Chapter 18: Teaching the Sword Technique

Xu Sanjin sought out Lu Xin not for the matter of the Dream Soul Ointment, but to give him an opportunity—a chance to leave the Xu household and no longer live as a servant.

Among the many enterprises of the Xu family, the tea business was the least profitable. Yet Xu Sanjin loved tea, and he had always wished for tea culture to flourish throughout the land. But in the current Tang Dynasty, except for the wealthy merchants and magnates in the Jiangnan region who liked to steep a few tea leaves in their water, the people elsewhere had no such custom.

Xu Sanjin decided to entrust part of the tea trade with Hangzhou to Lu Xin, promising that as soon as he earned two hundred taels of silver for the Xu household, Lu Xin would be free to go. This was naturally excellent news for Lu Xin. He had thought that even if he repaid his debt, Xu Sanjin would not easily let him leave. But now it seemed his value in Xu Sanjin’s eyes far exceeded a mere contract.

On his way back to the West Courtyard, Lu Xin began to leaf through a book. Its pages contained various accounts of tea, along with Xu Sanjin’s own opinions on tea recognition and preparation. In the modern world, tea culture had already swept across the globe, and in every province and county in the homeland, nearly every household drank tea. Some rare teas could even fetch hundreds of thousands, even millions, per pound.

Yet from the book’s contents and his conversations with Xu Sanjin, he learned that in the Tang Dynasty, the culture of tea was still in its infancy. Across the land, most people had no habit of drinking tea. This was both an opportunity and a challenge.

“It seems this is a blank page in Tang’s cultural history. Hangzhou—a place so familiar to me!”

When Lu Xin returned to the West Courtyard, everyone was already busy with their own tasks. Xu Sanjin had instructed him to set out tomorrow, accompanying the merchant caravan to Hangzhou to purchase tea. Lu Xin had little luggage and went straight to the lavatory courtyard, for he needed to bid farewell to Mute Wu. Ancient transportation was inconvenient, and a journey of several hundred miles would take three to five days at least, so Lu Xin did not know when he would return.

Mute Wu, upon hearing that Lu Xin was to handle the Xu household’s tea business, seemed quite pleased. Lu Xin wished he would leave the West Courtyard and accompany him in trade, but Mute Wu firmly refused.

“Uncle Wu, if I leave, in this vast Xu household, you are the only one I cannot bear to part with. Ten years have passed, the world has changed, why do you persist in living in the past?”

“It is not obsession. In this world, love and hate, bitterness and sweetness—I have tasted them all. In my early years, I thought the sword was like fire, seeking sharpness, which made my heart cold and led to a grave mistake. Ten years of quiet cultivation has taught me that the sword is like water, gentle yet overcoming strength, even overcoming the sharpness in people’s hearts!”

“The sharpness in people’s hearts?”

Staring at the words Mute Wu carved into the earth, Lu Xin fell into deep thought. He could not grasp Wu’s level, but he understood his own transformation. After traversing from the modern era to the Tang Dynasty, in just a few months, his temperament had changed beyond recognition. He began to envy the wealthy, his heart grew restless. Though he knew Dream Soul Ointment was harmful, he still sold it at ten times the cost. Even at the age of nine, he had harbored thoughts of sending others to their deaths.

Such feelings would never have arisen in a child in the modern era. Yet in the Tang Dynasty, he felt this was simply life. Was this transformation good or evil, gain or loss, fortune or misfortune?

For the first time, Lu Xin grew confused about his way of living. He did not know what path lay ahead, or which was right.

“Uncle Wu, if someone seeks to harm me, if I do not kill them, how can I survive? But if I do kill, is my heart sharp or soft?”

Mute Wu looked up at Lu Xin, seeing the child staring at his hand pressed over his heart, his tone slow and earnest. He frowned, for such words from a nine-year-old were incredible.

Without further action, Mute Wu suddenly smiled and wrote a line in the earth. Strangely, his finger never touched the ground, yet the sun-hardened soil softened like water, as if he had merely breathed upon it.

“Come to me here at midnight tonight.”

Mute Wu said nothing more and returned to his daily routine of cleaning the lavatories. Lu Xin was filled with questions, but Wu would not answer now; there must be a deeper meaning, so he endured his curiosity.

Happy days always pass quickly; this was Lu Xin’s last time cleaning the lavatories. Now, as he ended this despised job, he found himself reluctant to part with it. At dinner, everyone in the West Courtyard treated him with unusual kindness. Not only did they avoid mentioning the Dream Soul Ointment, they went out of their way to serve him. According to Cao An, all the Xu household servants already knew he was to take charge of the tea business. This was a major event; for a servant to move from menial labor to managing the household’s trade was like a carp leaping over the dragon gate.

“Xin, after the Dream Soul Ointment incident, I was scared to death. Thank goodness the master spared me for your sake. I really owe you my thanks.”

Cao An had someone buy a jar of plum wine, claiming it was a farewell gift for Lu Xin. Lu Xin did not refuse. Though his own silver had been pocketed by Liu the Lame and others, the few taels Cao An had earned from the ointment remained. It was a small blessing amid misfortune, else all his effort would have been for nothing.

“Sigh, what do you mean, my sake? You… never mind, some things you’ll figure out yourself. But after I leave, you must look after Uncle Wu for me.”

“Don’t worry, with Wu’s uncanny skills, even if you don’t tell me, I’ll treat him like my own father.”

“Pfft… Don’t you have any shame?”

“Hahaha, what’s the use of shame? With shame, I couldn’t drink this eighteen-wen plum wine. Come, let me pour you another!”

Lu Xin enjoyed Cao An’s farewell wine so much that he drank himself unconscious. In the household, servants of any rank were forbidden to become drunk, but this time, even the strict Steward Liu did not appear. When Lu Xin awoke, it was already late at night. He staggered out of bed, still dizzy, unsure of the hour.

“Damn, Uncle Wu told me to see him at midnight—I mustn’t be late!”

He splashed his face with cold water and hurried to the lavatory courtyard. Near the gate, he heard the sound of rushing wind. Looking inside, he saw countless leaves drifting above the lavatories—red, yellow, green—who knew whence they came, rising and falling, swirling in the wind, as if alive. Lu Xin was mesmerized, and as he walked to Mute Wu’s side, he could not recall how his feet found the way.

Mute Wu, clad in white, held a sword in his right hand, waving it at the night sky. Sometimes his movements were swift as lightning, sometimes slow as water. At times lively and ethereal, at times subtle and shifting. Lu Xin could not find words to describe the exquisite, awe-inspiring scene before him. After much thought, he realized one thing: the sword in Mute Wu’s hand was like a brush, and the whole night sky—even the world itself—was his canvas.

Countless leaves whirled in the air, then began to change. Some arranged themselves into characters. The moonlight was dim, yet in Lu Xin’s eyes it seemed as if he saw countless dancing flames—Mute Wu’s words to him.

“At this moment, what do your eyes see?”

“Calligraphy… no! Paintings. A landscape… with mountains and rivers, and a touch of immortality.”

Whish, whish, whish, whish…

As soon as Lu Xin spoke, the falling leaves all dropped at once. Mute Wu sheathed his sword, turned, and smiled at him, then carved many words into the earth.

“Indeed, it is a painting, but what I painted is not mountains and rivers—it is you.”

“Me?”

Lu Xin pointed to his nose, puzzled. But Mute Wu was clearly pleased with his response, smiling throughout.

“You are young, yet you can comprehend my swordplay, which shows you possess a heart capable of discerning all things. With this heart, you can see the world, and your eyes may perceive the secrets of heaven and earth. This is cultivation.”

“Uncle Wu, are you going to teach me swordplay?”

Lu Xin was overjoyed. He was not foolish; since Lu Tingfang had gone to Chang’an, and Grandpa Tu had passed away, he had matured far beyond his peers through trials of life and death. Mute Wu’s words made him immediately grasp their deeper meaning.

“I do not intend to take a disciple, but with your intelligence and understanding, you are the ideal candidate to inherit the Miracle Brush Swordplay. You asked me earlier—if someone harms you, whether to kill or not, how should your heart respond. In truth, for you alone, the world contains no good or evil. Heaven and earth are vast enough to disregard your life and death. Yet they are also small, too small to hold your life and death.”

Mute Wu’s words were full of Zen, and Lu Xin could not fully comprehend them. But he finally knew the name of Wu’s swordplay: as wondrous as the stars, brushwork blossoming!

“Using the sword as a brush, you may write the books of sages, paint lofty mountains and flowing waters, shroud the sun, moon, and stars, and shake the land in all directions. My swordplay follows gentleness, holding the sword as if wielding a brush. The void is my paper, and if my strokes have spirit, I can perceive all things. Take up that sword and follow my movements.”

Mute Wu pointed to the corner of the wall. Lu Xin hurried to retrieve the sword but found he could not lift it with one hand. Seeing this, Mute Wu took a bottle of elixir from his sleeve and had Lu Xin swallow a pill.

“This secret Bone Strengthening Pill, taken before practice each day, will strengthen your muscles and fill you with vitality. But remember, only take one before training each day; if you are greedy, your bones will deform and it will harm you.”

“I understand, Master.”

“No, I am not your master, nor will I accept a disciple. Between us, there is only the transmission of skill, without the bond of master and pupil. If you do not heed me, I will not teach you swordplay.”

“Understood, Uncle Wu!”

Mute Wu insisted on not taking a disciple, so Lu Xin changed his address accordingly. For him, whether Wu became his master was unimportant, for in his heart, Wu was already like a father.