Chapter 103: Chapter Six: The Clumsy State

“The ‘Introduction’ mentions it—you can study it on your own later. Simply put, your ‘Cloud Sky Veiling Eye Loss’ is a ‘Heart’-state sword, and Elder Yue may have already entered the ‘Dao’ state.”

“So I can learn this sword technique…”

If I were to say it plainly, you’ve merely learned its forms and grasped its intent, but the “Heart” state—the very limit—was only briefly unlocked in that moment. After you left that state, using this sword again became nothing more than the lingering echo of that single heart-mind state, because a clear marker of the “Heart” state is the appearance of a sword heart within your spirit.

“…”

“With this sword heart, you can summon the ‘Heart’-state sword at any time. Without it, you can only touch it when fully aligned with that specific state.”

“So I haven’t truly learned it?”

“Not at all. You’ve already reached its deepest depths—you simply lack the necessary conditions to remain there. You can use it, but you cannot yet unleash its full power.”

“Oh.”

Pei Ye understood vaguely—he could use this technique to blind his enemy’s senses and catch them off guard, but on that day, when Elder Yue wielded it, Pei Ye had felt from afar as if his spirit had been submerged in the cold, dark, crushing depths of the ocean.

Far beyond briefly depriving an enemy of their senses, that was clearly the true essence of this sword.

“Miss Ming, what level would you say my swordsmanship has reached?” Pei Ye asked.

“You didn’t arrive here by strictly following these stages. On one hand, you haven’t even entered the ‘Clumsy’ state; on the other, you spent two years comprehending the intent of that single sword form—even stepping once into the ‘Heart’ state.”

Yes, Pei Ye now understood. Ming Qitian had just described the orthodox sects’ accepted divisions of sword cultivation, but the masters of Fenghuai Martial Hall had never even heard of them. And though Elder Yue stood at the pinnacle, his sword path was never so methodical.

“Then, in these days, I should strive to enter the ‘Clumsy’ state?”

Ming Qitian shook her head: “You can step into it today. You’ve long possessed the conditions—you simply lacked this awareness.”

Pei Ye frowned in thought: “Yes, I feel I’ve mastered every form perfectly, as if they’re extensions of my limbs… then what’s still missing?”

“‘Clumsy’ is about mastery over the sword. You need only realize one thing—you don’t control the sword forms, nor should the forms control you. You control the sword itself.”

Pei Ye’s mind cleared instantly.

He had already achieved the precision, fluidity, and exact force control required by the ‘Clumsy’ state—he only lacked what was called “the true essence of the sword.”

And he had never lacked the insight. Now that he grasped the path, he stood right before the threshold of this state.

Pei Ye weighed the sword in his hand, eager to try.

Ming Qitian said: “Perform the Opening Gate Sword once more.”

Pei Ye lifted his sword again, this time deliberately applying his new insight.

In past years, he had practiced the sword forms thousands of times, executing them with flawless, textbook precision—undoubtedly the best possible performance of the art.

But now Pei Ye realized: every person differs in height, build, and temperament—how could one practice by the same rigid template? And in combat, you don’t always need “the best performance,” nor can you always achieve it.

Once your control over the sword is sufficient, your body naturally finds the most comfortable, most fitting “point.” Minor adjustments arise in force and motion—the same forms remain, yet now perfectly aligned with your own physique. Only then is the full potential of a sword form unlocked.

This is the ‘Clumsy’ state.

When Pei Ye performed the Opening Gate Sword again, the forms were still precise and polished, yet subtle differences made them far more fluid and natural.

In his own perception, each strike felt more powerful, requiring less effort yet delivering greater force.

After completing the set, Ming Qitian nodded: “That’s exactly it. But your sword still drifts—sometimes slipping back into rigid, mechanical patterns. You must firmly grasp this feeling, practice it repeatedly, until it becomes instinct.”

Pei Ye nodded. He felt it too. He prepared to practice again, intending to refine the Opening Gate Sword first, then extend this sensation to all his sword techniques.

But Ming Qitian stopped him. She broke off a slender branch from the jujube tree and flicked it lightly: “Now, attack me with everything you’ve learned. Only in real combat does progress come fastest.”

Pei Ye thanked her and sent a flash of cold light toward her.

For the entire afternoon, Pei Ye sparred with Ming Qitian. He didn’t know whether it was truly the speed of real combat, or whether the woman’s subtle, precise guidance was too masterful—but after every exchange, his strikes felt a little more natural.

A relentless, exhilarating duel of swords.

Like a sudden, soaring awakening.

When he finally paused, panting, he felt clearly: he had firmly stepped onto the threshold of ‘Clumsy.’

If Elder Yue’s Snowy Night Flying Goose technique had punched a hole in the ceiling of his sword potential, then Ming Qitian’s teaching today had built a broad, solid platform beneath his foundation.

The ‘Clumsy’ state.

Pei Ye sheathed his sword with lingering satisfaction. Before, he’d only vaguely sensed he had some talent with the sword—he had no idea how deep it ran or where he stood outside this hall.

After this afternoon, he now held a solid grasp of his own skill—neither arrogant nor self-deprecating.

“Miss Ming, thank you,” Pei Ye said, gulping down a large gourd of well water, wiping his mouth. “Are you leaving today?”

Ming Qitian nodded: “I leave tonight, and will return in about a month. But before I go, I need your help with something.”

“What?”

“It’s about Liuli.”

Pei Ye had already noticed she wasn’t carrying her famed sword: “Where is it?”

“Zhu Gaoyang wanted to see it, so I left it at the county office.”

“...”

Ming Qitian slowly opened her palm toward the sky. In an instant, a streak of light shot down from above, landing gently in her hand.

It was Zhanxin Liuli.

Pei Ye looked down—it was the first time he had observed this sword so closely.

The blade was translucent, as if carved from glass, yet even the finest glass beside it would appear stiff and lifeless, lacking its unique vitality.

It was not a standard longsword shape: its hilt was longer, by about a finger’s width, than his own. The guard was extremely short, nearly invisible—only a faint boundary marked where blade met hilt.

The blade itself was long and straight, but its straightness was not the artificial smoothness of steel—it resembled a hanging icicle: clear and smooth, yet irregular—grown, not polished.

It had edges on both sides.

Its translucent hue blended into the air like ice melting in water, making it hard to distinguish. Along its central axis, near the guard, a small, delicate red bead lay embedded within the blade, blurred by the clarity of the glassy body.

Fine, elegant red lines spread from the bead, adding exquisite detail to the cold, white blade.

A truly beautiful sword. The moment Pei Ye saw it, his mouth opened involuntarily.

Yet now, this sword, like snow and plum blossoms, seemed tainted by dark evil—the sharp, icy-blue crystals glowed faintly, trembling like parasites within the blade.

(End of Chapter)