Chapter Seventy-Six: Mastering the Blade Technique

But the female wraith didn’t try to evade—instead, my blade cleaved straight through her neck without resistance. I was left somewhat bewildered. Honestly, I could sense she was no weak spirit, yet she didn’t so much as block my strike.

As her form dissipated with the wind, the world around me abruptly returned to normal. We were no longer inside a crematorium, but standing on a country road on the outskirts of town.

The driver snapped out of his daze and shouted to me from the cab, “Hey, kid, where’d you go? Get in, quick!”

I quietly slipped the Snow Blade back into my ring and jogged over to the car.

“That was strange, what just happened to me…” the driver muttered under his breath as he started the engine once more.

I closed my eyes, feigning sleep, but my thoughts kept circling back to that female wraith. She couldn’t possibly have been so weak. If anything, she should have been much stronger. But these were only my suspicions.

The rumble of the car’s engine carried me back to the foothills of Xuanfeng Mountain. I gave the driver an extra two hundred yuan before heading up the mountain on my own.

Earlier that afternoon, I’d already called Second Uncle to report my safety and let him know I’d be home that night.

By now, it was well past ten. The mountain was shrouded in darkness, not a single light to be seen, which made the place seem even more foreboding.

But I’d witnessed horrors a hundred times more terrifying than this; such surroundings had long since become routine for me.

I jogged up the mountain path—no one in their right mind would want to linger here any longer than necessary. Thankfully, aside from the gloomy atmosphere, I didn’t encounter anything sinister, and soon enough, I reached the end of the trail.

Familiar with the terrain, I parted the tall grass and slipped through, expecting that Second Uncle had already gone to bed. To my surprise, both he and Nangong Xi were still waiting for me on the stone benches.

“Second Uncle, I’m back,” I called out.

Both he and Nangong Xi had been reading, and since there was no electricity on the mountain, they’d lit an oil lamp on the stone table between them.

Just as I hurried over, Second Uncle looked up at me. “It’s good you’re back. Very good…”

Once I sat down, he asked, “So, what kind did you get?”

I knew he was referring to the saber manual. I pulled the Winged Shadow Saber Technique from my ring and handed it to him.

He took the book, studying it intently for a while before saying, “This doesn’t look like a good book.”

I was instantly dumbfounded—had I wasted two hundred thousand yuan on something worthless?

“But there are countless saber techniques in the world, many harboring hidden mysteries. Just practice it first and see,” he added.

I nodded and took the book back. Opening the first page, I found nothing written, but the ancient book did have a table of contents. By my count, there were six chapters altogether. Still, after a full day’s journey, both body and mind were exhausted; learning saber techniques would have to wait until morning.

Second Uncle had planned to go to bed early, but insisted on waiting up for me. Nangong Xi, with no other choice, kept him company.

I quickly helped Second Uncle to his room and settled him in, then urged Nangong Xi to rest as well.

That night, I slept deeply, not waking until after seven. As soon as I got up, Nangong Xi called me out for breakfast. Meals on the mountain were simple—a few bowls of plain porridge and a small side dish.

I devoured the food and immediately set about studying the saber technique. Second Uncle offered to instruct me, and Nangong Xi cultivated quietly at the side.

In just a few short days, Nangong Xi had already shown signs of reaching the Spirit Leaf realm—a remarkable pace.

I opened the first chapter of the saber manual. Each section had only a brief introduction, with neither superfluous words nor explanations.

To the average eye, this would seem like a subpar manual, but to me, it was a peerless saber art.

I summoned the Snow Blade and began mimicking the illustrations step by step.

I’d always been quick to pick up new skills, as evidenced by how swiftly I’d learned Bajiquan from the start. This saber technique was no different—after a few readings, I could perform about eighty percent of it.

The first chapter contained nine forms, each flowing seamlessly into the next in a precise order; none could be omitted.

After reviewing them a few more times, I felt confident enough to wield the Snow Blade in earnest.

At that moment, Second Uncle spoke up from the side. “No saber art is as simple as you imagine. Truly grasping its essence is no easy task.”

His words struck me—I realized that, while the diagrams suggested something special might happen at the seventh form, I experienced nothing. Clearly, I had only scratched the surface.

This saber technique was not only visually striking but also shrouded in subtlety and deception, much like Bajiquan. Every move had to be hidden, but also explosive.

Some movements were particularly demanding, requiring repeated practice.

The benefit was that I could now execute all nine forms in sequence, though my understanding was still shallow and fell short of what the manual described.

After several unsuccessful attempts, Second Uncle gave me timely advice. “Don’t rush. Practice more, use it more. With your talent, this saber technique won’t defeat you—don’t worry.”

With that, he stood, drew a dagger from his ring, and said, “Come, let’s try it out.”

I smiled, taking the starting stance from the book.

“Good—very standard,” he remarked, then lunged at me with astonishing speed.

My eyes widened, but I kept my composure.

Second Uncle was like a six-sided warrior—he knew sword techniques, Daoist arts, boxing, and even dabbled in saber skills.

Sparring with someone so experienced was a test of raw skill—there was no room for clever tricks.

As he closed in, he attacked with the same fixed saber forms, forcing me into a defensive scramble, unable to properly get into rhythm.

It was clear I was utterly outmatched and had no chance of resisting.

He stopped, sheathed his blade, and spoke earnestly, “See? You haven’t grasped it yet. This saber technique requires not only initiative, but also depth and patience.”

I understood his meaning—I’d been too eager for quick results, only learning the surface but not the essence.

Besides, I was still unfamiliar with the true routine of the fixed forms. In short, I needed much more practice.

I nodded and continued practicing in the courtyard.

Strangely, with each swing of the blade, I felt a slight restlessness in my blood—not enough to hinder me, but certainly uncomfortable. I’d asked Second Uncle about it, but he was just as puzzled.

As my proficiency grew, I became more aware of the connections between each movement, how to borrow and channel force.

But the most vital thing was still actual combat.

By noon, not only had I committed the first chapter’s forms to memory, I’d also practiced the Eight Trigram Formation several times over.

Whenever I grew tired, Second Uncle would take the initiative to tell me stories about the origins of saber techniques and share anecdotes from his own experience.