He practiced the broken-down moves several times, following his master’s slow and unhurried style. Once he became a bit more familiar, his gaze suddenly turned sharp. In that instant, Charles Bennett unconsciously put down the hand he had stretched toward the teacup—he realized that the spirit and energy contained at the sword’s tip felt extremely familiar. This kid was imitating Emily Thompson!

After all, Henry Carter was only imitating, and being young and lacking in strength, he was far from possessing that desperate, youthful sharpness of Emily Thompson. But once that spirit and energy were added, the wooden sword in his hand instantly changed—as if it had been a piece of paper lying flat on the ground, but now it was gradually puffing up, taking on a three-dimensional shape!

The shape was still vague, because not to mention comparing Henry Carter’s sword to Emily Thompson’s, even the basic moves’ accuracy was still up for debate.

Yet in that moment, Charles Bennett grasped something—he felt he had seen the sword intent of the Fuyao wooden sword.

Sword intent is not like peaches on a tree or fish in the water; without decades of effort, without reaching the realm of unity between man and sword, it’s impossible to condense sword intent. As for Henry Carter, that little brat, it was even more impossible for him to display any “sword intent”—he was already doing well just to hold the sword steady and not drop it on his own foot.

But this move, “A Bright Future,” so cleverly resonated with the mindset of a youth just entering the immortal sect. Charles Bennett recalled how he felt when he first saw the mountain full of talismans—fresh, curious, and filled with uncontrollable imagination about the future...

Perhaps it couldn’t be called “sword intent,” but rather that the Fuyao wooden sword itself subtly echoed the wielder’s state of mind—the sword technique itself was guiding the one who held the sword.

Charles Bennett suddenly stood up. By watching Henry Carter’s sword, he had, by chance, touched upon something he had never understood before—the ever-changing, intangible mysteries within the sword technique, and why his master never explained them—because the sword technique itself was alive.

Why did he start to feel powerless from the second move, “Seeking High and Low,” and find it even harder to continue with the third move, “Things Go Contrary to One’s Wishes”? Because he didn’t know what it felt like to seek high and low, nor did he understand what it meant for things to go contrary to one’s wishes.

The wooden sword could no longer guide him.

☆ Chapter 9

Having figured out this key point, Charles Bennett understood that it was time for him to go down the mountain and travel for a while.

Deep waters and scorching fires can temper the body; joy and sorrow can temper the spirit.

Though the Fuyao wooden sword is an entry-level sword technique, it subtly mirrors the ups and downs of a mortal’s life. This isn’t something that can be created behind closed doors. If he spent all his days indulging in the comforts of Mount Fuyao, he’d be a thousand years old and still unchanged, forever unable to match the tumultuous tracks of the mortal world.

Not everyone is lucky enough to receive such a moment of enlightenment, to know exactly where their bottleneck lies. Normally, when cultivators encounter this situation, they are overjoyed and push forward, waiting for the breakthrough.

But is Young Master Bennett an ordinary person?

The thought of “traveling down the mountain” flashed through his decorative mind for just a moment, only to be drowned out by all sorts of imagined hardships—rough meals, sleeping in the open, the inconveniences of travel.

Just thinking about how much luggage he’d have to bring made Charles Bennett’s head spin. All his lazy bones rebelled, stubbornly tripping up his steps toward the future.

“Travel?” In the end, the young master thought with a broad and open heart, “Whoever wants to go can go. I’m not going—if I’m stuck, then I’m stuck. Who cares.”

Charles Bennett made up his mind. He decided to ignore the awkwardness and lack of fluency in his sword technique. As long as he remembered the moves, he’d just consider himself to have learned them. Tomorrow, he’d ask his master to teach him the fourth move.

This unambitious, go-with-the-flow senior brother shamelessly started slacking off. He flicked a few small stones, helping his master knock the fourth junior brother, who was using a wooden sword to poke at a bird’s nest in a tree, down to the ground. His aim was precise, his strength just right.

Watching Samuel Foster lying on the ground howling, Charles Bennett felt his skills had reached a modest level and there was no need to be too serious.

After noon, the daily mutual torment between master and disciples finally came to an end.

Except for the senior brother, everyone else returned to their own courtyards to eat and rest, and in the afternoon, each worked on their own cultivation—those unwilling to practice could play with the monkeys on the mountain.

Master Mùchūn let his disciples roam free, only reminding them to follow the sect rules and to behave themselves on the nights of the first and fifteenth of each month, not to run wild in the mountains.

Only Charles Bennett had to stay in the afternoon to continue facing his master’s old face.

Seeing the young Daoists bringing over wood and carving knives, Emily Thompson explained to his two new junior brothers, “Those are talismans. Talismans are divided into bright and hidden ones. Bright talismans are carved onto something, most commonly wood. If you’re skilled, you can use metal or stone as well. Hidden talismans are much more powerful—water, air, even thoughts can become talismans. But that’s all legend; no one’s ever seen it, probably only the truly powerful can do it.”

Henry Carter pretended not to be curious, but his ears were already perked up.

After all, talismans are the foundation of magical tools, and magical tools are the most direct impression ordinary people have of cultivation.

Samuel Foster, ever the sociable one, came over and asked, “Second senior brother, what is a ‘truly powerful’ person?”

Emily Thompson flashed him a toothy grin and said, “Who in this world dares call themselves ‘powerful’? The truly powerful have all ascended to the heavens long ago.”