Chapter 47: Fingers as Swords, Sever

"The Dragon King is enraged! It must be that our boat has offended him—he’s punishing us!" the boatman cried out in terror.

The towering waves battered the vessel, a force no mortal could withstand.

At once, the boatman fell to his knees, praying for the Dragon King’s mercy.

"The boat is going to capsize!"

"Divine powers, spare our lives!"

"O gods who pass along these waters, please save this humble soul. If I survive, I vow to rebuild your golden statues in your honor..."

No one is unafraid of death. Chaos and panic erupted among those on board.

"Master, be careful!"

Zhang Long, Zhao Hu, Wang Chao, and Ma Han, ever loyal, immediately shielded their lord.

Yet, before they could even breathe a sigh of relief, the great wave had not yet struck, but the painted pleasure boat began to sway violently. This type of ornate barge, also called a tower ship, is ill-suited for rough waters—a single wave could overturn her, and the upper structures might tumble down, threatening to crush those below—precisely where Bao Zheng and his retinue were.

Wang Chao, Ma Han, Zhang Long, and Zhao Hu coordinated their efforts—two guarded Lord Bao, while the other two drew their waist knives to intercept the falling debris. But whether or not this world held a protector as skilled as Zhan Zhao, Bao Zheng had none by his side now. Without such a guardian, the four loyal guards alone could never fend off all the tumbling objects.

Nevertheless, they did what they could—when they could not cut everything aside, the remaining two used their own bodies to shield Bao Zheng.

"Wang, my faithful guard..."

Bao Zheng was profoundly moved by his protectors’ selfless acts, but the timing left no room for sentiment.

Yes, they risked their lives to defend him from harm. Yet they had forgotten the most crucial danger—the wave itself.

If the breaker struck, this little boat, with its lively crew, would surely capsize...

"Mr. Gongsun!"

"Lord Bao, I will protect you!"

"Good, good! With Mr. Gongsun at my side, you must go and assist the others!"

Ah, the melodrama of life played on. It seemed Gongsun Ce, thinking himself hardier than Bao Zheng, insisted on rushing over to protect him.

But was Gongsun Ce truly stronger than Bao Zheng? As the wave drew nearer, poised to crash down upon them, Shen Shi acted.

He pressed two fingers together, channeling his energy into a sword.

The art of cultivating qi—my sword shall cut down all evil!

A beam of white light shot from between his fingers, streaking toward the monstrous wave.

With a crackling hiss, the sword’s radiance cleaved the wave in two, slicing through it as smoothly as a mirror. The water split to either side, and the sword’s light kept going, undiminished.

All present stared, dumbfounded, at the sword’s path across the river.

"Good heavens, is this a man or an immortal?"

Everyone forgot their fear, gaping in astonishment, heedless of anything else.

If today’s events were but a tale of the supernatural, then Shen Shi’s sword finger had surely raised the story to a new level.

"This is not sorcery, it’s the external projection of inner force—gangqi," Wang Chao muttered. He and his companions were true martial artists; they knew the power of martial arts could reach such heights. "When I was learning my craft, my father said a grandmaster of martial arts could kill a man from thirty feet away by projecting gangqi. I always thought it was just a legend, but now, having witnessed it myself, I could die without regret."

With a grandmaster as his father, no one knew better than Wang Chao the terror of gangqi—a force that could kill with a breath, turn the wind itself into a blade.

"To think he’s so young and already at the gangqi stage—it’s inconceivable! My own master, a prodigy, didn’t reach this level until he was fifty, and this man is hardly more than a youth."

Wang Chao felt a twinge of regret for having left the mountain against his master’s wishes, never mastering gangqi. Yet if he were still on the mountain, and someone had told him of such a thing, he’d have slapped them silly: "Seventeen or eighteen and already at the gangqi stage? Even under thirty would be unprecedented genius—no one would boast so wildly!"

He was right, of course. Shen Shi was no master of gangqi. Though born into a military family, he was not wielding inner force, but the spiritual energy of heaven and earth.

Due to Shen Shi’s unique eyes, he could discern the flow of energy; all he absorbed was the purest, most refined spiritual energy.

Gangqi, too, comes from the Daoist tradition, called righteous energy. Martial artists refine their essence into pure gangqi.

He had not achieved the status of a deity, so it was understandable that Wang Chao was mistaken.

Wang Chao might err, but the water fox demon, Xin Baniang, would not.

Shen Shi’s sword finger radiated pure, undiluted spiritual energy—the very image of a Daoist’s refined inner breath. She had no time for bravado; with a flash, she fled in terror.

"Excellent, excellent! Quick, quickly, my good brother—strike down that wicked dragon!"

Kong Xueli, standing by Shen Shi’s side, had seen everything most clearly. He dashed to the rail, pointing forward and giving orders with a flourish.

Shen Shi glanced at him and replied coolly, "It’s already fled to the riverbed. I do not know the Water-Avoiding Spell."

Kong Xueli’s triumph was cut short, as if a duck had been grabbed by the neck.

He turned, wearing a fawning smile.

"Good brother—no, Master Immortal—won’t you destroy that monster?"

Shen Shi rolled his eyes and repeated, "It’s a water demon. If it stays in the river’s depths, I have no way to force it to the surface."

"Ah! Then hurry, set sail! While the Immortal Master is here, let us cross the river at once!"

The Qian brothers, eager to curry favor, practically fell over themselves in their haste. Had they not once offended Shen Shi, they would have gladly served him as humble attendants.

Is it comical? Perhaps. Yet after witnessing Shen Shi’s sword cleave the towering wave, laughter was far from their minds.

From Wang Chao’s words, they had gleaned something about martial artists and gangqi.

Dear heavens! Are martial artists truly so formidable? No wonder the Song Dynasty restricts the martial class. But this is truly a deadly disadvantage!

Even Lord Bao was tempted. Having seen Shen Shi’s earth-shattering sword, he could not help but think: If martial artists are this powerful, why should Great Song fear the Khitan? I should memorialize the emperor, urging him to employ martial artists.

Devoted to the realm, Bao Zheng resolved to recommend Shen Shi in his next petition.

Yet all this was already behind Shen Shi, who had returned to his cabin.

Seated on the painted barge as it glided toward the far shore, Shen Shi exhaled a long, weary breath.

"In the future, I’d best use fewer of these flashy but impractical techniques—one slash and a third of my vital energy is gone."

That finger sword, projecting force into the air, looked impressive, but the strain was enormous. Shen Shi had not cultivated long; though the spiritual energy he gathered was purer, sparing him some refinement, using it in this way was exhausting.

The sword of energy, in essence, was a method of firing one’s own inner power outward. Fundamental, yes, but also the most draining and least destructive of techniques.