Patch up omissions and correct deficiencies.

Seeing that the two elders had finished their bout, Zhang Ling felt it inappropriate to remain seated. He rose and said, “Elder Yang, Elder Lin.”

Both turned their gaze to Zhang Ling. Yang Xiao stroked his chin, his eyes full of suspicion. “And who might this young man be?”

Zhang Ling could not decipher Yang Xiao’s expression, but out of respect for his seniors, he answered. At this, Yang Xiao finally burst into laughter. “I never expected Master Qin to allow outsiders into his manor. How surprising. In the past, anyone who tried to enter would be expelled after barely stepping three feet inside.”

Zhang Ling was about to speak when Qin Yi interjected, “The two of you always leave my manor in shambles after your duels, and yet you still have the nerve to make light of things.”

Yang Xiao, seeing this, pulled out a pouch from his person—a bag of coins, judging by the sound—offering it with a forced smile. “Master Qin, here’s today’s compensation.”

Such bold generosity, indeed. A duel a day, a bag of silver sent off each time. The Gold and Silver Gate truly lives up to its name, wealth as vast as mountains. Zhang Ling could not help but marvel inwardly.

Qin Yi accepted the silver, then looked down at the sword hanging at Zhang Ling’s waist. “Forget the compensation. Since you both wield swords, why not offer guidance to this junior?”

Yang Xiao grew even more curious, smiling as he regarded Zhang Ling. “It seems this young man is indeed extraordinary, to have Master Qin speak on his behalf.”

Lin Rui shoved Yang Xiao aside and spoke in earnest, “Since Master Qin has requested it, we ought to offer proper guidance.”

Qin Yi stepped aside, his expression as detached as ever, watching the proceedings. Zhang Ling sensed this was not the sternness born of temperament, like Zhong Chentian, but rather an inner self sealed away.

Lin Rui turned to Zhang Ling, kindly saying, “Zhang Ling, demonstrate your swordsmanship for me. Let me see what gaps there might be.”

Zhang Ling pondered. He had never studied any sword techniques. The Finger-Softness that Zhang Jingqian taught him was a modified version; though he had practiced it a few times on the road, he really had no skill with the sword, only forced himself to learn. He could not fathom why Zhong Chentian was so eager to send him out, leaving him with a sword but no instruction. Now, he could only brace himself and perform the Finger-Softness.

Each move was etched into his mind, flowing out naturally without a second thought. Before long, Zhang Ling finished his demonstration.

Yang Xiao and Lin Rui watched, their brows furrowed. Yang Xiao remarked, “Is this Finger-Softness? It doesn’t quite resemble swordsmanship.”

Zhang Ling nodded and explained, “This version of Finger-Softness was modified by my brother.”

---

Speaking, Zhang Ling put down his sword and repeated the moves with his hands instead. Each gesture was faithfully executed before the three, and Yang Xiao’s eyes finally lit up as he understood. “I see now. Finger-Softness has been combined with Taiji boxing techniques, though most of the forms remain those of Finger-Softness. But with such adaptation, one can use the hand as a sword. Your brother must be quite the expert.”

“Still, if you are to master the sword, the original Finger-Softness is better suited.”

Zhang Ling asked, puzzled, “Elder Yang, you know this technique? Isn’t it from Mount Qingcheng?”

Yang Xiao explained, “Mount Qingcheng has long since declined, producing no notable figures for years. They’ve announced their retreat from the martial world. Likewise, Wudang sealed its gates over thirty years ago for reasons unknown. Many techniques from these sects have since dispersed throughout the world, hoping outsiders may preserve them.”

With that, Yang Xiao stepped back a few paces, raised his sword, and began to perform. The blade followed his will, flowing as effortlessly as clouds and water. The sharp sword silently swept among the flowers, gentle as a leaf. Each move contrasted sharply with Zhang Ling’s earlier demonstration, yet was clearly more suited to swordplay. After finishing the set, he asked Zhang Ling, “Have you committed it to memory?”

Zhang Ling smiled, giving no reply, but raised his sword and performed the sequence. Though not as fluid as Yang Xiao, he missed no move.

Yang Xiao stepped forward, laughing, “You truly are a genius, young man. To memorize it after just one demonstration.”

Zhang Ling replied, “It’s just a few variations. Not too difficult.”

Lin Rui gave Yang Xiao a look, who wisely stepped aside. Lin Rui said, “Since you have taught him, now it’s my turn. Come, draw your sword.”

Zhang Ling did not hesitate. He stamped the ground, sending a swift sword strike toward Lin Rui. Lin Rui, without even drawing her own sword, caught the blade between two fingers.

Strike after strike fell, yet not even Lin Rui’s sleeve was touched. Zhang Ling’s attacks grew swifter, but each time Lin Rui flicked them aside with precisely timed fingers.

Zhang Ling gripped his sword, increasing his strength. As he struck again, Lin Rui caught the blade between her fingers; with a subtle twist, she seemed to exert no force, and when Zhang Ling tried to pull back, she released it, causing him to stumble backward. A pebble pressed against his back, stopping his fall, and he stood upright again.

His short sword pierced the earth; he pulled it free and glanced at Qin Yi, who was still watching in silence.

Yang Xiao, observing, frowned and asked, “Zhang Ling, have you never sparred with anyone before? Your experience in sword duels is sorely lacking.”

Zhang Ling thought for a moment and briefly recounted his martial journey, omitting some important details.

---

“You’ve been much too hasty in your training,” Yang Xiao said, equal parts regret and wonder. “I must admit your talent is exceptional—three months, and you reach this level. But your late start means you lack much compared to the other prodigies.”

Zhang Ling scratched his head. Raised on literature, he was innately simple and honest. Zhong Chentian had him study books; back then, he never dared utter a word, let alone mention martial arts or fighting. Now, entering the martial world, all he sought was to see its scenery.

Yet before arriving at a solution, one must first understand what questions trouble the heart.

In this moment, Zhang Ling’s gaze grew resolute. This path, he must break through. He asked, “Elder Yang, is there any way to make up for these shortcomings?”

Yang Xiao pondered, then suddenly exclaimed, “Actually, there is a sword technique you might try.”

Zhang Ling’s face lit up. “What technique is it?”

Yang Xiao shook his head with a smile. “This technique is called ‘Immovable Fortress.’ It is purely defensive, never offensive. Right now, when you face an opponent, you’re defeated within a few moves. Even if you had a world-shaking strike, you’d never get the chance to use it. You’d do better to learn defense first—then you’ll have more opportunities to win later.”

Behind him, Qin Yi finally spoke. “Learn well.”

Zhang Ling nodded to him, then turned back. “Thank you, Elder.”

“It’s too soon to thank me,” Yang Xiao replied softly, but his sword was already in motion.

Step by step, he retreated, blade and hilt guarding vital points. Each move was exquisitely connected, without the slightest excess. At last, the sword’s path seemed to form a wall of blades, blocking all attacks.

A gust of wind swept past.

Zhang Ling looked aside and saw Lin Rui raise her sword to join the fray. Their blades met again, Lin Rui pressing forward, Yang Xiao only retreating, never striking—but not a single flash of the sword came close to him. They passed once more among the flowers, petals falling in their wake.