Chapter 22: Blow

Those with exceptional talent, mastering the sword is hardly something to boast about. It simply isn’t that difficult.

For her daughter, Xiao Bei, Tan Qiuyi had never worried about the girl’s future. As for her son… calling him useless might be somewhat harsh, but not far off. Children like him were the ones who truly troubled their parents.

She only hoped he could live a peaceful life, yet she was unwilling to settle for that alone. The desire for her son to excel was complex and bittersweet.

The scene before her, however, filled her with delight.

“Could it be that Xiao Nan has finally awakened?”

How to describe the brother and sister sparring together? It was like an adult playing with a child.

Usually, the little girl would tease her awkward brother, laughing gleefully as she pressed her attack, full of pride. Xiao Bei never held back, delighting in outdoing him, boasting without restraint.

But now, Xiao Bei was silent, lips pressed tightly, her face solemn. A faint flush colored her cheeks as she summoned every ounce of strength, circling Xiao Nan with swift, nimble steps.

Though her power was lacking, her sword moves were as dense as rain.

Xiao Nan, smiling warmly, held his ebony sword like a gnarled old tree by the shimmering river, leaves rustling gently in the breeze.

There was the softness of wind, the poetry of rain.

The ebony sword in his hand did not display the distinct form of the Four Seasons Sword Technique; his feet remained still, his posture unshaken. Only the flicker of dark light from his blade, misted like fine rain, was released with effortless grace—each thrust, sweep, slash, and cut executed with ease and fluidity.

It was as if a master painted a landscape in broad strokes—free, expressive, and full of meaning.

The sound of “crackling” was like the bursting of lamp wicks, like firecrackers strung together…

The two wooden swords collided, producing crisp, pleasant knocks, not loud but continuous.

“Every strike intercepts perfectly—he acts after her but arrives before, using little force but remarkable skill. The rhythm and precision of his sword are far superior to the girl’s.”

Tan Qiuyi was stunned.

Her hand, poised to pluck young shoots, paused long ago. She stared blankly at Xiao Nan’s silhouette, tears glimmering at the corners of her eyes.

Over a decade ago, that man had been just as confident and graceful, his blood hot with passion, feeling that with a sword in hand, nothing in the world was beyond him.

“Maybe what Xiao Nan said is true—he’s been hiding his progress all along, wanting to surprise his family and the school.”

Surprise? No, Tan Qiuyi felt only joy in her heart.

This son had worried her to exhaustion. It was the worst of times, yet also the best. The world grew more perilous; as martial arts spread, the gap between warriors and ordinary people widened.

The old order was shattered, the cards reshuffled. Regardless of wealth or status, anyone had a chance to rise.

Power determined fortune and influence.

The strong had everything; the weak might not even keep their lives. The divide became ever more severe.

To control or be controlled—well-being depended solely on ability.

Thirty years ago, as a mother, she wished only for her child to live a quiet, ordinary life. But now, that was impossible.

Since danger was ever-present and inescapable, only those who grew strong enough to reach the summit could hope for longevity.

“Judging by this, his claim of a breakthrough in mental strength must be true.”

Tan Qiuyi, for the first time, felt hope for the future.

…

The little girl was about to lose her mind.

She hated to lose; she’d gathered all her strength to knock her brother’s sword aside, planning to teach him a lesson and savor the feeling of being an instructor.

Unexpectedly, as soon as she attacked, it was as if she’d sunk into a quagmire.

Her brother’s previously clumsy swordplay had changed dramatically.

He moved with effortless ease, his blade weaving a curtain of misty rain—penetrating every gap, always a step ahead.

She felt her speed and strength had not diminished; under greater pressure, she was even faster.

Unfortunately, no matter how hard she tried, she always fell short.

The ebony sword countering her was like a spider spinning silk… she was a small insect caught in its web, unable to break free.

Every move was blocked—how could this be?

When two people spar, whether by luring, feinting, or parrying, as long as one is slightly superior, victory is possible. But to seal every move, force the opponent to accelerate until exhaustion and loss of control—that almost never happens.

Unless one side is vastly superior—like a teacher sparring a student.

That’s called “feeding the sword.”

“Pop…”

With a soft sound, Xiao Bei’s wooden sword sped up like a runaway train, struck gently at the hilt by a deft touch.

The sword traced an arc as it flew from her hand, landing on the grass.

Xiao Nan’s sword, graceful as a breeze through willow, spun a dazzling flourish and settled behind his elbow.

He clasped his hands behind his back, gazing skyward, the very image of a master atop a peak. He was about to boast and lecture his sister, teaching her that there is always someone greater, that humility brings progress while pride leads to downfall.

He hadn’t even finished forming his words when he saw big tears fall from the little girl’s eyes.

She hung her head, trudging dejectedly toward her room, mumbling, “I’ve changed; I’m useless now. I can’t even beat Xiao Nan, the weakest high schooler. How will I ever get into a top school?”

Xiao Nan gaped, mouth open, swallowing hard.

What was that? “The weakest high schooler”—was she talking about him?

“Oh no, I haven’t cleaned up the snack wrappers. Those were the treats she bought with her own pocket money, hidden carefully; she never let herself eat too many.”

“Ah… Xiao Nan!”

A cry of grievance and fury echoed from the room.

Xiao Nan shivered and hurried after her.

Inside, Xiao Bei had opened the wooden cabinet, sobbing miserably. She stared in despair at the empty treasure trove, clutching the trash basket.

“Is it really that bad?” Xiao Nan was speechless—he’d only eaten a few snacks. “I’ll pay you back…”

Seeing her sniffling, his heart softened; he rushed to comfort her and promise restitution.

Xiao Bei eyed him suspiciously, but her tears stopped, though she remained doubtful.

“I still have lots of pocket money.”

Xiao Nan forced a smile. Stealing snacks from a child seemed more serious than slapping her twice.

He understood this well—never try to reason with a child.

“I want pear blossom cakes from Xianglan Bakery.” She scrutinized his expression, seeing he wasn’t lying. Her eyes rolled craftily as she probed.

Being robbed of snacks and outperformed in swordplay—those were nothing. It was rare for someone to own up; this was a golden opportunity.

Xianglan’s treats were expensive and delicious. She’d craved them for ages but never splurged.

Her allowance was meager, mostly because Tan Qiuyi forbade her from wasting money. The snacks she’d stashed were all cheap, so the taste was nothing special.

“Fine!” Xiao Nan frowned, sensing he’d fallen into a trap. He checked his pockets, twisted them, found a few large bills, and breathed a sigh of relief.

For some reason, hearing “pear blossom cake” made him swallow involuntarily. Another headache—surely his sister’s influence.

“And almond crisps…”

Xiao Bei cheered, all her sadness forgotten. She ran over, clung to Xiao Nan’s arm, and dragged him out, afraid he’d change his mind. “Buy lots—Mom wants some too.”

Knowing to appease their mother, Xiao Nan nodded absent-mindedly, letting himself be hauled away. His own pocket money, truth be told, wasn’t much either.