225: Chapter 224 Sword Practice

The second sword strike—the lift.

From bottom to top, the sword tip traced an arc, like a carp leaping out of the water, like a bird skimming across the sky.

The third sword strike—the chop.

From top to bottom, the sword blade fell, fast as a meteor, powerful as a collapsing mountain.

The fourth sword strike—the slash.

Cutting horizontally, clean and crisp, not a fraction too much, not a hair too little.

One sword strike, two sword strikes, three...

His movements became faster and faster, the sword light shimmering under the moonlight like a silver stream flowing through the darkness.

His body moved within the Martial Arts Arena, his footwork light and steady, the sword light drawing silver circles around him, one after another, endless and continuous.

His eyes remained closed, but his sword did not stop, as if his body knew exactly where to go and what to do.

Huo Yan's eyes widened, his mouth agape, unable to close.

He had practiced the sword for five years, and he had practiced those basic moves thousands of times... Chop, thrust, point, lift, collapse, intercept, wipe, pierce, flick, raise, twist, sweep.

But Wang Lin was not performing those basic moves; he was performing sword techniques.

Complete sword techniques, fluid sword techniques, as if he had practiced them for ten years.

He wasn't practicing move by move; he was performing entire sets, as if those sword techniques were already carved into his bones, needing only a trigger to burst forth.

"Flowing Cloud Sword Manual"—the sword light was gentle as clouds, elegant and agile, like the wind blowing across the water, like clouds drifting across the sky.

"Thirteen Wind-Breaking Swords"—the sword light was sharp as the wind, fast as lightning, each strike carrying the sound of tearing through the air, leaving trails of silver-white afterimages in the air.

"Shadowless Sword Technique"—the sword light vanished. It hadn't really disappeared; it was just too fast for the naked eye to see.

The sword light flickered in and out of sight under the moonlight, like an elusive firefly, never knowing where it would appear next.

"Heavy Sword Manual"—the sword momentum changed, shifting from light and agile to heavy and ponderous.

Wang Lin's body lowered slightly, and the sword speed slowed, but every strike carried the force of a thousand jun, as if the sword itself had become ten or a hundred times heavier.

The ground trembled slightly beneath his feet, and dust was stirred up by the sword wind, scattering in all directions.

Set after set of sword techniques rotated through his hands.

It was not a stiff practice, but a mature, complete, and flawless demonstration.

The timing, angle, power, and rhythm of every strike were just right.

It was as if he had practiced for ten years, no, twenty years.

Huo Yan's legs felt a bit weak; it wasn't fear, but a sense of powerlessness.

He had practiced the sword for five years and had considered himself one of the best students in the Ancient Martial Arts Training Hall.

But seeing Wang Lin, he realized he hadn't even touched the threshold.

Su Wanqing held the tingtao sword, her eyes bright as stars.

She had guessed right.

Wang Lin had spent a day and a night in the library reading about sword techniques, just like when he learned saber techniques before; he mastered them after reading them once.

No, not "mastered," but "made them his own."

He didn't need to practice, didn't need to polish, didn't need to accumulate.

One glance, and it was carved into his bones.

Then, Wang Lin's sword momentum suddenly slowed down.

The sword light changed from sharp to soft, from fierce to harmonious, from exposed brilliance to restrained depth.

His wrist turned gently, and the sword blade traced one arc after another in the air, neither fast nor slow, neither heavy nor light, like flowing water bypassing a stone, like moonlight spilling onto a lake, like the wind passing through a bamboo forest.

His body moved along with it, his footwork steady and soft, as if he were gliding across the ground.

His breathing became long and steady, every inhalation and exhalation synchronized with the rhythm of the sword.

This was the Taiji Sword, the most difficult sword technique in the Ancient Martial Arts Training Hall library.

It is said that an ordinary person needs to practice for ten years to enter the gate, twenty years to achieve minor success, and thirty years to achieve great success.

Among the students of the Ancient Martial Arts Training Hall, no one dared to say they had fully mastered the Taiji Sword because it was too difficult; it required extremely deep qi and blood foundations and extremely precise control.

But Wang Lin was practicing it, and not stiffly, but fluidly.

The arcs his sword traced in the air became smaller and denser; those arcs were not broken, but connected one after another, like ripples of water that never ceased.

His sword made no sound—not because it was too fast to make a sound, but because it was so slow that it made no sound, as if even the air could not bear to disturb him.

There was no sword qi around him, no sound of wind, no unnecessary movement.

Only him, his sword, and those circles.

More and more people gathered around the Martial Arts Arena.

Some ran over from the dormitories, some from the cafeteria, and some from the library.

Almost all the students of the Ancient Martial Arts Training Hall had arrived, and even some students from the Superpower department had come upon hearing the news.

They stood at the edge of the Martial Arts Arena; no one spoke, no one moved, and no one dared to disturb Wang Lin.

They just watched, watching those sword lights, those circles, those movements that were so fluid they didn't seem human.

Then, someone began to move.

A student from the Ancient Martial Arts Training Hall tried to raise the sword in their hand, imitating Wang Lin's posture.

Their movements were stiff and clumsy, and the arcs traced by the sword tip were crooked, but they were imitating.

Another person moved, then another; more and more people raised their swords and began to practice along with Wang Lin's rhythm.

Their movements were not uniform—some fast, some slow, some stiff, some fluid.

But they were all learning, all trying, all using their own ways to capture that feeling.

Huo Yan watched this scene, silent for a long time.

Then he gripped his sword tightly, raised his arm, and followed Wang Lin's movements, tracing the first arc.

Clumsy, stiff, but he did not stop.

Su Wanqing held the tingtao sword, watching Wang Lin, her lips curling slightly.

She did not practice along, because she knew that Wang Lin's sword techniques could not be learned just by imitation.

In the center of the Martial Arts Arena, Wang Lin stopped.

The final arc of the Taiji Sword was completed, and the sword tip slowly fell back to the ground.

He stood there, holding the sword in his right hand, the tip pointing obliquely at the ground, his eyes still closed.

His breathing was steady, his expression normal, as if the hour-plus of practice just now had been nothing more than a warm-up for him.

Wang Lin opened his eyes, retracted the sword into his space ring, and turned to walk toward the entrance.

The moonlight shone on his back, stretching his shadow long and far.

The Martial Arts Arena remained silent for a long time, and then someone spoke.

"Taiji Sword... He just practiced the Taiji Sword..."

"I've practiced for a long time and can't even perform the first form fluidly, yet he performs it better than Instructor Meng..."

"Who exactly is he?"

The whispers rose and fell...

Su Wanqing held the tingtao sword, standing in the crowd, her gaze following the direction Wang Lin had left, her fingers gently stroking the scabbard, her heart making a difficult decision.

She gritted her teeth, then took a step and chased after him.

Before long, she saw the figure in the distance.

"Wang Lin! Wait a moment!"

Wang Lin stopped and turned around. "Su Wanqing? Is something the matter?"

Su Wanqing ran up to him, stopped, and panted slightly.

"What you just used, was it Shen Junlin's Sword God Superpower?"