Chapter 8
Within the library, Wu Ying moved to the left, starting at the shelves which the attendant had indicated were for martial arts techniques. Quickly, Wu Ying realized that these techniques were not haphazardly shelved but set aside by the kind of technique. In his hands were techniques for the spear, a weapon that Wu Ying had some knowledge of but no significant formal training in. Wu Ying set the book aside and moved down, searching through the stacks.
Spear. Ji[10]. Dao[11]. Bow. Mace. Rope. Greataxe.
One after the other, the manuals ran on and on. There were eighteen traditional arms[12], and it seemed that the sect had manuals for all of them. Some, like the crossbow, only had a few manuals, while other more popular weapons, like the axe or jian, had significantly more. Out of curiosity, Wu Ying stopped at the area where the jian[13] manuals were kept.
He flipped through the manuals, scanning the instructions and forms. As he flipped through manual after manual, his frown grew greater and greater. At times, Wu Ying would stare at a particular passage before shaking his head and moving on to a new manual.
“You find our work on the jian inadequate?” a deep voice said, startling Wu Ying.
Turning, Wu Ying realized that an Elder stood beside him, dressed in the iconic green-and-grey robes that the Elders all wore around the sect. A quick look at his headdress was enough to inform Wu Ying that whoever spoke to him was high up on the ladder. Piercing black eyes bore into Wu Ying, seeming to weigh him even as a suffocating pressure filled Wu Ying with trepidation.
“I would never dare say something like that, Elder,” Wu Ying said, bowing deeply.
“Interesting. What style did you learn?”
“Long style jian,” Wu Ying said. “My father never mentioned the style name.”
“Long family jian. If I’m not incorrect…” The Elder looked down the shelf and stepped past Wu Ying, who shrank back automatically. He pulled a small manual from the shelf and handed it to Wu Ying. “Is this it?”
Wu Ying took the manual hesitantly then, under the eyes of the Elder, scanned through it slowly at first. Moving more quickly, he flipped through page after page, skipping toward the end. The Elder said nothing, watching Wu Ying read till he was done.
“I’m sorry!” Wu Ying said when he realized he had been making the Elder wait. At the Elder’s wave to dismiss the apology, Wu Ying finally answered the question. “Yes, this is it.”
“But you seem unhappy.”
“I…”
“Speak.”
“It is a very poor copy of our style,” Wu Ying said finally. “There are finer points that are missed, as well as numerous transitions that are missing or out of order.”
“That is no surprise,” the Elder said with a sniff. “If it was complete, it would not be in this section. Whoever collected this must have done so from watching your family practice. The work itself is sub-par.”
“Oh,” Wu Ying said, his hand clenching slightly.
At the Elder’s clearance of his throat, Wu Ying relaxed his grip on the manual and set it back on the shelf. To think that some outsider had dared to steal their style—and then sell it! It burned, even if that sale had come with significant mistakes. But of course, that was why so much of their style had not been written down but passed orally, from father to son.
“Yes. Now, if you are the rightful heir of this style, if you would pen corrections or a new manual, I could see my way to ensure you are properly compensated,” the Elder said.
“You would?” Wu Ying said, surprised.
“Of course.” After a brief pause, the Elder chuckled. “Ah. I never introduced myself, did I? I am Elder Ko. I am in charge of the library for the inner and outer sect members.”
“Greetings, Elder Ko. I am Long Wu Ying,” Wu Ying said. “But I must decline your offer. I am not authorized[14] to pass on the art as yet.”
“Are you sure? I could provide a significant number of contribution points for an authentic Long family jian manual.”
“I am sure.”
“Humph.” Elder Ko fixed Wu Ying with a glare that Wu Ying astutely avoided by keeping his gaze lowered. Still, he felt the Elder’s attention on the back of his head, making him grit his teeth. The silence stretched for minutes, allowing Wu Ying to hear every single turn of the page, every scuffed footstep in the library. Or so it seemed. “Good.”
“I’m sor—wait? Good?” Wu Ying exclaimed.
“Yes. I would have banned your use of the inner sect library if you were so cavalier with such secrets,” Elder Ko said.
“That was a test?”
“Everything is a test. Now, your sect stamp?” Once Elder Ko had received it, he touched his own sect stamp to it, transferring the cultivation points to himself. “Now, do you have any other training?” After Wu Ying finished listing his small list of skills, the Elder sniffed. “Basic training at your village. Garbage.”
Wu Ying winced but bent his head in acknowledgement. It was, sadly, a fair assessment. Even the basic martial arts they were learning in the morning was better than what he had learned in the village. He thought that they were taught the barest basics to make them effective, but not enough to ever make the peasants a threat. Not that peasants, with cultivations in the low digits, could ever be a threat to a Core Cultivator.
“And what level have you achieved with your swordsmanship?” Elder Ko asked.
“I have only achieved a novice level with the style thus far,” Wu Ying said with a grimace. It was one of his personal shames.
“Really?” Elder Ko said with a frown but sighed. “Show me.”
“I—” Elder Ko twitched his hand and handed Wu Ying the sword he drew from his side, cutting short Wu Ying’s excuse. “Thank you, Elder.”
Wu Ying stepped back, eying the distance around him before setting the sword at his side. He drew another deep breath before releasing it, relaxing his body. In the tight quarters, Wu Ying truncated much of the strikes and steps of his form, doing his best to showcase his minor knowledge.
There were five major levels of understanding of a martial art. At the initiate level, one could be considered to have memorized and grasped, at the lowest level, the movements and essence of the art. Novices had grasped more than the set movements and could apply them in a more fluid format, while those with intermediate understanding of the art could fight smoothly using the forms without hesitation. In addition, at the intermediate level, practitioners had grasped the basic understanding of the martial art. As for peak understanding, that was the level most practitioners achieved after a decade or two of study, with the ability to combine the martial art style with others in a combative stance. Generally only geniuses or those who came up with the Style itself could achieve the stage of perfection, grasping both the basic and underlying means of each movement as well as the potential within each action.
Of course, all of that was a fuzzy concept in some ways. A simple, less complex style would be simpler to grasp and grow into higher levels of achievement than a complicated style like the Long family sword art. It was because of this, and the wide gaps between each level, that Elder Ko had requested Wu Ying to showcase his grasp of the style.
All this, of course, was outside the basics of swordsmanship—the Sense of the weapon itself. That was a different form of understanding.
“A pleasure to watch,” Elder Ko said, tapping his lips. “And for your age, a novice level understanding is understandable. If disappointing. You are no martial genius, that is clear. Nor have you grasped the Sense of the Sword either.”
Wu Ying winced slightly but could not help but accept Elder Ko’s blunt assessment. It was true enough. Fa Hui, that big ox, had managed to win as many matches as he lost when they sparred sword against spear. Even if Fa Hui had never received any particular additional training, size, strength, and weapon choice made a big difference.