Chapter 76: Beichen Yidao Liu

As one of Japan’s Four Sword Saints, Yan Zhai was the youngest, and though his sword skill was inferior to the other three, his knowledge of sword arts far surpassed that of his senior peers, earning him the nickname “Sword Art Doctor.”

Precisely because of his vast reservoir of sword art knowledge, Yan Zhai immediately recognized the name “Beichen Yidao Liu.”

In this timeline, Beichen Yidao Liu was a mysterious sword style that had been lost for over a century; even in Japan’s oldest sword art texts, detailed records of this school were nearly impossible to find, leaving only scattered fragments.

Beyond these authentic records, what remained were unverifiable folk legends, which claimed Beichen Yidao Liu was extraordinarily exquisite—not so much a sword art as an art form.

In its prime, before its disappearance, it was the most powerful sword style of its time, yet it eventually vanished into the river of history for unknown reasons.

This had long been a great regret among Japanese swordsmen, and every time Yan Zhai read this passage while studying ancient Japanese sword manuals, he felt a deep pang of sorrow.

Now, a young girl suddenly asked him if he knew of Beichen Yidao Liu; Yan Zhai was thrilled, yet deeply puzzled.

This girl was clearly a Huaxia native, having lived in Japan for no more than four years—how could she possibly know about Beichen Yidao Liu? Even many Japanese swordsmen were unaware of this secret!

Yan Zhai frowned at Luo Quan, who looked utterly confident; after a moment’s hesitation, he asked, “Where did you hear about this?”

“I checked Wikipedia—just look it up online,” Luo Quan said, holding up her phone, her expression bewildered.

Before coming, she had specifically searched for information on Beichen Yidao Liu and discovered it was a long-lost sword art; she thought if she presented this lost technique, it might serve as a valuable bargaining chip for Yan Zhai.

But she hadn’t expected Yan Zhai would question her source—wasn’t this information easily accessible?

“Let me see!” Yan Zhai took her phone with a serious expression and scrolled through the Wikipedia entry on Beichen Yidao Liu.

To his astonishment, the Wikipedia account matched precisely the descriptions he had read in ancient sword manuals.

Yan Zhai chuckled bitterly: “I’ve treasured these texts as precious relics, yet all I needed was a single Wikipedia search.”

He returned the phone to Luo Quan and said gravely, “So why did you suddenly bring it up?”

“I know Beichen Yidao Liu. If you agree to let Junzi become an idol, I’ll give it to you for free…”

Before Luo Quan could finish, Yan Zhai waved his hand and laughed: “This sword art has been lost for over a hundred years—no one even remembers the founder’s name. How could you possibly master it? I know you mean well for Junzi, but don’t make reckless claims.”

“If you don’t believe me, let’s spar. I’ll demonstrate Beichen Yidao Liu in full.”

“Spar with me?” Yan Zhai laughed as if hearing the greatest joke. “Has Junzi told you who I am?”

Luo Quan nodded. “Yes. One of Japan’s Four Sword Saints.”

“Then how dare you suggest sparring with me?”

“I’m no match for you, but I won’t lose badly,” Luo Quan said, her expression confident.

Yan Zhai studied Luo Quan, as if trying to pierce through the mystery surrounding this girl. After a long silence, he laughed: “Very well—I’ll give you a chance. It’s been a long time since I last sparred. Don’t disappoint me.”

Junzi, seeing them prepare to fight, hurried over anxiously: “Quan! You only know karate—when did you learn swordsmanship? My grandfather’s strength is immense—even a bamboo sword can injure you if you’re not careful!”

“Junzi, when have I ever done anything without confidence?” Luo Quan gave her a reassuring smile, then followed Yan Zhai into the adjacent empty training room.

“This is a smaller training room, no disciples here—it’s probably reserved only for the Yan family.”

“Those are the protective gear,” Yan Zhai pointed to the neatly stacked sword training armor along the wall; disciples normally wore them during sparring.

Though Yan Zhai’s sword skill had long reached the point of perfect control, swords were still swords—accidents could happen, and regret would come too late.

So he advised Luo Quan to wear the armor first; as for himself, he saw no need for such cumbersome gear—he didn’t believe her blade could even touch him.

“These will block my vision. I won’t wear them,” Luo Quan shook her head, declining his offer.

He said nothing more, simply took two bamboo swords from the rack and tossed one to her.

Japanese swords refer to tachi; bamboo swords are bamboo tachi—cylindrical, unsharpened, lightweight, and lacking lethal force.

Of course, that’s true only for ordinary swordsmen; a true master could kill with nothing more than a bamboo stick!

Yan Zhai gripped the bamboo sword backward at his waist and said solemnly: “Though you’re young, you initiated this spar—don’t expect me to let you have three moves.”

Luo Quan laughed: “Do as you please. Just don’t hit me in the face when you’re done.”

“For such a beautiful girl, a scarred face would be a real problem… I’ll try to be careful.”

“With that assurance, I’m at ease,” Luo Quan stepped back, both hands gripping the tachi’s hilt, the tip aimed straight at Yan Zhai.

“Begin,” Yan Zhai said—and instantly, his entire aura changed.

Moments before, he had been merely a gaunt, imposing old man in a loose black kimono, unremarkable in appearance.

Now, as the spar began, an unbearably sharp aura erupted from him, sweeping toward Luo Quan like a storm in his gaze.

Every hair on Luo Quan’s body stood on end—she felt she faced not a man, but a lion ready to pounce.

“Is this the aura of a Sword Saint?” Luo Quan’s heart trembled; beads of sweat formed on the tip of her nose, her grip on the hilt tightening involuntarily.

After adjusting his breath, Yan Zhai exhaled slowly, bending forward: “Iku-sa!”