Chapter Sixty-Nine: A Bell to See Each Day

May in Jiangning brought waves of heat swirling through the city. When the lazy chime of wind bells drifted through that somewhat desolate courtyard, the emerald-green climbing vines had already blanketed the yellow earth walls. Wildflowers and grasses flourished in the yard, grasshoppers leapt forth and vanished, crickets chirped beneath bricks and stones, butterflies occasionally fluttered in, and a lone bird perched on a trellis draped in vines, preening its feathers before spreading its wings and flying away, the vines swaying and scattering golden petals onto the ground.

She sat beneath the trellis nestled against the corner wall, her sword placed among the wild grass at her side. It was morning; from behind the wall came the sound of children reciting poetry, their voices pleasant and melodic in waves.

Occasionally, that man's voice would drift over: “…This phrase, ‘The hypocrite is the enemy of virtue,’ means…”
“…Zilu did not appreciate the so-called reclusive scholars…”
“…Regarding this, I recall a story I once read…”

His voice was casual, lacking the archaic flourishes and the constant citations of sages that characterized the scholars she'd known before. It seemed… rather undignified.

His way of speaking was not as melodious as the articles the students recited, yet she could surprisingly understand him. Sometimes he would tell them stories, a loose and unconventional school. The students themselves were hardly reliable—sometimes calling out, “Teacher, teacher…” or “Mr. Liheng…” raising odd questions or smiling as they discussed tales with their instructor.

Such lack of decorum! Had it been in her own home, children behaving so would have had their palms swollen and been made to stand outside all day under the sun.

But, despite the absence of any teacherly authority in his voice, and the plain speech less pleasing than the students’ recitations, she sometimes felt that his words held a certain logic.

He would come by in the morning, bringing food and supplies enough for the day. If he came at noon, he’d bring hot dishes. In the afternoons he busied himself with peculiar tasks in that room, occasionally speaking to her, and she would respond in kind.

They had not formally met, for she still could not clearly see him. When he arrived, she would often be perched atop the beams, watching coldly, or slip out the window to the back courtyard. The little maid would often visit, sitting on the steps in the outer gallery, chatting with her young master about all manner of trivial matters. From her chatter, she gathered that his family ran a cloth business.

After the maid finished her chattering, she would always pester him for stories—strange tales, like “The Enchanted Maiden,” though he never finished it; perhaps he’d told it on the road with the maid that day. Now he recounted a story called “The Eight Dragons,” its plot subtly echoing the current state of the realm, though in it, the Wu Dynasty had been changed to the Song.

Thus, on such summer afternoons, in that quiet courtyard, a man named Ning Yi busied himself with strange experiments and told odd tales, the little maid sat in the front garden, and the woman in black, holding an ancient sword, listened from the wild grass at the back, hearing of martial arts, rivers and lakes, heroes and sects—as if separated from the real world by a thin veil.

When evening came and she departed, the little maid would habitually call out, “Bell, see you tomorrow.”

Her voice was sweet, melting into the sun’s crimson glow as it spilled through the dusk.

Since the initial two days had passed, Ning Yi no longer made any deliberate efforts.

There are many ways to appear truly sincere; the best is usually for you to be genuinely sincere.

Not overthinking, not acting with excessive intention. Though the woman sometimes responded, she was unwilling to meet him face to face, and he did not mind. He prepared food for the day each morning; if he could come at noon or night, he would bring hot dishes. Her injuries were not light, but since she was in hiding, there was little to be done about it.

Each day he brought her supplies, buying an extra set of black garments for her to change and wash. He would explain how to use the things in the room, what could be touched and what should not, and though she might find him odd, there was no need to explain further.

After the Dragon Boat Festival, his life resumed its rhythm: daily lectures, idle strolls, and experiments. On the afternoon of the tenth day of May, he returned home to find Su Tan’er not yet back and Xiao Chan away on errands, leaving the courtyard empty. As he tidied his room, he suddenly noticed a figure at the door—at first glance, he thought it was Xing’er, the taller of the three maids, but upon opening the door, he realized it was not.

When he opened the door, the woman stood there quietly, wearing the green robe he had bought for her, meeting his gaze with a heroic and cold demeanor.

Ning Yi exhaled. “You’re taking too much of a risk…”

Outside, the patrols of the soldiers were still strict. No matter her intentions, following him so openly was truly reckless. Hearing this, the woman seemed puzzled, frowning slightly, then turned to leave, apparently intending to retrace her steps and scale the wall. Ning Yi suddenly called out, “Wait.” He pointed to the side entrance. “Go that way, I’ll drive the carriage.”

Soon after, the carriage departed from the side gate of the Su residence, circling toward the academy. Halfway there, the woman remarked, “I now know where your home is…” A cautious soul, used to walking the knife’s edge; with those words, nothing more needed to be said. When the carriage reached the side of the small courtyard, the road was empty beneath the setting sun. The woman lifted the curtain and leapt over the courtyard wall, leaving her words echoing softly behind: “My name is Lu Hongti.”

Thus, at last, they were acquainted.

The next day, the woman no longer avoided meeting Ning Yi. From then on, they could speak of trivial matters each day. A few afternoons later, as Ning Yi worked on his experiments, the sky outside turned dark, lightning flashed, and torrential rain poured down as if to drown the city of Jiangning. The house leaked under the storm, and Ning Yi placed buckets in the inner and outer rooms to catch the water, the sound clinking and splashing. Xiao Chan did not come that day; Ning Yi rested on a chair in the outer room and casually asked about martial arts.

Separated by a single wall, Lu Hongti sat on the bed in the inner room, watching the rain through the window, and laughed, “After hearing those tales, you truly wish to learn martial arts? And what is the Song Dynasty anyway?”

Ning Yi chuckled, “Regardless, it’s interesting, isn’t it?”

“It’s certainly interesting.” Lu Hongti paused for a moment. “But in the end, those are just stories. In this world… there are no great sects, few true heroes, none of those refined codes of conduct. What you find are bandits and great thieves. What you speak of sounds pleasant, but in reality, a band of outlaws have no such scruples. If they meet the poor or weak, they rob and kill; if they meet soldiers oppressing the innocent, or other strong bandits, they yield and avoid trouble… Heroes—where are there really heroes who serve the country and the people?”

“Not a single one?” Ning Yi asked calmly.

“…Perhaps a few.”

Ning Yi smiled, changing the subject, “So, just how skilled are you in the martial world?”

“I’ve heard of a few, but never fought them. The rest… are just bullies and thugs, hardly worthy of the title. I can handle a dozen, maybe a few dozen, but against a hundred or more—once in the midst of an army, it means nothing.”

“So you’ve been on the battlefield…”

She paused, then laughed, “Do you truly wish to learn martial arts? Mine?”

“Uh, if I could…”

“If I teach you, do you know what will happen?”

From her words, Ning Yi sensed something was amiss. He probed, “Is your martial art only suited for women?”

“No, men who learn it might be even more formidable.” She laughed lightly, speaking with ease.

“Well then… I don’t aspire to be a master; though I’m past my prime, I am bright and learned—could I reach second-rate at least?” Since she didn’t seem earnest, Ning Yi indulged in his fantasy.

She laughed, “If you learn my martial art and lack perseverance, you’ll give up halfway—consider it your luck. If you truly have resolve and practice diligently, I can guarantee you won’t live past five years…”

Ning Yi was silent for a while. “So what exactly is this ‘internal skill’?”

Lu Hongti explained, “What people call internal skill is really just a method of breathing and regulating the body. Ordinary breathing techniques, practiced long enough, can strengthen the body, but truly advanced internal skills involve breathing methods that are extremely intense, controlling the body through rhythm. If a child practices, over time, their body adapts to the method; a child’s organs are malleable, so their internal organs change, allowing them to exert force in extreme ways and endure the strain…”

“But an adult’s body is already set. Trying to exert force in extreme ways causes great harm. If you have resolve and train with breathing methods contrary to your natural state, after a few years your organs will shift, you’ll cough blood, grow weak, and die. People assume children learn quickly and adults slowly, but in truth it’s not so… Now you see, in those tales, adults master skills and become experts—pure fantasy…”

Outside, rain poured down, the sky darkened. Ning Yi sat for a while, finally understanding what internal skill truly meant: controlling breathing from childhood, remolding the body and organs. Martial arts learned from youth—because children can adapt to the transformation. He pondered a moment, then fetched his notebook and pen, “Write this down, write this down…”

Seeing that Ning Yi was not particularly disheartened, Lu Hongti was a bit puzzled, but not inclined to pursue it further. After a while, feeling bored, she said, “Since there’s nothing to do, why not tell me the rest of the Eight Dragons story?”

“It’s pure speculation, better not told…” Ning Yi replied offhandedly, and silence fell. A few seconds later, he laughed heartily, “Just joking, just joking. But it seems the martial arts in my stories are more interesting. Haha, well, today I win. Yesterday we left off at the duel between the Six Meridian Sword and the Buddha’s Palm…”

“…Flame Blade.” After a moment, Lu Hongti’s voice drifted from the inner room, sounding like a vengeful spirit.

Ning Yi moved his stool further away, lest another sword should stab through the wall…

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