173: Chapter 173 Sharp Blade

After that voice dissipated, the gray fog on the Sky Curtain quieted down, as if nothing had happened.

Bai Yu stood by the window, looking down at his right hand.

What is a sword?

He still remembered it now. Horizontal, slanting, vertical, and dot—four strokes. The tip of the sharp blade narrowed, double-edged and symmetrical, with the spine as its bone and the edge as its intent.

But the state of "remembering" was becoming suspicious. Like a glass of water placed on the edge of a table; you knew it hadn't fallen yet, but you weren't sure if someone would bump the table in the next second.

Bai Yu had no room for hesitation.

"Get up," he said to Bai Wuji on the couch.

Bai Wuji looked at him with open eyes but didn't Move. It wasn't that he didn't want to Move, but those three words just now had exhausted his strength, and his limbs felt as if they were filled with sand.

Bai Yu bent down and pulled him up from the couch. With one hand gripping the back of his neck and the other supporting his waist, he forced him to stand by the window.

Bai Wuji's toes curled on the stone slab, flinching from the cold.

"Master, he can't right now—" Medicine Not So's words were cut short by a look from Bai Yu.

It wasn't fierce. It was that those eyes were too empty—so empty that one didn't dare to respond.

Bai Yu picked up the Bone Knife from beside the couch, flipped the hilt, and thrust it into Bai Wuji's hand.

The moment Bai Wuji's fingers touched the hilt, the Bone Knife shuddered.

It wasn't rejection.

It was like the state of two dogs meeting for the first time; they sniffed each other and didn't fight, but they didn't wag their tails either.

"Grip it tight."

Bai Wuji gripped it. His posture was wrong, his five fingers clenched into a ball like he was holding a stick.

Bai Yu reached out to adjust his fingers. He pushed the index finger forward half an inch, tucked the middle finger in, pressed the ring finger against the ridge on the side of the hilt, and hooked the pinky at the bottom. The thumb pressed above the second joint of the index finger.

After finishing the adjustments, Bai Yu took a step back to look.

Not right.

The angle of the Tiger's Mouth was off by five degrees.

Bai Yu stepped forward, wrapped his hand around Bai Wuji's, and twisted it five degrees.

"Remember this angle."

Bai Wuji looked down at his hand.

"Why this angle?"

Bai Yu opened his mouth.

The answer was at the tip of his throat; he could feel the shape of the sentence—it was something he had said many times, three or four words, and the person he had said it to was the one right in front of him.

But the content was empty.

That memory had been extracted. He remembered having taught Bai Wuji the reason for gripping a sword and remembered saying a sentence, but the sentence itself had been wiped clean.

Bai Yu closed his mouth for a moment.

"Because the sword strike is fastest this way," he said.

He didn't know if those were the original words. But the logic was sound.

Bai Wuji nodded and didn't press further.

In the courtyard, Pure Void Master sat at the base of the wall, fingers pinching a fragment, his eyes never leaving the space between Bai Yu's brows. The sixth thread was visibly lengthening at a pace discernible to the naked eye.

The old man leaned in and lowered his voice, "How much time does he have left?"

"At the current speed," Pure Void Master's voice was also very low, "three days. Not four. It's faster than expected after pulling the needles."

"Does he know?"

"He calculates it more clearly than I do."

In the inner room, Bai Yu had already begun teaching the second movement.

"Raise your hand to here." He grabbed Bai Wuji's forearm and lifted it, stopping at shoulder level. "Don't lock your elbow; leave a finger's width of slack. When striking with the sword, the force comes from the waist, not the shoulder."

Bai Wuji complied. His movements were stiff, like a child who had just learned to stand being posed into a certain position.

But when Bai Yu's fingers touched his forearm, he felt it.

These muscles didn't need to be taught.

The moment Bai Wuji's forearm muscles touched the correct position, they fine-tuned themselves. The angle of the elbow pit, the direction of the forearm's rotation, the tilt of the wrist—everything fell into place within a fraction of a breath.

It wasn't Bai Wuji adjusting. It was his body.

The muscle memory left by ten thousand sword strikes operated automatically once triggered.

Bai Yu's hand let go.

Bai Wuji maintained that posture, surprisingly steady. The person who could barely stand a moment ago had his center of gravity automatically locked after gripping the knife and striking a pose. The balls of his feet bore the weight, his heels were half a fraction off the ground, and his spine leaned slightly forward.

It was exactly the same as his standing posture while sleepwalking last night.

"Strike," Bai Yu said.

Bai Wuji's arm extended forward an inch.

The Bone Knife cut through the air silently.

But a slit was carved into the gray light at the window. This time, the gap was a fraction wider than last night's, and it lasted a breath longer before closing.

A second scratch appeared on the window frame, right next to the one from last night.

Bai Wuji's knees went weak again. Bai Yu supported him, not letting him fall.

"Again."

Bai Wuji took two breaths and stood straight again.

Chapter 145

Bai Wuji performed seven sword strikes.

It wasn't seven variations, but the same movement repeated seven times. Arm extending forward, Bone Knife cutting through the air, gray light sliced open and then closing. Each time, the slit was a hair's breadth wider than the last, and the closing speed was half a breath slower.

After the seventh strike, Bai Wuji's legs completely gave out, and he pitched forward. Bai Yu caught his collar with his right hand and caught the flying Bone Knife with his left.

As soon as the Bone Knife's hilt entered his palm, it felt hot.

It was lighter than this morning, but it was definitely hot.

Bai Yu placed Bai Wuji back on the couch and casually set the Bone Knife on the floor beside it.

"Rest for the duration of an incense stick, then continue practicing."

Bai Wuji lay on his back, his chest heaving violently. Even the last layer of grayish-white had faded from his face, revealing the blue patterns of blood vessels underneath.

"That thing," Bai Wuji gasped, "what is it called?"

"What thing?"

"What you just taught me." He gestured with his right hand. "The one pushing forward."

Bai Yu looked at him.

Sword strike.

That movement is called a sword strike.

He opened his mouth. The word "Strike" came out. The second word was stuck in his throat. It wasn't that he forgot how to pronounce it, but the meaning of that word had become a blank in his mind.

Bai Yu glanced down at his translucent right hand.

It's coming.

That voice said, "Tomorrow you won't remember what a sword is," and it hadn't lied. There was still most of the night left before tomorrow, but the concept of "sword" had already begun to be stripped from his cognition.

He still recognized the shape of the Bone Knife, could still grip the hilt, and still knew how to perform that forward-extending movement. But "sword" as a word, a meaning, a System—was being painted over stroke by stroke into a blank sheet of paper.

Bai Yu closed his eyes for a moment. Then opened them.

"Striking," he said.

It wasn't the original name, but it would suffice.

Bai Wuji didn't notice anything unusual; he nodded and closed his eyes to rest.

Bai Yu walked out of the inner room.

The air in the courtyard smelled fishy. It wasn't the smell of blood, but the scent carried by the gray fog seeping through the cracks in the Sky Curtain, smelling like the musty odor of old scrolls in damp weather.

Pure Void Master leaned against the wall, twirling the fragment between his fingers. He saw Bai Yu come out, and his gaze fell directly on the space between Bai Yu's brows.

"The seventh thread."

Bai Yu felt it himself. Another thread had appeared between his brows; the seven Threads were intertwined, no longer looking like sprouts or roots. They were like a net, spreading into the depths of his Divine Soul.

"How much do you remember now?" Pure Void Master asked.

Bai Yu leaned against the doorframe and thought for a moment.

"Where the Heavenly Sword Sect is located, I remember. My name, I remember. His name, I remember." He paused. "What Moves I taught him, what words I said—I've probably lost about thirty percent."