Chapter Thirteen: Practicing Martial Arts

Early the next morning, Yuanye arrived at the summit, sitting cross-legged atop a massive boulder to regulate his breath and calm his mind. As the hour of the rabbit arrived, he stood and began practicing the Pure Yang Infinite Skill of Wudang.

He moved through the fifteen forms: Pushing the abdomen with five fingers, Splitting Mount Hua with force, The Overlord sheds his robe, The Overlord lifts the cauldron, Su Qin carries his sword, The golden tortoise reveals its back, Water dripping through stone, The snail digs earth, The toad cools itself, The carp boards seeds, The python emerges from its cave, The ape enters its den, Pure Yang lies in slumber, The copper wall and iron barrier, Willow swaying in the wind.

Upon completing the sequence, Yuanye faced east, drawing in a continuous stream of white, tinged with violet, into his mouth. Instantly, his white robe billowed, mist rose from the crown of his head, and his black hair stirred as though caught in an invisible breeze.

Within moments, his internal energy surged and circulated, producing a faint roar inside him, like pearls splashing from a mountain waterfall, rushing downward, or like mighty rivers, ceaselessly surging, finally becoming monstrous waves of the sea, unstoppable.

With a sudden burst, half a foot of white vapor shot from Yuanye’s mouth, and streams of energy radiated from the 130 acupoints across his body.

Under the morning sun, the summit, once shrouded in thin mist, was now swept by the currents emitted from his body, forming a miniature tornado that whirled and howled across the mountaintop.

On the plaza of the Zhenwu Hall midway up the mountain, a dozen third-generation disciples, busy with their morning practice, heard the distant thunder from the summit and turned to gaze upwards.

They saw the mist swirling and scattering like an overturned bowl, then gathering again in the shape of a funnel.

Astonished, they marveled at the ancestral master’s divine skill, that shone through the ages, likening it to that of a celestial being.

They felt fortunate to be accepted into Wudang, imagining the day when they too might learn such remarkable arts, their hearts filled with longing.

“All right, all right, focus on your training and stop being distracted,” Song Yuanqiao called out sternly, seeing his junior disciples pause in their routines, staring at the summit in awe.

Although he appeared calm, Song Yuanqiao was equally shaken inside.

“My little junior truly deserves the praise of our master—a martial genius. In only a few short years, he has cultivated Pure Yang Infinite Skill to such a level, putting us elder brothers to shame,” he thought.

Yet, despite his amazement at Yuanye’s youthful achievements, which already rivaled the fruit of his own two decades of hard training, he felt no envy, only joy.

He rejoiced at the prospect of Wudang welcoming another grandmaster in the future.

Aside from Yuanye, the seven other second-generation disciples of Wudang were carefully chosen by Zhang Sanfeng himself.

With exemplary character and talent, the brothers lived in harmony, each treating the others as kin.

There was none of the scheming, rivalry, or sordid violence seen in other sects.

After Song Yuanqiao’s admonition, the third-generation disciples returned to their practice, focused and vigorous, their resolve stronger than before.

Observing this, Song Yuanqiao’s expression softened, his heart was greatly comforted, and he thought, “In a few years, these disciples will have mastered their arts. With the brothers’ skills deepening and the genius of our little junior, Wudang will surely prosper, its fame spread across the martial world, no longer relying solely on our master’s reputation.”

At the summit, Yuanye finished his practice, his skin radiant as jade, his face glowing with health.

His pure white eyes carried a piercing intensity, as if capable of striking the soul, a result of his ever-strengthening inner power and spirit.

Once his breath was steady, feeling the surging internal force in his meridians, Yuanye smiled, eager for the day’s martial training.

He leapt down from the boulder, his legs infused with internal energy to cushion the impact from the five or six meter drop.

With a loud thud, he left two footprints on the stone, landing steadily.

He strode toward the path, intending first to pay respects to his master, then seek out his second senior brother for training.

Time flows like a river, relentless day and night.

Two years flew by in a blink.

It was now the depths of winter; Mount Wudang lay silent, cloaked in silver, birds had long returned to their nests or migrated south, and wild beasts hid in hollow trees or mountain dens, rarely seen.

Yet atop the summit boulder, sword light flashed.

At times it seemed ethereal and graceful, carefree; at others, sword energy burst forth like a deity’s strike, unstoppable as thunder; sometimes the blade quivered, its cry echoing.

As the blade curved and wound about, the tip stabbed from impossible angles, dazzling the eye, resembling more a supple whip than a sword.

After half an hour, the sword light faded, snow continued to drift, sunlight refracted in dazzling colors, a breathtaking sight.

Amidst the brilliance stood a young man with a sword, his features refined as jade, long black hair tied behind him, a strand drifting across his brow.

His white eyes were calm and yet deeply compelling.

This youth was Yuanye. In these two years, he felt as if he had returned to the days of hard study in his previous life.

He first learned from his second brother, Yu Lianzhou: Mountain-shaking Iron Palm, Wudang Long Fist, Thirty-two Soft Palms of Wudang, Tiger Claw Technique, Tiger Claw Severing Hand, Twelve Yin-Yang Hands, Twenty-four Crane Beak Points, Infinite Profound Skill Fist.

Among these, the Thirty-two Soft Palms, Tiger Claw Technique, and Tiger Claw Severing Hand were Yu Lianzhou’s specialties.

The Severing Hand was Yu Lianzhou’s own creation, evolving from Wudang’s Tiger Claw Technique, dissatisfied with its inability to always seize an opponent, he devised twelve new moves, each targeting the waist, crippling the adversary’s lineage.

Later, Zhang Sanfeng deemed it too vicious and harmful, and added severing moves to the basic Tiger Claw, warning Yu Lianzhou not to use it lightly.

When Yuanye first learned it, his brother cautioned him against employing it in combat unless absolutely necessary, and Yuanye earnestly agreed.

Yet in his heart, Yuanye thought, “This is a fine technique. For the likes of Yin Zhiping, a few more claws are needed to avenge the bitter grievances of my past life.”

Yuanye then learned from his eldest brother, Song Yuanqiao: Cloud-soft Sword, Two Forms of Yang-Yang Sword, Divine Gate Thirteen Swords, Seventy-two Coiling Soft Sword. From his sixth brother, Yin Liting, he learned the Wudang lightness skill, Cloud Ladder.

Even his third brother, Yu Daiyan, paralyzed in all four limbs, patiently guided him in mastering his prized blade technique: Profound Void Saber.

Yuanye was deeply grateful, resolving to seek out the disciples of the Vajra Sect and recover the Black Jade Rejuvenation Pill to heal Yu Daiyan’s injuries.

Thus, Yuanye became the second-generation disciple, besides the founder Zhang Sanfeng, who had mastered nearly all of Wudang’s martial arts.

His brothers were astonished by his prodigious talent, but none felt jealousy, only genuine joy.

After practicing each technique, Yuanye sheathed his sword, waited a few breaths as the snow finally settled, and with a reverse flick, sent his sword flying.

In a blink, the blade shot straight into the scabbard embedded in the stone slab.

He calmed himself, then resumed practicing his fists and palms.

The snow atop the boulder was whipped up again, swirling or gathering between his palms, the air crackling with a succession of explosive sounds.

After a full hour, Yuanye finally ceased his practice.

Soon, white vapor surged around him, his internal energy radiating like a furnace, melting the snow into water, then vapor, forming a mist.

He gazed quietly at the beautiful scene he had created, smiled faintly, and leapt down from the boulder.

Touching lightly in midair, Yuanye covered ten yards, his right hand beckoned, and the sword in the stone flew into his grasp.

Landing, he tapped his toes, soared again, and proceeded along the summit path, drifting toward the small courtyard where his master resided.