Volume One: Flames at the Border Chapter Eight: The Great Sword

Although she was reluctant a hundred times over for her brother to become a conscript, the reality was just as Yu had described. Deng’er was at a loss, unsure what to say, and could only bow her head and silently weep.

“Alas, it is better to be a dog in times of peace than a man in times of chaos. Everyone is saying that Emperor Murong Chui is gathering troops and will soon attack Tuoba Gui. Our region is on the front line; whether the Chen Family Fortress can escape this calamity is truly uncertain.”

Pausing, Lin Su’s expression grew grave. “Yu’er’s words have merit. The world is in turmoil—where can ordinary people hide, and for how long? Learning some martial skills for self-defense is not a bad idea.”

Having survived countless perils, Lin Su was a man of experience and quickly understood that what He Yu said was not unfounded. Long familiarity with war and chaos dulled one’s sense of gain and loss, cultivating endurance and a stoic acceptance of fate, free from hesitation and anxiety.

Other than death, nothing in the world is truly difficult. Having grown accustomed to the sight of life and death, everything else seemed fleeting. The common folk in troubled times possessed a resilience to misfortune that would be difficult for later generations to comprehend.

Lin Su drained the rest of his wine in one gulp and wiped his beard with a broad hand, his eyes flashing with a fierce light. In that moment, he was no longer a farmer but a battle-hardened veteran. Rising to his feet, he fetched a short sword from the east room and placed it on the table.

No one could say what material the scabbard was made from; it was adorned with precious gems. The blade was half a meter long, its width twice that of an ordinary short sword. Judging by its form, it was a perfectly preserved ancient sword of legendary make.

Lin Su’s face was solemn as he drew the blade. A chilling aura emanated from the sword, making the flame of the oil lamp tremble.

Such a domineering sword aura!

He Yu was startled; so the fabled sword aura truly existed. He examined the blade closely—it was pitch black, blunt and heavy, exuding an imposing kingly presence. Two ancient and peculiar characters were engraved upon it, but he could still recognize them as “Juque.”

“Juque!” He Yu exclaimed. As a former special forces soldier, he’d always had a fascination with weapons.

“The sword is called Juque, and the pearl is named Night Light.” Suddenly, He Yu recalled the legendary Divine Sword Juque mentioned in the ancient primer, the Thousand Character Classic.

Could it really be Juque, the divine blade forged by the Spring and Autumn master swordsmith Ou Yezi?

Lin Su stroked the blade, a proud smile playing at his lips. “Good eye, Yu’er—this is indeed Juque. It was forged by Ou Yezi from meteoric iron and human blood, incomparably hard, able to cut through anything, hence known as ‘the supreme sword under heaven.’ Along with Cheng Ying, Chun Jun, Fish Intestine, Tai’e, Zhanlu, Longyuan, and Gongbu, it is one of the Eight Legendary Swords. When King Goujian of Yue tested this blade, wherever the sword pointed, chariots, wood, stone, iron, bronze, even great cauldrons, all broke as if cut from paper.”

Lin Su recited the blade’s history as if it were a cherished tale: “When Qin conquered the Six States, the sword came into the hands of the First Emperor. During the Chu-Han contention, it belonged to Xiang Yu. After Xiang Yu’s defeat, Han Xin of Huaiyin obtained it. When Han Xin died, the sword entered the Han imperial treasury. In the Han military campaigns, Emperor Wu bestowed it upon Huo Qubing. After Huo’s early death, Juque vanished—some say it was buried with him. At the end of the Han, the sword resurfaced in the hands of Cao Cao. When Jin usurped Wei, it passed to Grand Commandant Sima Yi, then to Emperor Wu of Jin, Sima Yan. After the War of the Eight Princes, the sword eventually came into our family’s possession. Thanks to Juque’s protection, I survived a hundred battles—thinking on it now, I am filled with emotion.”

Who could have imagined that the legendary sword Juque had such a storied legacy? No wonder the Lin family, a military household for generations, would keep it as their most treasured heirloom, holding it dearer than life itself, even as they had to sell off all else.

Sliding Juque back into its scabbard, Lin Su placed it solemnly on the table and pushed it toward He Yu. “I have long seen that you, Yu’er, are a man of exceptional talent—destined for greater things. I now gift you Juque to aid you on your path. To be honest, every master of this sword has been a hero—yet in our family’s twelve generations, it has been buried in obscurity. But you, young hero, may you wield this divine blade to vanquish evil, aid the good, bring peace to the people, and achieve greatness worthy of a true man.”

These words, so bold and stirring, filled He Yu with passionate resolve, revealing the extraordinary spirit of Lin Su. He Yu accepted Juque with both hands and bowed to Lin Su, then, with a swish, drew the sword—the chill filling the room.

He raised the sword before his chest, slid two fingers up the blade, and swore, “Upon Juque, I, He Yu, swear to Heaven: should I ever forget my grandfather’s teachings, may I perish by this divine sword.” His eyes blazed with determination. In that moment, he seemed to envision a mighty army at his command.

The recruitment for the conscripts was set for the Lantern Festival, the fifteenth day of the first lunar month. It was now only the third, so there were about ten days to prepare.

Time was short. The very next day, Lin Su borrowed weapons and horses from the fortress armory and personally instructed He Yu in riding, archery, and the arts of both mounted and foot combat.

He Yu, who had received systematic modern special forces training, was far stronger, more perceptive, and more skilled than ordinary men—his strength alone was three or four times that of most. Strength surpassed all skill, and his progress was astonishing.

On the first day, he mastered horseback riding, galloping as if born in the saddle.

By the second day, he had learned both mounted and foot archery, his accuracy so uncanny that even Lin Su was left in awe. Having been a sniper in the army, He Yu found that, despite the difference in eras, the principles of marksmanship and archery were much the same—once mastered, all became easy.

On the third day, Lin Su began teaching him the family’s techniques for both mounted and infantry combat with long and short weapons. The Lin family, military men for generations, had developed a fearsome set of fighting techniques known as the Eighteen Forms of Breaking the Battle Line—nine forms with the saber on foot, and nine forms with the spear on horseback.

Though He Yu had specialized in unarmed and knife combat as a special operator, he knew nothing of ancient long-weapons techniques. After practicing with Lin Su several times, he was filled with admiration for the methods. “Battlefield combat demands speed, ferocity, and precision—so different from the flashy routines of later martial arts. No wonder the Lin family could safeguard Juque for twelve generations.”

It took He Yu three full days to master the Eighteen Forms of Breaking the Battle Line. Such progress was a joy to Lin Su, who called him a prodigy. Though he had witnessed He Yu’s prowess against the Yanmen Tiger brothers, he had never expected this young man from the south, taken in almost by chance, to possess such remarkable talent for martial arts.

By the ninth day of the first month, Lin Su had imparted all the ancestral skills to He Yu.

That evening, Lin Deng’er happened to return from her duties at the main house, passing by the small training ground.

From a distance, she saw He Yu riding toward her, spear in hand, bow and arrows at his waist. As he neared, He Yu pulled the reins; the horse reared with a wild neigh, powerful as a tiger—He Yu himself was as fierce as a dragon. Deng’er was entranced by the sight.

On the tenth day of the first month, Lin Su had nothing more to teach and told He Yu to practice on his own, while he himself went to the kiln to work.

Determined to be chosen as a conscript, He Yu pushed himself hard, training from dawn till dusk before finally returning the weapons and horse to the armory.

Dragging his aching legs as he entered the courtyard, he was met by a plump, cheerful aunt bustling out of the house.

“She must be a matchmaker—what is she doing here?” He Yu was about to greet her when she gave him a sidelong glance, muttered something, and hurried off like a gust of wind, all bustle and bluster, hardly behaving as a proper lady should.

Grumbling, He Yu went inside. Lin Su and Deng’er were both within; Deng’er’s cheeks seemed tinged with shyness.

When He Yu returned, Deng’er set out supper. The three sat around the table, but the atmosphere was somehow different from usual.

After a few bites, He Yu put down his chopsticks and asked, “Grandfather, Deng’er, was something happening at home today? I just saw that matchmaker auntie leaving.”

“Oh, you saw her, did you? Ha! Ha ha... Good news... Very good news...” Lin Su clapped his thigh with delight.

“Grandfather, do tell! Don’t keep us in suspense—Brother Yu is waiting to hear,” Deng’er said, casting a sidelong glance at her grandfather and pouting.

Deng’er was always gentle—what was with her today?

Lin Su stroked his beard, stifling his laughter. “Yu’er, you’re twenty-one this year, aren’t you?”

He Yu nodded. “That’s right—twenty last year, twenty-one this year. Why?”

“Just so. When a man comes of age, he should marry; when a woman matures, she should wed. Someone in the fortress has taken a liking to you and sent a matchmaker—the daughter of Dr. Dai’s family, one of the wealthiest in the fortress, and she’s very pretty,” Lin Su said with a smile.

He Yu, coming from modern times, felt that eighteen was only just coming of age—marriage was not on his mind at all. But then he remembered it was the Eastern Jin era; by eighteen or nineteen, one was already considered late to marry. Besides, after so much time with Deng’er, he had long regarded her as his future wife. How could he marry another?

With this in mind, He Yu replied firmly, “Grandfather, I’ve not yet made my mark and don’t wish to marry. Please decline on my behalf.”

“Oh?” Lin Su straightened, his tone serious. “Yu’er, that’s not right. Your parents are gone, you have no home, and since you’re under my roof, it’s my duty as elder to see you settled. At twenty-one, still unmarried—people will say I’ve failed in my responsibilities, and your neighbors will talk behind my back. Deng’er is sixteen now; I must find her a good family too.”

Lin Su’s words were reasonable. Early marriage was the norm in ancient times—thirteen or fourteen-year-olds were already marrying and having children. In some eras, the law even imposed heavy taxes on families if girls weren’t married by fourteen or boys by fifteen.

He Yu knew all this from history, and now found himself at a loss, his heart pounding. He cared deeply for Deng’er, but though they had always called each other brother and sister and got along well, he could never be sure of her feelings. It was a truly difficult situation.

He Yu’s predicament was just as the saying goes: “True love makes girls bold and boys timid.”

Lin Su’s gaze was intense, clearly awaiting his answer.