Li after li passed as the hours turned, Wu Ying only breaking to drink water and chew on the travel food he had purchased. Simple meat and vegetable buns and soya sauce-soaked glutinous rice balls with pieces of chicken made up the majority of the food he had bought. Smaller packages of vegetables and rice lay in his bag, awaiting the evening when it was time to cook. Since it was nearing the end of the moon phase, there would be little light to run at night, even if Wu Ying was willing to risk that kind of danger.
That evening, Wu Ying found a small clearing a distance from the road. Rather than the usual rest stops which he could ill afford, Wu Ying preferred sleeping outdoors. Even if animals and spirit beasts roamed the countryside, he should be relatively safe. After all, it would require significant bad luck to draw one to him in the vast wilderness.
“Cook the meat and the vegetables first. Stir it in with the rice with the sauce afterward,” Wu Ying muttered as he set the small pot he had brought along on the fire.
All settled, Wu Ying stood and stretched, considering his next steps. “Ah! I haven’t actually tried the sword yet.”
Speaking out loud seemed like a strange thing to do, but considering he had been running for the entire day without speaking to anyone, the sound of a voice—even his own—was comforting. Pulling the blade out of its sheath, Wu Ying inspected the weapon.
The sword Liu Tsong had provided was a simple iron sword, made by a serviceable craftsman but not anything of note. Still, it was the first sword he had ever owned and it was, for his purpose, perfect. A simple straight blade, edged on both sides and slightly longer than his father’s sword. The hilt was wrapped with leather to reduce slippage. There was no tassel on the end of the sword, but that was fine with Wu Ying. He knew certain flashy fighters enjoyed adding them, but he found them annoying.
“Let’s try this out,” Wu Ying said after glancing at the pot. He should have just enough time to finish the basic form before his meal was ready.
Stepping away from the fire, Wu Ying resheathed the sword and entered a neutral stance. The first step of the Long family jian style forms all started with a neutral stance, as the first act was always the drawing of the sword. It was rare, in the style’s viewpoint, for a practitioner to start with the sword drawn, so obviously the first thing one must learn was how to unsheathe the sword.
Step. Draw. Twist the hips and tuck the shoulder slightly. Roll upward even as the blade came free from its sheath. Each motion followed the other, each action a continuation. One of the intrinsic aspects of the form—of the style—was the continual motion that it required. In addition, the style was domineering, incisive, and penetrative, focusing on long steps and quick strikes that required the practitioner to commit fully then retract immediately. Unlike some other styles, the Long family style focused dominating the battlefield with each action, such that feints and attacks blended into one another seamlessly.
As Wu Ying moved, the air around him rose, kicked up by the swift movements of his feet and the whirl of his blade. Yet the wind sputtered and died, rising and falling as his movements hesitated or his attacks cut but were unable to generate sufficient strength. Twenty minutes later, Wu Ying finally came to a stop, the sword sheathed with a flourish.
“Cao. Still missing by a half-inch,” Wu Ying said as he looked around at the kicked-up dirt. He sighed and shook his head, walking over to his pot of food. “I’ll need to practice more to get used to this blade. But first, dinner!”
When dinner was nearly over, Wu Ying straightened his back, an errant sound alerting him. Turning away from the fire, he peered into the darkness and frowned as he carefully set aside his bowl.
“Who is it?” Wu Ying called.
Instead of an answer, a snuffling came from the undergrowth. Standing warily, Wu Ying let his hand land on the sheathed blade, eyes narrowing. A pair of eyes three feet off the ground appeared, glowing red in the firelight.
Wu Ying winced as he stared at the boar. A flame-spirit demon boar, it seemed. One that had achieved some degree of strength over the years. Even a normal boar was a menace. Their greater weight, their low-slung body, and the thick layer of fat that covered their vitals made them difficult to injure and kill with normal weapons. Add in the boar’s naturally aggressive nature and most farmers preferred to deal with wolves—at least those animals had reason for their aggression. A spirit-enhanced boar was just the same, except multiplied by ten.
Lowering his stance, Wu Ying eyed the boar, who snorted and snuffled. A sudden bunching of its muscles telegraphed its charge. The creature crossed the space between them in a breath, hooves sending clods of dirt into the air. Exhaling, Wu Ying stepped sideways even as he drew and cut. The attack slashed across the boar’s neck, cutting deep and parting skin, fat, and muscle. But such was the size of the boar’s neck that the attack failed to hit a vital spot.
“Damn it,” Wu Ying snarled as he spun around, lashing out even as the boar turned.
His next attack scored its back, leaving a shallow cut across its tough hide. As Wu Ying jumped back, the boar let out a squeaky oink and released a wave of fire at Wu Ying. An additional jump backward allowed Wu Ying to avoid the majority of the attack, leaving his face and exposed skin red and hot.
More cautious now, Wu Ying fell back into his guard as he waited for the boar to attack him again. The boar rushed Wu Ying, who stepped aside as he lashed out in a series of quick wrist cuts that opened the boar’s skin. Better to focus on a slow fight, one that wore the monster down, than attempt another decapitating strike.
As he fought, Wu Ying focused on controlling his breathing, knowing he needed to keep it regular and calm to control his body. Yet the thrill of battle ran through him, his heart speeding up and his vision narrowing as he fought for his life, alone, for the first time. Oh sure, spirit beasts had attacked the village before, but he had never been at the forefront. Nor had he been alone.
Together, the pair fought, the boar relentless in its aggression while Wu Ying moved smoothly in circles. Luckily, the monster could only use its fire attack once in a while, allowing Wu Ying to focus on cutting the monster apart. As time wore on, the pair grew increasingly tired. As the boar charged Wu Ying once again, he neatly side-stepped the monster and cut again. Wu Ying’s blade sliced deeper into the exposed muscles on the boar’s back, making the monster snuffle in anger once again. However, this time, as Wu Ying landed, his foot trod on an overturned piece of earth and he lost his balance for a split second. The boar twisted around as it took the opportunity to charge Wu Ying again.
“The Sword’s Truth,” Wu Ying shouted as he regained his balance.
Without time to back off, Wu Ying could only trust in the first major attack form of his style. The Sword’s Truth was a lunge, but a lunge filled with the intent and conviction of the cultivator. It required full commitment, as it gathered all the strength in a cultivator’s body, requiring the cultivator to completely believe that nothing could withstand the attack itself.
Facing the monster head-on, the blade was directed slightly off the line of the monster’s charge, aimed at the exposed wound on its neck. Braced in a perfect line, the sword bucked in Wu Ying’s hand as the weight of the monster pushed down on him. The impetus from both of their attacks pushed the sword deep into the creature’s body even as Wu Ying’s feet dug up the earth as he was pushed back. Thankfully, the attack was sufficient to pierce something vital in the monster’s body. It stopped thrashing finally, leaving Wu Ying with some light wounds on his arms and an aching hand.