The sword is the ancestor of short weapons, the sovereign of a hundred blades, a sacred treasure of antiquity, supreme and precious, revered by gods and men alike.
The light sword is nimble and graceful, flowing like clouds and water. Its wielder stands unrivaled, like the highest good, which is like water.
The heavy sword has no edge, and its greatest skill lies in seeming unskilled. In the mountain village, autumn dusk falls, and the sword lies hidden on a sacred peak.
Throughout his life, Xiao Bieli forged swords, collected swords, practiced swordsmanship, and comprehended the sword, holding it above all else.
He forged a sword for killing, collected a sword for saving lives, practiced a sword that inspired fear, and comprehended a sword that won submission. With all four swords unleashed, he sought defeat, yet none could defeat him.
Alas! What a sorrow that a sword so sharp should find no worthy opponent! Only by cleaving the firmament can one ride the skies and depart.
This novel and its characters are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. Do not imitate.
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