For a moment, silence held, until a snicker broke though. Then another, a cluster of village youths, to be specific, barely sixteen whispering among themselves with smirks.
''What's he talking about sleepless nights? Sounds like an old beggar rambling for alms'' One boy muttered.
''Seventy two years? More like seventy two lies'' Another sneered, puffing out his chest to impress the others.
''Maybe he's so old he's forgotten how to swing that spear'' A third added. drawing muffled laughter from their small group.
Though their voices were not loud, the square carried sound maybe a bit too well.
The elder's eyes sharpened, one elder even spat at the ground whilst muttering under his breath. ''Disrespectful brats, they'll never see fifty with tongues like that''
One of the teenager's mother even cuffed her son's ear, hissing.
Zhao Yan's expression did not change, he neither frowned nor raised his voice.
Instead, he turned his gaze directly upon the youths, and the square seemed to still as if the air itself had frozen.
''You find my words amusing?''
The moment the words left his lips, the air shifted. It was subtle at first, a faint pressure, similar to the instance before a storm outbreak. Then it grew heavier, pressing down on the square as though invisible hands had gripped every shoulder. Even the dust gathering in the air trembled visibly in the light of the sunbeams, and the lanterns swayed with wind.
Long Wei stiffened, his breath caught in his chest as if his ribs had shrunk around his lungs. 'What is this...? The air itself feels akin to steel? No, its not the air! It's him.' His eyes widened, his heart thundering in his ears. 'Can someone's presence alone really do this?'
The boys froze where they stood, laughter dying in their throats, their faces paled, eyes darting as if seeking escape, but their feet felt rooted in place.
The weight was not physical, and yet, it coiled around their hearts akin to a serpent.
This was the oppressive presence of a man who walked on the martial path longer than their families had drawn breath.
Even some grown men swallowed hard, their spines straightening by instinct as though they too had been called to answer
Only then did Zhao Yan's voice come again, calm but unyielding, each word carrying force.
''Mock what you do not understand if you must, but do not misunderstand my lenience for weakness.''
The pressure faded as suddenly as it had come, leaving the boys gasping in relief, their heads bowed and hands trembling at their sides.
The crowd whispered approval, though none dared laugh now.
Yet Zhao Yan did not stop there, he turned his gaze gently toward a group of smaller children he had frightened. They had huddled behind their mothers, wide eyed with fear. Seeing them trembling, a strange sense of familiarity ran through him. A brief moment of nostalgia and self hatred.
Sighing slowly, he walked towards the edge of the platform and crouched down lowering himself to their eye level.
Quiet, warm and faintly smiling.
''Do not fear me, little ones. I do not have it in me to ever hurt an innocent soul. Besides...Do I look so frightening? I have no horns, no fangs and not nearly enough teeth to bite''
A ripple of laughter escaped the children, timid but real and reassured as the tension eased. Even some of the villagers chuckled softly.
From the crowd, Long Wei found himself staring, he had expected arrogance or cold indifference from such a figure, not this strange balance of gravity and gentleness.
'Seventy two years, and he can still smile at children like that?' Long Wei thought. 'Is that what the path of martial arts truly looks like?'
Zhao Yan's sternness softened for the children, but as their small heads bobbed in laughter, his gaze swept over the rest of the crowd. The market square fell into a tentative silence, the hum of conversation fading like mist under the morning sun.
''To walk on the path of martial arts means to temper one's essence until your blood runs akin to fire. your bones ring as jade and your willpower blazes through steel..That is the true potential of martial arts'' He began, his voice rolling over the crowd with a weight that seemed to bend the very air.
''A simple step upon this road can make a farmer's child into a dragon among men, a servant into a hero whose name resounds for a hundred generations. But the same path, can twist the heart and mind alike, into a fiend dreaded by all below the Heaven''
He paused, letting his words sink into the minds of all who watched, eyes glinting with an unspoken challenge. ''Today, I will show you not empty words, but a glimpse of the vast ocean you may one day become, whether you dare to step into its waters...That choice is yours alone''
A few children shifted nervously, clutching each other's hands, Even so Long Wei felt a stirring in his chest. a curious mix of awe and anticipation.
With that he moved.
The spear in his hands blurred, not wildly, but with fluidity that made it difficult to the eye to catch where one movement ended and the next began. The butt of the spear snapped down against the wooden platform with a sharp crack, spun and cut through the air with a hiss.
He shifted his weight from one stance to another so seamlessly, akin to water finding it s course through rock. His feet barely seemed to leave the ground, and yet he covered the stage in graceful sweeps and sudden lunges.
His form shadowless, and his movements swirling up the wind in the platform leaving behind sharp streaks of cuts on the floor of the platform.
A few gasps rose from the crowd as he spun the spear behind his back and then thrust forward, not toward an opponent but at a distant clay jug set on a distant stall.
The tip of the spear couldn't possibly reach the jug from platform, and yet the jug split cleanly in half with the after force left behind by the swing of the spear, both halves falling inward before shattering on the wood.
Long Wei blinked, he had seen a lot of monks do strange things in his years at Bai Lu Mountain, but this...felt different. There was something in the way the man moved, not just skill but natural purpose. As if every move, every flick of his wrist had been carved into his bones long ago. After countless seconds of constant practice.
Master Zhao Yan ended as he began, still, silent, the spear balanced slightly in one hand.
Long Wei's mind was still on that moment with the jug, he could swear he felt the air move in his chest when the spear struck.
Somewhere behind the noise, that strange faint hum returned, a vibration beneath his feet, just enough for his skin to prickle
Master Zhao Yan rested his spear against the edge of the stage, running a hand along the lacquered shaft before letting it stand on its own, as if by magic, the spear embedded itself in the wooden platform.
Out of nowhere, blade appeared in Master Zhao Yan's open palm with a simple flick of his wrist. For some reason Long Wei's gaze was drawn to his silver ring on his right hand. The blade itself was dull, the hilt wrapped in faded cloth, the kind of weapon a village blacksmith might sell to a farmer.
A few murmurs rippled through the crowd at the sight of such a humble weapon.
Long Wei tilted his head, a man who could cut a jug in two without touching it surely had access to something finer. So why bring out this...kitchen knife's older cousin?
Zhao Yan exhaled.
''It matters not the blade itself'' He said quietly.
''But the life within the hand that wields it. When your breath and blade become one, the world bows before you''
For some strange reason that one line struck a chord within Long Wei.
It began in his palms, faint at first. as if the light caught on his skin in strangle angles, then it grew. Threads of emerald green unfurling akin to spider silk, weaving between his fingers and curling around the grip of the blade.
Each thread shone gently, in rhythm with his breathing and the rising of the man's chest, until the entire blade in his hand seemed to hum in his grasp.
Children in the front row leaned forward, their eyes wide in splendor.
The moment he stepped forward, the stage seemed to shift beneath him, the very platform creaking with pressure.
The first sweep of the blade was slow, deliberate with the threads of emerald light trailing the blade akin to ribbons in the wind.
The second was faster, the strands snapping in the air leaving behind embers wherever they passed.
Flowing between stances, low as a crouching tiger, upright as a pine tree in the winter.
The blade leaving behind verdant arcs hanging for an instant before fading one after another. Each shift carrying the weight of intent, as if every movement spoke a language older than the whole of Bai Lu Mountain.
At one point, Zhao Yan cut his blade upwards, and the sage threads of light didn't just vanish in plain.
They hung midair, shimmering akin to droplets of rain, before dissolving into faint motes that fell harmlessly down upon the crowd.
Long Wei's mouth had gone dry.
He had heard of inner strength, nei jin, the monks sometimes called it but it had always been talk, like stories of fox spirits and rivers that sang.
This was different. This was real enough to touch.
Akin to fireworks of real light spread right here in the market square.
The martial artist ended the sequence by lowering his blade, the threads of light dimming until only his steady breathing remained.
For a moment, the square was silent, then the applause came, not polite this time, but loud and unrestrained.
Amidst the cheering crowds, Long Wei stood out akin to a lonely island.
The loud sounds barely registered in his ears.
The sight of those verdant threads of light would not leave him, but more than that the phrase 'When your breath and blade become one, the world bows before you' stuck within him. He didn't pretend to understand what it meant, not at all.
Everything from the martial artist's footwork, spear technique, blade handling and that strange otherworldly presence of his.
It was if a door had cracked open in his chest, revealing a vast road ahead, one road he had never considered walking before.
'So this is martial arts...?' He thought.
'Its beautiful'
His heart thudded in his ears.
Suddenly the narrowness of his own life drew closer to him. The smallness of his daily life at the monastery.
Compared to what he had just seen, those things were dust. His thoughts span.
'If such a path exists out there, I must set my feet on it. I must'
His heart beat inside his skull akin to a drum, louder than the cheers of the crowd.
The mornings at the monastery, the sweeping of fallen leaves before dawn, the grinding of herbs at the apothecary along with the copying of sutras until his fingers cramped.
The narrow little courtyard walls, the endless rhythm of chores and the tired smiles of the older monks who had long since settled into that life as if nothing more could ever be asked of them.
Was that to be his future? To spend his years watching dust gather in the corners of the old halls growing older and quieter until he too became part of the background of the courtyard floors.?
'NO!!'
The answer burned in his chest now. With fierce passion, and with such abandoned truth.
Not of hatred, not of anger. But at the simple desire of being something more.
At last, his road ahead seemed a bit clearer to him.
Long Wei clenched his fists at his sides, the idea of becoming a monk seemed dull and unbearable right now.
He wasn't sure what it meant to be a martial artist, or what he would have to sacrifice.
Bu the knew one thing with absolute clarity, he would not let this chance slip past him.
'If there truly is a road from the dust to the dragon, then I will walk it, even if I have to crawl it at first...I will walk it'
And as if fate was eavesdropping into his mind...
Zhao Yan finally spoke, his voice calm but carrying over the crowd like a gentle wind cutting through the noise.
''Martial arts is not mere movement, it is intention made to manifest, the will to set your presence into the bounds of the known world, If my demonstration stirred something inside you, or better yet, planted a seed of passion within your heart, I invite you to come forward''
Needless to say.
A step backward was Long Wei's last thought.