Chapter Eighteen: The Swordsmanship of the Yue Maiden

Gongsun You’s words were measured and she did not elaborate further. After all, she had not known Pei Min for long, and some secrets were too perilous to share; if revealed, they might endanger her own life and those dearest to her. Though she had a good impression of Pei Min, she dared not take such a risk.

Pei Min understood Gongsun You’s predicament. The “Treatise of Yue Yi” had been stolen from Princess Taiping and Princess Anle; such a matter inevitably involved the imperial family of Li Tang.

In the depraved feudal society, the imperial clan stood above all, wielding supreme power over life and death—far beyond anything people like them could oppose.

In the Tang Dynasty, few dared provoke such authority. Beyond the imperial family, perhaps only the highest ministers and the great generals guarding the frontiers could compare.

Was it Emperor Li Longji? Princess Taiping? Or one of the five chancellors?

For Gongsun You to offer a warning was already an extraordinary gesture. To press her further would be unreasonable and unfair.

Pei Min was not one to act so gracelessly. He let the matter drop and turned the conversation to their mutual expertise—swordsmanship. He was deeply curious about Gongsun You’s technique; he had never before witnessed such incisive and terrifying swordplay. Though she had shown only a handful of moves, each was like a stroke of divine inspiration, wondrous beyond description. Most of his own sword skills, aside from a few self-devised techniques inspired by memories of a future age, were learned by observing others. Ordinary forms, he could master after seeing them once; advanced techniques, such as Yuan Hao’s “Mercy Under the Sword,” required careful observation and several days of study before he could grasp their essence, later refining them to become even more formidable and unpredictable.

Yet, with the few moves Gongsun You had displayed against Wang Hu, Pei Min found himself utterly confounded. Each seemingly ordinary strike concealed limitless variation, unfathomable in its depth. Even if he could imitate her movements, he could only capture their form, not their spirit.

Gongsun You, for her part, was equally intrigued by Pei Min’s swordsmanship—the way he used slowness to overcome speed, leveraging minimal strength to deflect mighty blows. To her, these were mysteries beyond reckoning, bordering on the supernatural.

Both were prodigies of the sword, each recognizing the other’s mastery, and their conversation flowed with remarkable ease.

When Gongsun You heard that Pei Min was self-taught, relying entirely on insight and intuition, she was astonished for a long moment, then sighed sincerely, “This world is indeed vast, and there is always someone superior. Young Master Pei’s swordsmanship is unpredictable and strange—I thought you must have had a famous master, but to think you comprehended it all yourself. Truly admirable.”

Pei Min, faced with such praise, scratched his nose in embarrassment. Before his soul had merged with this body, Pei Min could indeed be called self-taught; however, after merging, his mind was filled with advanced martial concepts, the product of centuries—even millennia—of refinement by generations of grandmasters. To claim all that credit for himself seemed somewhat shameless.

Remembering the swordplay Gongsun You had demonstrated, he quickly said, “You give me too much credit. Your swordsmanship is the one that truly astonishes and inspires awe. Every move appears simple but contains boundless possibilities. Its subtlety, its danger, its brilliance—words cannot do it justice. Only poetry can capture its spirit. ‘Swift as Yi shooting down the nine suns, graceful as emperors’ steeds soaring with the dragons; coming like thunder gathering its fury, ending like the clear radiance settling over rivers and seas.’”

At these words, Pei Min felt genuine admiration for Du Fu’s genius. Only such verses could describe Gongsun You’s swordsmanship.

Gongsun the Great, Gongsun You!

Could it be?

Pei Min gazed at the beauty before him, his heart pounding with a mix of awe and wonder.

Gongsun You softly recited, “Swift as Yi shooting down the nine suns, graceful as emperors’ steeds soaring with the dragons; coming like thunder gathering its fury, ending like the clear radiance settling over rivers and seas.” Her eyes grew distant, her expression wistful, tinged with longing. Modestly, she said, “Your praise is truly generous, Young Master Pei. I have only grasped the surface of the Yue Maiden Sword, and do not deserve such acclaim.”

Pei Min thought, “If you truly are the Gongsun the Great of history, perhaps you are not worthy now, but one day you certainly will be!”

Wait a moment!

Pei Min blurted out, “The Yue Maiden Sword? Do you mean the sword technique of the maiden from Yue in the Spring and Autumn period?”

Gongsun You spread her hands. “I don’t know if it’s from that era, but the manual the Daoist gave my sister and me does indeed bear the title ‘Yue Maiden Sword Technique.’ He didn’t say much about it, only instructed us to practice diligently and not to waste the world’s unrivaled sword art or our own talents.”

Pei Min asked curiously, “Who is this Daoist? Is he your master?”

Gongsun You looked just as bewildered. “He isn’t really our master. In fact, we barely know him—just that he called himself the Fire Dragon Daoist.”

Hearing this name, Pei Min felt a jolt of familiarity. He wracked his memory, then suddenly slapped his thigh. “So it was him!”

Gongsun You’s eyes lit up. “You know him?”

Pei Min shook his head. “I’ve only heard the name, never met the man.” Of course, he’d never met him—he had only read about him in books. The Fire Dragon Daoist was the sword master of Lü Dongbin. In the stories, Lü Dongbin failed the imperial exams, met the Fire Dragon Daoist on Mount Lu, and was taught the Heavenly Escape Sword Art. From then on, Lü Dongbin abandoned Confucianism for Daoism, wandering the world with his sword, his exploits so legendary that he was ultimately immortalized as a deity.

Gongsun You sighed with regret. “The ‘Yue Maiden Sword’ was something he forced upon us. My sister and I were young then and didn’t know its value—we practiced it just for fun. After nearly ten years of careless practice, we finally realized its power, but we have no idea if we’re training it correctly. If only we knew his whereabouts and could receive his guidance, that would be most wonderful.”

But she did not know that if the Fire Dragon Daoist had truly mastered the ‘Yue Maiden Sword,’ such a priceless art would never have fallen to them.

The truth was, the Fire Dragon Daoist was obsessed with the sword, almost to the point of madness. The ‘Yue Maiden Sword’ was famed throughout the land, but no one after the Yue Maiden herself had ever grasped its essence, so the art was lost to history. The Fire Dragon Daoist went to great lengths to find the sword manual, only to discover that its techniques were light, supple, and endlessly variable, requiring extraordinary flexibility to unleash their true power.

Men are by nature firm; women, supple.

Men could practice it, but could only exert perhaps twenty or thirty percent of its might.

The ‘Yue Maiden Sword’ was, in fact, a sword art designed for women.

Though even a fraction of its power was formidable, the Fire Dragon Daoist already possessed the Heavenly Escape Sword Art, which was no less marvelous. Why abandon his own art for one he could never fully master? Thus, the manual he had obtained with such effort was of no use to him.

Later, he chanced upon the Gongsun sisters and was immediately struck by their extraordinary qualities: born into a theatrical troupe, trained from childhood in flexibility, skilled in sword dance, naturally attuned to the sword, and gifted beyond compare—they were the ideal candidates for the ‘Yue Maiden Sword.’

As a Daoist devoted to destiny, the Fire Dragon Daoist believed heaven’s will had led him to them. So he entrusted the ‘Yue Maiden Sword’ to their care.