094. Gatekeeping at the Mountain Gate

The man before him was indeed a renowned sword master, one whom the people of the martial world treated with great reverence. Yet now, with his hair in disarray and his clothes a shambles, he looked nothing like the exalted figure of rumor. Still, though his image was ruined, the sword in his hand remained unadorned and extraordinary. No matter how one looked at it, it was no common weapon.

A true master’s sword should be divided into two parts: the sword itself, and the edge it gives birth to. The two are interdependent; the edge is born from the blade, and the blade is where the edge resides. Many people speak of a sword as though it were merely a tool to slay, but because of long habit they inevitably fall into this understanding. They think they know swords, but in truth they do not.

His own swordsmanship had reached a rather high level, yet there was still a gap between him and this man before him, and the difference was not small.

The sword master said, “I have already beaten a man of your caliber. Do not force me to repeat myself. Little brother, though your sword is good, it is still not enough. These past few days I have changed my style, and if I draw my sword, I may not be able to restrain myself.”

With that, he thanked him and was about to take his leave.

At that moment, the man before him suddenly looked at him in astonishment. Different from the easygoing smile of others, that gaze was sharp and intent, as if he had already selected him as the next target. He said, “Since you are the famous and respectable Lord Sword, I should at least hear your opinion before I decide.”

The two exchanged a look, and a faint sense of oddness rose between them. Then the sword master chose a piece of the silver ingot, saying, “All right, I’ll take this one.”

The other man watched him move, his eyes fixed on the chosen piece. To put it plainly, the market was no place for pretension. They all knew that silver had to be cut with a blade, not with one’s hands. Since the merchant had simply set out the ingot and left it there, why bother hesitating? He took it and turned to go.

Before leaving, the sword master warned him, “There is no helping it. Whoever you are, take that as a lesson.”

He cut the silver in a flash, and then headed toward the inn to rest.

The innkeeper, seeing his arrival, was quick to greet him with a warm smile and personally lead him inside.

The sword master asked, “Why is there no one else here?”

“The room was booked by a young noble not long ago,” the innkeeper replied with a bow and a smile. “He and his companions have gone into the city.”

“What kind of person was he?”

“Very refined, very proper. He arrived with quite the escort. I do not know exactly what his status is, but he is surely no ordinary man.”

“Did he say where he went?”

“He left no word. There is no telling.”

The sword master nodded and, without asking further, stepped inside to rest.

The next morning, he was informed that his room had been requested by another guest. He sat there, feeling somewhat pleased, and then waited a while before wandering out. Since he had nothing urgent to do, he decided to stroll aimlessly. He had not gone far when a voice called out from behind:

“Sir.”

He turned. A boy of about ten or twelve came running up, breathless. “Sir, could I ask your name?”

“Why do you ask?”

The child looked him up and down, then spoke with a sincerity beyond his years. “It is a little difficult to say. I only thought your sword skills seemed very interesting, so I wanted to ask. If you do not mind, may I take a look at your sword?”

The sword master had already long grown used to such talk, and with a casual air he withdrew his sword. The moment the weapon appeared, the boy’s eyes lit up as if struck by lightning. That was why he had chosen this man, why he had come close on purpose, and why he had begun to ask questions. Clearly, he had not come merely to see the sword. He had come for the man himself.

He knew that this was not a place to gamble recklessly. By all rights, he should have left, but for some reason he still could not bring himself to do so. In the end, he only stood there, quietly watching the child in front of him.

The boy stared at the sword and asked, “Master, may I ask your surname?”

The sword master replied, “I am only an anonymous wanderer. My master once called me by another name, but no one in the world knows it.”

“Then what should I call you?”

The sword master smiled faintly and replied, “Just call me a swordsman.”

Then, with an air both slow and certain, he added, “If you truly wish to follow the path of the sword, one must understand that this road does not belong to the individual alone. It must be walked with one’s sword in hand. Whether or not there is a blade in front of you, what matters is the sword in your heart. Only then can you pass this threshold. A sword is not merely a tool for killing; it is also a way to comprehend the world.”

The boy did not understand all of it, but he nodded anyway.

The sword master continued, “If you want to become a swordsman, you must learn to endure hardship. Swordsmanship is the sharpest of all arts. It may be beautiful, but it is also cruel. The stronger the person, the greater the pain they must bear. The sky is high, the water is deep, and the road beneath your feet is long.”

The boy looked at him, eyes bright. “Thank you for teaching me, Master.”

The sword master smiled and pointed at him. “Then I shall teach you one more thing. If you wish to learn, there are some things you must remember.”

The boy listened closely as the sword master explained that in the world of swords, one must pay attention to many things: the stance, the angle, the spirit. A smile, a gesture, a slight movement of the hand could all reveal more than words.

The boy listened for a long while, and in the end his mind was nearly overwhelmed. He wiped the cold sweat from his forehead; even the bottle beside him seemed to have gone mute.

Note: The following passage is fragmentary and carries a faintly literary, spring-like atmosphere. The wording is not entirely complete. It mentions only a shopkeeper, with no flesh or blood; the silver is simply ordinary silver. The author likely intended to write that once the silver was cut, it would resemble a woman. Some readers have suggested there may also be a female assassin, though that remains uncertain.