In order to prevent the outside world from knowing that he had already broken through to beco a Second-Rank Martial Artist, Su Wangchuan naturally could not let anyone know that he was cultivating Third-Rank martial arts either.
Inside the courtyard of his residence, he set up four Iron Dummy Stakes.
He held a longsword in his hand. The blade was already chipped.
Several ruined swords lay discarded in the corner of the wall—so with notches along the blade, others snapped clean in two.
Following the essential steps of 《Qingcheng Sword Art》, Su Wangchuan moved his footwork, twisting his waist to drive his limbs, achieving the principle of guiding the arms with the waist and driving the sword with the arms. The explosive force he generated was indeed considerable. He could easily carve clear and deep sword marks into the Iron Dummy Stakes.
The power of a Third-Rank sword art was evident.
Yet no matter how he trained, no matter how precisely he followed the sword forms described in the manual, the experience value remained completely unmoved.
Even after spending an entire day and night morizing every move, to the point where he could execute the full set smoothly and flawlessly, repeating it countless tis, he still could not gain even a single point of experience.
He felt as though sothing was missing.
There was nothing wrong with the martial arts of the Qingcheng Sect.
But compared to the agile, spirited figure described in the manual, his own movents seed stiff—an imitation without essence. Even he felt there was no true rhythm to his sword. He had not grasped its core.
“Yuhui.”
“Can you help
contact your sister?”
Burying his head in blind practice was not his style. If there was a problem, it had to be solved.
With Bai Yuhui readily available as a resource, not using him would be foolish.
Upon receiving the instruction, Bai Yuhui logged off imdiately and contacted his cousin Bai Jingtang.
She replied that she could spare fifteen minutes during her lunch break and told him to wait for her on the sixty-ninth floor.
Su Wangchuan had never been below the seventieth floor before. Upon hearing this, he hurried back to his room, logged off, and rushed to the appointnt.
“What is on the sixty-ninth floor?”
He was curious.
When the elevator doors opened, he walked down a long corridor deliberately designed to appear deep and dark on both sides. At the end, he discovered that behind the doors lay enormous Training Grounds—identical to the ones in 《spirit realm》. The space was vast, equipped with Iron Dummy Stakes, weapon racks, and every kind of weapon imaginable.
“Whoa!”
Su Wangchuan stood there, stunned. It felt as though he had stepped into the ga itself, and he could not help exclaiming aloud.
“You are here.”
Bai Jingtang slipped past him like a ghost and walked inside.
“Co in.”
“Captain Bai—oh, yes.”
“You ran into difficulties while cultivating 《Qingcheng Sword Art》, did you not?”
“Yes. Yes, I did.”
Bai Jingtang looked striking today. She wore a fitted white training uniform that gave her a sharp, energetic presence. Her high ponytail accentuated her crisp and decisive bearing. As she walked, the airflow shifted with her movents. With a single light step, she crossed several ters—clearly using lightness skills. She landed without a sound, without even a trace upon the floor.
She walked to the weapon rack, selected a longsword, and casually twirled it before assuming the opening stance of 《Qingcheng Sword Art》.
The posture was impeccably standard—but not rigid.
Su Wangchuan’s eyes lit up.
She was starting already?
As expected of Captain Bai!
He quickly grabbed a longsword from near the doorway and mirrored the opening stance.
“Look at the mirror.”
Bai Jingtang reminded him.
Only then did Su Wangchuan realize that the wall behind him was made of glass, clearly reflecting both of their postures.
The sa opening stance—yet entirely different auras.
One appeared ethereal and poised, gathering montum.
The other was technically correct, yet lacking that transcendent agility and presence.
“The martial arts of the Qingcheng Sect fuse Daoist principles with combat technique,” Bai Jingtang said while demonstrating. “There is the Dao of Yin and Yang—one Yin, one Yang; one empty, one solid. The sword forms transform between Yin and Yang. What appears solid conceals emptiness; what appears empty conceals solidity.”
As she explained the principles, she moved fluidly. Her movents were elegant and gentle, seemingly harmless—yet when she struck, her blade was decisively lethal. As her tempo accelerated, each move surged like a vast river, smooth and ferocious, perfectly embodying the interplay of Yin and Yang, of void and substance.
After completing the full set, fine beads of sweat glistened on her skin. She imdiately sat cross-legged and circulated 《Qingcheng Heart thod》. A faint mist of heat rose from the top of her head.
“I will teach you only three tis. I demonstrate once, you follow once. After three rounds, whether you truly enter the gate depends on you.”
The mont she finished speaking, Su Wangchuan snapped to attention. He began adjusting his own movents and rhythm according to her demonstration.
Yet the interplay of Yin and Yang, of void and solidity, was truly difficult to grasp. By the ti he finished one full set, his performance was even more awkward than usual—disjointed and clumsy.
Bai Jingtang did not interrupt.
Only after he completed the set and withdrew his sword did she stand.
“Second round.”
This ti, she deliberately slowed her movents. At monts requiring wrist force and explosive release, she let out a soft, controlled shout, syncing her breath and voice with her strikes. The result was a stronger presence—gentle yet firm, graceful as a startled swan.
Su Wangchuan watched with utmost concentration, locking onto every detail.
When she finished the second set, he could not help asking, “Captain Bai, may I record this?”
“No.”
She rejected him imdiately.
Su Wangchuan could only sigh. He carefully recalled every detail he had morized, pondered for a mont, then stepped forward with his sword.
This ti...
At least the first few moves carried so flavor. Where he needed to be slow, he was slow; where he needed to be gentle, he was gentle; where he needed to be fast, he was fast; where he needed to be fierce, he was fierce.
But once the later continuous sequences began, he could not replicate that overwhelming montum.
Even so, Bai Jingtang showed a hint of approval and nodded.
“Third round.”
Su Wangchuan sat upright, more focused than ever. His eyes saw nothing but her figure and movents.
This ti, however, he was not analyzing.
He was morizing.
If recording was not allowed, then he would carve her movents into his mind.
And surprisingly—
It worked.
When Bai Jingtang completed the third set, his mind was almost blank. Yet once he closed his eyes, her figure appeared vividly in his consciousness, every detail etched as if branded into him.
When he opened his eyes again, Bai Jingtang was gone.
He was alone in the Training Grounds.
Captain Bai had left.
Su Wangchuan did not dwell on it. He seized his sword and began repeatedly refining and imitating every movent she had shown him.
Starting from the opening stance...
He broke the sword path into individual techniques, practicing each one repeatedly.
The mont he detected an error, he corrected it.
The full sequence was dismantled into scattered moves. He tackled them one by one, overcoming each difficulty.
After all, he had a perfect instructional template in his mind.
He did not know how much ti passed.
At last, he thoroughly digested every move. Strength and softness coexisted within him. Only then did he return to the opening stance and attempt to link the forms together again.
The first five moves soon flowed smoothly.
But as the difficulty rose and the fierce, continuous sequences began, he faltered repeatedly.
Tirelessly, Su Wangchuan adjusted his breathing, his force, and his footwork—refining them again and again.
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