June 12th — the third day since returning to Chengdu — and it was still meetings.

As morning was drawing toward its end, the second meeting of the day was a summary report on commendations and the preliminary list of decorations from the various battlefields — a meeting he only needed to half-listen to, requiring little input from him. But sipping his hot tea, he still picked out Ning Ji’s third-class commendation from the list.

The compilation of military honors had begun not long after the fighting had wound down. Half a year of continuous warfare meant that every department — front line, logistics, behind enemy lines — had countless stories worth telling, some of whose heroes had already died. To keep the achievements and stories of these men from being forgotten, the various armies were encouraged to actively push for recognition in these commendations.

After nearly a month of comparison and adjustment, the overall list had now been finalized. Having listened to the summary and the small amount of haggling that followed, Ning Yi nodded his approval of the list, then said, regarding Ning Ji’s name alone: “This third-class commendation doesn’t pass. Everything else, proceed as planned.”

The men below exchanged glances. After a moment’s hesitation, Chief of the General Staff Li Yi spoke up: “We’ve discussed Ning Ji’s third-class commendation internally several times already, and we felt it was appropriate. Originally we intended to submit him for a second-class commendation. In this battle he killed a good number of enemies, including a Jurchen centurion, brought down two puppet-army commanders, killed Jin scouts, and once even relieved a battalion that had fallen into a dangerous position, taking several wounds himself along the way… And that’s not all — as a medic, his skill is excellent, and he’s saved many lives; a good number of soldiers remember him well…”

As Li Yi spoke, he pulled a stack of files out from under the table and handed them to Ning Yi.

After the conclusion of the southwestern campaign, Ning Yi and Qu Zhengyan had rushed to Hanzhong, and for over a month of post-battle cleanup, Li Yi had overseen most of the concrete work — clearly, he had already deliberated at length over the matter of Ning Ji’s commendation. Ning Yi took the file and looked it over, then pressed his hand to his forehead.

“He’s only thirteen years old, and he’s already killed more than twenty people just from this alone — give him a third-class commendation, and he’ll think he’s untouchable…”

“But this is killing the enemy—”

“Yes, it’s heroic conduct—”

“It should be encouraged—”

A chorus of voices began chattering at once. Ning Yi’s gaze swept across the room, and Hou Wu, in charge of rear-area affairs, said: “Actually, the militia behind the lines also submitted commendations for two children — one of them spotted a large group of fleeing enemy soldiers, sounded the alarm right away, and even skewered one with a pitchfork afterward. He’s about the same age as Ning Ji, too…”

“That’s right — in the countryside, thirteen- or fourteen-year-olds often already head their own households…”

“…”

Ning Yi rubbed his temples, feeling weary. “Enough. When other people earn commendations, they’ve fought their way out of dead ends. He’s a thirteen-year-old boy — his record sounds impressive, but in truth he’s always been with elite units. When he’s been in danger in the rear, the medical officers around him have protected him first; at the front, he’s either been at the main medical camp or attached to elite squads like the ones Zheng Qiming leads. Part of why he’s earned merit is because of the people around him — and when comrades near him have died, he’s not entirely unconnected to that either. He can’t take credit for this.”

As he spoke, he crossed out Ning Ji’s name.

“If anyone has objections, come find me.”

…

He held four meetings that morning.

At midday, Ning Xi came by. The young man, having just turned eighteen at the end of March, wore a black military uniform and cut a tall, straight figure — the very picture of youthful vigor. Father and son sat down together for lunch. Ning Xi first reported on the work he’d been responsible for over the past month or so, then chatted with his father about a few culinary discoveries, and finally brought up the matter of Ning Ji.

“…Second Brother pulled back from the front in early May. I wanted to do as you said and persuade him to go back to school, but the aftermath work on all fronts still isn’t finished, and he wouldn’t agree either — he only promised he’d re-enroll once things settled down in the autumn… At the time he still had the energy to spar with me verbally, but afterward, Mother had Auntie Chan take him to visit Physician Yan Biao and the families of a few other soldiers who’d died. You know how somber that atmosphere would have been, Father — after he got back, it seemed to affect him somewhat.”

“Badly?”

“I don’t know — he’s just been a bit quiet, less cheerful.”

“Old Two was always quieter than you to begin with.”

“No, Father, it’s not that kind of quiet — it’s the kind where you’re clearly troubled by something. Think about it — he’s a fourteen-year-old boy. Even if he’s seen plenty of blood on the battlefield, what he’s seen there is still, in a sense, the more stirring, heroic side of things. This was his first real brush with the aftermath — dealing with the families left behind — and it’s connected to him personally. He must be genuinely upset.”

“Where’s he stationed now?”

“Still as a medic. The preliminary rounds of the martial arts tournament have just started, haven’t they? He’s been assigned to work as a doctor at the venue, watching people fight every day.”

“Did he say he wanted to compete?”

“That’s the strange part, Father — I thought the same thing at first. Something this exciting, surely Little Ji would want to jump right in, especially with the youth division set up. But this time I didn’t even need to talk him out of it — he worked it out himself and said on his own that he didn’t want to compete. I assigned him to treat injuries at the venue, and he didn’t seem particularly excited about that either — I got a rather cold reception for my warm gesture…”

“And then?”

“We’ve talked a few times since. There’s only one thing that seems to genuinely please Second Brother.”

“…”

“The medal, Father.”

“…I hadn’t expected you’d be the first one to come raise an objection about this.”

Sitting at the wooden table, Ning Xi’s eyes were clear as he stated his purpose. Ning Yi looked at him and couldn’t help but smile faintly.

Ning Xi went on: “Second Brother’s achievements at the front this time were truly earned at the edge of a blade, risking his life. A second-class commendation wouldn’t even have been excessive — it was only lowered to third-class because he’s your son. This commendation represents recognition for over a year of effort on his part. Father, he’s killed so many enemies, lost so many comrades beside him — if he could stand on that stage even once, receiving a medal alongside others, it would mean a great deal to him, a real form of recognition.”

Ning Xi’s temperament was naturally cheerful, and their earlier chat had carried something of a joking air, but now that they’d turned to this serious matter, his tone and expression grew earnest. Seeing Ning Yi nod without speaking, he continued.

“Father, I can more or less guess your reasoning for withdrawing his commendation. First, you’re worried it will stir up gossip below. Second, it’s also to protect him — you don’t want him thrust into the spotlight, becoming someone’s target. Or perhaps you’re also worried about… other things.”

At this point, he clasped his hands together gently, choosing his words carefully. “For instance… perhaps you’re worried that once he enters other people’s field of view, certain people with ulterior motives might not only wish him harm, but might also try to scheme around him, to sow discord — and some of these people might not even approach with hostility, but with apparent goodwill…”

Ning Xi spoke slowly, clearly weighing his words with care. Ning Yi, who had been watching him the whole time from across the table, picked up his chopsticks and laughed. “Indeed… you’ve been exposed to politics, statecraft, and the art of rulership for a while now, haven’t you…”

“Father, I have confidence that no child of the Ning family will ever fight over such things. I know you’ve always disliked these matters, always disliked drawing us into them — but since we bear the Ning name, some trials are simply inevitable… The medal is something Second Brother has rightfully earned. Even if there’s some risk in it, I think the benefits outweigh the harm — so… I hope you’ll reconsider, Father.”

Having said this, he pressed his lips together, his expression the very picture of sincerity.

The room fell silent for a moment. Ning Yi took a bite of food, then looked up. “And if I still refuse?”

“Your reasoning this morning for rejecting the medal was that Second Brother’s achievements didn’t match the honor — that he benefited too much from the comrades around him. But I was involved in this commendation process too — a lot of the interviews and records were done by me. As his elder brother, I want to advocate for him; as the one who handled the case, I have the right to do so. I’ll file a formal appeal, requesting a review of the decision to revoke his third-class commendation. I’ll bring the witnesses back in, and have them testify for Second Brother again.”

Ning Yi nodded, smiling. “Then go ahead and appeal.”

“If my appeal succeeds, you’ll have to accept it.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Then I’ll appeal that too.”

Having settled this matter of business between them, father and son finished the rest of their meal. Ning Xi mentioned a few other interesting bits of recent news before taking his leave — no doubt to go fight for his brother’s third-class commendation.

It was not yet past noon; bright sunlight fell in the courtyard outside. This was midsummer in Chengdu, but it wasn’t particularly hot — the climate here was warm and pleasant. Ning Yi walked around the courtyard for a while, then dragged a chair over and sat beneath the giant golden-thread nanmu tree at the side of the courtyard. Shafts of light filtered through the shade of the leaves, falling onto his hands.

“Not even hot in summer here — feels almost fake…”

He murmured this to himself, looking at the light falling on his hand. Thinking back, the Chengdu he remembered from his previous life seemed to have been somewhat hotter than this? But his memories of temperature had long since blurred into something distant and unrecoverable.

At this moment, he found himself somewhat wistful, drifting back over the past. Partly, of course, this had to do with Ning Xi — in his previous life he’d left behind no children, and raising and teaching a child was, for him, still a new experience. Yet these past ten-odd years had passed by in a blur of busyness, and in the blink of an eye Ning Xi was already eighteen. Thinking about how this body of his wasn’t even forty yet, he suddenly felt a wave of something like old age.

But the main thing weighing on his mind was that line from Ning Xi’s words — “you’ve always disliked drawing us into these things.” That phrase must have come from Tan’er telling him something, and it left his mood, for the moment, rather complicated.

Beneath the dappled shade, he found himself recalling the state of mind he’d been in when he first arrived in Jiangning. Twenty years had passed in the blink of an eye. Back then, weary in spirit, he’d wanted nothing more than to settle quietly into this unfamiliar dynasty — and in the end, he had found that quiet. The spring rains of Jiangning, the cicadas’ song, the sound of chess pieces along the Qinhuai River, the black-canopied boats on the water, the wheel-ruts in the winter snow, the simple, foolishly endearing people around him — he’d originally meant to spend his whole life like that.

And now, having come this far, he found himself back in a situation just like this one… Looking at the play of light on his palm, he couldn’t help but find it a little amusing. Over a decade of war, throwing himself into the fray again and again — and now, day after day, still nothing but meetings, receiving one visitor or another, all with perfectly reasonable explanations. But honestly — this wasn’t how he’d meant for things to go, back at the start.

He turned it over in his mind — mostly weariness, and beneath that, a bit of self-mockery, self-deprecation — though it didn’t quite tip into confusion. There was, however, something within all of this that he genuinely avoided, that he instinctively wanted to steer clear of: the hope that his children could avoid being too heavily affected by all this, and could find their own paths.

He tended to be governed more by reason than emotion in most things; among his family, probably only Tan’er and Yun Zhu could really see through to this more sentimental streak in him. And once he came back to reason, Ning Yi knew perfectly well that, having come this far, it was already impossible for his children to escape his influence entirely. That was precisely why he had no objection to Tan’er and the others teaching Ning Xi how to run the household, how to strategize, how to read people and the world — even incorporating some elements of statecraft and rulership.

He himself would not become emperor, and Ning Xi could not become a crown prince — but as the heir to the Ning family’s power base, the burden would most likely still fall onto his shoulders. Fortunately, Ning Xi was sensible, with a temperament as accommodating as water; in most circumstances, even if Ning Yi himself were no longer around, Ning Xi would likely have little trouble keeping the family safe.

But for the younger children that followed, Ning Yi wanted, to some degree, to put up a kind of barrier — at the very least, to keep them from ending up in a position similar to Ning Xi’s.

His elder son could more or less understand the reasoning behind not giving the second son a medal. Though he himself would not be emperor, he would inevitably hold power for some time, and before a proper, formal transfer of power had actually taken place, most people — both outside the organization and within it — would struggle to genuinely believe in this new ideal. That meant Ning Xi, even without any formal title, would for some time be regarded by certain interested parties as the “crown prince” — and the moment Ning Ji also stepped forcefully into the spotlight, many would come to see him as a rival contender for that position.

Ill will from outside was manageable enough, but once a self-reinforcing cycle of interest formed on the inside, the two boys would, one way or another, be affected. Their bond was solid enough for now — but what about the future? Ning Ji was a fourteen-year-old child — what would happen once people started flattering him, egging him on? Ning Xi, for now, had confidence in everything, and could more or less articulate his reasoning in words — but still…

How much of the darker side of the world had an eighteen-year-old really seen?

He sat beneath the tree, turning all this over in his mind, knowing on one hand that such thoughts were pointless, yet unable to help thinking them all the same. He couldn’t help but sigh at his own premature aging.

At this moment, the city of Chengdu outside was surely bustling with activity. Merchants, scholars, martial artists, all manner of people — some harboring ulterior motives, some sincere — had already begun gathering across the land of Sichuan.

Within the city, several venues hosting propaganda and debate for various schools of thought had already opened. Ning Yi had arranged for several newspapers, starting by attacking the flaws of Confucianism and the Wu Dynasty and promoting the great victory of the Huaxia Army, then accepting all manner of rebuttal submissions for publication. Day by day, this had stirred up an atmosphere of great debate across Chengdu, and alongside this debate, the framework of the Huaxia Army’s system design had also been released, likewise open to criticism and challenge.

News that the Huaxia Army had opened its doors had gone out in late April and early May, but due to travel distances, it was only in June that things began to take real shape. Riding on the momentum of this first great victory against the Jin, plenty of scholars and literati, ambitious strategists and schemers — even those harboring outright hostility toward the Huaxia Army — had gathered here out of sheer curiosity. The debate-style newspapers, publishing submissions daily, had already become a playground for these people; just yesterday, someone with deep pockets had even inquired about the asking price for buying out a print shop and its skilled workers outright — likely some outside noble family, seeing the Huaxia Army’s open stance, testing the waters to establish a mouthpiece of their own.

Ning Yi welcomed people jumping into the fray — his only fear was insufficient vitality, not enough noise and clamor. The Huaxia Army’s future political line centered on using productive forces to drive the expansion of capital, with ideology serving only a supporting role; if anything, amid the lively arguing, the evolution of productive forces would break down the old relations of production and give rise to new ones, in turn forcing the development and emergence of all sorts of supporting ideologies. Of course, it was still far too early to speak of such things now.

While the forum-style newspapers had become a playground for scholars and elites, for the common people, the most eye-catching development was probably the registration and selection process already underway for the “Greatest Martial Arts Tournament Under Heaven,” in both adult and youth divisions. This tournament wasn’t limited to ring combat alone — alongside the arena matches were events like long-distance running, long jump, grenade throwing, and cuju football, all proceeding through open qualifying rounds. The formal competition wasn’t expected until July or August, but even these preliminary warm-up events had already sparked plenty of discussion and enthusiasm.

At the end of the day, it was the Huaxia Army that had defeated the Jin forces — which meant, in theory, that across the entire realm, the Huaxia Army was now the most formidable fighting force there was. To make a name for oneself in a ring on Huaxia Army territory would surely be an enticing prospect for martial artists across the land.

Ning Yi had little time to participate in any of these activities himself. He’d only returned to Chengdu on the ninth, and needed to keep a handle on the broad direction of everything — the most he could manage was attending one dull meeting after another.

And it was precisely because Zonghan had already been defeated that he could afford, in the gaps between these meetings, to indulge in the self-pitying complaint: “Why did I ever bother with any of this…”

He sat for a while in the shade of the golden-thread nanmu, though there was no time left for a midday nap. There were only two meetings scheduled for that afternoon; once the second one ended, it was not yet past three in the afternoon. Ning Yi had someone find out where Ning Ji was currently staying, then gathered Du Sha and his men and left the compound, heading that way.

Security had, of course, been a consideration from the moment Ning Yi and his party entered Chengdu; the temporary residence chosen was fairly secluded, and once out on the road, there weren’t many pedestrians about. Ning Yi lifted the carriage curtain to look at the scenery outside. Chengdu was an ancient city, having served as a prefectural seat through many dynasties, and the Huaxia Army’s takeover hadn’t caused much destruction. Afternoon sunlight fell across the streets, lined on both sides with groves of ancient trees; the trees within various courtyards also stretched their dense branches out over the walls, their leaves and boughs intertwining to form a cool, refreshing canopy of shade.

Watching this for a while, Ning Yi said to Du Sha: “Seems like fewer people have been trying to kill me lately?”

Du Sha, seated beside him with his blade slung across his back, laughed. “There are still some, sure — just fewer who actually dare to try anything.”

“The times sure have gone downhill — even the martial artists are getting timid these days. Back in my day, running the Secret Investigation Bureau, I struck fear across the realm…” Ning Yi sighed theatrically, waving his sleeve in the manner of an old scholar reminiscing about the good old days.

Du Sha laughed along. “Back when you ran the Secret Investigation Bureau, we were still holed up in the Miao borderlands… Honestly, by the standards of people out there, it’s only now that you’ve truly arrived — any assassination attempt now comes too late, they simply can’t touch you. These days, they’re mostly scheming against Ning Xi and the other kids instead. When it comes to the Jurchen, there’s not much room for their usual tricks — anyone reckless enough heads north and gets nowhere fast. But when it comes to targeting the southwest, all sorts of talk about strategic schools, Guiguzi-style stratagems, deceptive arts — I’ve heard plenty of that lately. Quite a few wild dreamers have come to Chengdu this time.”

Ning Yi had no particular interest in these wild dreamers, and only asked: “Has anyone impressive shown up among the martial artists lately?”

“I haven’t heard much myself.” Du Sha had spent most of these recent years serving as Ning Yi’s bodyguard, with fewer dealings with the wider martial world these days. He frowned, thinking for a moment, and named a few people Ning Yi mostly didn’t recognize. “Doesn’t sound like there’s anyone particularly formidable? What about those famous names, like ‘Silver-Haired Beauty’ Cui Xiaolü or whoever?”

Du Sha laughed. “Plenty of the older generation of martial artists already fell at your hands, and these past years, with the Jurchen ravaging the Central Plains, plenty more have died too. The ones who’ve managed to rise up these days mostly clawed their way out of battlefields or fleeing refugees — they’ve got real skill, but times have changed; even if they make a bit of a name for themselves, it doesn’t travel far anymore… And besides, the people you’re talking about are ancient history by now. Before the Sacred Duke’s uprising, that Miss Cui was already just a rumor — a girl supposedly betrayed in love, framed, and after her hair turned white overnight, went on a killing spree across the land. Whether it’s true or not is anyone’s guess — no one’s ever actually seen her.”

“Ah.” Ning Yi paused briefly. “Come to think of it, of all the great masters people used to talk about back then, she’s the only one I never actually met. I was genuinely looking forward to it, all these years — but hearing you say this, I suppose we really have gotten old.”

“A new generation replaces the old — never mind Silver-Haired Beauty, even the Sacred Duke from over a decade ago, or the Nine Manifestations of the Cloud Dragon, or Sikong Nan, who died at Chen Fan’s hands — how many people even remember them now? And you yourself said before, once firearms arrived, the age of the martial world would soon come to an end. These days you’re preoccupied with matters of state, day in and day out — why the sudden interest in the martial world?”

Ning Yi sat up straight and smiled. “Back in the day I had quite a bit of sentiment invested in it — when I ran the Secret Investigation Bureau, I even thought about compiling some kind of hero’s roster, and dominating the realm for a few decades on the side. Shame it never got off the ground before the war started. Just think — my old nickname, the Bloody-Handed Butcher — not resounding enough, was it? Zhou Zhe stole all the thunder with that one. Ah well, this kind of sentiment — I doubt you’d understand it if I explained.”

“…No, I really wouldn’t,” Du Sha remarked flatly. “Honestly, speaking of the martial world, your own two ladies at home are top-tier grandmasters in their own right — no need to bother with those young upstarts in Chengdu today. And then there’s little Ning Ji — going by his current progress, there’s a good chance he’ll grow up to dominate the martial world and sweep the realm someday, the most formidable fighter in the whole Ning family. Whatever ambitions you have, he could realize them for you.”

“Du Sha… do you really take me for the sort of man who’d hand his dreams off to his child to fulfill?”

Ning Yi’s expression turned grave and utterly serious. Du Sha glanced at him, frowning slightly. After a moment, the two old men both burst out laughing in the carriage. Ning Yi’s youthful ambition to become the greatest under heaven was something most of his closer associates had heard about over the years; occasionally, in a good mood, he’d bring it up himself for a laugh. Naturally, people like Du Sha never took it seriously — though sometimes, in a lighthearted mood, they’d bring up his famous “single strike of the Heaven-Overturning Seal that killed Lu Tuo” and joke about it for a while.

The convoy traveled in this pleasant mood for the better part of an hour before finally approaching a courtyard on the eastern side of the city. Outside the courtyard gate, among the trees, several plainclothes soldiers could already be seen standing guard. These were among Xigua’s personal guards, and everyone recognized each other — clearly Xigua was already inside visiting the child. Someone moved to go announce Ning Yi’s arrival, but he waved them off, telling Du Sha and the others to wait outside, and pushed the gate open himself.

The courtyard where Ning Ji had been housed was one that had long stood abandoned — nothing luxurious inside, but with plenty of space. Aside from Ning Ji, it had also been designated to house several other physicians assigned to the martial arts tournament, though the arrangements hadn’t yet been fully settled. Ning Yi walked in, circling around the front courtyard that hadn’t been fully swept yet, and saw, in the back courtyard, a scattering of wooden logs on the ground, every one of them split cleanly in two by a blade. Ning Ji was sitting under the eaves, talking with Xigua.

“…In battlefield combat, when you swing a blade, you hold nothing back — one strike, and the enemy must die. There’s no room for any of the fancier techniques in bladework. I’ve tried it many times now, and only then did I realize just how formidable this military saber Father had made back then really is. It’s front-heavy, back-light, with an inward-curving arc — not much in the way of fancy design, but a sudden strike carries tremendous force. These past few days I’ve had people toss logs at me from all around — as long as my eyes and hands are quick enough, I can split every one of them clean in the air. Doing this, I think I might be able to work out a genuinely useful set of blade techniques… I really don’t know how Father ever came to design a blade like this…”

What Ning Ji was talking about, of course, was the dao-style military saber his father had commissioned years ago, resembling a curved “dog-leg” blade. Listening from outside, Ning Yi felt a warm satisfaction — that blade had originally been forged as an experiment, and since there’d never been a corresponding training method developed for it, he himself had barely used it. He hadn’t expected it would end up earning his son’s admiration.

As Ning Ji spoke, Xigua — not in military uniform, but dressed simply in a water-blue gown — shook her head from where she sat.

“…The battlefield is the battlefield. On the battlefield you have comrades to help you — what you’re fighting for is the strongest burst of blood-fury in the shortest possible time, so naturally you throw everything into a single strike. But you’re going to face duels against individual opponents in the future too, aren’t you? Firearms exist now, we even have Dijiang — what use is it for a child like you to train the single most powerful strike imaginable? In the future you’ll also face ambushes in the martial world — maybe dozens of people coming to assassinate you at once. What good does it do if your one strike can split open a single man’s skull, when the rest simply swarm you and finish you off?”

Xigua’s expression was cold as frost, her tone stern. “The more extreme a weapon’s characteristics, the more it demands moderation and balance in how it’s used. The sword is soft and yielding, so it prizes uprightness above all; the spear wounds only with its tip, so it prizes the perfect balance of offense and defense; the saber is domineering, and what it must guard against is being able to strike out but not draw back — this is wisdom accumulated over countless years. If a martial artist, again and again, seeks only the domineering force of a single strike, he’ll be dead before he’s fought more than a few times — how could he have any future? As the ancient master Zuo Chuanshu writes in the Blade Classic…”

Xigua had never been much for book learning since childhood, and to this day she still frowned at classical rhetoric, but when it came to bladework, she genuinely carried the unmistakable bearing of a grandmaster — a foundation no doubt laid by her father-in-law, Liu Dabiao. Listening for a moment, Ning Yi saw that both of them had noticed him, and only then walked inside. Ning Ji stood and bowed, calling out “Father,” while Xigua merely rose to her feet, pressing her lips together with an expression that plainly said, I’m not done scolding this child yet — why are you barging in?

Ning Yi ruffled his son’s hair and only then realized that, in the two months since he’d last seen him, the boy seemed to have grown taller again. “Your Auntie Gua’s swordsmanship is unmatched under heaven — you’d do well to take her words to heart.” This, of course, was rather redundant advice — over the course of Ning Ji’s upbringing, his teachers had ranged from Hongti to Xigua, from Chen Fan to Du Sha; what he’d absorbed had always come from these people’s instruction. By comparison, Ning Yi himself had little he could directly teach him in the way of martial arts, serving mostly as a source of motivational anecdotes — things like “killing Lu Tuo with a single strike of the Heaven-Overturning Seal,” “the Bloody-Handed Butcher teaching Zhou Tong a lesson,” or “overawing the Demon Buddha.”

Having said this much, he thought for a moment, then decided to teach the boy something genuinely useful after all.

“That said, though — experience can be learned, but the principles in the Blade Classic need to be used with discernment; you have to know how to tell things apart. You should understand that, the earlier something is in its stage of development, the more it tends to produce theories that sound impossibly profound but are actually hard to pin down — so the more mysterious and impressive something sounds, the more wary you should be of it. Conversely, the more thoroughly something has been studied, the more clearly it can be explained — eventually it might even reduce to nothing more than a collection of data…”

“Martial arts works the same way. What your Auntie Gua wants to remind you of is that your training should be well-rounded — don’t get obsessed with just one direction. But exploring how to throw the single most powerful punch, or deliver the single most devastating strike with a blade — that kind of exploration is certainly useful too. In the future, we might be able to track a martial artist’s training from childhood onward in detail — what you eat to maximize the strength in your hands, what angle of strike delivers the fastest cut — but at the same time, we’d also need to track how to make someone’s reflexes as sharp as possible, and beyond that, how to balance sharpness and strength while still preserving maximum endurance — figuring out the most rational way to balance all of it…”

“At that point, martial arts would no longer be mysterious at all. So really, the problem with the Blade Classic is that there’s too much needlessly mystifying language in it… Well, never mind — just remember what I’ve said for now…”

As Ning Yi finished speaking, Ning Ji nodded along, only half understanding. Beside him, Xigua pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, finally unable to hold back — she walked over and put a hand on Ning Ji’s shoulder. “All right, what do you even know about bladework? We’re teaching the child here — even your own father doesn’t dare speak ill of the Blade Classic.”

Ning Yi looked at her and laughed. “I’m not saying the Blade Classic is actually bad — but the times move forward, and the way people look at things changes along with them.”

“Talk nonsense to fool other people outside all you like, but don’t go twisting the child’s mind while he’s training with the blade!”

“What do you mean, twisting his mind? I’ve got my own insights into bladework too. Come here — let me educate you a little.”

Ning Yi walked off to the side, smiling and waving her over; Xigua followed. “…What insights could you possibly have, with that pathetic little bit of skill of yours…”

“…Back in Hangzhou, I trained hard and improved fast — cut down Tang Kou with a single strike—”

“…I could split ten Tang Kous bare-handed—”

“…That’s not even— wait, no, you’re exaggerating. Tang Kou’s been dead for years, there’s no one left to confirm it either way — he really was quite formidable back then… probably…”

Ning Yi and Xigua stood back to back, their voices carrying over as they traded barbs.

“…You’re just teaching the child nonsense anyway…”

“…What would you know? When it comes to bladework, sure, maybe you’ve got a slight edge on me — but when it comes to teaching people… these past years, Hongti and you have both been laying his foundation — Hongti taught him swordsmanship, you taught him bladework, Chen Fan taught him boxing, Du Sha and the others taught him more blade techniques, Little Hei’s been teaching him the Thirteen Guardians’ Iron Body Bell whenever he has nothing better to do, Yuwen Feidu’s been dragging him off to shoot guns — I’ve lost count of how many teachers he’s got. A little kid like him, who’s he even supposed to follow? Can he even tell them apart?… If I hadn’t been teaching him basic discernment and independent thinking this whole time, you lot would’ve ruined him long ago…”

“…That still doesn’t mean you get to badmouth the Blade Classic…”

“…I’m transcending it, looking at things from a higher vantage—”

“…And exactly how am I only slightly better than you with a blade—”

“…Set up a dye shop and we’ll settle it one-on-one—”

“…Ha ha…”

“…Tonight, then…”

“…Who’s afraid of you…”

“…I’ll kill you dead…”

The sunlight over the horizon had turned to the crimson glow of sunset; the bickering husband and wife in the courtyard grew increasingly playful, their words dissolving into fragments — the man even reached out a finger to poke at the air above the woman’s chest in a gesture of provocation. Ning Ji, having watched all this for a while, finally turned his head away, walked off a little distance, and only then spoke up.

“Father! Auntie Gua! Take some advice from me!”

The couple turned to look at him.

“Just fight it out already.”

The boy offered his suggestion with the utmost sincerity.

Ning Yi froze for a moment, then burst out laughing in the sunset-lit courtyard. Xigua’s face flushed red, and in the next instant her figure blurred into motion, skirt swirling, as the wooden logs on the ground came flying straight at Ning Ji.

“A’Gua, teach him a lesson.”

Amid his own laughter, Ning Yi gave his fighter the order, and what followed in the courtyard was, from then on, the picture of two loving parents earnestly instructing their child. By the time the sunset had deepened further, the three of them had eaten dinner together in that courtyard, and Ning Ji’s smiles had grown noticeably more frequent.

After dinner, two more meetings still awaited Ning Yi back in the city; he left the courtyard and returned once more to his busy work. Xigua stayed behind a while longer, testing Ning Ji’s martial skills, and didn’t leave until close to midnight — presumably to go settle the score with Ning Yi over their afternoon’s bickering.

Thinking it over, Ning Ji couldn’t help but find the whole thing rather amusing: these days his father rarely showed his skills in front of others, but his cultivation and insight were, in the end, extraordinarily high. If he and Auntie Gua ever really came to blows, what a sight that would be.