Two disciples walked through the shadowed woods, side by side. Every so often a hand would reach down and brush against the hilt of the swords they each carried at their sides. And yet, though the night around them rustled and trilled with unseen life, their stances were relaxed. It was not fear nor wrath that drew their hands to their weapons like lodestones.

“Is Elder Hu always like that?” Fang Xiao asked, breaking the silence.

“Always like what?” Su Li replied, already bristling at the very possibility of any insult to her master.

Fang Xiao didn’t think that Su Li liked him much. Elder Hu’s disciple was unfailingly polite to him, but she was cold, in a way that he rather suspected was not simply her natural demeanor. When he’d asked Sun Ming about the girl, his senior had said Su Li was a kind young woman who’d taken to the sect like a fish to the mountains. She’d then politely advised him that if he took advantage of Su Li in any way, she would feed him his own fingers.

Fang Xiao had no intent of doing anything to Elder Hu’s student. but in truth he found the idea of a fight with Sun Ming more of an incentive than a deterrent. It’d been four years now, since the inner sect’s Red-Handed Gardener had last taken a public match. He was more than a little curious to see how much his senior had grown under Elder Su’s tutelage.

“Elder Hu seems…” He trailed off. What exactly was Elder Hu? Every elder was eccentric in some way, he’d expected that. Neither Elder Cai nor Akayama were known for their manners after all. “I had not realized that Elder Hu’s scholarly attainments matched his martial ones. I did not expect him to place such esteem on an intellectual understanding of natural phenomena, nor display such exemplary humility in its pursuit.”

There. Let the prickly girl find fault with that.

Su Li considered him for a moment, before her scowl softened. Fang Xiao shot her a well-practiced grin, and it returned instantly.

Oh, he could see why Senior Sister Sun liked this one so much. She really did wear her heart on her sleeves.

“Elder Hu is Elder Hu. His knowledge of the great dao is as boundless as his magnanimity. Who am I to judge the manner of one who has taught even this untalented disciple so much?”

Fang Xiao let the non-answer pass uncontested. Su Li seemed as much her master’s creature as Liang Tao, despite the recency of her discipleship. Without of course, the deep undercurrent of fear and covetousness that lay between his friend and his mother.

It was understandable, really. His favor and teachings had completely changed her prospects. Fang Xiao could feel that she’d grown since the incident with Geng Ru, only a single small stage, but that was a heady attainment indeed for a matter of weeks. It was too early to lay credit for her growth at her master’s feet, but if she kept advancing at even half that pace, Elder Hu would rapidly find himself one of the most sought after teachers in the sect.

Even Sect Master Meng’s daughter had supposedly taken six years to reach foundation establishment, with all her advantages.

Fang Xiao could see what Elder Hu was doing. The ploy was no less effective for its transparency. Show him the value of his teachings at a small initial price. First it would be a small dispute against a lesser elder. Next a greater favor, with more publicity, until his name was tied to Elder Hu’s. The question was why, why did the formerly retiring elder now care about building a faction. And was what he offered worth the price of whatever he intended to use that faction for?

Fang Xiao was not interested in Elder Hu’s teachings if the price was the blind loyalty Su Li displayed. That sort of faith simply was not in his nature. But teachings for favors had been his bread and butter since joining the sect, and more lectures like the last would buy a great deal.

Fang Xiao hadn’t been sure what he’d expected. He’d been taught by masters at arms and lesser sword cultivators, but all their teachings had been similar, in the end. They showed him forms, shapes the body could take and the many transitions between them. And then they had him spar, until he ingrained those many sequences upon his bones, and understood how to move between them to cut down men.

Elder Hu’s had shown him a new direction to study, a dimension to swordsmanship he’d never really considered.

“What are the other elders you study under like?”

Fang Xiao considered the question. No doubt anything he said would make its way back to Elder Hu, but the elder wasn’t an adversary. Just an unknown.

“It took three years for Elder Cai to remember my name.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Most of those who study under her pay in labor for the right to browse her personal library. If she speaks to disciples, it’s almost always just to direct the nearest person to do something for her. It wasn’t until I learned to command lightning that she cared to speak to me personally.”

“That sounds better than how most of the martial elders handle finding students. Fairer.” Su Li said wistfully.

“You can’t master the sword from scrolls alone anyway. If anything, the barriers for studying under Elder Cai are higher than under Elder Xin or Elder Wang. She expects her students to arrive already possessing a command of mathematics that most scholar-officials lack. And that’s the qualification merely to work under her, it’s far harder to earn her personal attention.”

Su Li fell silent again, and they continued walking. Albeit walking at a pace a mortal would call an aggressive jog. Fang Xiao could see now why Elder Hu had elected to teach these lessons so far in the wild. Closer to the sect, his unveiled intent alone would have drawn dozens of gawking swine.

“When did your father attain sword intent?” He finally asked. He wasn’t sure that he believed Su Li, but he wasn’t rude enough to doubt her to her face. There were perhaps a dozen in the Pathless Night who had attained sword intent. Rare was the kingdom that could boast more than a hundred such experts in their population, let alone their service. That Su Li claimed such august parentage, but had entered the sect without resources or connections, spoke of scandal or tragedy.

“He served in the army of the Qin. A captain, in foundation establishment.”

Ah. It was tragedy, then. A rising star on the losing side of a less than civil war. One did not need the mathematical talents to serve under Elder Cai to perform that sum.

“I see.” Fang Xiao said, after an unseemly pause. That statement suggested many things, but confirmed few.

“Why did you join a demonic sect, instead of following in his footsteps then?”

To his surprise, Su Li burst into laughter at his question.

“You’re from a cultivator clan, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Fang Xiao answered with a frown. “What of it?”

“That makes sense.” Su Li said smugly. “Women can’t enlist.”

“What? Plenty of women serve in the Qin army.”

“No, plenty of cultivators serve in the Qin army. Glass Flower disciples and clan daughters. The rare wandering cultivator bearing a royal warrant. Mortal women can’t enlist, the closest to the army they’ll ever get is as camp followers.”

“Surely they would have made an exception for you? If you brought your father’s seal?”

“At four and ten? Perhaps they would have opened a spot in the officer’s academy, or some sect, for me if I was a prodigy of cultivation, already on the cusp of foundation establishment. Or if my family had the money to pay for my training.”

“I see.” Fang Xiao repeated.

“I’m not so sure you do.” She shot back. Fang Xiao almost snorted. How like her master she sounded, in that moment. He was still curious, what exactly Elder Hu thought he had seen in Kan Ye’s words.

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“Would it really have been that hopeless, to expect the empire to sponsor you?” He continued. “If your father had approached my clan, they would have had him married or adopted in a heartbeat.”

“The difference between a man who commands sword intent and might achieve core formation before fifty, and his daughter who can boast of neither, is like night and day. The moment he died, I became of little interest to the powers of the empire as anything beyond a third wife for a lesser son, a gamble that talent skips a generation.”

“And so you came here.”

“And so I came here. The orthodox sects rarely take destitute students, after all.”

“It must have been a great shock. Coming here from a orthodox kingdom, with little exposure to the society of cultivators.”

“Hardly. I think most of the male disciples have it worse in that regard. Any woman who makes it here has already learned that without true power she is property, waiting for a new owner. The Pathless Night is kind in its own way, to those of us without talent or prospects.”

They walked on in silence for a time, slowly drawing nearer to Elder Hu’s appointed grove. She resented him, Fang Xiao could tell. He didn’t really care. So many did. It was such a compelling excuse, to blame those who had been born with what they lacked, for their own struggles.

“You know why I’m here now. But what about you?” Su Li suddenly asked. “What made you leave your clan behind?”

He thought about it. It had seemed so clear at that moment. Such an obvious choice. But now, he honestly wasn’t sure, what exactly had been the final straw.

“The only free men in a cultivator clan are the patriarch and the young master. And I was not born to serve. But when I looked out upon it, all my ancestors had built seemed too petty a thing to kill my brother over. So I left.”

“I see.” Su Li said.

He thought about saying it. That he really didn’t think she did. It had a pleasing symmetry. But he held his tongue. She was interesting, this junior. He’d been hasty, in his initial judgment of her. He fell quiet, and returned to his meditation. Her story was a good reminder. He’d gotten complacent again. So what, if he was more talented than all his peers? His brother would be right at his heels. And he wasn’t even the one Fang Xiao had to surpass.

He’d lingered too long. He would advance to the eighth stage of foundation establishment before the new year. One way or another, he would forge a way forward, even if it was imperfect.

----------------------------------------

I arrived early for the second lecture on sword intent as well. I didn’t need the spare hour to charge my weapon this time. I just liked the little grove, I didn’t need to restrain my qi so closely here, where there were no prying eyes or innocent bystanders. As I passed by a tree I reached out with my aura, the shroud of qi that naturally formed around me if I didn’t pull it inwards. I focused and pulled, swiping a small extension of it like a blade. The leaf fluttered downwards and I caught it with another gathering of qi, a delicate cloud of power holding the thin leaf like a hand formed from ten thousand needles.

I pulled it towards my outstretched hand, marveling at how it slowly drifted towards me. And then the wind gusted. The leaf floated up, pressed against my needle-grip, and promptly shredded itself into green dust.

Damn. I grabbed another. There had to be something I was missing. My qi didn’t exactly seem suited for gentle work, but every sword had a flat side. I refused to believe I was incapable of telekinesis, I just had to find an angle that would make it possible. As I was now, I couldn't imagine trying to simply carry a human with my qi directly, not even myself. Not when I was shredding two in three leaves.

I frowned. Or, perhaps that was the trick? I needed a target with qi of their own to resist the destructive influence of my aura?

I set the leaves aside as I felt presences approaching in the distance. I pulled my qi inwards, condensing it into a great roiling column extending a few feet around me. I kept the eye of the storm carefully centered around myself, to avoid shredding my robes. A whirlwind of soil kicked up around me, as my bladed aura reduced any hints of my experiments to dust.

I wasn't sure what exactly they might think I was doing, but I wasn't keen on explaining myself. I waited quietly, as the two disciples took up their seats.

“I spoke a great deal of the sword in generalities, the last time we gathered here.” I began speaking without fanfare. “Before I continue to do so, I would hear what the sword means to you. For what end, do you pursue it? What miracles would you seek to embody, at the end of a blade?”

It was a little unfair, perhaps. A little dramatic, for certain. But here, where a single sword could alter the fate of nations, a little drama seemed appropriate.

“Master.” Su Li spoke first. “I thought about what you said, about how sword intent is personal. How everyone’s sword is different.”

She swallowed.

“I think… I think that to me, the sword is a way to draw closer to distant things. To my father. To his killer. To a future where I can stand on my own two feet. A means to cut away that which stands between me and what I seek.”

I nodded.

“A bold dream. A difficult road.”

That was… more eloquent than I’d expected. More abstract. But then, I’d invited exactly that. It was a good dream though, if perhaps naive about what a sword was for. I looked at Fang Xiao.

“I am not interested in killing, except as a means to an end. I don’t want to stand alone in a field of corpses. I pursue the sword to compel obedience. To have the power to reorder the world.”

“A tyrant’s dream, then. If a gentle one.” I said quietly.

“There must always be a tyrant. Better it be me, than another.”

That was about what I expected, from Fang Xiao. It seemed my off the cuff speech about being a tyrant had resonated with him. I found myself wondering exactly how he intended to change the world. A line of questioning for another time.

“Today, I will tell you a story. A woman, who walked the road of the sword further than most others. The life she lived, and the deaths that followed. But first, I will speak a little about the sword itself. The sword is the truest weapon. Spears and bows are a hunter’s tools. An axe, a peasant's friend. A knife is an essential component of many professions, from the fletcher to the chef. A sword exists for the purpose of creating ghosts. It can cut bamboo, or slay a deer. But an axe or a spear can do that better. For this reason, it is the principal weapon of kings and bandits alike.”

My students stared with rapt attention. I’d never said that the story I would share with them would be a true one, but all the same, it felt wrong. And yet, this felt like an important story.

“A long time ago, beneath strange stars, was born a woman named Meti, of no house but her own. She was born in the shadow of a city known for its peerless soldiers. At the age of thirteen, she took up physical training. At the age of sixteen, she had refined her body and spirit to her satisfaction, and she joined the army of her king. She was renowned as a swordswoman of legendary power. At the age of twenty, she dueled a great foe for a day and a night. Her sword was sundered and her body was broken. As the duel came to a close, she realized that she had trained much too broadly. She saw that existence and combat were no different. The essence of combat, the path to victory, was the singular action of Cutting Down Your Opponent.” I said, struggling to articulate the capital letters in my mind.

“So she gouged out her opponent’s brains with her thumbs. She resolved to train this action. To embody its purity. She eschewed wealth and fame, for these things were not aligned with the act of Cutting Down Your Opponent. She left the service of her king, and eschewed taking students or lovers, because these things were not aligned with the act of Cutting Down Your Opponent. She sought to bathe in death, and attain perfection in the act of Cutting. And so she became a master of the sword without equal. For the rest of her days, she lived in poverty, surrounded by death. Many who had studied the sword all their lives sought her out, seeking to earn fame by defeating her. She killed them all. At the end of her life, she took two students. One of them murdered her and fed her body to the dogs.”

The stares continued.

“Now, tell me. What is the lesson of Meti’s story?”

Silence greeted me. I waited patiently for one of my students to offer something. I didn’t think I’d been subtle here, about my opinion of the sword. I studied my nails. They were poorly shaped for cutting. It wasn’t just the bluntness, they were curved in all the wrong ways. Still, I stroked my thumb against them, trying to draw blood. Where were they sharpest? Was it really the tip of the curve, or was it more along the top surface of the nail? Why did they stubbornly refuse to produce sword intent, no matter how intently I stared at them. I focused on my pinkie, which I had taken to a rough whetstone to sharpen. I owned duller blades. What was the difference between them?

“Elder Hu.” Fang Xiao eventually asked. “Is Meti’s story true?”

“Fang Xiao, you continue to ask the wrong questions.” I lied. “A story is too large a thing to be true or false. Did Meti truly live? Perhaps. Were I inclined to wager, I would bet against the historical truth of her existence. But it is beyond question that her story lives. It is heard, and repeated, and so in that way it is true.”

Fang Xiao frowned, dissatisfied.

“Did Meti protect anyone?” Su Li asked.

I shrugged.

“Herself, perhaps. But would any of those men have pursued her life, if she were not a paragon of the act of Cutting?”

I shrugged again.

“If you would pursue this road to its end, you will find the sword demands much from you. And you will find that there is always another, willing to give more to it. To more completely embody the act of Cutting Down Your Opponent. Meti’s story might not be true. But that certainly is. No matter how good you become, you should always keep in mind the idea that somewhere in the vastness of the world, there exists an ascetic who can humble you with a single swing.”

“So, it's a story about humility?” Fang Xiao asked

I was losing the thread here. I’d wanted to make a statement about the futility of the sword, but I’d built up Meti’s legend far too much in the process. It was time to cut my losses.

“Humility is a word the prideful use to make a virtue out of the mundane act of having a reasonable amount of respect for the talents of others. It is a story about swords. And the many different kinds of fools who carry them.”

I stood up.

“Come. This cliff face offends my sense of aesthetics. Let us see if exposure helps you to perceive my sword intent.”