Meng Jianqing was assigned by the Bureau of Operations—or more precisely by Shen Guangli—to serve as a junior officer in the Yunnan military. Though Yunnan was a land of miasma and poison, the war between the Great Ming forces and the Mongol Prince Liang had not yet ended, making it exactly the place where hot-blooded young officers from Jiangwu Hall longed to achieve merit and establish careers. The outstanding first-term graduates like Guo Ying and Ling Feng were now both in Yunnan-Guizhou, so almost everyone envied Meng Jianqing’s assignment.

According to Jiangwu Hall tradition, before graduation, students were allowed to choose one weapon from the armory as a memento.

Meng Jianqing was the third to enter the armory.

The two before him had chosen a short sword and a long sword, respectively.

In this dark, cold armory, Meng Jianqing had spent countless nights.

His hand slowly passed over rows of long and short blades of various designs. The sabers used by Ming army soldiers had already been standardized to the simplest, most practical single-ring great saber. However, the armory preserved all manner of blade styles from throughout the history of war blades.

He could only choose one.

Outside the door came impatient urging voices.

Meng Jianqing finally chose an extremely light, thin short blade. Etched on the blade were two plum blossom seal characters: “Hundred Folds.” Whether this meant the blade had been folded and forged a hundred times, or symbolized never yielding despite a hundred setbacks, was unclear.

As soon as he walked out of the armory, someone burst into laughter: “How did Brother Meng choose such a delicate short blade? When facing Mongols in battle, such a blade probably couldn’t even block a single strike! Brother Meng wouldn’t be afraid of making Instructor Leng feel bad, so he didn’t dare choose a good blade, would he?”

Meng Jianqing smiled indifferently, neither confirming nor denying.

His opponents would not be Mongols on the battlefield.

Another classmate laughed: “Brother Meng’s blade would be quite good for shaving whiskers—haha!”

The laughter rose wave after wave.

Meng Jianqing hesitated. Should he continue to laugh it off, or should he respond in kind? Which approach would be wiser and more correct?

He turned his gaze to look at those classmates. All along, many of them believed that this illegitimate son of a minor Baihu from an impoverished place in eastern Zhejiang could squeeze into the dragon-and-tiger den of Jiangwu Hall and achieve third place only because he was cautious, good at maneuvering, and never disappointed or displeased superiors or instructors.

He had already lived like walking on thin ice for three years.

If he couldn’t make them understand what kind of person he was, in his future career he couldn’t expect respect and help from these classmates who were destined for success and prosperity.

Meng Jianqing drew the short blade and gently caressed the blade body, though over the past three years he had already fondled this blade countless times.

In his manner was a wildness and arrogance different from usual.

The classmates’ laughter gradually stopped, and they looked at him with some confusion.

Meng Jianqing was waiting for exactly this moment.

He raised his right hand, and the short blade spun horizontally through the air toward the courtyard. In the sunlight, it traced a blindingly bright arc. When the blade edge swept past an arm-thick osmanthus tree at the far end of the courtyard, it was blocked by the tree and no longer flew forward, but instead circled the trunk once before flying back.

Meng Jianqing reached out to catch the handle, sheathed the blade, and kicked up a small stone with his left foot, striking the osmanthus tree.

That arm-thick osmanthus tree, struck by this small stone, crashed down with a thunderous sound, breaking at the waist and revealing a circle of neat blade marks around the trunk.

The classmates gasped and looked at each other in astonishment.

Meng Jianqing smiled and said, “Any blade has its worthy aspects.”

He had placed his fate in Shen Guangli’s hands, allowing himself to be bound by an invisible chain. But from now on, he could practice and use his blade in daylight.

That nightmare would never return.