At the third quarter of the *mao* hour, a thin layer of frost coated the bluestone bricks of the General's Mansion's martial arts training ground. Six-year-old Cheng'an held a jujube-wood sword, chasing the back of Lu Jingyuan as the sword tassel swept across the frosted surface, leaving behind delicate, fragmented traces. Lu Jingyuan's dark armor emitted a cold gleam in the morning light, the flying tiger pattern on his shoulder plates rising and falling with his movements. Suddenly pivoting, his boot heel struck a crisp sound against the bricks. "Holding a sword requires a stance as steady as Mount Tai! Your footwork looks like you're stepping on cotton!"
Panting, Cheng'an stopped, the tip of his nose frozen bright red. "Father's sword is three times heavier than mine!" In a fit of petulance, he thrust the wooden sword straight into the soil. The two characters for "Cheng'an" carved onto the hilt were polished to a shine—they had been carved by Jiang Wan's own hands.
Lu Jingyuan frowned, his fingertips brushing against the sword at his waist. "When your father was six, I could already split a bowl-thick bamboo pole with a bamboo sword." Abruptly, he drew his blade. A cold flash crossed the air, and a three-inch-deep sword mark appeared on a stone table in the distance. "If you cannot even hold a wooden sword steady, how will you ever protect the common people?"
Chapter 287