Chapter Fifty: The Art of Sword Mastery

“Someone’s died again.”

“Yes, two scholars died yesterday, and the same happened today!”

“It’s so strange—two deaths in two days. Do you think something supernatural is at work?”

“It’s possible. Look at how bizarre the deaths are: they were perfectly fine just a moment before, then gone in the blink of an eye. It must be evil spirits!”

“Let’s stay away, then. We don’t want to get caught up in this!”

Early in the morning on Scholar Street, two scholars lay sprawled on the ground, their clothes disheveled, a look of utter contentment on their faces as life had left them.

Not far away, in a house tucked within a narrow alley, Scholar Ding was in the throes of passion with little Hong.

...

Meanwhile, Feng Yuan and his companion rode a donkey cart home, returning to their village just before noon.

Several donkey carts and a group of craftsmen were bustling about Feng Yuan’s old home, repairing the damaged parts of the house and moving furniture and other belongings inside. Feng Yuan had hired these people yesterday afternoon to fix the house, and all the newly purchased furniture was arriving that morning. He had spent a considerable sum, but the work was progressing swiftly.

After checking, Feng Yuan saw that all his purchases had arrived and the house was nearly fully renovated.

“Brothers, please take the trouble to give the house a thorough cleaning inside and out. I’ll give each of you an extra twenty cash as a tip!” Feng Yuan called out to them.

“Certainly, Scholar! Don’t you worry, we’ll have everything spotless for you!”

“Just relax and leave it to us!”

The promise of twenty cash made their eyes light up. It was a generous tip: after a hard day’s labor, they might only earn twenty or thirty cash, and work wasn’t always available. Getting twenty just for cleaning was more than enough to stir their enthusiasm.

After two hours of hard work, Feng Yuan’s house was finally ready. With repairs completed, new furniture arranged, and everything cleaned, the home was transformed—fresh, comfortable, and inviting.

“Xiaoxiao, go and prepare a meal. I’m hungry,” Feng Yuan said to Hu Xiaoxiao.

“Yes, sir!” she replied, nodding, and then left to get started.

Feng Yuan sat at the desk, surveying his renewed home with satisfaction. He reached into his robe and pulled out the nameless cultivation diagram, eager to see if it contained any hidden secrets. The previous diagrams had vanished after he practiced them—perhaps new ones would appear.

He unrolled the mysterious chart and, to his delight, new illustrations emerged before his eyes: eight in total. The first depicted a man with a sword; the second through the sixth showed him forming intricate hand gestures; in the seventh, a golden light shot from his two fingers and landed upon the sword; in the eighth, the man wielded the sword, controlling it with golden light as it danced around him.

“What’s this? Sword Control Technique?” Feng Yuan wondered, excitement stirring within him. In the cultivation tales of his previous life, protagonists used their spiritual power to control swords, striking down enemies from a thousand miles away.

Could he now master such a formidable art?

Unable to contain his curiosity, Feng Yuan was eager to try it at once. But he had no sword. After a moment’s thought, he walked to the kitchen.

“Xiaoxiao, give me the kitchen knife,” he said to Hu Xiaoxiao, who was busy preparing food.

“Sir, what do you need it for? I’m using it to cut the meat,” she replied, glancing at him as she worked.

Seeing her occupied, Feng Yuan reconsidered and went outside to the courtyard, where he found a hoe. It was made of iron—surely it would suffice.

Returning indoors, he set the hoe on the ground and began mimicking the hand gestures depicted in the newly revealed diagrams.

Soon, the golden light within his dantian surged, shooting out and traveling through his meridians to his right index and middle fingers, where it emerged.

This golden light felt different from before—no longer fierce and domineering, but gentle and strangely familiar, as if it were an extension of his own hand.

Channeling his will, Feng Yuan guided the golden light toward the hoe. As it touched the metal, he felt as though he were holding the hoe himself, so strong was the connection. With a thought, the golden light lifted the hoe into the air—he could maneuver it effortlessly, as if grasping it in his own hand.

“How marvelous!” he marveled inwardly, surprised and delighted. He directed the hoe to fly about the room, controlling it with ease and precision.

Overjoyed, Feng Yuan sent the hoe flying out of the house and up into the sky, soaring dozens of meters into the air.

But in less than ten seconds, he felt his control waver. The golden light faltered, severing his connection; the hoe plummeted from the sky and crashed into the courtyard below.

“What happened?” Feng Yuan stared at the hoe in confusion. He tried again, forming the gestures, but no golden light appeared.

Checking his dantian, Feng Yuan discovered the golden orb within had dimmed, no longer shining brightly but dull and lackluster—a sign his spiritual energy was depleted.

He immediately understood: the Sword Control Technique consumed a great deal of golden light. His dantian had been drained dry, which was why the hoe had fallen and he couldn’t use the technique again.

To wield the Sword Control Technique for longer periods, he needed a much stronger cultivation base. Such progress couldn’t be achieved overnight; it would take time and patience, but Feng Yuan wasn’t discouraged.

Having figured out the reason, he put the hoe back in its place and returned indoors. He picked up the nameless cultivation diagram and scrutinized it closely, searching for any other hidden abilities.

But after a long study, he found nothing new. He guessed that the appearance of new diagrams followed its own schedule, unaffected by his meddling.

With that, Feng Yuan rolled up the mysterious chart and tucked it away safely inside his robe.

Lunch was not yet ready, and with nothing else to do, Feng Yuan sat on his bed and began to cultivate. Above his head, countless golden motes appeared—thousands, and growing by the moment, a wondrous sight.

Feng Yuan didn’t bother to question the source of these golden lights. Since he could use them for cultivation, why not accept this good fortune?