In the art of the sword, the first stage is "momentum."
This "momentum" is both the swordsman's mastery of their form and the unique aura and energy signature emitted by their blade in motion.
"The sword favors lightness and agility, while the saber favors strength and ferocity." Here, "lightness and agility" refers to a sword that moves with fluid speed. Its momentum is characterized by quick, nimble strikes—never sluggish, always ready to adapt to the enemy at a moment's notice.
The afternoon sun was scorching. It seemed as though the heavens, wishing to temper Jiang Qingyu's will, refused to spare even the slightest breeze.
Under the blistering sun, Jiang Qingyu stood alone on the training grounds.
Her arms were outstretched, palms facing downward, each forearm weighed down by a heavy gold bracelet. The bracelets were beautiful, provided one ignored their immense weight. They were said to be "Weight-Bearing Bracelets," artifacts passed down through generations of the Wuya Sword Sect, capable of adjusting their density to assist in the cultivation of arm strength.
Jiang Qingyu had maintained this posture for an hour.
Her arms ached to the point of numbness. Stray hairs on her forehead were matted with sweat, sticking messily to her cheeks, and sweat trickled from her neck, rolling down her smooth skin into her tunic, soaking her undergarments. It was fortunate she wasn't required to hold a horse stance; otherwise, given this body’s condition, she would have knelt right there to bow to her Senior Brother in a premature New Year’s greeting.
Her brain was screaming in agony. How long had it been since she’d found herself in such a pathetic predicament? In the past, it seemed that whether it was hot or cold, a mere flicker of Spiritual Qi was enough to ward it off.
Jiang Qingyu persisted with stubborn resilience.
"Keep it up, Xiaoyu! Only half an hour left. Senior Brother believes in you!"
In the distance, Baixin sat on a comfortable lounge chair, sheltered by a parasol. Beside him, a small table was piled with crisp, juicy fruits. He watched Jiang Qingyu with a lazy, beaming smile.
Jiang Qingyu felt a rush of heat to her head—she was truly reaching her limit. She knew it well: the demon clan were all born with a bit of a devious streak. Even when it came to serious matters, if the mood struck them, they couldn't help but indulge in a little mischief. And since neither the demon clan nor half-demons were immune to this, it seemed even the graceful and gentle Eldest Senior Brother was no exception!
Baixin did not care much for food, and he hadn't intended to set out the fruit. But just an hour ago, she had casually mentioned, "Today’s weather is perfect for eating sweet watermelon," and her Senior Brother had promptly produced these tempting treats!
He had then asked with a straight face, "Want some?"
Jiang Qingyu had looked on with longing, nodding foolishly.
Then, the Eldest Senior Brother whom she respected and adored so dearly had heartlessly replied, "I won't give you any. I'm just going to let you look at it."
He didn't want to eat, but Jiang Qingyu wanted to eat and couldn't—the pain, the sheer agony.
"Qiuqiu Senior Brother, can you try acting like a human being for once?" Jiang Qingyu said, her expression blank, her words carrying the haunting beauty of someone who had given up on life.
From afar, her Senior Brother’s breezy voice drifted back: "But, my dear Junior Sister, I was never human to begin with."
Heart-wrenching. Truly heart-wrenching... How could such cold words come from a mouth that was thirty-seven degrees Celsius?
When she finally endured the remaining half hour, Jiang Qingyu’s arms felt like two overcooked noodles—limp, boneless, and hanging uselessly at her sides. The gold bracelets had reverted to mere ornaments, resting quietly around her wrists. She didn't know how much weight they had been set to, but it was certainly far beyond what a nine-year-old girl could handle. That she had lasted the final thirty minutes was entirely due to Jiang Qingyu’s iron will! If conditions permitted, she felt she could write a book titled *How the Steel Was Tempered*.
After calling a halt to the training, Baixin circled the little girl and clapped encouragingly. "Not bad, not bad. You stuck with it. Your Fourth Senior Brother couldn't even last half an hour before giving up. But then again, he’s a Ghost Cultivator; whether he trains or not doesn't really affect him much."
Arm strength was only the first item. Next would come training for mental fortitude, flexibility, and dexterity. Once she mastered the basic sword forms, she would have to swing her sword at least five hundred times every day. When her "momentum" reached a respectable level, she would enter the Sword Valley beneath the main peak to study the sword energy and intent of her predecessors. Everything she was doing now was merely an appetizer.
"Xiaoyu, you must have heard stories about sword cultivators killing opponents of a higher realm, right? That’s all true. Sword cultivators, besides bitter training and sparring, also have those 'hardliners' who dance on the edge of the Ghost Gate, constantly challenging their own limits. This method is the most direct, but also the most dangerous. They seem to carry an aura of fearlessness, holding a firm belief: 'If I can't defeat them, I'll die. If I die, I'll become a Ghost Cultivator, and I can still use a sword.' We could call this an 'indomitable spirit.' Because of this spirit, the swords in their hands become devoid of desire and emotion, their momentum sharp, their killing intent resolute, and their mastery of sword techniques far exceeds that of ordinary people. This type of training happens to compensate for gaps in cultivation level. That is why they can kill across realms."
Jiang Qingyu was deeply shaken. Using death to spark one’s limits—she couldn't pass judgment on such an extreme path, but she could only admire those who held life and death so lightly. After all, having died once and returning for another life, she preferred to play it safe and remain a background character in this Cultivation World filled with monsters.
With a "snap," Baixin cleaved a watermelon open. The flesh was bright red and juicy—a truly excellent melon. He handed a slice to Jiang Qingyu and took one for himself, savoring it slowly. "Senior Brother is telling you this not so that you will resort to desperate measures for the sake of cultivation."
Jiang Qingyu took a huge bite, her cheeks bulging. Compared to Baixin, she looked like a starving ghost, terrified that if she slowed down for a second, she’d drop dead. Hearing her Senior Brother call her name, she couldn't swallow in time; fearing the juice would run down her chin, she just tilted her head and uttered an, "Mmph?"
Baixin raised his left eyebrow slightly. He thought his Junior Sister looked like a squirrel—rather cute. "What I mean is, you are still young. You don't need to risk your life. Occasionally, you can be a bit temperamental and indulge in a little laziness."
"…?" Jiang Qingyu was bewildered. Wait, what kind of Senior Brother encourages his Junior Sister to slack off?
Baixin found her reaction hard to describe. His Junior Sister’s brain seemed a bit slow; in any other sect or faction, wouldn't someone be overjoyed to hear such words? He had heard that some sects outside had established disciplinary offices; as long as one brought evidence and reported a fellow disciple for slacking or laziness, one would be rewarded. Consequently, recording stones had become a hot commodity. He, however, not only didn't report her but actually advocated for "proper rest"—shouldn't his Junior Sister be thrilled?
The Eldest Senior Brother's expression was complex. Jiang Qingyu couldn't decipher it; if she had to describe it, it was like a legendary "pie chart" of emotions! She tentatively replied, "Then, thank you, Senior Brother?"
Baixin rubbed his forehead. He wondered if he should go buy some walnuts. The two of them were not on the same frequency, yet both were mentally active.
"Actually, this level of training today is something a nine-year-old girl should never be able to complete. Junior Sister, I’m quite surprised. What exactly made you stick with it?"
"Hmm... You’ll have to guess!" Jiang Qingyu didn't want to admit that her willpower was stronger than steel.
Hearing this, Baixin became even more curious. His original plan was to start with flexibility training. Just as the child was enjoying her lunch, their master had sent a Spiritual Bird with the weight-bearing bracelets and a verbal order not to "show mercy," accompanied by a training schedule. One look, and Baixin had been stunned. Back in the day, none of them had received such "special care" from their master.
Before training began, he had deliberately omitted the exact duration, waiting for the child to give up and call it quits so he could naturally step in and ask for leniency. Instead, she didn't ask, and he didn't say, and she stood there like a log for an entire hour! He suddenly felt that the hour and a half the master required was something this seemingly fragile little chick of a Junior Sister might actually achieve.
Consequently, seeing the child’s pitiful gaze as she longed for melon, his heart had softened, and he had wanted to say, "Senior Brother doesn't like melon, that was prepared for you after training." But as the words reached his lips, he remembered his cover had already been blown and immediately switched it to, "Want some? I won't give you any."
Would she be angry at him for being so mean? The answer was no.
Baixin crossed his arms, his right hand stroking his smooth chin as he pondered, "The kid has secrets..."
Jiang Qingyu remained open and unbothered, letting his suspicious gaze sweep over her. She wasn't afraid of being guessed, because someone already seemed to have deduced her background; this was an internal reveal that was only a matter of time.
"Senior Brother finds it troublesome, but everyone has secrets. If everyone went around guessing them, we’d all be exhausted."
This outcome was within Jiang Qingyu’s expectations.
Baixin looked at the sky. Today’s training was finished. He performed a slight-of-hand trick to produce a bag of spices—no, medicine—and handed it to the child. "After you go back, use this medicine to take a two-hour hot bath. Otherwise, you won't be able to get out of bed tomorrow from the pain." He added, "Do you need me to walk you back?"
Jiang Qingyu stamped her feet; her legs were still functional, so she smiled and refused. "It's fine, it's not far. I'll just walk."
After confirming her decision, Baixin nodded. But in his heart, he thought: My Junior Sister is nine years old, sensible and well-behaved, but she doesn't like to rely on others. I must have left a bad impression today. *How to make my Junior Sister less independent? Waiting online, quite urgent.*
...
The Wuya Sword Sect had three main peaks and dozens of smaller ones. Because the entire sect consisted of only six people, only the three main peaks had names.
Lord Wuling guarded the sect hall alone, living in the bamboo forest behind the main peak, nestled against the mountains and waters in a serene environment. The three senior brothers lived on one peak, Pinglan Peak, while the adjacent one was Guanyun Peak, where Jiang Qingyu and their third senior sister, Song Wu—whom she had yet to meet—lived.
These two peaks were essentially one, called Pinglan-Guanyun Peak, which had originally been larger than the main peak. Later, after taking in Song Wu, Lord Wuling realized men and women couldn't share the same peak, so he simply split the mountain in half with a single sword strike, built a training ground in the middle, and housed the male disciples on one side and the female on the other. As for the names, they were simply divided; one was called Pinglan, the other Guanyun—simple and effective.
When she returned to her quarters, it was already dark. She drew water and tossed a yellow-grade fire talisman into the wooden tub; the water immediately turned warm and began to steam. Jiang Qingyu dropped the medicine bag in and climbed in. Under the influence of the medicine, it felt as if someone were giving her a full-body massage. She leaned against the rim of the tub, drifting toward sleep.
Two hours later, the water in the tub had become indescribable. How to put it? In terms of color, it had gone from green to ink-green, and in terms of smell, it was beginning to exude a rather pungent odor.
Jiang Qingyu looked at her skin, which had lightened by a shade, and fell into deep thought.
Actually... she felt she could handle a few more of these medicinal baths.
With a light heart, she fell quickly into a dreamless sleep.