Chengjue adjusted the sword at his hip as he stepped out of his small courtyard, sliding the gate shut behind him. The metal felt new beneath his palm — lighter, finely balanced. His mentor had brought it back last week from a city far upriver.
"A sword isn't just a blade," the older man had said. "It's character. It's patience. Learn to carry it well."
Chengjue wasn't sure he had reached that level of understanding yet, but he definitely appreciated how elegant it made his movements feel.
He took in a deep breath, savouring the fresh, watery morning air, and casting his gaze towards the mist-shrouded mountains in the distance. Small bursts of sunlight sifted through the streaky clouds onto the green mountainside, the mist quickly dissipating wherever it touched.
That's a good sign, he thought.
Chengjue balanced a small bag over his shoulder as he walked the familiar path toward the village square. The air smelled faintly of damp earth and spring shoots, crisp and clean after the night breeze.
"Jue'er! There you are!"
Grandpa Liu was already stooped over his morning harvest, tugging stubborn spring onions from the soil. He straightened from his field with a wince, one hand pressed to his back. His wife, small and round-cheeked with a rosy scarf tied beneath her chin, waved vigorously with both hands.
"You didn't come by yesterday," Grandma Liu scolded affectionately. "We saved you fresh cucumbers and you let them sit until they're soft!"
Chengjue smiled, shifting the basket. "I'll take them today, Grandma. Sorry. I was helping repair the roof at Auntie Tang's — you know how they've been complaining about that leak all summer."
"Hmph. This boy is too kind for his own good," she huffed, slapping cabbage leaves free of dirt. "You should spend more time studying instead of running around doing silly jobs for old folk like us."
"Well… it's useful to have the extra hand when it's pumpkins," Grandpa Liu muttered, half-teasing.
"And who's the one napping every hour when it's harvest season?" she snapped back.
Chengjue held back a laugh. The couple bickered constantly but were gentle to the bone. He helped them bundle a few vegetables and arrange them neatly into their basket.
"Aiyo, going up the mountain again today?" Grandma Liu asked, eyeing the sword strapped at Chengjue's waist — simple in its scabbard, but unmistakably fine craftsmanship.
"Mn," Chengjue replied, "The fog looks thinner today. Good weather for practice."
"Good weather for falling off a cliff," Grandpa Liu muttered. "All that swordplay is going to your head."
Chengjue huffed a laugh. "I'll be careful."
"Haiya, people like you wouldn't understand." Grandma Liu retorted, waving her hand dismissively at the old man. "It's about cultivating inner mind and a calm strength—"
"It's inner strength and a calm mind," Grandpa Liu teased with a chuckle, nudging her shoulder.
"You- you, what do you know? I'll show you inner strength! Come here!" She exclaimed, scolding the poor man down the street and smacking his arm with surprising force for someone so small. Chengjue chuckled with a shake of his head and continued on, smiling quietly to himself.
Near the well, a boy no older than eight barrelled out from behind a stack of baskets, nearly knocking into him.
"Brother Jue!" Little An waved a stick like a sword, the end wrapped with torn cloth. "Look! I practiced my stance all morning!"
Chengjue gave an encouraging smile. "Show me."
Little An sprang into position, chest proud, stick pointed dramatically at the sky. Chengjue tried his best to suppress a laugh. His "stance" was… enthusiastic at best. More like a frog about to jump than a swordsman.
Chengjue corrected him gently, adjusting his grip and lowering his shoulders. "You'll tire yourself like that," he said. "Try to feel the ground. Let the strength come up through your feet."
Little An nodded solemnly, as though he was being coached by a legendary master instead of his friendly neighbour. He straightened up like a fervent cadet, eyes shining up at Chengjue.
"Brother Jue, when I grow up, I want to be just like you!"
Chengjue's smile widened as he tousled his hair lightly. "Be better than me."
The boy beamed, running off to show someone else his "stance."
*************************************************
Chengjue hadn't walked far before he heard hurried footsteps and an unmistakable voice.
"Oh ho-ho! Just who I wanted to see!"
Madam Hu — wife of the town head, and the single most powerful source of gossip in Yifeng village — marched toward him with her sleeves fluttering like banners. Her cheeks were flushed from the morning cold, her eyes bright.
"Jue'er," she began, "you're going up the mountain again?"
"I am, Madam Hu."
She whacked him lightly on the arm with her fan. "Didn't I tell you it's not safe?" She leaned in closer, eyes darting around as if worried others might overhear.
"Something happened up there recently. Really bad. A few hunters said they heard strange sounds. Uncle Fan said he saw shadows, and found dried blood," she whispered from behind her fan.
Chengjue raised an eyebrow. "Maybe it's those mountain tigers again?"
Madam Hu sighed dramatically and shrugged. "I don't know. But I'm telling you — don't go wandering too far, Jue'er."
Chengjue's his hand crept over to rest lightly on the sword at his waist, a subconscious movement. "I'll be fine."
She clicked her tongue. "Don't be arrogant just because you have a fancy blade!"
Chengjue hid his amusement behind a polite expression. "I'll be careful."
"Careful? Aiyo!" She paused for a moment, then sighed. She straightened the collar of his robe with brisk, motherly fussing. "Alright, off you go then. But if you don't return by noon, I'm sending my husband and three men after you."
"Yes, Madam Hu."
"You think I'm joking!"
He certainly did not.
*************************************************
The bamboo forest rose like a sea of green spears beyond the terraced paddies — tall, whispering, always shifting. The moment Chengjue stepped into its embrace, the air cooled.
Through the trees, he could see glimpses of the whole village: all of Yifeng and the neighbouring fishing towns melting into the distance. A soft breeze rolled lazily over the reed marshes, curling around fishing boats tied to crooked wooden posts along the riverbank. The rice paddies shimmered in wavering shades of green, and from here he swore he could still see Little An distracting more villagers with his passionate poses.
He found his usual clearing easily — a flat patch of earth surrounded by bamboo that curved inward like a protective shell. He took a deep breath in. The air smelled faintly of wet earth and distant freshwater — familiar, grounding.
Drawing his sword, he held it in front of him, letting the weight settle. He closed his eyes. His mentor's voice echoed between his ears.
"A sword reflects your heart. If you are restless, it trembles. If you are steady, it will dance."
Chengjue exhaled slowly. Steady.
He stepped into the first form — a sweeping arc, light but deliberate. His blade whistled, slicing through the air. He felt the muscle memory rush into his limbs, each movement growing in sureness as he shifted into the second form, then third, his breath syncing with the motions.
Time passed quietly by without him noticing.
By the time he finished his practice, his robes felt clammy and sweat clung to his hairline, but he felt a small pride warm in his chest. He was getting better — and for once, he wished his mentor had been here to witness it.
He sheathed his sword and took a hidden path, turning off the main one — heading toward the ridge where the view of the river delta was clearer. His secret spot for deep existential contemplation… or in most cases, like today, a well-deserved lunch with a good view.
He walked for several minutes before something flashed in the corner of his eye.
Red.