Chapter 14: A Thousand Green Blades
The Sword Hall erected a test array in the arena—a ring of green reed swords that circled, darted, and stabbed with the mind of a jealous master. A dozen outer disciples had tried and bled. Elder Bai He sat unmoved, boredom like frost.
Qin Mo stepped into the ring.
The first reed struck—hesitation cut. Qin moved not to dodge but to conduct. He let the blade's nose glance off the back of his hand; his skin reddened, but the blade changed its quarrel, seeking a different sin. He pivoted, turned two more aside with his forearm, and stepped through a gap he had asked to exist.
The array's tempo quickened. Blades sang green and mean. Qin bent, straightened, bent—never pretty, always right. He used the array against itself, inviting overreach, presenting lies, feeding it half-truths. One reed stabbed for his eye. He blinked. It struck his eyebrow, shaved a hair, and felt foolish.
Halfway, a phantom coalesced—a Sword Shadow, test of intent. It thrust like a question. Qin answered with an open hand. Soft Flow Palm on a phantom made no sense—and worked. The Shadow's arm was the array's rhythm; he clapped on two and four. The rhythm stumbled.
He reached the center. There a single reed stood still—a heart that never moved. He touched it with a fingertip, and all the reedy jaws fell quiet as children who've seen their father smile.
Elder Bai He rose, expression the barest nod of weather. "Name."
"Qin Mo."
"Your sword?"
"I don't carry one," Qin said.
"Good." Bai He tossed him a thin iron token. "When you do, bring it to my hall."
Li Cangfeng stood in the crowd, biting the inside of his cheek until it bled.