Legacy of the Blade

Mr. Qi looked at his disciple and said, "You can start with the white pieces."

The game began. The young boy in a green robe, Lu Qing, played slowly and carefully, each move deliberate. In contrast, Song Jitan moved swiftly, his playstyle bold and fluid, like a swift wind, unpredictable yet precise.

After more than eighty moves, Lu Qing was clearly losing. He lowered his head, lips pressed tightly together, unable to say a word.

Meanwhile, Song Jitan rested his elbow on the table, propping up his cheek with one hand while the other held a chess piece. He lightly tapped it on the stone table, his gaze fixed on the board.

By Mr. Qi's rule, conceding verbally was forbidden. Remaining silent while placing the final piece was the only way to admit defeat. No matter how unwilling he was, Lu Qing had to slowly put down his last piece.

Mr. Qi calmly instructed, "Go practice your calligraphy. Don't bother cleaning up the board. Write the character Yong three hundred times."

The boy immediately stood up, bowed respectfully, and left.

When the boy had disappeared, Song Jitan asked softly, "Teacher, are you leaving this place as well?"

Mr. Qi, his hair streaked with gray, nodded. "Within a week, I'll be gone."

Song Jitan smiled and said, "Perfect timing then. I can see you off."

The teacher hesitated briefly before speaking. "No need to see me off. Song Jitan, when you leave this small town in the future, remember to keep a low profile. I don't have much to give you, but I'll leave you three foundational books: The Little Learning (Xiaoxue), Rituals and Music (Liyue), and Official Teachings (Guan Zhi). Read them often. Remember, reading something a hundred times will eventually make its meaning clear. If you read thousands of books, your writing will flow as if guided by divine inspiration. In time, you'll understand this truth on your own."

He paused for a moment, then added, "There are also three other miscellaneous books: Fine Calculations (Jingwei) on mathematics, Peach Blossom Manual (Taoli) on chess strategies, and Mountain and Sea Records (Shanhai Shu) on literature. You can browse them in your spare time—they'll help nurture your mind and spirit."

Surprised by the weight of these words, Song Jitan felt a little embarrassed and cautiously said, "Teacher, it feels like you're giving me your final instructions. It's a bit unsettling."

Mr. Qi smiled gently, his expression warm and kind. "It's not as dramatic as you think. Parting ways is just part of life. One day, we'll meet again."

When he smiled, it was like a spring breeze sweeping through, comforting and full of life.

Suddenly, he said, "Go see Zhao Yao. Consider it your way of saying goodbye."

Song Jitan stood up and laughed. "Alright. Then I'll leave this board for you to clean up."

With that, the young man cheerfully walked away.

Mr. Qi began to tidy up the game pieces. Although they appeared to be scattered chaotically, he picked them up in perfect order, starting from Song Jitan's last move and reversing through the game, not missing a single piece.

At some point, Zhi Kui, a young maid, emerged from the bamboo grove. She didn't enter the courtyard but stood quietly by the gate.

Without turning around, Mr. Qi spoke in a low voice, "Take care of yourself."

The girl, who grew up in Ni Ping Alley, wore an innocent expression, her shyness making her appear delicate and gentle.

Mr. Qi slowly turned to look at her, his gaze turning sharp and cold, piercing through the pretense of innocence on her face.

The girl kept her wide-eyed, naive look, seemingly oblivious to his scrutiny.

The tension between them was palpable, like two dragons locked in a silent standoff.

From afar, Song Jitan's cheerful voice broke the silence. "Zhi Kui! Let's go home!"

The girl immediately softened, responding sweetly, "Yes, young master!"

She pushed open the gate and walked past Mr. Qi without hesitation. After a few steps, she turned back, curtsied gracefully, and said with a melodic voice, "Teacher, Zhi Kui will take her leave now."

It was only after a long moment that Mr. Qi let out a heavy sigh.

The spring breeze rustled the bamboo leaves, sounding like the gentle turning of pages in a book.

Elsewhere, a young Taoist priest wearing a lotus crown was packing up his stall. He sighed repeatedly, drawing curiosity from the townspeople. But when they asked what was wrong, he only shook his head without answering.

A newlywed woman, who had once come to him for fortune-telling, happened to pass by. Seeing his unusual behavior, she hesitated before stopping. Her soft voice asked a polite question, but her watery eyes lingered on his handsome face.

The priest stole a glance at her, his gaze briefly lowering to take in the view before him. Swallowing hard, he muttered under his breath, "Today, I drew a fortune for myself. The result… utter misfortune."

In Xinghua Alley, there was an old well called the Iron Chain Well. A thick iron chain, as thick as a grown man's arm, hung into the depths of the well. No one knew when or why it was placed there, nor who had done it. Even the oldest residents of the town couldn't explain its origin.

Legend had it that pulling the chain from the well would cost a year of one's life for every meter pulled. One skeptic decided to test the tale, ignoring warnings from the elders. He spent an incense stick's worth of time pulling up a massive length of chain, yet still didn't reach the end. Exhausted, he left it coiled by the well and went home, planning to continue the next day. That night, he died on his bed, blood streaming from his orifices, his eyes wide open and unblinking. No matter how his family tried, they couldn't close his eyes.

Finally, an old neighbor advised them to take his body back to the well. Only after they returned the chain to the depths did his eyes finally close.

An old man and a young boy with hair tied into two buns walked toward the Iron Chain Well. Despite his young age, the boy recounted the story of the well with clarity and confidence, far beyond what one would expect from a child just learning to read.

As they reached the well, the boy, his large eyes like shiny grapes, sniffled and said to the old man, "I finished the story. Now you have to show me what's in your bowl!"

The old man chuckled. "Don't rush. Let's sit by the well first. Then I'll let you see."