Chapter 00294: Wave Slash
# Wave Slash
Chapter 294
Novel: After the Immortals Disappeared
Chapter 294: Wave Slash
“The meals were brought in by the personal maids. We even tried to secretly ask those few maids, but their mouths are sealed tight. If they don’t want to say, they simply won’t, and they even warned us not to spread rumors,” one woman said.
“Is it really that rare?” the other asked.
“Of course! She’s so wealthy and noble that even the sun can't shine directly on her. Not like us, always drifting through wind and rain.”
The other farmer woman sighed, “Actually, we’re not too badly off. Whatever crops our village grows are consistently sold to the Li family down south, so there’s no shortage of buyers. Even during this lean year, we still manage to eat our fill. Other places around here? People are fleeing outright.”
Aunt Liu made a hissing sound, “Could that noblewoman be from the Li family? Did you see how the village chief treats her like some kind of ancestor?”
After a few more words, suddenly, they heard raindrops falling atop them.
Looking up, they saw dark rain clouds rolling over.
Mountain weather is fickle as a child’s mood, changing several times in a day.
The two hurriedly packed up and started heading home.
They hadn’t walked far when dozens of horsemen galloped up the mountain path.
The lead rider reined in his horse and looked down at them, “Aunties, which way to Benlei Village?”
One companion was about to answer when Aunt Liu tugged her sleeve, eyes sharp, “Who are you?”
The rider produced a waist badge, flashing it before them: “Official business from Xia Prefecture. We ask for your cooperation.”
The badge emitted a faint glow.
Though Aunt Liu and the other woman couldn’t read, they’d heard that officials always carried a shining treasure called the Sheji Token.
The badge the rider held carried an imposing authority.
Seeing the thirty-plus riders fully armed, Aunt Liu suddenly felt uneasy.
She pointed westward, saying, “Go along this path for about a mile and you’ll get there.”
The rider whistled sharply, and thirty or so horsemen sped off westward.
Just then, heavy rain started pouring down.
The two women clutched their washing buckets and ducked their heads, splashing through mud and puddles as they hurried home, unusually quiet—no cursing as usual.
What were those thirty riders really after in Benlei Village? Were they truly just on official business?
Before long, the fierce storm made it hard to even open their eyes.
Their pace slowed as they pressed forward.
Finally, they arrived at the village entrance, only to see the riders returning, appearing as if their business was done and they were about to leave Benlei Village.
But this time, there was a carriage among them.
The carriage was surrounded by riders, both escorting and guarding.
Despite the heavy rain, villagers flocked out to watch.
Aunt Liu noticed the thickest crowd was at the village chief’s house and gasped, “So they really came for the village chief!”
Among the gathering farmers, Aunt Liu randomly called out to one spectator, “Li family boy, what’s going on at the village chief’s?”
“Seems some officials came and dragged a few people from the village chief’s place, saying they hid wanted criminals!”
“Wanted criminals? What sort of criminals?” Aunt Liu immediately thought of that so-called noblewoman.
Nearby, another villager said solemnly, “Looks like there’s been a death inside. I saw blood on the floor just now!”
Aunt Liu was shocked, “Someone died at the village chief’s house?”
“Not exactly someone from the village chief’s household…”
Word spread, and soon the story turned into:
Many had died inside the village chief’s house.
…
At the frontlines of the armies, it was also raining cats and dogs.
The usually noisy military camp was now deathly silent.
Everyone hid inside their tents.
Only the on-duty guards stood outside, hunched over in the driving rain, stationed at the tents’ edges and watchtowers.
The bandits prided themselves on stealing the wind but not the moon, stealing in snow, not rain.
Actually, armies launching surprise attacks followed the same principle.
Such a raging storm was perfect cover for ambushes—they had to stay alert.
So the Yuān Army was on edge, cautiously vigilant.
The Han River had grown tumultuous since noon.
Soldiers carefully avoided the banks, fearful of sudden collapses.
Only Young Master He, the reckless Young Master He, saw the rising water and surging waves and let out a hearty laugh as he plunged into the river with his blade.
This scared everyone nearly out of their wits.
Guards rushed to report, and Zhao Pan, worried the general’s beloved son might die in his camp, hurriedly sent word.
Mrs.
He pounded the table in anger, ready to scold the troublemaker son soundly.
Fortunately, Dan Youjun soon returned with an explanation: the young master was about to break through his cultivation stage and needed to practice his swordplay in the river.
What kind of swordplay can’t be practiced on land or an open plain but must be done amidst crashing waves?
“He’s serious? What kind of swordplay is he practicing?” someone asked.
Dan Youjun replied, “Young Master said it has to be truly real; he’s practicing the Bo Lang Sword.”
Mrs.
He considered for a moment and slowly sat down. “You watch him carefully. If anything happens, you answer to me!”
“His waist is tied with a rope,” Dan Youjun smiled, “If swept away, we can pull him to shore.”
Mrs.
He sighed but agreed.
Hearing this, Zhao Pan shook his head silently.
Master He was clever and efficient, but when it came to his son, he seemed oddly indulgent.
Well, he’d done his part by reminding—what happened next was no longer his concern.
Meanwhile, He Lingchuan scanned the turbulent waves, stripped off his shirt, grabbed his Floating Life Sword, and entered the water.
He wasn’t reckless—he found a sturdy rock to stand on.
What was the sword technique he practiced? Wave Slash.
He had been training it for months both in reality and the dream realm, greatly improving his speed, steadiness, and precision.
This was because Wave Slash could combine with his own Yanhui Body Technique, transforming into the Returning Swallow Slash.
The lighter the swallow, the swifter his sword.
Yet the grand, unbroken, magnificent spirit inherent in the swordplay was something he had yet to grasp.
After all, this sword technique was called “Wave Slash.” Without waves, slashing was less effective.
He had tried practicing in the big lake inside the Panlong dream realm, the water was deep enough, but it lacked powerful waves and was freezing cold.
Now, gifted with this opportunity by heaven, how could he not cherish it?
The force of the current kept growing.
The first dozens of swings struck water, seemingly to no effect and even misdirecting him.
He slipped repeatedly and swallowed more than his share of water.
The guards above pointed and whispered, laughing at the poor fool below.
But gradually, He Lingchuan steadied himself despite the slippery stone beneath his feet.
His true power, usually stored in his dantian, was now fully deployed, filling his feet with heavy strength, rooting him like a mountain.
Then, his swings slowed.
Slow meant steady; slow meant smooth.
Slow allowed his blade to resist the water’s force more strongly.
As the current formed eddies flowing past him, He Lingchuan recalled Commander Xiao Maoliang’s spear attacks against the giant Meng Shan in the Xiqing River Valley—truly swift as thunder, unstoppable.
Or even the divine possession of Nian Songyu battling a black flood dragon in the Panlong illusion—his swordplay boldly sweeping, overflowing with majesty.
And as He Lingchuan silently recited Wave Slash’s mantras, he carefully drew strength from the undulating, endless, invisible yet forceful waves around him.
Wave after yellowish wave crashed against him.
He had never before felt the pain of being pushed, pressed, and torn from all sides.
Perhaps this was the essence of Wave Slash:
The skillful use of “force.”
When he persisted and struck the sixty-seventh slash, the oncoming waves in front of him seemed to hesitate, their power diminishing.
But Dan Youjun on the cliff shouted toward the west, “Master, hurry up! A giant wave is coming!”
Right then, a wave smashed into He Lingchuan’s forehead and overwhelmed him.
He gagged, pulled his blade back, and tightened the safety rope.
He was here to practice swordplay, not to be swept away.
The guards on the bank worked together to pull him out.
Soaked to the bone, he just shook his head.
A great wave crashed onto the shore with a bang, burying the very stone he had been standing on beneath the water.
That wave was massive, carrying mud, sand, stones, and branches like a furious yellow dragon.
The ground shook beneath their feet.
He Lingchuan braced his sword on the ground, quietly sensing the river's wild fury.
His heart stirred—it was like resonance.
Water is ever-shifting yet powerful, just like the sword intent he sought to understand.
Raindrops ran down his forehead and chin.
He slid his hand to the hilt at his waist and suddenly slashed diagonally forward.
The small trees ahead still danced wildly in the wind, branches swaying chaotically, but not a single branch fell.
His sword wasn’t swung fast, and the strike was crooked.
Dan Youjun and the others said nothing, but a nearby sentry couldn’t help laughing.
Is this Young Master He some kind of silver spear candle? Wading into the river in a storm, swinging his sword to cut water, then showing off—and yet not even cutting a leaf? Too amusing.
They had thought standing guard by the river was dull and risky, but today they got a show.
With a clang, He Lingchuan sheathed his sword, smiled at them, and turned to leave.
After they walked fifty or seventy feet, the two guards, still chatting and laughing, suddenly heard a muffled cracking sound.
They looked back to see a piece of riverbank bigger than a round table splitting open.
First a crack, then a furrow, then the hard mud chunk collapsed directly into the swirling river.
This patch of ground was about a yard behind the small tree He Lingchuan had just cut.
The two stopped laughing and exchanged cautious glances.
Could it be that Young Master He’s sword spirit pierced through the wildly swaying branches and cut off the riverbank behind?
The riverbank hadn’t seen rain all winter, so it was rock hard.
To sever it with a slash needed enormous strength.
And how could the sword spirit sneak through hundreds of branches without damaging any?
Was it just a coincidence? It had to be.
He Lingchuan didn’t care what they thought.
After that perfect wave-aided slash, his mind was clear, his energy refreshed, breathing smooth.
The sluggish feeling from being soaked in water vanished.
Was he ready for another slash?
He didn’t know.
By this coincidence, he couldn’t say his cultivation stage had advanced, but at least his understanding of sword intent had deepened, moving toward integration.
The art of Wave Slash had taken a small step forward.
He just had to strengthen and consolidate it soon.
So he returned lightly to his tent, humming a little tune.
But near the main camp tent, he seemed to hear raised voices inside, including his father He Chunhua’s.
He Lingchuan gave it no thought and was about to rush in.
A guard stopped him, “Halt! No entry unless summoned!”
He Lingchuan ignored the order and called out, “Father!”
“Chuan’er?” He Chunhua’s voice came from inside, “Come in!”
(End of chapter)