62: Chapter 62: Cunning and clumsy coexistence

One month later.

Lu Mingyuan arrived at the workshop every day during the hour of chen and left during the hour of you. For thirty full days, he had not spoken a single word, nor asked a single question.

Tang Zhuo ignored him as well, simply focusing on his own work. Sometimes he made dragonflies, sometimes butterflies, and sometimes things Lu Mingyuan couldn't even name. Those creations became smaller and more exquisite; eventually, some were so tiny they were almost invisible to the naked eye.

Lu Mingyuan just watched.

He watched Tang Zhuo's hands, watched the components, and watched the process of each item coming into being from nothing.

He did not lift a finger.

Because Tang Zhuo had not asked him to.

On the morning of the thirty-first day, Lu Mingyuan arrived at the workshop as usual.

Tang Zhuo sat behind the table, with several items placed before him—a piece of iron, a copper wire, a small piece of wood, and a feather.

"Today, you make something."

Lu Mingyuan was taken aback.

Tang Zhuo pointed at the Materials.

"Make a hidden weapon. Anything you want. When it's finished, show it to me."

Lu Mingyuan sat down at the table.

He looked at those Materials for a long time.

What should he make?

He thought of the hidden weapons he had seen in the Hidden Tool Tower. Flying Locusts, Bee Tails, Butterfly Wings, Spider Webs, Cicada Molts. Each one was exquisitely crafted, each one inconceivable.

But he didn't know how to make a single one of them.

He picked up the piece of iron.

The iron was heavy, hard, and ice-cold. Holding it in his hand, he couldn't sense any 'craft' within it. It was just iron, a piece of ordinary iron.

He set down the iron and picked up the copper wire.

The copper wire was very thin and soft, capable of being bent into any shape. He remembered the dragonfly Tang Zhuo had woven from copper wire, its posture so lifelike. Yet his own hands couldn't even bend it into a perfect circle.

He set down the copper wire and picked up the piece of wood.

The wood was very light and brittle; a single stroke of a knife would leave a mark. But he didn't know what to carve, or how.

He set down the wood and picked up the feather.

The feather was very light and soft, ready to drift away with a gentle breath. He thought of those flying hidden weapons, those wings as thin as a cicada's. But what did this feather have to do with those wings?

He set down the feather and looked at the pile of Materials before him.

For a full hour, he produced nothing.

Tang Zhuo watched him the whole time without saying a word.

It wasn't until the sun reached its zenith that Tang Zhuo spoke:

"Can't make anything?"

Lu Mingyuan nodded.

Tang Zhuo asked, "Why?"

Lu Mingyuan thought for a long time.

"Junior... does not know what to make."

Tang Zhuo smiled.

"You don't know what to make because you don't have it in your heart."

He looked at Lu Mingyuan.

"You think hidden weapons are made of Materials. But let this old man tell you, hidden weapons are made of the heart. If it isn't in your heart, no amount of Materials will help."

He picked up the piece of iron.

"This iron, in your eyes, is iron. In my eyes, it can be a throwing knife, a flying needle, or a flying spike. Why? Because I have those things in my heart."

He set down the iron and looked at Lu Mingyuan.

"What is in your heart?"

Lu Mingyuan fell silent.

What was in his heart?

There were the talismans of Longhu Mountain, the swords of Wudang Mountain, the sword marks of Mount Qingcheng, the snow of Shaolin, the Buddha's name of the Pure Land, the brahma sounds of White Horse Temple, the bamboo of Yuelu, the inscriptions of White Deer, the boulders of Ehu Lake, the flowers of Xiangshan Mountain, the palms of Junshan Mountain, and the paths of Jianmen.

There was so much, far too much.

But what did those things have to do with the iron, the copper wire, the wood, and the feather before him?

He didn't know.

Tang Zhuo stood up and walked to the window.

Sunlight streamed in, falling on the Materials set out to dry. Animal hides, bones, sinews, and feathers all shimmered with a gentle luster in the light.

"Young man, you have traveled to many places and seen many things. But have you ever considered whether those things could be made into hidden weapons?"

Lu Mingyuan was startled.

Tang Zhuo turned his head.

"Can your Dragon Subduing Palm be made into a hidden weapon?"

Lu Mingyuan froze.

Dragon Subduing Palm? Made into a hidden weapon?

"Can your Sword of Protection be made into a hidden weapon?"

Sword of Protection? How could that be made into a hidden weapon?

"Can your Qingcheng Sword Intent, your Shaolin Chan intent, your Pure Land Buddha's name, your Yuelu bamboo—can they be made into hidden weapons?"

Lu Mingyuan's mind went blank.

Tang Zhuo walked back to the table and sat down.

"You think a hidden weapon is just a hidden weapon. But let this old man tell you, all things in the world can be tools. A talisman can be a tool, a sword can be a tool, a palm can be a tool, and the heart can be a tool."

He looked at Lu Mingyuan.

"Everything from the path you have walked can be made into a hidden weapon. It only depends on whether you are willing to make it, and whether you know how."

Lu Mingyuan sat in a daze.

All things in the world can be tools.

He thought of the talismans he had drawn at Longhu Mountain. Weren't those talismans also a kind of 'tool'? By drawing the principles of heaven and earth onto paper, they became talismans.

He thought of the sword he used at Wudang Mountain. Wasn't that sword also a kind of 'tool'? By hiding the intent of protection within the blade, it became a sword.

He thought of the three palm strikes he had performed at Junshan Mountain. Weren't those palms also a kind of 'tool'? By borrowing the momentum of heaven and earth into his palm, they became palms.

It turned out he had been making 'tools' all along.

It was just that what he made were tools of talismans, tools of swords, and tools of palms.

Not hidden weapons.

But isn't a hidden weapon also a kind of tool?

To make the heart into a tool, to make the Dao into a tool, to make everything encountered along the journey into a tool.

He looked at the piece of iron before him.

Suddenly, he remembered something.

That day at Wudang Mountain, the Pavilion Keeper had let him view the demon suppression map. Among the Sword Intents on the map, some were heavy and clumsy, some light and nimble, some fierce and powerful, and some gentle. He had looked for a long time before realizing that behind every Sword Intent, there was a 'heart'.

In this moment, he suddenly understood.

Those Sword Intents were the 'tools' of the sword.

A sword is made of iron, but Sword Intent is made of the heart.

Just like these hidden weapons.

A hidden weapon is made of iron, copper, wood, or feathers. But the 'heart' of the hidden weapon is made of one's own heart.

He looked up and faced Tang Zhuo.

"Elder Tang, I think I understand."

Tang Zhuo nodded.

"Understand what?"

Lu Mingyuan said, "On my journey, I have filled my heart with many things. All those things can be made into hidden weapons. But as for how to do it, I do not yet know."

Tang Zhuo laughed.

"It's right that you don't know. If you knew, you wouldn't need to learn."

He pointed to the Materials.

"From today on, you will work. Make one item a day for a month. Don't worry about whether it's good or bad, or whether it succeeds or fails. Just make it."

He paused.

"While you're making it, put those things from your heart into the hidden weapon."

Lu Mingyuan began to work.

On the first day, he made a small knife. Using that piece of iron, he ground it for half a day until it took the shape of a knife. But the knife was too dull, too thick, and too ugly. He tried to put the things from his heart into it, but all he put in were anxiety and frustration.

On the second day, he made a needle. Using that copper wire, he bent it for half a day until it took the shape of a needle. But the needle was too soft, too crooked, and too thick. He tried to put the things from his heart into it, but all he put in were defiance and stubbornness.

The third day, the fourth day, the fifth day...

Each day, he made one item. Every single one was hideously ugly. Every single one was unusable.

But he kept making them.

As he worked, he suddenly discovered something.

His hands were starting to listen to him.

On the first day, he wanted to grind the iron thin, but his hands wouldn't obey, resulting in uneven thickness. By the tenth day, he wanted to bend the copper wire into a circle; though his hands were still clumsy, they could already form a rough circle. By the twentieth day, he wanted to carve a line into the wood; though his hands still shook, he could already carve that line.

His hands were slowly becoming skillful.

But his heart was slowly becoming 'clumsy'.

Not the clumsiness of stupidity, but a 'clumsiness' of not being in a hurry.

Like that old man repairing the road, hammer after hammer, neither hurried nor slow.

Like Jingchen sweeping the courtyard, stroke after stroke, steady and unhurried.

Like Hui Ke practicing his punches, strike after strike, calm and composed.

He suddenly understood.

Skill comes from clumsiness.

Without those clumsy repetitions, there would be no later dexterity.

Without those days of failure, there would be no later success.

Skill and clumsiness give birth to each other.

On the twenty-fifth day, he made something.

It was a tiny flying knife, ground from that piece of iron. The blade was very thin, the edge very sharp, and a line was carved into the hilt—it was the flash of light that had crossed his heart when he first realized the Sword of Protection at Wudang Mountain.

He carved that light onto the hilt.

Not with his eyes, but with his heart.

As he carved, he remembered that morning at Wudang Mountain, those Sword Intents of protection, and Jiang Yichen's words as he sheathed his sword: "Your sword should not break here."

All those things entered this knife.

When the knife was finished, he held it in his palm and looked at it for a long time.

The knife was very ordinary. Thin, sharp, with a line on the hilt. Compared to the hidden weapons of the Tang Clan, this knife was practically crude work.

But he knew this knife was different.

Because he was inside it.

It contained the path he had walked for over three years, the people he had met, and the Dao he had realized.

Tang Zhuo walked over and picked up the knife.

He looked at it for a long time, turning it over and over. He examined the body, the edge, and the line on the hilt.

Then he set the knife down and looked at Lu Mingyuan.

"It is done."

Lu Mingyuan was stunned.

Tang Zhuo said, "This knife can be used."

He paused.

"Not used for killing, but used to see the heart. Anyone who sees this knife will know what kind of person you are. This is the 'heart' of a hidden weapon."

Lu Mingyuan looked at the knife, an indescribable feeling welling up in his heart.

This was the first hidden weapon he had ever made.

It was the first thing he had produced by bringing the things in his heart to life.

That night, Lu Mingyuan sat alone in his room.

He placed the knife on the table and watched it for a long time.

The knife shimmered with a faint light under the candlelight, and the line on the hilt flickered in and out of view. Looking at that line, he thought of Wudang Mountain, of Jiang Yichen, and of those Sword Intents of protection.

Then he thought of what Tang Zhuo had said.

"All things in the world can be tools."

He suddenly realized.

On this journey, the things he had done, the people he had seen, and the Dao he had realized—hadn't he been making 'tools' all along?

Talismans are tools, swords are tools, palms are tools, knives are tools.

The heart, too, is a tool.

Only by making oneself into a tool can one contain heaven and earth.

Only by making the Dao into a tool can it be passed to later generations.

Only by making the path into a tool can one keep walking forever.

He picked up the knife and gripped it gently.

The knife was cold, but his heart was warm.

He knew that from today on, he would no longer be just a person who only knew how to learn.

He was now also a person who knew how to create.

The next morning, Lu Mingyuan went to bid Tang Zhuo farewell.

Tang Zhuo was working; when he saw him coming, he didn't even look up.

"Leaving?"

Lu Mingyuan nodded.

Tang Zhuo set down his work and looked at him.

"One month to make one usable knife. Not fast, but not slow either."

He pulled something out of his robe and handed it to Lu Mingyuan.

It was a small token made of iron, with the character 'Zhuo' carved on it.

"This is my token. If you encounter people from the Tang Clan in the future, show them this, and they will help you."

Lu Mingyuan took it with both hands and solemnly tucked it into his robe.

"Thank you, Elder Tang."

Tang Zhuo waved his hand.

"No need to thank me. That 'interplay of craft and clumsiness' is something you realized yourself. I was just watching."

He paused.

"Remember, skill comes from clumsiness, and within clumsiness lies skill. Don't mind being slow or simple. There are benefits to simplicity, and there is wisdom in being slow."

Lu Mingyuan gave a deep bow that nearly reached the ground.

"Junior will remember."

He turned and walked toward the door.

As he stepped outside, he suddenly looked back.

Tang Zhuo had already lowered his head and continued his work. Those hands were still so steady, so precise, and so skillful.

But he knew that behind that skill lay sixty years of 'clumsiness'.

He gently closed the door and walked into the morning light.

Next stop, Mount Hua.