Chapter Sixty-Seven: All Doubts Dispelled (Part Two)

There are many things in this world that do not stem from genuine fondness, but simply become second nature through habit. Such was clearly the case with Li Xian’s martial training. What began as a mere pursuit of the reputation that came with abandoning scholarship for the martial path, and later as a matter of pride, had, through relentless practice over more than half a year, turned into a daily routine. Now, if he went even a single day without several rounds of training, Li Xian would feel an inexplicable restlessness. Even now, traveling and far from his exacting and fastidious master, Li Boyao, he had not the slightest intention of slacking off, but diligently adhered to the regimen his teacher had laid out for him.

Half a year is not such a long time, yet Li Boyao had imparted no small amount of knowledge—spear technique, horsemanship, mounted archery, foot archery, and swordplay—all taught to the highest and most rigorous standards. As he put it: Li Xian had already missed the optimal age to begin martial training, and could only hope for half the success of others by exerting ten times more effort. Whether such an investment of energy was worth it was never Li Boyao’s concern. His attitude could be summed up in a single phrase: “Train if you wish; if not, do as you please.”

Li Xian himself never troubled over the question of worth. To his mind, wealth and power were but fleeting clouds; only real skills truly belonged to oneself. In this world, there are no useless abilities—only useless people. The more one learns, the better. Since he had already embarked on the path, he would do his utmost to master it. Even if he could not become the “great talent” his master envisioned, at the very least he would strengthen his body. As Li Xian saw it, he had already made his investment; if he could profit greatly, so much the better. If, despite his best efforts, he failed, at least he would not lose out—breaking even was enough. For this reason, Li Xian neither resisted nor resented the hardships of martial training. While it might be an exaggeration to say he was wholly absorbed in it, it was nonetheless a fact that he strove with all his might.

As the saying goes, effort brings reward. With such devotion to his training, Li Xian naturally gained much. While his skills in most disciplines could only be considered barely adequate—enough, perhaps, to be of some practical use—in the art to which he had devoted the most energy, swordsmanship, he revealed a talent nothing short of extraordinary. Putting aside his weaknesses in strength and stamina, his technique and presence had reached a remarkable level—so much so that even the most critical observer could not deny it, especially the overwhelming force of his bearing, which was truly awe-inspiring. No one felt this more keenly than Ling Zhong, the officer currently facing off against Li Xian.

Ling Zhong hailed from the Shaolin tradition. Though only a lay disciple and not even among the five hundred warrior monks, nor having mastered Shaolin’s deepest secrets, his skills were nonetheless impressive. Since joining the army, he had fought in many battles and earned numerous distinctions, rising from the ranks of a common soldier to an officer through sheer merit. By a twist of fate, he had later been assigned as a senior attendant and trusted guard at Prince Zhou’s estate, a position of considerable honor. He was especially skilled with the sword and had long served as Li Xian’s sparring partner. In the early days, he could easily defeat Li Xian without even drawing his blade—barehanded victories were the norm. But as Li Xian’s swordsmanship improved, Ling Zhong could no longer take him so lightly. Now, facing the still and poised Li Xian, Ling Zhong felt as though he were confronting a peerless master, forgetting entirely the youth’s slight build. His sword hand grew damp with sweat.

“Kill!”

Sweat was a clear sign of tension, and such nervousness inevitably affected his bearing. Li Xian, though not yet a true master, was acutely sensitive to shifts in momentum. Before Ling Zhong could adjust himself, Li Xian let out a thunderous shout, pivoted halfway, and in a fluid motion drew his sword, slashing toward Ling Zhong’s right shoulder in a brilliant arc—the opening move of the “Seven Deadly Arts of the Overlord’s Blade”: the Draw.

“Bravo!”

“Beautiful!”

…

The onlookers, mostly officers from the estates of Prince Zhou and Prince Lu, though not all expert fighters, were experienced soldiers with sharp eyes. They could not help but cheer when Li Xian executed the Draw with such precision and flair. The raucous applause was so loud that it roused Li Xian’s older brother, Li Xian, from his half-doze.

“Well done!”

Ling Zhong, who had long been Li Xian’s sparring partner, was well acquainted with the fierce power of the “Seven Deadly Arts.” Upon seeing Li Xian’s attack—far more forceful than anything he had shown in previous days—Ling Zhong’s pupils contracted, yet he did not retreat. He knew that if he allowed his opponent to dominate the momentum, he would be relentlessly suppressed, and even with his superior skill, a single misstep could cost him the bout and his dignity. So, instead of retreating, he advanced, shouting as he flicked his regulation saber in a swift arc to intercept Li Xian’s descending stroke.

Li Xian’s sword was quick and fierce, but hampered by limited strength, it could not match Ling Zhong’s power. Even though Ling Zhong had not used his full force, Li Xian could not withstand a direct clash. Both of them knew this well. In fact, Ling Zhong’s response was precisely what Li Xian had anticipated. As soon as Ling Zhong moved, Li Xian suddenly ducked low, and the originally diagonal slash transformed in an instant into a sweeping horizontal strike—another move from the “Seven Deadly Arts,” the Sweep.

“Ha!”

The switch was abrupt but executed with fluid grace. Against a less familiar opponent, Li Xian might have landed a decisive blow, but Ling Zhong, having practiced with him for so long, knew his repertoire well. Surprised by the speed of the change, he was nonetheless prepared—twisting aside with a sharp cry, his saber pivoted to counterattack at Li Xian’s neck, the blade’s chill felt even before it arrived.

Ling Zhong’s counter was as swift as lightning. Though not intended to kill, the edge carried real menace. In the past, Li Xian would have withdrawn to avoid such danger, but today he seemed slow to react, refusing to yield and pressing forward with his sweep. If both persisted without changing tactics, both would be wounded—Li Xian’s blade might cut Ling Zhong’s abdomen, but not fatally, while Li Xian would surely lose his head.

Damn! Ling Zhong dared not risk mutual injury. Seeing Li Xian unflinching, he hesitated—just for a moment, almost imperceptibly—but that was enough. Instantly, Li Xian shrank into a tight ball, rolling into Ling Zhong’s guard like a sphere, his saber sweeping mercilessly toward Ling Zhong’s waist.

Not good! Having lost the initiative, Ling Zhong struggled to recover, retreating again and again, his blade weaving a desperate defense against Li Xian’s unrelenting assault. The rapid exchange of blows rang out like a shower of raindrops; in a single encounter, they traded more than a dozen strikes. Though strong, Ling Zhong’s power was blunted on the defensive, and he found himself overwhelmed. By the time he caught his breath and prepared to counterattack, Li Xian had already withdrawn, sheathing his blade with a smile, showing no further intention to fight.

“Well done, Seventh Brother! Your skill has improved tremendously—truly commendable!” The match had passed in a blur, and as Li Xian retreated, the spectators were still dazed. Silence filled the field, but not for long. With a cheerful shout, Li Xian’s sixth brother, Li Xian, stepped forward, beaming.

“Sixth Brother, you’re here! Ha, I was only messing around, nothing serious.” Hearing the commotion, Li Xian turned and saw his brother approaching. He quickly tossed his sword to a nearby guard and went forward to greet him, responding with modest embarrassment.

“Ha! Seventh Brother, there’s no need for such modesty. Truly, you possess the spirit of Taizong himself—one day, you will surely become a pillar of our realm!” Li Xian praised him heartily, though his words carried a subtle undertone.

“Sixth Brother jests. How could I ever hope to be a fraction of Taizong? My talents are mediocre, both in letters and arms. If I could one day achieve half the merit of General Huo, I would count it my life’s wish!” Li Xian had made a great show of martial training along their journey—not only out of genuine ambition, but also for the sake of appearances, with Li Xian as his principal audience. Hearing the probing tone in his brother’s words, Li Xian chuckled inwardly, but gave no hint, replying with feigned innocence.

“Oh? You truly aspire to emulate General Huo?” Li Xian pressed the point, undeterred in his probing.

“Indeed. A man’s duty is to destroy the barbarians and secure the borders. Any who dare defy our great Tang, no matter how distant, must be punished! Though I lack General Huo’s courage and strength, my resolve is the same!” Li Xian declared, full of heroic spirit.

“Well spoken! Such is the lofty ambition of a true man. As your elder brother, I shall do all in my power to support you!” Li Xian gave a thumbs-up and praised him with a smile.

“My deepest thanks, Sixth Brother!” Li Xian replied without hesitation, bowing respectfully and raising his voice in gratitude.

“Excellent! Hahaha…” Li Xian burst into hearty laughter, his doubts dissipating entirely. He had always both relied on and feared his younger brother’s intelligence, worried that Li Xian might have secret plans of his own. But now, seeing him openly renounce scholarship for the martial path, he was reassured. The logic was simple: a prince known as a mere warrior would have no claim to the throne, for to pacify the realm requires force of arms, but to govern it requires scholarly talent. A man of arms alone could never win the support of talented ministers; even a sovereign as brilliant as Taizong achieved nothing without them.

“Hahaha…”

Li Xian laughed, and Li Xian laughed as well, for he knew exactly what was in his brother’s mind. And this, after all, was precisely the effect Li Xian had set out to achieve—so he had every reason to be quietly pleased.