Chapter 12: White Ape Cloaks Blade

“Master, you’re back?”

Wang Zhao, who had been mixing hay in the stable, looked up as Li Rui returned leading a horse, wiped his hands on his pant legs, and stood.

There was fear in his gaze—three parts fear.

Since Ma Yang’s death, that thought had never left his mind; every night, deep in sleep, he heard Li Rui’s voice.

“Disciple… disciple…”

Something’s wrong with Master!

But he couldn’t say exactly what was wrong.

This feeling nearly drove him mad.

“Xiao Zhao, I’ll take care of the stable—you go rest.”

Li Rui noticed his disciple’s massive dark circles; anyone seeing him would think Li Rui had been withholding his rations.

“Thank you, Master.”

Wang Zhao replied, then fled back to his room.

Though Li Rui sensed something off about Wang Zhao, he had no energy to care why.

Because he had something more important.

He locked Zhu Yue’s four blood-sweating steeds in the stable, shoveled fresh hay, then returned to his room—all outwardly unchanged from any other day.

Li Rui had once heard an old Daoist say:

The greater the task one undertakes, the more one must appear unchanged from before; one must not speak of it, not even to oneself—this is called inner luminosity concealed.

He entered the room.

He carefully shut the door, then checked every window and latch.

Once certain no one was watching,

he pulled a wrapped oil-paper bundle from his robe.

Li Rui could almost hear his own heartbeat.

The secret technique of Huaqing Sect must be extraordinary.

He took a deep breath and slowly unwrapped the oil paper layer by layer, until a book with yellowed cover appeared before him.

On the cover, four neat, bold characters were written—“White Ape Cloaks Blade”!

Now he wouldn’t need to spend eight taels buying a martial art from a training hall—he’d obtained Huaqing Sect’s secret technique!

Li Rui held his breath.

From the title alone, it was clearly a swordsmanship manual—but it was for a blade.

Though he’d never trained with a blade, he’d only ever heard of chopping, sweeping, and thrusting—what did “cloaking blade” mean?

“Swords move with agility, blades move with darkness; a blade has but one edge, its back thick—when facing an enemy, you may block with the spine to wait for an opening, strike after but arrive first—this is cloaking blade.”

“I observed a white ape for ten years in a temple, and from it, I conceived this blade art, recorded here to pass to future generations.”

“This blade art is secretly transmitted; its intent is naturally formed, its momentum like a river reversed, unceasing and relentless—a supreme killing art, learnable only by those with unshakable will.”

Li Rui silently recited each word.

“Drawing the blade is easy; sheathing it is hard. Beware! Beware! Beware!”

This line was not part of the technique—it was perhaps the personal insight of the one who created “White Ape Cloaks Blade.”

Translated, it meant:

Do not use the blade to show off or provoke fights; if words can settle it, don’t draw steel; once drawn, you must finish the matter utterly—leave no lingering threat.

This was Li Rui’s personal interpretation.

Compared to the Eight Section Brocade, which had been crudely drawn by petty men, “White Ape Cloaks Blade” was vastly more complex—tens of thousands of characters, likely infused with Daoist classics from its temple origins, dense and obscure.

“The Dao has ten thousand methods, all leading to immortality; water has a thousand sources, all flowing eastward—each leads to immortality.”

Li Rui felt the same sensation as when he’d read graduate theses in his past life.

Fortunately, his mind was now iron-hard; he spent three full days and nights grinding through the entire “White Ape Cloaks Blade.”

Now he had the technique—only a blade remained.

That was easier still.

Zhu family guards all carried blades, usually two, as backups; Yang Yong’s spare blade was nearly rusted—perfect to borrow for practice.

“Borrow a blade?”

Yang Yong’s eyes widened: “Old Li, you’ve really gotten addicted to martial arts—first fists, now blades?”

Though he grumbled, he still pulled out his blade and handed it to Li Rui.

Li Rui grinned: “Old Yang, I’ll treat you to wine someday.”

Yang Yong waved him off: “No wine needed—worry about your old back spraining first.”

But remembering how Li Rui had been walking with wind in his steps, more energetic than ever, he knew the warning was pointless.

With a blade in hand, practicing the blade art became natural.

Worried about damaging furniture, Li Rui sought a secluded, empty spot.

His previous Eight Section Brocade was a fist art, yet it shared many principles with “White Ape Cloaks Blade”—both emphasized broad, sweeping motions, and the Brocade had strengthened his body immensely.

With a solid foundation, blade training came easily.

The moment Li Rui gripped the hilt, an odd sensation rose.

He was certain this was his first time holding a blade—but as his fingers closed, it felt as if he’d held it hundreds, even thousands of times.

Innate Blade Saint Body?

He quickly understood—it was the Wu Bone’s doing.

“He who gains the Wu Bone shall surely reach the pinnacle of martial arts.”

The Wu Bone’s power far exceeded his expectations.

But the more powerful the Wu Bone, the more he must hide and grow in secret.

The world you imagine: fight monsters, level up, gradually grow stronger, finally challenge the boss.

The real world: you start as the final boss—and one move kills you, no second chances.

If word of his Wu Bone spread, even the Huaqing Sect’s Sect Master would be pushed to the sidelines among the elders hunting him.

His fate would be a hundred times worse than that of the late Master Huang.

Hide and grow.

Li Rui held the blade behind his back, like an old ape carrying a blade, then powered the motion from his waist, swinging the blade in a half-circle arc through the air.

His body lowered, right leg swept sideways, kicking up a cloud of snow.

Man and blade merged, naturally seamless.

One cut after another.

Li Rui didn’t even know how many cuts he’d made.

He finally understood the meaning of the final line: “Drawing the blade is easy; sheathing it is hard.”

“White Ape Cloaks Blade” was deeply unnatural.

Once activated, even he could barely stop—it demanded blood, or exhaustion.

After a full hour,

Li Rui lay sprawled in the snow, gasping for breath.

Practicing “White Ape Cloaks Blade” left no room for laziness.

Yet its power was astonishing.

He’d barely begun—and already he was confident he could face off against any peer-level expert; if mastered, he’d be invincible in his realm.

The thought made his heart skip a beat.

In a life where he’d never even topped his elementary school class, he’d now, at seventy, claimed first place—it was absurd.

Better late than never.

After resting awhile, Li Rui pushed himself up, leaning on his blade.

Blade training was far more exhausting than fist training.

Martial practice required balance—he rubbed his aching arms, tucked the blade into the lining of his coat, confirmed no one could see it, then headed home.

Li Rui lay helplessly on his bed.

The Wu Bone was powerful, but it couldn’t erase the muscle strain from training—he needed medicine.

But his savings were long gone.

“Money, money, money.”

(End of Chapter)