A max-level player in Jade Dynasty: Awakening the Innate Dao at the start.

The ancestral hall is hidden deep in the old forest; you can't see it at all unless you look carefully.

Following the map, Zhang Xiaofan trudged forward, stepping on the fallen leaves that had accumulated over the years.

The decaying leaves underfoot were so thick that they could sink halfway into your ankle, and each step made a muffled "squeak" sound.

The air was filled with a strong musty smell, mixed with the bitter, agarwood-like aroma unique to old wood.

The light fragmented the dense canopy overhead, casting shimmering spots of light on the ground.

The courtyard gate was ajar.

He caught a glimpse of that figure through the crack in the door.

Dusty gray clothes, with an empty sleeve.

The bamboo broom swept across the bluestone floor, making a monotonous and drawn-out "shh-shh" sound.

The old man swept very slowly, but every movement was as precise as if he had measured it with a ruler.

The angle between the broom and the ground remained unchanged, and the speed of movement was very uniform, with even the intervals between each pause to catch one's breath being precise.

Zhang Xiaofan stopped outside the door.

He didn't knock or make a sound; he just watched quietly.

The sound of the broom never stopped.

Sweep from the east end of the courtyard to the west end, sweeping over the nine steps in front of the main hall.

Sweep over the dripping water under the eaves of the outbuilding, sweep over the half-dead weeds in the corner.

The dust swept up tumbled in the slanted beam of light, like countless tiny gold dust particles.

An hour has passed.

Zhang Xiaofan stood ramrod straight, his breathing so light it was almost inaudible.

The little gray dog ​​perched on the shoulder was unusually quiet, motionless, its pale golden eyes fixed on the figure in the yard.

The broom finally stopped.

Wan Jianyi slowly straightened up, leaned the broom against the wall, his movements as slow as slow motion on a theatrical stage.

He turned around, his empty sleeve dangling, and his gaze, peering through the crack in the door, landed on Zhang Xiaofan's face.

Those eyes were very cloudy, as if covered with a layer of dust.

But that gaze seemed to penetrate the door panel, fixing directly on Zhang Xiaofan's face.

Zhang Xiaofan pushed open the door and went inside.

There is a well in the courtyard, and stone tables and benches are placed around it.

There was a set of rough pottery teaware on the table, and the spout of the teapot was still emitting a faint steam.

He walked to the well, drew half a bucket of water, and washed his hands clean.

Then he walked to the table and picked up the pottery pot.

The tea soup is dark brown, and when poured into a rough earthenware cup, a layer of fine white foam rises to the surface.

He held the cup in both hands, walked up to Wan Jianyi, bowed, and raised the cup above his head.

"Disciple Zhang Xiaofan, please have some tea, Master Uncle."

Wan Jianyi accepted the cup.

Those fingers were thin and bony, with large knuckles, and the skin was covered with dark brown age spots.

He brought the cup to his lips, took a small sip, and his Adam's apple bobbed.

A few drops of tea dripped down his gray beard and landed on the front of his gray clothes, spreading out a small dark water stain.

The cup was placed back on the stone table with a soft "tap".

"One hour."

When Wan Jian finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, like sandpaper grinding against iron.

"No rushing, no asking, and no moving. They certainly have plenty of patience."

He lifted his eyelids, his cloudy eyes staring at Zhang Xiaofan:

"Your temperament is not what one would expect at your age."

Zhang Xiaofan lowered his head: "This disciple is foolish and dares not disturb my master's peace."

Wan Jianyi chuckled briefly, a laugh that carried an indescribable air of vicissitude.

He walked to the stone bench and sat down, resting his one arm on the stone table, his fingers tapping the surface intermittently.

"Did Daoxuan tell you who I am?"

"no."

"Did Tian Buyi say that?"

"No, not exactly."

Wan Jianyi stopped tapping his fingers on the table: "Then how did you know?"

"I guessed," Zhang Xiaofan said.

"There is only one person in the Qingyun Sect who can earn the respect of the sect leader from the bottom of his heart and who makes him feel that he is qualified to teach disciples."

In addition…

He paused, his gaze falling on Wan Jianyi's empty right sleeve:

"That incident from three hundred years ago, although it has been sealed away, has not left no trace at all."

"He lost an arm and is living in seclusion here, arranged personally by the sect leader—these clues are enough."

Wan Jianyi stared at him for a long time.

Then he slowly nodded:

"The move was quite thorough, bold, and meticulous. Dao Xuan... didn't misjudge him this time."

He stood up, walked to the middle of the courtyard, and turned his back to Zhang Xiaofan.

The gray clothes fluttered slightly in the morning breeze, the empty sleeves drooping like a faded flag.

"Looking at me like this," Wan Jian said calmly.

"I lost an arm and wasted over a hundred years. Now I'm sweeping the floor here, waiting to get into my coffin."

Do you think... I still have the ability to teach you?

Zhang Xiaofan walked three steps behind him and stopped.

"The sword resides in my heart."

Four words, clear and distinct, steady and resounding.

Wan Jianyi's body trembled slightly.

He slowly turned around, and something exploded in his cloudy eyes—

It wasn't light, but some deeper vibration, like ice cracking open.

He stared at Zhang Xiaofan, his pupils contracted, and his lips parted slightly.

Then--

"Ha ha ha ha!"

Laughter suddenly erupted, old and hoarse, yet as exhilarating as if someone had been holding it in for three hundred years and had finally found an outlet.

He laughed with his head tilted back, his sleeves trembling from laughter, and tears welling up in his eyes.

"Excellent! What a perfect 'sword in the heart'!"

Wan Jian wiped his face, his eyes shining frighteningly.

Dao Xuan said you have extraordinary talent, but I originally thought it just meant your cultivation level increased quickly.

Now it seems... your true skill lies in your aptitude for swordsmanship!

He strode back to the stone table and waved his one arm:

"sit!"

Zhang Xiaofan sat down.

Wan Jianyi also sat down, leaning forward, his one arm resting on the stone table, his gaze intense:

"From today onwards, I will teach you. Swordsmanship, mental techniques, and any obstacles you encounter in your practice—feel free to ask."

Zhang Xiaofan stood up, bowed deeply, and said:

"Disciple thanks Senior Uncle."

Wan Jian waved his hand and leaned back in his chair.

His eyes had regained some of their cloudiness, but the spark deep within them had already ignited.

"When I teach, I don't follow any rules or regulations, nor do I use any tricks."

He said, "I'll just talk about one 'point.' Where you're stuck, I'll point it out to you."

If you get it, it's your own destiny. If you don't get it...

He paused, then lowered his voice:

"That means we're not destined to be master and disciple."

Zhang Xiaofan nodded: "Disciple understands."

He sat down again, a surge of warmth welling up inside him.

Three years of arduous training, dual cultivation of Buddhism and Taoism, and ten times the natural talent—these are the foundational elements.

But if you really want to move up, the difference is often just that one thin layer of paper.

Tian Buyi can teach him martial arts techniques and help him build a foundation.

But some things can only be understood by those who stand higher.

Just like when Wan Jianyi broke through Tian Buyi's bottleneck after a single sentence, he broke through his thirty-year bottleneck.

This is the meaning of "a single sentence from a renowned teacher is better than ten years of self-pondering".

And now, this renowned teacher is sitting right across from him.

His clothes were drab and dull, with an empty sleeve, and his eyes were cloudy.

But Zhang Xiaofan knew in his heart—

The number one swordsman in the Qingyun Sect for three hundred years.

It's alive and well, right here.