Clearly, compared to the Dynamic Method, the Static Method had its own advantages. If one practiced arts oriented toward cultivating one's vital nature and life rather than combat, the Static Method was certainly the better choice.
However, Great Chen martial arts leaned toward fighting and emphasized physical martial techniques, so they did not hold such martial philosophy in high regard. An Jing had never received that kind of training in the past either; he merely knew of it.
As for uniting dynamic and static to harmonize Yin and Yang—an advancement method like that for Inner Breath—he had never even heard of it.
"Breaking through via the Dynamic Method leaves the physical meridians slightly stronger, but the control is somewhat lacking," the Sword Spirit said. "Whereas with a breakthrough via the Static Method, initial control is quite refined and the Inner Breath is powerful, but the physical body receives less strengthening.
"The flaws of both can be made up through subsequent training, but possessing both dynamic and static allows you to save that time... It is rather difficult, and ordinary people cannot manage it. Yet you possess Innate Wisdom, a powerful soul, a robust body, and consummate skill. I think you can give it a try."
At this point, the Sword Spirit could not help feeling a bit puzzled. "Strange. Does present-day Huaixu no longer value this? The baseline requirement for inner sect disciples of great sects used to be entering the Dao through the harmony of Yin and Yang."
—Most likely because both Hanbei and West Mountain are backwater places, An Jing thought to himself.
He then followed the Sword Spirit's guidance: "First, meditate into stillness, then rehearse your martial forms within your Heart Sea. At the exact moment heart and body unite, strike that blow simultaneously within your mind and the waking world.
"Innate Primordial Qi will shift in an instant from utmost stillness to utmost motion, possessing at once the most abundant power and delicate control. This will save a great deal of tempering time, allowing you to stride toward 'Essence-Qi Like River' at the fastest speed.
"If your foundation is solid enough and the strike you unleash cuts through thoroughly to your true heart, you might even advance directly to Essence-Qi Like River!"
Essence-qi was an archaic term for Inner Breath, commonly seen in ancient texts. The Sword Spirit was evidently an ancient sword; though it usually adopted present-day Huaixu vocabulary, whenever it grew earnest, it would slip into the idioms of its era. "Now, circulate the Tranquil Sword Contemplation. Otherwise, entering stillness as one with Innate Wisdom will only cause you to recall fragmented memories of your past life."
Thus, An Jing circulated the Tranquil Sword Contemplation.
He visualized the rusted sword, grinding and polishing it with his rage and obsession.
During this process, just as the Sword Spirit had said, he truly began recalling many memories of his past life—An Jing even remembered where he had misplaced his air-conditioner remote back then. No wonder he had searched for ages without finding it; turns out he had left it behind a vase at the martial arts school's drill ground.
Wait, what was an air-conditioner remote?
Shaking his head, he set the memory aside and entered profound stillness.
He sank into his Heart Sea.
A haze of primal chaos. All light vanished, turning into absolute darkness.
In the pitch-black Heart Sea, An Jing saw a path.
A path leading into a dream.
At this moment, he was supposed to be rehearsing his martial forms, practicing the sword art he excelled at most.
This was the weapon he had practiced most often while still in the Northern Frontier. His father had not considered the sword the most perfect weapon, having him learn it merely because it would not hinder An Jing from studying for the imperial examinations in the future.
Yet An Jing himself was very fond of the sword.
—Because a sword had two edges, a tip, and a hilt; it could kill to the left, right, front, and back.
Yet for some unknown reason, An Jing, who should not have wasted any time, lowered his sword.
He seemed to sense familiar presences.
The youth set foot upon the path.
Walking onward, faces gradually began to appear along both sides of the road, one after another.
Zhang Ying, Ye Xiuyuan, Zhan Feng, and even more familiar visages... Familiar face after face appeared before him, smiling at him.
An Jing watched them in silence, looking over their faces one by one.
He walked forward.
The sunlight dimmed, and the faces disappeared. An Jing heard shrieks and sobs that seemed both real and illusory, as well as wails drawn from the depths of the heart.
"No, help! Mother, save me—!"
In the shadows of the trees, a child could faintly be seen screaming heart-wrenchingly. He struggled, clawing at the uneven floor until his fingernails tore and shattered, yet he was still dragged away by two silent cultists, disappearing at the end of the corridor.
An Jing paused for a moment. He looked at the calluses on the child's hands from practicing archery, and memories echoed in his mind—dreams of hunters, the future, and heroes.
It dissipated.
He walked forward.
The shadows deepened, and even the lingering echoes of wailing vanished. An Jing heard no screams now, only a muffled grunt and an irritated voice.
"You dare bite me?"
In the river of shadows flowing like water, because of a child's silent defiance, he was cleaved clean in two. All of his internal organs, flesh, and fat spilled out in a single rush, blood flooding across half the corridor.
An Jing gazed at the somewhat frail figure. He still vaguely remembered the little scholar's tone of voice, hearing the sigh, the unwillingness, and the resignation akin to accepting fate. He was already filled with regret, yet in this world there were even greater regrets.
It dissipated.
He walked forward.
The road grew increasingly desolate and forsaken, isolated from the world. An Jing looked back at the path he had traveled, only to see nothing left but pitch black.
The dark river rushed along, blood-colored flowers floating upon its surface.
In the deepest part of the river, a tall, burly boy was tied to a chair. Terrified, he watched something draw near to him, draw near to his eyes, followed by absolute darkness and a soundless scream.
"Why me?! Why me?!"
"Am I not good enough? I can be like you too!"
You can't. You are too human. You still weep, and you still worry about the friends who left before. Someone like you is not like them.
He had only wanted to taste what liquor was like; he had wanted to drink sworn-brotherhood wine once, to eat meat freely and joyfully alongside his brothers. He felt he had found brothers, but the time was wrong, and the place was wrong.
It dissipated.
The river surged, the thick stench of blood washing over An Jing's face. Along the rushing, pitch-black river of blood, he saw severed heads rolling before his eyes, tumble after tumble.
There was no hatred, no bloodshot fury—only familiar face after familiar face rolling past before him, then submerging back into the blood.
An Jing looked into their eyes in silence until those faces also dissipated, turning into dust filling the sky.
Wind surged up—wailing, whispering. The mournful wind whipped up a mist of grief and hatred, spreading everywhere.
Countless hatreds, endless regrets.
The river receded, revealing a bed choked with ghastly white bones. Shadows flowed, unveiling the withered, gloomy ancient trees behind them and heads hanging like leaves. Flowers bloomed, revealing pairs of blood-soaked hands reaching out, begging for salvation.
The road had reached its end.
The dream was about to end.
Rain began to fall.
Fresh blood splattered across the earth, soaking An Jing completely.
An Jing had had a dream.
He had dreamed of the deaths and evils that occurred around him.
Everything he had once ignored, once glanced at askance, once met with silence.
Having remained silent throughout the entire dream, he smiled.
"Thank you," he said with a heartfelt smile, blood trickling down his face, streaming across his cheeks. "Thank you for still being willing to see me one last time, and for showing me all of this.
"However, this is not all of it.
"Tell me everything.
"I want to see more. I want to remember it all.
"I swear.
"I...
"Will never forget!"
Clang!
A sword chime rang out.
The withered trees shuddered, and waves surged along the river of blood!
The nether wind, the dead trees, the baleful mist, and even the surges upon the bloody river all layered upon one another, seemingly turning into countless unstoppable blades flying toward An Jing.
"Sword!"
With a furious roar, An Jing thrust out a hand. Grasping the wind and clouds, clutching the baleful mist, an edge was born from within!
In reality, An Jing snapped his eyes open.
Awakening from the great dream within his Heart Sea, he rose to his feet. Every tendon and bone throughout his body chimed in unison, and voluminous plumes of white vapor billowed from the crown of his head.
In his hand, wisps of crimson aura seeped forth, using the hollow grasp of his hand as their source to condense into a hazy, illusory sword of blood balefulness!
An Jing took a step forward. His robes snapped and billowed, water vapor bursting outward into a circle. Paying it no heed, he slashed his sword forward!
Fierce winds howled; qi transformed into a white rainbow!
A streak of visible sword qi slashed forward, tearing through the dust, sand, and mud in front of him and carving a rift into the ground!
Inner Breath projecting beyond the body, surging like a river...
This was the realm of Inner Breath Like River!
Chapter 26