Chapter 117: The Way of the Spear

To stand in the courts of power and bear the burdens of the world—this is the pursuit of a lifetime. To roam the world of martial arts, sword at one’s side, upholding justice—this is the great dream of every youth. What young person has not dreamed of wandering the ends of the earth with a blade in hand?

Years ago, in a corner of his village, he encountered a stranger who arrived reeking of alcohol. At a single glance, he saw the long spear strapped to the man's back. That disheveled, stubble-faced man eventually settled in the village. He had only two pastimes: drinking and gambling. Fortunately, he had no other vices, and the simple villagers gradually came to accept him. After getting to know the man, Qingshan, emboldened by the stranger’s prodding, stole a few jars of rice wine and two slabs of cured meat from home to trade for the spear on the man’s back. For that, he was beaten half to death by his parents upon returning home. Yet, even while being thrashed, the boy clutched the spear tightly, his heart filled with joy.

"My family finds me an eyesore. Immortal, may I practice my spearwork here?" Qingshan asked cautiously.

Shen Yu opened his eyes and gazed at the spear in the boy’s hands for a long time, then closed them again and gave a soft, affirmative hum. Having received his answer, Qingshan took the spear to a nearby clearing. Before long, the sound of whistling air echoed from the space. Shen Yu’s brows twitched slightly, and he opened his eyes again, silently watching.

Qingshan had never received formal training, yet his spearwork was ethereal and extraordinary. It was not quite godlike, but it was far superior to that of average rural folk or even many renowned martial artists. With his right hand gripping the spear, he moved with the agility of a dragon. To the villagers, it was merely an impressive display, but to any immortal sect, it would have been seen as the potential of a genius worth cultivating.

A sparrow flew past a distant eave, its wings fluttering with chirps. A thought stirred in the boy’s mind, and he struck the butt of the spear with his left hand, crying out on impulse: "Go!" The spear turned into a straight line in mid-air, slicing the sparrow in two before pinning it firmly against the wall. Qingshan trotted over to retrieve the weapon, his face glowing with undisguised delight.

"Who taught you that spearwork?" Shen Yu asked suddenly.

Qingshan scratched his head shyly. "The uncle at the village tavern."

"What is his name?"

Qingshan looked troubled. "I don't know. He isn't from the village, and he has never mentioned his name."

Shen Yu gave a soft hum. Qingshan stretched his neck and asked tentatively, "Immortal, what do you think of my spearwork? Do I have talent?"

Shen Yu replied coolly, "Flashy and hollow."

Qingshan felt a pang of disappointment and let out a soft sigh. Shen Yu gazed at the horizon, silent for a moment, before saying, "I will teach you a few forms. But there is a condition."

"Yes?"

"You must learn with focus."

"I will!" The boy nodded like a chick pecking at grain.

Time passed. The sun set completely in the west, and the mountains were plunged into darkness. By late night, Qingshan finally left the hut with his spear on his back. He looked exhausted, yet his eyes shone with excitement. Shen Yu watched the boy’s receding back in silence. He was not looking at the boy, but at the spear on his back. There was a spear intent within it—unparalleled and domineering. More importantly, the aura clinging to that weapon made Shen Yu uncomfortable. It possessed a grandeur that looked down upon the world, yet it carried the chilling, ghostly aura of the underworld.

...

On the east side of the village stood a tavern where a bored, disheveled man lay reclined. Business was always sparse; the wine was too rough, and few people drank. Most importantly, the man never cared about the tavern’s trade. He drank until he was satisfied, sold whatever remained, and if he ran out, he would head to a town dozens of miles away to gamble until he was penniless, only to return empty-handed. Travelers and merchants had long since stopped coming, and over time, only a few kind-hearted neighbors would buy a bit of wine to support him. No one knew where this man who lived like a drifter came from, nor his name.

In the entire village, perhaps only Qingshan, who was now trotting toward the tavern, knew a thing or two. For a long time, Qingshan suspected this middle-aged man was also an immortal. Ten years ago, the uncle had fallen from the sky just like the "Immortal" who arrived recently, smashing into the mountain yet remaining perfectly alive and kicking.

"What are you staring at me for?" the disheveled man, half-lying on his chair, asked the boy impatiently.

Qingshan grinned. "Uncle, an immortal came to the village a few days ago. He taught me a few forms of spearwork yesterday."

The man showed no interest, yawning to himself. Qingshan hesitated before adding, "I accidentally let it slip that you were the one who taught me spearplay."

The man didn't even lift his head. "Go clean the room."

Qingshan nodded and skillfully picked up a broom to sweep the tavern. Over the years, these chores had mostly fallen to him. The man, no longer sleepy, sat up and was silent for a while before suddenly asking, "Why did he teach you the spear?"

Qingshan shook his head. "I don't know, but he said..."

The man growled, "Don't mumble like a woman. Spit it out."

Qingshan frowned. "I don't know why, but in the end, he told me: 'In the art of the spear, there are ten thousand changes, but they all return to a single intent.'" The boy scratched his head, sighing, "But I don't understand it."

"That sentence was meant for me," the man said coolly. "Hah, he certainly has a big ego."

Qingshan’s eyes widened in confusion. "Why? He doesn't even know you."

"Enough chatter. Show me the spearwork he taught you."

...

"Nonsense! This style looks imposing, but the force is as soft as a woman's. How could this ever lead to a great path?"

"Oh? This form is interesting. Barely usable."

"Tsk, tsk. A truly formidable character has arrived."

The man, usually laconic, was now muttering incessantly. As the demonstration ended, he fell silent, then curled his lip in disdain. "The same path as those stinking Taoists who only know how to preach, though their grasp of the true essence of the Way is indeed profound. In the great paths of the world, where is the line between strong and weak? My way is no worse than theirs."

Though Qingshan was puzzled, he was not overly surprised. Anything related to the spear always piqued the man's interest. Suddenly, the man slammed the table and shouted, "Qingshan!"

The boy jumped in fright. "Yes!"

"Look at you, what a coward," the man said with a smile. "I'll teach you a few moves, and you can go show them off in front of him."

Qingshan asked blankly, "Why?"

The man glared, his voice booming with pride: "To show off! Is that not allowed?"