It’s always funny, just how fast life moves on after a tragedy. It’s different if it’s your tragedy of course. Then the light goes out, and you feel like nothing will ever be right again. But for the rest of us, who never really knew the victim, the weight of their death fades like a dream in the morning light.

To me, Chang De was a name. A face that I only remembered frozen in its death mask on the operating table. To most of the other elders, he was a statistic. A trendline to watch. To our disciples, he was a reminder that life was short and violent, and for all the timeless monotony of life in the sect, holing up here wouldn’t protect them from knives in the dark. To the three elders who had gathered that morning over tea, he was a promise. That we would find who did it, and repay them in full.

But Chang De wasn’t a person, not to us.

I’d never met Chang De. He’d attended my lecture, apparently. I’d probably seen his face a few times, since he lived on Dusk. I'd learned the village at its base was named after the peak itself. But I couldn’t have told you his favorite fruit, whether he’d had a happy childhood, or pointed him out in a crowd. From the looks of things, very few people in the sect could have.

In the end, after his body disappeared into the Empty Sepulchre, all he really left behind were rumors. Disciples whispered about everything from Elder Fan’s vengeful ghost trying to claw his way back to life, to an orthodox assassin living amongst us. It wasn’t great for morale, but it wasn’t really destabilizing either. There was a certain fatalism to it, nobody ever really contemplated leaving the sect aloud.

Even if faith in Sect Master Meng’s omnipresence had been shaken, few were interested in tempting fate.

Two days after Elder Liang had promised that I would ‘have my trinkets’, Liang Tao delivered a lacquered box to my house. Within were fifty pairs of gossamer-thin bracelets, each pair woven from a single thread of silk. A short note was enclosed, explaining how they worked in elegant calligraphy. Each bracelet maintained a connection to its partner, and when one was broken, the other would snap as well. Then the second stage of the enchantment would activate, and they would begin gently pulling themselves toward each other, giving me a way to locate the disciple who’d called for help.

They were far from perfect, I was already dreading handling the inevitable false alarms that such a fragile item would cause. But they were an elegant solution, one that would give me a fighting chance of reaching the next victim before they were killed.

After considerable thought, I’d delegated their distribution to Fang Xiao. I’d given him a few pointers. I wanted Su Li and Qian Min to have one. I wanted my name kept out of it as much as possible, so I told him to just say that Elder Liang had created them, and an elder would respond if they were broken. If I caught the killer, credit would naturally follow. If I didn’t, there was no sense in attaching my name to the matter, it would only worsen my own reputation. It was a little unsettling, just how swiftly the inner disciple had inserted himself into my affairs. Scarcely a week after our first real conversation, he had already made himself my most convenient option for arranging meetings and organizing disciples.

It made him incredibly useful to me, but I had no doubt he was aware of that, and planned to eventually use it to his own benefit. I’d initially pegged him for more of a young master type, secure in his talent, and focused on his own development; rather than the savvy political operator he was proving himself to be.

In part because of this, I’d spent the last few days working on the lecture on sword intent I’d promised him. If I was going to rely on him, I needed to figure out whether I could teach him enough to keep him firmly in my camp sooner rather than later.

I’d chosen a different grove for this conversation, farther from the rest of the sect, with plenty of untouched nature for more pointed demonstrations. At my back, a great cliff of exposed granite rose up into the sky.

Elder Hu’s sword sat across my lap. I idly stroked its scabbard with my fingers, smiling as I felt a tension slowly building within the sword, despite the half inch of wood between us. I envisioned stone splitting, a flash of silver creating a new, more perfect, fracture in the structure of the cliff. My blade responded, shivering with a barely repressed violence to my spiritual sense.

I watched it carefully with mundane eyes, struggling to mark any trace of the intention it radiated. The will to cut. I’d spent hours reading treatises, experimenting with my own intent. In the end, I was forced to concede I understood little about the phenomena. And yet, so many who’d bothered to author books on the subject seemed to know less still. Truly, the one eyed man was leading the blind.

Fang Xiao and Su Li arrived side by side, and I greeted them with a nod. I was pleased to see that Fang Xiao had taken my offhanded suggestion that Su Li might appreciate an escort to heart. I didn't fully trust him, but it would have been out of character to offer one of my own. We were quite deep in the woods. It would have been difficult to find me, if I hadn’t taken the liberty of extending my aura into the surrounding woods.

“Elder Hu.” “Master Hu.” They said at the same time.

The two shot looks at each other, but I waved a hand, forestalling whatever was going to come next. I had no interest in another conversation about the difference between a student and a disciple.

“Sit, and make yourself comfortable. I will speak at some length, before we progress to more practical exercises.”

They did so, choosing spots of earth ten feet from each other, Fang Xiao pulling a small cushion from a storage ring before sitting. I waited in silence for a moment, appreciating the stars. This was not a moment for haste.

I breathed in, tasting the sky.

Fuck it. Let this one be for all the marbles. I was tired of pretending to be something I was not. It was one thing to speak vaguely and act profound. Another to lie while wearing the mask of a teacher. I would simply have to show them what I’d learned, great gaping holes and all. It would be enough, or it wouldn’t.

“You are both here, because you have expressed interest in learning to manifest sword intent.” I began. “Before we begin in earnest, it is important to me that you understand something. I am perhaps the worst person to teach anyone to master the sword.”

“Master-” Su Li began.

“Quiet.” I barked, a harsh edge I had never used before with Su Li entering my voice. “This is not an art to be pursued with blinkered sight. Neither pride nor pity has any place here.”

I tilted my hand, shifting the pommel of my sword to face the night sky.

“I am the worst person to teach you how to manifest sword intent, because I found it to be a relatively effortless process. I suffered greatly to attain my intent, but I attained that power through the intersection of fate and talent.”

I rose, and walked towards a tree. I angled myself carefully, so that it would not hit my students. I drew my blade, and through the corner of my eye I saw both disciples wince. No silver light shone forth, but after almost two hours of meditation it felt so sharp it could cut your eyes as you looked upon it.

“And yet, I am also the best possible person to teach you to touch such a mystery. Because I can do this.”

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Su Li’s breath caught in her chest, as Master Hu gave his sword a gentle toss. It flew through the air in an arc, the blade’s angle stable as an arrow’s flight. With the inevitable certainty of an object falling free, it touched the edge of gnarled old pine Elder Hu stood facing. And then it fell, right through the tree. There was no sound, no flash of power. No change in the sword’s trajectory. It simply fell through the tree, as if the wood of its trunk was as insubstantial as the air.

Elder Hu’s hand darted out, catching the weapon by its grip. Su Li shivered at the very thought of touching something that sharp.

At first slowly, then all at once, the top half of the tree slid to the ground. The rustling of leaves filled the air, then stilled, surrendering to the hush of the night.

“This is the simplest of contradictions that I will ask you to understand this day.” Elder Hu said in a quiet voice. “Because that is all I have to offer you, contradiction. Sword intent is something I cannot teach you that you already possess. It is of qi, but is not qi. It was a quality of neither the blade, nor the technique behind it. It is something I command that I cannot claim to understand.”

He sheathed the blade, its edges still painfully sharp to Su Li’s eyes. She could almost feel it from here, like the time she’d rubbed her father’s razor against her own hairless cheek.

Elder Hu stared intensely at the two of them, searching their eyes for something. Su Li looked away. She wished she had whatever he was looking for. Wished she knew what it was.

“This lesson will be a meandering thing, but there are three topics I intend to cover. The first, is what sword intent is, what few things about its nature I know for certain. The second, my thoughts on the nature of swords, and those who would wield them. The third, my best guesses at the exercises that one might attempt to improve their chances of awakening their own intent.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“If you have questions, voice them as they arise. This is no lecture hall.”

Only quiet answered him.

“Very well. As I said before, sword intent shares some qualities with qi.”

Elder Hu swung his arm, driving the scabbard of his sword deep into the hard-packed earth. With a twist of his hand, he pointed a lone finger upwards, and his sword leapt from the scabbard to join it. Again, Su Li winced, squinting despite the dark of the night. She could barely see the thin sliver of steel hovering in front of her master, but she could feel it all across her skin.

“Intent allows a swordsman to cut both the material and immaterial. Without qi of its own, stone and steel alike offer no more resistance than silk. Sword intent can break formations and spells, bridging the gap between material steel and immaterial qi. This is all widely known, and these two properties are chief among the reasons so many cultivators seek to awaken their own intent. However, this bridge flows in both directions. As intent can cut qi, it may also be manipulated by compatible qi.”

With a flick of his wrist, Elder Hu set his sword spinning in place before him. Another gesture sent it rising into the air, before it began circling about the perimeter of the clearing, flying just above the tops of the trees.

“In the hands of one who possesses sword intent, every sword is a potential flying sword.”

“Elder Hu.” Fang Xiao suddenly interjected. “Does that mean that an enemy sword cultivator can manipulate his opponent’s sword with his own qi?”

“A good question. Certainly, though it’s not usually a very efficient technique. To do it effectively generally requires one to stand at least a full realm above their enemy. To do so requires you to both fully overcome any qi your enemy has expressed into their weapon or the space around them, and then still have enough strength left over to affect their weapon despite the fact that their intent will likely only partially intersect with your own cultivation.”

“Their foe’s intent?” Fang Xiao echoed. “Would that not be the sword cultivator's own intent?”

“No. It is possible to generate sword intent in a weapon without touching it. But using your own intent to control a weapon another is wielding is a skill more difficult than using your own cultivation to influence another’s intent.”

Su Li realized that was how he’d blocked her final swing, when he’d asked her to attack him. She’d thought it had been a technique of some sort, when her sword had stopped an inch from his face, as if she’d struck a wall of steel.

“Master.” Su Li asked, following the thought. “Does that mean that I already possess sword intent?”

Had that been why he chose her, above all the other students who’d begged him for tutelage? Had he seen a talent in her even she had overlooked?

Fang Xiao’s eyes leapt away from Elder Hu, staring at her as if seeing her for the first time. She flinched at the naked hunger in his eyes, as if by staring hard enough he could somehow divine the secrets of the sword. It almost felt more unwholesome than if he’d been ogling her body.

Elder Hu laughed, shattering the tension. He smiled, the intensity he’d carried since he’d begun speaking about the sword diminishing slightly.

Fang Xiao startled at the sound, quickly averting his eyes. Despite herself, Su Li smiled too. How embarrassed the mighty inner disciple looked. What would his legions of hanger-ons and admirers think, if they saw him now, chastised like a child caught trying to sneak sweets?

“Yes, I suppose it does, but not in the way you think.” Elder Hu replied thoughtfully. “We come now to the crux of my understanding of sword intent as a phenomena, what exactly it is. I have read a great number of treatises on the subject written by other sword cultivators of renown. I have not found most of them to be compelling. Unearned confidence and foolish certainty abound. Understand, that if I know anything about sword intent, it is that I do not fully comprehend it. And neither do most of those fools who claim to have mastered it.”

Su Li shifted, suppressing a silly urge to defend her master against himself. She’d seen what he could do with a sword. But if he thought he barely understood what sword intent was, who was she to argue with him? What did she really know of its nature, beyond that it was a power she coveted?

She remembered a quiet night that belonged to a different life. Her mother had retired early, putting the twins to bed. It had just been her and her father, sitting alone in the parlor. Embers smoldered in the hearth, in the warmth of the summer there was no need to feed the fire through the night. Su Han’s sword had laid across his lap, as he gently rubbed a cloth across it. She still remembered the smell of linseed oil and cloves. It had been one of the first things he taught her about swords. One always used perfumed oil, if they could. To remind the spirit of the weapon that there was more to the world than blood.

She’d asked him about sword intent. The boys of the village had been playing at being heroes, and the phrase was on the tip of every tongue.

“It’s the simplest thing in the world, Li’er.” He’d said absently, patting her on the head. “All one needs to do is cut, and mean it. But men are too afraid to mean what they do. They live in every moment but this one.”

Elder Hu’s voice jolted her back to the present.

“Qi is malleable. It might burn like a fire, or rage like a storm, but through cycling a cultivator can strip away or change the aspects it carries. Transform the tranquil energy of a spirit stone into a bolt of lightning, or even transmute it into flesh and blood. Sword intent is not so flexible a power. Qi is power that carries purpose. Intent is purpose that carries power. A cultivator who lacks what we typically refer to as sword intent does not lack intent entirely. In fact, the ability to swing without any form of intent is another talent entirely, one I think a clever assassin could make good use of. Rather, their intent is too weak to influence the world, or the qi around them.”

“Is that how blindsight works? A sword cultivator perceiving their opponent's nascent sword intent?” Fang Xiao asked.

“There might be other ways to achieve the same outcome, but I can confirm that is one of them.” Elder Hu said. Blindsight. Was that what he used to dodge her attacks? “On that subject, my sword is no longer floating above us. I’ve taken the liberty of concealing it amongst the vegetation. Identifying its location without rising from your seat would be a promising first step to developing your own intent.”

Elder Hu lapsed into silence at that. Su Li sat up straighter, focusing. She remembered that sensation, the incomparable sharpness of his blade. It was absent now, and yet traces of it lingered all around her. But where was it thickest?

She opened herself to the world around her, listening to the whispers of the moon. But she only had the spiritual sense of a qi condensation disciple, she could only feel the reflections of the world around her, not cast out her qi to seek out where Elder Hu had hidden his blade.

She opened her eyes, peeking at Fang Xiao. He was intently focused, clutching his naked sword in one hand, as if the touch of steel would help refine his senses.

Perhaps it would?

She turned to her own weapon. Su Han’s nameless blade.

“Master Hu.” She began, her mouth moving before her mind caught up. “What exactly is sword intent?”

“You mean beyond the merely mechanistic sense?”

She wasn’t sure what that meant, exactly.

“My father once said that all one needed to have sword intent, was to cut, and mean it. But most men are too afraid to mean what they do.”

Elder Hu nodded at her.

“I don’t think he was wrong. Sword intent is a deeply personal thing, the product of our own relationships with the very idea of swords. Its nature and form is not merely colored by our thoughts and histories, but a product of them. No two intents are the same in power and application, nor are the journeys any two swordsmen took to attain them. But his explanation shares the same flaws as my own, it is an attempt to put something ineffable into words. Sword intent is a phrase. But the thing it signifies, the phenomena we are trying to describe, is not a thing of words. Words can cut, but they do not cut in the same way a sword does. This is a road you must walk on your own. The best any teacher can hope to do is to illuminate a direction by dint of word and example.”

Through the corner of her eye, she watched Fang Xiao stare at them as they spoke. His eyes were open now, though he still tightly clutched his own sword. She wondered if Fang Xiao’s other teachers favored the same familiar demeanor with their students as Elder Hu. She somehow doubted it. She couldn’t imagine telling Elder Li or Elder Xin anything about her father. They probably wouldn’t even believe her. Elder Hu had not even questioned that her father might have manifested sword intent.

“Elder Hu…” Fang Xiao began, before trailing off. “You said that sword intents are different, between different people. Could you share, what your own is like, what it feels like to you?”

Elder Hu lifted an eyebrow.

“That's a very personal question.”

“Forgive me my temerity.” Fang Xiao immediately sputtered, bowing his head. “I was merely curious about the way your own intent manifested.”

“Be at ease, Fang Xiao. I am not one to punish curiosity. If you overreach, I will simply refuse to answer. That said, that is not a question I mind answering. Security through obscurity is the most fragile of defenses. It's one thing to have a few trump cards, another entirely to rely on the core of your arts being secret. It’s simply a difficult thing, to condense the whole of your relationship with the sword into a few words.”

He thought for a moment, before continuing. A sharp aura rose around him, the mere act of considering his intention sufficient to manifest it.

“My intent is… purer I think, in comparison to the sword intents of others.” He finally said. “It is not as destructive. It does not linger in wounds, nor taint what is cut. It is still, rather than violent. Subtle, rather than domineering, as much as a sword can ever be subtle. It is the very idea of Severance given form, the will to take that which is whole and impose division upon it. It has a few other quirks that give it interesting tactical applications, but that is the core of what it is. Does that answer your question?”

Fang Xiao swallowed.

“It does, Elder Hu.”

“I think that this is a good place to stop then. We will resume here three nights hence. Before then, I would like each of you to set aside a few hours and meditate on the blade. Do not actively cultivate, but instead choose an activity that you might perform with a sword or knife. Dedicate your attention to it as completely as you can, and focus upon the sensation of cutting, and what exactly the blade means to you. An uncertain sword will never cut the heavens.”

Elder Hu rose to his feet, then squatted low. With a thunderous crack, he leapt into the air like a carp attempting the Dragon Gate. As his leap reached its apex above the top of the trees, his missing sword shot out of the distant woods, and he caught it with his slippers.

As Master Hu soared off into the night, Su Li swore to herself that one day, she would fly beside him.