Jiang Fei followed Wu Ke into the courtyard paved with bluestone slabs, still taking in the scenery and layout of the place, his mind entirely occupied by the surroundings. He hadn’t expected anything else when suddenly, he heard shouts of “Catch the sword!” and “Watch out!” In the next instant, Wu Ke tossed a sword to him and quickly dodged to the side.
Before Jiang Fei could fully process what was happening, his eyes sharpened as he saw a middle-aged man in a white Wudang Taoist robe, his long hair tied into a topknot and a beard framing his face, thrusting straight toward him with a move called “Azure Dragon Emerges from the Sea.”
Jiang Fei’s heart skipped a beat as he assessed the sword’s trajectory—part startled, part amused. Glancing sideways at Wu Ke, who was watching with barely concealed glee and wide-eyed curiosity, he had no choice but to raise his own sword to block.
Now, the Central National Martial Arts Hall didn’t divide itself into schools like Xingyi Fist or Baguazhang. Decades ago, it had only two major factions: Shaolin and Wudang.
Among sword techniques, Wudang boasted the greatest variety—Tai Chi Sword, Nine Palaces Eight Trigrams Sword, Eight Immortals Sword, Mystic Art Sword, and more. Among them, the Taiyi Profound Gate Sword stood out as one of Wudang’s finest, renowned for its unique style and long-held status as a treasured, secret lineage of Wudang Mountain.
There was even a saying dedicated to this sword style:
“Startling birds take flight as heaven flips;
Rolling on the ground yet untouched by dust.
In a single strike, like a breeze—no sword is seen;
Amid countless changes, only the sword—no man!”
The middle-aged Taoist moved like a dragon surging from water, his steps tracing the Eight Trigrams, his body shifting unpredictably through the Nine Palaces as his sword shot forward. Had this been the old Jiang Fei—even with his mastery of the Triple Cloud Lightness Skill and Tai Chi Fist—he wouldn’t have known how to counter such a technique. Fleeing in disarray would’ve been his only option.
But now, things were different. Jiang Fei had learned the Nine Swords of Dugu, albeit only the first layer. Yet the essence of the technique had already taken root in his mind. The moment the sword was in his hand and he entered the state of swordsmanship, his entire aura transformed.
The core principle of the Nine Swords of Dugu was “defeating the skilled with the formless”—letting the opponent strike first, then exploiting their openings to deliver a single, decisive blow. Strike second, but land first.
The concept was simple, but for most, executing it was nearly impossible. After all, any well-crafted sword technique was the product of relentless refinement. Even if flaws existed, they were deeply concealed—not something an ordinary fighter could detect, let alone exploit.
But Jiang Fei was different. Guided by the “sword intent” of the Nine Swords of Dugu, he could see through the Taiyi Profound Gate Sword’s intricacies—the footwork harmonizing with body movement, the body movement blending with swordplay, all woven into the Eight Trigrams and Nine Palaces, smooth and balanced, its flaws masterfully hidden. Yet to Jiang Fei, they were glaringly obvious.
When the Taoist noticed Wu Ke handing a sword to a stranger—someone he’d never seen before—he was surprised but didn’t halt his attack. He knew Wu Ke well enough. Wu Ke wouldn’t casually hand a sword to an amateur, setting them up for failure. If Wu Ke had given Jiang Fei a blade, it meant this young man was a skilled swordsman, someone worthy of a spar.
Still, the Taoist held back. His swordsmanship was formidable; if he went all out, this young man might end up injured. He needed to restrain himself.
His thrust continued, swift and precise, aimed at Jiang Fei’s sword-wielding right arm. The attack was elusive, its path impossible to predict. Against a lesser swordsman, simply keeping hold of their weapon would’ve been a challenge, let alone countering.
“Well struck!” Jiang Fei, now fully immersed in the mindset of a swordsman, felt a thrill. This was the exhilaration of facing a true master—the kind of duel that embodied the romantic ideal of ancient swordsmen. In traditional lore, the sword was the king of weapons, and swordsmen were the epitome of chivalry—striking down foes with effortless grace, leaving no trace behind.
Holding a sword, engaging in a duel, and perceiving the opponent’s weaknesses—this sensation far surpassed anything he’d experienced while practicing the Triple Cloud Lightness Skill or his incomplete Tai Chi Fist.
“Sword-Breaking Form!”
As the Taoist’s blade shot forward, Jiang Fei’s sword moved as well. But instead of thrusting or slashing, he traced delicate circles in the air, his sword multiplying into a dozen phantom blades, leaving behind a ring of afterimages.
“Huh? What kind of technique is this?”
The Taoist’s eyes widened as a strange force transmitted through his sword, nearly wrenching it from his grip.
A single move was all it took for an expert to recognize true skill. With just one strike, Jiang Fei had stunned both the Taoist and Wu Ke.
This was no ordinary swordsman.
“Hah!” The Taoist abandoned all restraint, focusing entirely on the fight. Still, he didn’t believe Jiang Fei could surpass him.
Shifting his stance into the Nine Palaces, he lowered his center of gravity, adopting an unorthodox posture while tightening his grip on the hilt. Only then did he barely manage to withstand Jiang Fei’s strike.
Regaining his footing, the Taoist pressed forward, his blade rising in a move called “Heavenly Guide Points the Way,” reversing his disadvantage and thrusting toward Jiang Fei’s wrist.
Yet no matter how refined his technique, Jiang Fei saw through it effortlessly. Without even changing his stance, Jiang Fei merely flicked his wrist, his sword swirling like water, carving a vortex in the air as an indescribable force radiated from it.
The move wasn’t particularly elegant—it even looked somewhat clumsy—but its lethality was undeniable.
Clang!
With a sudden, forceful twist—simultaneously crushing yet exquisitely precise—Jiang Fei’s sword sent the Taoist’s blade flying, disarming him in an instant. The tip of Jiang Fei’s sword came to rest lightly against the Taoist’s wrist.
Had Jiang Fei wished it, the Taoist’s hand would’ve been crippled then and there.
With a flourish, Jiang Fei withdrew his sword, lowering it and cupping his hands in salute. “I yield to your courtesy.”
Though Jiang Fei spoke humbly, both the Taoist and Wu Ke stood frozen, staring at the sword that had clattered to the ground meters away. Their expressions were a mix of shock and disbelief.
What… just happened?
Chen Zhoujian, a swordsman ranked among the best in the Central National Martial Arts Hall—a man who had trained for years on Wudang Mountain—had been disarmed in just two moves and utterly defeated by a young man!
Chen Zhoujian had spent years cultivating detachment on Wudang, his temperament far calmer than most in the modern world. Yet even he couldn’t suppress a twitch at the corner of his mouth as he returned the salute and asked, “I am Chen Zhoujian of the Wudang School. May I ask… your name, young brother? And from which school does your swordsmanship originate?”
“Jiang Fei.”
Jiang Fei smiled before hesitating. “As for my swordsmanship… I apologize, but the master who taught me instructed me not to speak of it.”
The excuse sounded like something out of a clichéd martial arts drama, but it was plausible enough. Eccentric masters often had strange demands, after all.
It was certainly better than saying, “My sword art was passed down from the Sword Demon, Dugu Qiubai.”
The duel had left Jiang Fei deeply satisfied. The Nine Swords of Dugu lived up to their legendary reputation.
Even without internal energy and only the first layer of mastery, he had nearly instantly defeated a seasoned Wudang Taoist. The sword intent of the Nine Swords was terrifyingly potent—its concept of “defeating skill with formlessness” was no empty boast.
According to Wu Ke, everyone admitted to the Central National Martial Arts Hall was exceptional—no ordinary person could compare. This Taoist’s swordsmanship was undoubtedly top-tier in the real world.
And Jiang Fei had just effortlessly crushed him.
“Brother Jiang Fei, your swordsmanship is truly divine—unfathomably exquisite!” Chen Zhoujian said, his tone caught between admiration and bitter amusement. “In all my years… I’ve never witnessed such a miraculous technique.”
Jiang Fei’s swordplay wasn’t just refined—it bordered on the supernatural, defying conventional understanding of martial arts.
“I expected your swordsmanship to be impressive, but this is ridiculous!” Wu Ke walked over, shaking his head. “With skills like yours, even the sword instructors at our hall wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“Instructors? The Martial Arts Hall has instructors?” Jiang Fei asked curiously.
“Of course. But becoming an instructor here is no small feat—each one is a renowned master in the martial arts world,” Wu Ke explained.
“And what about you two? What’s your status here?” Jiang Fei glanced between them.
Wu Ke shrugged. “We’re… advanced students.”
“Advanced students?” Jiang Fei nodded, already wondering if he could challenge one of the hall’s instructors to see how he measured up against the true elites.
His display had thoroughly cowed Wu Ke and Chen Zhoujian. Wu Ke no longer dared suggest a spar.
His own swordsmanship was on par with Chen Zhoujian’s—perhaps slightly better, but not by much. If Jiang Fei could dismantle Chen Zhoujian so easily, he’d fare no better.
Later, Chen Zhoujian asked if Jiang Fei wished to join the Central National Martial Arts Hall. Jiang Fei politely declined, explaining that he only needed a place in the capital to practice swordsmanship for the time being and wasn’t interested in formal membership.
Though disappointed, Chen Zhoujian didn’t press the matter. Instead, he arranged a temporary pass for Jiang Fei, allowing him unrestricted access to the hall for the next month—no need for Wu Ke to escort him.
