Chapter 30: Xuanqing Qi

“Ah, I see.”

Wu Tu leaned back slightly, his expression one of regret.

He did not suspect Li Rui of lying.

Li Rui had only recently entered the ranks; back then, he was nothing but a stable hand, far too lowly to be involved in Huaqing Sect matters.

Knowing too much would be suspicious.

He was merely following a lead, and happened upon the Zhu family—he hoped to extract some useful information from Li Rui.

Wu Tu offered a kind warning: “I heard the Huaqing Sect traitor has been hiding in Qinghe City, searching for something. The constables involved in this matter have been slaughtered nearly to a man. Brother, be extra cautious.”

Though risky, the reward is high.

To survive in the martial world, you must fight, you must strive.

Wu Tu had no choice.

If not for Zhao Wei’s suppression, he wouldn’t need to scavenge for cultivation resources on his own.

“Thank you.”

Li Rui knew perfectly well what the Huaqing Sect disciple was searching for.

But the White Ape’s Cloak Blade had long since been burned to ash.

That Huaqing Sect disciple was truly formidable—having killed so many constables in Qinghe, he still hadn’t been caught.

He grew wary.

After finishing his wine, Li Rui returned alone to Tianyi Hall.

He had not agreed to join Wu Tu in the Huaqing Sect’s campaign against the Ghost Ming Sect.

Neither the Huaqing Sect nor the Ghost Ming Sect were things he could afford to provoke.

Sneaky cultivation was the way forward.

Days passed one by one.

Tiger Bone Elixir was no ordinary eighth-rank elixir; even the lowest tier among spirit elixirs far surpassed ninth-rank pills.

Its effects lasted a full month before fading completely.

In the courtyard.

Li Rui gripped his long blade; the wind from its swing scattered falling leaves, cold and sharp.

In midair.

A single droplet of water was precisely split in two by the blade.

Success!

The water stains clinging to both sides of the blade—this was the sign of the White Ape’s Cloak Blade reaching minor mastery.

Drawing the blade to sever flowing water.

It tested the precision of the sword technique, granting decisive advantage in actual combat.

Li Rui weighed the long blade in his hand.

The standard long blade of the Heaven’s Alliance was decent, forged from good iron, but far too light.

The White Ape’s Cloak Blade uses the spine of the blade to strike, alongside the edge.

It’s not a slash—it’s a smash, relying on brute force to split mountains; only a heavy blade can truly unleash the White Ape’s Cloak Blade’s power.

“I’ll need to forge a better blade.”

Li Rui had received his monthly salary.

A full ten taels of silver!

More than enough to forge a good blade.

Having decided, he went to Wenzhutang.

Wenzhutang managed not only the Heaven’s Alliance members’ registrations, but also the forging of weapons within the alliance.

“Master Li, you want a blade forged?”

A young disciple of Wenzhutang, hearing Li Rui’s request, was startled.

This young disciple happened to be the one who had greeted Li Rui on his first visit to the Heaven’s Alliance, and thus recognized him.

Li Rui nodded.

“Twenty taels of silver. Don’t skimp on the iron—if it’s not enough, come to me for more, but it must be heavy.”

He emphasized the word “heavy.”

The young disciple’s lips twitched.

This Master Li wanted a blade weighing a full thirty jin.

Could that even be called a blade?

But since Li Rui was paying—and he was the head of Tianyi Hall—Wenzhutang had no reason to refuse.

“Master Li, rest assured. The blacksmiths here are the finest in the city. Their craftsmanship is beyond question; twenty taels is more than sufficient.”

Li Rui’s blade had no other requirements besides weight.

This was far easier than what other hall heads demanded.

For special materials like rare iron, three blacksmiths might need to take turns hammering for seven days and nights just to shape it—that was true hardship.

The young disciple had seen many such cases, so he was merely surprised.

A seventy-year-old man wielding a thirty-jin blade.

The image was too absurd to contemplate.

“Regulate your Qi, slow your breath; your progress will be slow. But if you hold your Qi while circulating it, your progress doubles.”

Sound of turning pages.

Li Rui leaned back on a soft couch, flipping through a Daoist scripture, the rustle of leaves whispering beside his ear.

“Marvelous!”

He silently praised himself.

Many doubts he’d had about the White Ape’s Cloak Blade breathing method were now clarified by the scripture.

Breathing methods hinge on cultivating Qi.

At the highest levels of martial skill, what matters is one’s breath—long breath means long martial path.

Hence, storytellers often describe a powerful martial artist as having “enduring breath”—this is why.

Once you cultivate true Qi, you reach the Primordial State.

If you could refine that Qi into an oceanic expanse, the very thought was unimaginable.

Li Rui’s insight struck suddenly.

In a haze, he saw a wisp of blue Qi drifting before him—lively as a mountain spring, nimble as a forest ape.

Xuanqing Qi!

According to the White Ape’s Cloak Blade breathing method, when perfected, it could give birth to a trace of Qi called Xuanqing Qi.

But… that was something only cultivators above sixth rank could perceive!

Li Rui found it hard to believe.

He compared the vision in his mind with the scripture’s description of Xuanqing Qi, again and again, until he confirmed—the faint shadow he’d seen was indeed the sign of Xuanqing Qi.

Even if he was still ten thousand miles from truly generating it.

Merely glimpsing it was already an extraordinary achievement.

“Yu Kingdom’s Sword Saint Liu Taibai entered the Dao at three, entered the ranks at five, perceived Qi at seven—he was the supreme martial prodigy of the world.”

If one followed this logic.

Sword Saint Liu Taibai had taken four full years—yet Li Rui had done it in just one?!

“Is the Sword Saint inferior to me?”

Li Rui’s heart pounded wildly.

With his martial bone, his talent was truly monstrous—if not for his lack of resources, he might have grown even faster.

Once he revealed his martial bone, the great sects would surely court him—he’d never lack for resources.

But the risks were immense.

If he encountered some ancient monster who delighted in stealing talents, it would be disastrous.

Li Rui was seventy—he’d heard too many tales of martial prodigies who burned bright and died young.

Speed doesn’t matter; distance does.

As long as he could reach the peak, taking his time was fine—he’d already waited decades; a few more years made no difference.

The sound of turning pages resumed.

“One begets two, two begets three, three begets all things.”

“Master Li, your blade is ready.”

The young disciple of Wenzhutang lifted onto the table a blade half a man’s height.

“This blade is three chi seven cun long, forged from thirty-seven jin of Huishan iron. Three masters hammered it for three days and three nights to complete it.”

The young disciple spoke fluently.

Then he awkwardly scratched his head: “The master lost control a bit and used a bit too much iron. Master Li, you’ll need to pay five more taels.”

“If Master Li is dissatisfied, I’ll have the master forge another.”

The young disciple glanced at Li Rui, nervous.

If Li Rui truly rejected it, a blade this heavy—thirty-seven jin—would be nearly impossible to sell, and he’d be punished for it.

Li Rui gripped the hilt with his right hand.

The handle felt smooth and warm; the swordsmith had specially carved it from walnut wood, exuding an air of nobility.

The next moment, the young disciple’s eyelid twitched.

Li Rui lifted the thirty-pound blade as if it weighed nothing, swung it lightly with a flick of his wrist, and nodded.

“A fine blade!”

(End of Chapter)