Volume One: Flames at the Border Chapter Forty-Two: The Nine Swords of the King of Qin

The banquet was held in the Hall of the Tiger’s Roar, attended by over fifty leaders and elders of the stronghold. Ran Yu sat upright at the head of the hall, his head adorned with a scholar’s cap, dressed in a purple robe, and a jade belt cinched at his waist. His spirit was bright and vigorous.

He Yu and Deng’er approached, knelt on the ground, and performed the grand ceremony of apprenticeship. “Master, He Yu and Lin Deng’er bow their heads to you,” they intoned.

“Good… good… my disciples, please rise,” Ran Yu replied with a gentle nod and smile, accepting their obeisance and reaching out to help them up. An attendant brought a tray lacquered in green, upon which lay a pair of jade bracelets and a golden warrior’s crown adorned with fine threads. The craftsmanship of the crown was exquisite, and the jade bracelets gleamed with a translucent brilliance, clearly no ordinary items.

He Yu and Deng’er accepted the gifts, bowing again in gratitude. Music and dance began, marking the start of the feast. The guests crowded around He Yu and Deng’er, flattering them, urging them to drink, and asking about He Yu’s bloody battle at Xiemaling and the night raid on the Fortress of Heavenly Valor.

He Yu, eager to establish his authority among the crowd, recounted the events truthfully, sparing no detail. Deng’er, seeing her husband so respected, felt pride welling in her cheeks; afraid of missing any detail, she would interject from time to time.

He Yu possessed eloquence; his tales were full of danger and twists, keeping the audience enthralled as if they had witnessed the events themselves. The hall was filled with gasps and exclamations. Ran Yu was in high spirits, thinking to himself, “My disciple combines both strategy and bravery, his wisdom surpasses all—truly a genius of the world. I am honored indeed.”

He Yu’s willingness to sacrifice his arm to save Ran Yu had already moved Murong Shanshan deeply. Now, hearing He Yu recount his past, with all its peril and resolve, she felt both joy and anxiety in her heart. She glanced sideways at He Yu—tall and poised, his heroic bearing shining amid the clinking cups and laughter. Indeed, he was a rare man among men.

Master Faxian had arranged a vegetarian table for himself, occasionally conversing with Ran Yu. Ran Yu, long aware of Faxian’s reputation, treated him with great respect, and considered it a great fortune to have the master recite scriptures for his deceased father.

When the feast ended, it was already midnight. The guests departed in high spirits. Clean and comfortable rooms were arranged for Murong Shanshan and Faxian, and attendants led them away.

Ran Yu, a man of passion, was especially joyful on this day and drank himself into a stupor. He Yu and Deng’er helped their master back to his chambers, removed his outer robe, and settled him to sleep. Deng’er, sharp-eyed, noticed a tear at the waist of Ran Yu’s long robe as she moved about.

Ran Yu lived alone; though he had attendants, they were not always meticulous. Deng’er happened to carry a sewing kit and sat beside him, mending the garment.

He Yu, feeling the effects of the wine, sat nearby, sipping tea and chatting idly.

Deng’er whispered, “Master is so tall—surely over nine feet! Even Murong Shao’s attendant Chiluobi can’t compare.”

He Yu laughed, “Chiluobi is just a servant—how could he measure up to Master? Master’s ancestor was once an emperor, and I’ve heard his stature was astonishing as well.”

Deng’er pouted, suddenly showing a bit of childish jealousy. “And what’s wrong with being a servant? I was a maid myself. You must think Lady Murong is prettier than me, and she’s a princess, so…”

He Yu realized he had misspoken and hastened to reassure her, “My dear, you’re so sensitive! What does Lady Murong have to do with me? After we leave the mountain, we may never see her again…”

Deng’er thought it over, then smiled, “Does your heart feel regret?”

He Yu spat, “What regret? You’re just imagining things.”

Deng’er suddenly asked, “You said today that Master’s martial skill far surpasses yours—is that really true?” She idolized her husband to a fault and had never quite believed that he could be bested by Ran Yu.

He Yu smiled, “You really think I’m invincible? Before Master, I can’t display any skill at all. There’s always someone stronger, and I admit it.”

Deng’er finished mending the robe and folded it at the bedside. He Yu tucked the quilt around their master, and together they quietly left the room.

Ran Yu, though drunk, remained clear-headed. Listening to their banter, he was suddenly enveloped in a feeling of familial warmth. Reflecting on his difficult life, his throat tightened with emotion.

The next day, Master Faxian led Murong Shanshan up to the mountain temple to recite scriptures. Ran Yu began instructing He Yu in spear and sword techniques. The lessons took place in a small courtyard behind the Hall of the Tiger’s Roar, with only Deng’er present to attend.

He Yu first demonstrated all he had learned in his life, then listened to Ran Yu’s guidance.

Ran Yu, after observing, nodded. “Deng’er’s family’s martial arts are exceptional, and after He Yu’s refinement, even more powerful. Yet, at their peak, such skills only allow one to defeat dozens; they do not reach the highest tier. To learn superior martial arts, one must first forget what is already known. This is called ‘aspiring to the highest, achieving the middle; aspiring to the middle, achieving the lowest.’ Do you understand?”

He Yu nodded, focusing intently on his master’s instruction. Ran Yu drew his sword and continued, “I will now teach you a sword technique. Watch carefully.” As he spoke, the sword in his hand moved like a spirit snake emerging from its lair—thrusting and swirling with astonishing speed.

This sword technique consisted of only nine moves, almost devoid of embellishment, swift as lightning, each strike deadly. The most remarkable aspect was that when the moves seemed exhausted and the momentum waned, a subtle shift in angle would bring the sword tip surging forth again, as if extending several inches unexpectedly.

He Yu and Deng’er were inwardly amazed, thinking, “Such a ruthless and rapid sword technique—one strike would decide life and death. Who would need a second?”

He Yu pondered further, “In martial arts, speed is paramount. Later schools speak of ‘slow overcoming fast,’ but essentially, it is about striking later yet arriving first. Ultimately, it’s all about speed. This sword technique is so swift that only the ‘Evil-Repelling Sword’ from Mr. Jin Yong’s ‘The Smiling, Proud Wanderer’ might compare.”

He Yu then thought, “Japanese swordsmanship also emphasizes speed, focusing on angle and force, eliminating unnecessary movements and achieving utmost simplicity—much like this sword technique.”

He Yu shared his insights.

Ran Yu stroked his beard and laughed, “Excellent! He Yu, your talent and thoughtfulness truly open my eyes. The younger generation is indeed formidable.”

He Yu laughed inwardly, “How could my insights not be profound? After all, I’m delivering wisdom from over sixteen hundred years in the future!”

Ran Yu, pleased, continued, “This sword technique originates from the royal family of the Qin dynasty. It is called the ‘Nine Swords of the Qin King.’ The Qin people revered martial strength and practicality, and after a thousand years of warfare, created this technique. It was only passed down among close royal kin.”

“When Prince Dan of Yan sought an assassin, he recruited Jing Ke to assassinate the Qin King Ying Zheng. At the crucial moment, Jing Ke failed. Ying Zheng turned and struck with a single sword, severely wounding Jing Ke—that was this very sword technique.”

“Jing Ke was a rare warrior, chosen from thousands, yet he could not withstand the Qin King’s sword. This shows the power of this technique.”

“To avenge my father, I went to great lengths and finally obtained the manual of the Nine Swords of the Qin King. The journey was arduous; you must study it diligently,” he said, shaking his head in deep emotion.

He Yu thought, “The story of Jing Ke’s assassination is well-known. I always assumed Jing Ke was overrated and unskilled, for failing at such close range. I never imagined that the First Emperor Ying Zheng was himself a master swordsman. After centuries of bloodshed, the Qin people developed a sword technique truly unlike any other.”

He Yu mused further, “Japanese swordsmanship shares the same essence as the Nine Swords of the Qin King, which explains why some Japanese claim descent from the Qin people.”

He Yu recalled, “The Tang poet Li Bai wrote: ‘The Qin King swept the six realms, his tiger gaze unmatched; he wields his sword to clear floating clouds, and all lords come west to him.’ I once thought these lines merely praised the Qin King’s might, but now I see they also describe Ying Zheng’s extraordinary swordsmanship. Perhaps Li Bai himself learned the Nine Swords of the Qin King.”

Ran Yu demonstrated as he taught the Nine Swords. The technique required little strength; its brilliance lay in simplicity. Force was applied suddenly where none seemed possible, endlessly shifting, full of mystery.

He Yu, gifted and well-versed in martial arts, quickly grasped the essentials.

Next came sparring with the sword. At first, He Yu could only withstand two moves. After an hour, he managed four or five, and could occasionally counter. Another hour of practice, he could parry seven or eight moves and counter three or four. Further sparring brought little progress.

The Nine Swords demanded complete concentration and consumed much energy. After half an hour, Ran Yu, being elderly, grew tired and withdrew his sword, laughing, “He Yu, the secrets of the Nine Swords are now yours. Remember, their strength lies in attacking first, striking at the enemy’s vital points, not in being flawless yourself.”

He Yu replied, “I understand. The Nine Swords are defense by attack—strike where the enemy must defend, so there’s no need to guard yourself. This approach maximizes speed, making the essence of the technique to pierce the enemy’s vital point from the shortest distance, focusing on speed and angle.”

Ran Yu laughed, “You are wise, He Yu. In less than half a day, you’ve achieved such understanding—your master is truly gratified.”

Deng’er, hearing Ran Yu praise He Yu, was delighted and handed her master a towel to wipe his brow. Deng’er’s thoughtfulness made Ran Yu especially fond of her.

The next morning, He Yu continued practicing. The Nine Swords emphasized comprehension; the more one practiced, the more questions arose, and solving them elevated the technique further. Even with his great talent, He Yu found it hard to make quick breakthroughs.

Seeing that He Yu had memorized the sword moves well, Ran Yu began teaching him spear techniques that afternoon.

Ran Yu led He Yu and Deng’er to a shrine in the inner courtyard. The shrine was solemn, with a giant portrait at its center.

The portrait depicted a god-like general in his thirties, nine feet tall, bearing a resemblance to Ran Yu. In front of it stood a memorial tablet engraved in gold: “Spirit Tablet of Emperor Ran Min of Great Wei.”

Ran Yu, unable to kneel, stood aside, while He Yu and Deng’er knelt and bowed three times. He Yu thought, “Ran Min was a peerless hero, and my master’s father—so he’s my grandmaster. These bows are well deserved.”

After they finished, Ran Yu spoke solemnly, “He Yu, today I will teach you a spear technique—just one move. This move is the Ran family’s legacy. The former emperor relied on it to dominate the battlefield, invincible wherever he went. You must practice it diligently.”

He Yu and Deng’er were stunned. “Is Master mistaken? Martial arts techniques usually have at least three moves—how can a single move conquer all?”