Chapter 790 — The Crown of a Million Years of Sword Dao
The Herdsman of the Wasteland · Page 1 of 4
"My sword dao is merely passable."
Shen Mu watched the sword art clashing with the blade light in the fog and smiled. "My sword dao has only two moves. I suppose that makes it third-rate."
His attention was drawn to Bai Qu'er's sword art. Hers had been born out of his own; forty thousand years ago, in Bailong City of the Shanghuang era, he had exchanged sword techniques with the Bai siblings—but for no more than an hour or two.
The Bai siblings had not learned much. Then the calamity erupted, Bailong City was breached, and they began to flee through the darkness.
At sunrise they embraced before a cliff, and then they parted.
Bai Qu'er survived, leading the remnant of her people on. Her sword art had been born of Shen Mu's, yet she had not walked on along the road of Jingping Kingdom's swordsmanship; she had carved out a road of her own.
Her sword art carried the spirit of one who hacks a path through the wilds at the end of the world, wresting a chance at life from nine chances of death. That was what her era had made of her; those dark years had forced her to harden, to win a sliver of hope for the survivors with her own meager strength.
Luo Wushuang's saber art was a thing of precision and calculation, its blade light open and upright, crushing others by sheer momentum; Bai Qu'er's sword art, by contrast, pierced the whole with a single point, using a terrifying penetration to shatter that momentum.
Both their saber and sword arts bore the shadow of Shen Mu's swordsmanship—which held momentum, subtle calculation, and the spirit of an age that pierced through the dark.
Bai Qu'er had received Shen Mu's guidance, and Luo Wushuang's calculating saber art had been broken by Shen Mu's calculating sword art; clearly, whether Bai Qu'er or Luo Wushuang, both had been shaped by him.
Yet each had also found a road of their own, long since leaping free of the astonishment he had shown them on that dark night forty thousand years ago. Their different circumstances and different natures had led them to different achievements along their separate paths.
The young scholar sat at ease on the donkey's back, ambling along. "So you can be modest, on rare occasion," he said. "But there are far too many people in this world who cultivate the sword—far more than those who cultivate the saber—and a great many who have won great achievements in swordsmanship, nor are those who enter the dao through the sword few in number. To speak only of nearby times: the Imperial Preceptor of Jingping, the Sword God Su Muzhe—Jingping alone boasts two giants of the sword dao. And in the Kaihuang era, those who achieved greatly in the sword dao were beyond counting. Your swordsmanship, truly, would be hard-pressed to earn a rank."
Shen Mu sat on Dragon Qilin's head and said unhurriedly, "Brother, I said my sword dao is third-rate. I did not say my swordsmanship. In all the world, if it comes to swordsmanship, I claim second—and no one dares claim first."
He smiled slightly. "Look back across the past million years: those who surpass me in the sword dao are beyond counting. But in swordsmanship, I already stand at the summit. In the future there may be one who surpasses me, but in the past million years there has not been a single one."
The scholar was astonished; the donkey beneath him brayed, "Hee-haw!"
The scholar lowered his fishing rod and let the donkey take a bite of the radish, then said with a smile, "Not even Kaihuang?"
The donkey bit into the radish—whereupon the radish let out a horrifying scream, then grew out another length, its body still whole.
The radish kept screaming, a shrill and wretched sound.
"That radish has turned into a spirit!"
Water Qilin was startled and leaned in for a look; suddenly the radish sprouted an arm and punched him square on the nose, sending blood streaming from his nostrils.
"The radish is alive!" cried Water Qilin.
"And what are you looking at?"