing dizzy while walking, and I had suggested turning back for a carriage, but even with unfocused eyes she insisted she was fine, and as someone lacking in decisiveness, I had no choice. In the end, the two-day walk became a three-day journey traveling only at night, and from there we took a carriage for six days, so a six-day journey had taken eleven days.
Chang'an, which we had reached with such difficulty, gave the first impression of a massive stone box. Beyond the high, thick rectangular walls, square buildings with tiled roofs stood in rows, with occasional pagodas or tall towers peeking between them, and a great bell tower standing guard at the center. The streets were divided into exact quarters around the bell tower, with crossroads repeating from those main avenues. It was orderly if one spoke kindly, stifling if one spoke honestly. Personally, I preferred Lanzhou, which felt like an overturned toy box.
When I stopped Cho Yak, who was naturally heading toward the Demonic Cult's secret branch, and arrived at the inn district, it was already the hour of the Dog. We secured a room and ordered two bowls of the local specialty noodles the carriage driver had recommended, then sat down.
"Here, regain your strength. This morning you looked ready to fly into the sky, so why are you like this again? Are you doing this on purpose, hoping for another sword match if I dig like this?"
"That is not the case. I simply feel ashamed. I am grateful enough that you did not take my life, and you have given me opportunities one after another, yet I have delayed our schedule and even made you wander aimlessly in Chang'an. How can I ever repay this debt?"
Hearing that, I could see why she would think so. Killing her would have brought messengers from the Hall of Yama and been troublesome, and though I had never intended to kill her, the situation had allowed it. From my perspective it was merely a few sword matches, but since Cho Yak had gained opportunities, it was not wrong to say I had given them. Now I had no particular thoughts on the matter, but if traveling with a friend meant being delayed five days because of me and getting lost on the road, I too would have felt sorry and at a loss. However, this person had recently tried to ambush and kill me, had received far more sword matches than Cho Yak, had made me—who had been living comfortably alone—travel, and had fled without a single word of apology or thanks. There had never been such a fairy-tale effect. Above all, I found this sworn younger sister, who was upright, innocent, and shared my interests, truly endearing, so the thought of demanding repayment never occurred to me. If I had to count, the sight of her hesitating out of shame yet looking disappointed whenever she suggested night training on the way to Chang'an, or her flustered expression when she asked if it was all right for me to enter the Demonic Cult branch, had been amusing enough that I considered the debt paid simply by witnessing those moments.
"Does the Demonic Cult have rules about sworn sisters incurring and repaying debts? Or does it seem you still do not feel I am a true sworn sister?"
"That is not it. It is just..."
"Come now, even if we calculate it that way, what could I possibly want from you right now? I cannot think of anything either, so what can we do? If nothing else, tell me some stories of the Central Plains. I have lived on the mountain for so long that I am ignorant of news from here."
The noodles we had ordered arrived just then. I placed one bowl in front of me and one in front of Cho Yak, picked up my spoon, and took a sip, but Cho Yak remained silent. Wondering what was wrong, I set down my spoon and studied her expression. Cho Yak, who belatedly raised her head and met my eyes, spoke in a small voice.
"The truth is, this is also my first time traveling east of Lanzhou..."
"...How did you know the location of the secret branch in Chang'an?"
"It was provided when I was appointed as a messenger."
Realizing the true nature of our party at last, I could not help but sigh deeply. Our group consisted of the youngest at twenty-eight and an average age in three digits—the rising stars of the martial world. Fearing Cho Yak might start digging into the table if left alone, I decided to ask even if it would not help immediately.
"Then tell me about the Demonic Cult."
"...About the Demonic Cult?"
"Yes. Ah, right, does the Demonic Cult also use terms like first-class, peak, and supreme peak?"
I still disliked this cheap wuxia-novel classification, but since everyone used it, I could not very well pretend not to understand. However, if it was a wuxia novel, the Demonic Cult's terminology should differ from the Central Plains', as was only natural. As expected, Cho Yak looked as though she did not understand at all.
"What is first-class, what is peak, and what is supreme peak?"
"I only heard of them after leaving the mountain. They say first-class is when one can freely control and circulate inner force, and peak is when projecting inner force outside the body becomes possible. Is the terminology different in the Demonic Cult as well?"
At that, Cho Yak frowned.
"But Sister, whether one can freely control inner force or project it outside the body depends entirely on what a martial artist values, and the effort required can vary greatly. How can one judge anything based on that alone? Furthermore, one does not suddenly become twice as strong just because one can control inner force one day, and the same applies to projecting it. Achieving martial arts is always a matter of sudden enlightenment followed by gradual cultivation, so drawing clear boundaries is itself strange. The Cult does not do that. Instead, we assign numbers in order of strength based on past achievements."
I felt my favorability toward the Demonic Cult soar to the heavens in an instant. How prejudiced had I been, thinking only of avoiding them upon hearing the name? The Demonic Cult was a single ray of moonlight illuminating this dark era like the night. Indeed, the people of the Demonic Cult were the truly sensible martial artists. Weak and foolish Central Plains bastards. Go eat your "Heavenly Demon descends, ten thousand demons submit" or whatever it is!