Chapter Fifty-Five: Only the Way of the Sword Reigns Supreme

Four doors stood exactly alike, with no distinguishing features. All four doors were open, revealing the scenery within. The view inside was unmistakably the same pavilion seen earlier. From left to right, the first door was tightly shut. The second door stood open; Shen Lian hesitated for a moment, then stepped inside.

Suddenly, his vision cleared, and he found himself before the familiar pavilion once more. This time, however, there was someone within, sitting cross-legged, a stubble on his chin, with a face that seemed vaguely familiar. Shen Lian was startled—it was the visage of his own body, only the youth had grown into a young man.

The young man opened his eyes and looked at Shen Lian, showing no surprise, and spoke slowly: “I have not spoken to anyone in ten years. I never expected the first conversation I’d have would be with myself.”

Shen Lian gazed at the bright moon overhead, feeling the wind stir the grass around him, and smiled faintly. “So, it seems I have never left this courtyard.”

“We truly have not left,” the young man replied.

“If you are me, why deceive yourself?” Shen Lian said calmly.

“Do you believe the moon in the sky does not move, and that as it shifts, the direction of the wind changes? Now, the wind’s direction and the moon’s position do not match the earlier patterns you observed when you first saw the four doors—does your previous deduction not hold?” The young man stared intently at Shen Lian, eyes full of complexity and sorrow.

“Then, after ten years, why have I not died?”

“Because this place only brings hunger and thirst, but never true death,” the young man answered.

“But the flowers and plants here are edible, and there is flowing water nearby. How could one be hungry or thirsty?” Shen Lian replied slowly.

The young man picked up a stone and tossed it toward the garden. It sliced through the air, passed through the flowerbed, and not a single petal fell. Shen Lian watched the stone pass unhindered through petals and branches, landing in the flowing water without raising a splash.

It was as if the entire scene were a three-dimensional projection, unaffected by any collision.

“These are all false?”

“I am real. Do you know what I intend to do next?” the young man said.

“If you are truly hungry, naturally you wish to eat,” Shen Lian replied.

“But everything here is false,” the young man said earnestly to Shen Lian.

“I am real. If you eat me, that will suffice.” Shen Lian suddenly laughed. If this young man was himself ten years hence, then he was about to be eaten by his future self.

It was a paradox.

Cannibalism is cruel enough, but to devour oneself is even more so.

The young man moved, rising from his cross-legged seat and leaping through the air in one fluid motion. His hands shaped into claws, palms open to the void, as if invisible currents swirled within.

Shen Lian felt the wind tug at his clothes, urging him toward the young man's grasp. He seemed stunned, or perhaps he simply had no power to resist such an attack.

The air sizzled, faint red sparks flickering—the result of speed too swift, friction igniting the atmosphere.

In a flash, the claw struck Shen Lian’s chest.

A bloody hole opened, and his writhing heart was pulled out.

The young man looked upon it as though he had found the most delicious thing in the world. Shen Lian’s eyes remained open, as if watching someone else’s heart.

The young man held the heart like a bright red peach and bit into it, juice spilling forth.

He said, “Truly delicious.”

“Pretending to savor something so fine must be difficult for you,” Shen Lian’s lips curled into a faint smile, filled with mockery.

The young man gradually dissolved, melting into a puddle.

A white light flashed; moonlight still poured like water, and Shen Lian found himself once more in the courtyard.

The ground was clean, with no trace of water.

Shen Lian lifted his head. The moon’s position was exactly as it had been when he decided to leave earlier. Even the direction of the wind was unchanged.

As if he had never left.

Perhaps what he had just experienced was nothing but an illusion.

At that moment, the master appeared at Shen Lian’s side, smiling slightly. “Do you not feel any of this is real?”

“I suspected the first door tested courage. Once I had proven my courage, it remained shut. The second door tested wisdom.” Shen Lian needed say no more; to discern truth from illusion is itself a form of wisdom.

“It seems your views have changed,” the master said, looking amused. This youth was clever—clever enough to surprise him.

“Because I suddenly realized I was foolish. Why must I believe everything you say? You told me the second trial was to leave this courtyard, but ‘there is nothing to begin with.’ Why should I need to leave? Knowing it is false, I need not go at all.” Shen Lian spoke gently, without force, yet his confidence was unmistakable.

The master clapped his hands and waved; the courtyard vanished. Nearby, there was no running stream, only a drainage ditch, filled with moonlight and nothing else.

“You have courage and can distinguish reality from illusion. You are now qualified to learn my swordsmanship. This is your good fortune,” the master said, smiling.

Shen Lian accepted with grace, bowing. “Thank you for your instruction.” He did not consider the master arrogant. Though he could distinguish truth from falsehood, to conjure illusions as reality, as this master did, would take countless years of effort.

The wise may teach; to learn from such a master is indeed a blessing.

“You know my surname is Su. You may address me as Mister Su,” Mister Su said with a smile, yet withheld his full name.

“Very well.”

“Have you previously received systematic training?” Mister Su’s smile faded, his tone became solemn.

“I have studied some methods for focusing and calming the mind, as well as basic breathing exercises.” He did not mention the ‘True Explanation of the Supreme Azure Spirit’s Natural Heart-Locking Method,’ simply referring to it as ‘methods for focusing and calming the mind.’

“I could tell long ago your soul is much stronger than most; you are indeed a seed for cultivation. Though your breathing and foundation training are not particularly advanced, your base is exceptionally solid—much like the Qingxuan school’s secret methods. Qingxuan is the orthodox breathing tradition in the world; it seems you have some good fortune.”

“My breathing techniques do have some connection to Qingxuan,” Shen Lian replied honestly.

“Heh, Qingxuan may be fine, but that is long past. Let us not speak of it. All things in the world may be cultivated, but in my eyes, the Way of the Sword stands supreme.” As Mister Su spoke, his pride was evident, as if he looked down upon all things.

Seeing Shen Lian’s slight skepticism, Mister Su continued, “Do you think I exaggerate?”

“I dare not.”

“Surely you are clever. You believe all things may lead to the Way, each equal, but even peasants know ‘everything is inferior, only reading is noble.’ The supremacy of the sword is not mere boasting.” Mister Su’s expression grew stern, moonlight cutting sharp angles across his face.