At night, the ink-stained bluestone town is completely silent.
Only in the dilapidated small courtyard in the west of the town, a cold light flickered from time to time, accompanied by the sound of "whooshing" wind. The young Jian Chen was naked, his slightly thin back already soaked with sweat, and he was holding an ordinary iron sword in his hand. He had a delicate face, but his eyes were extremely focused, as if this mortal iron was the most precious treasure in the world.
Jian Chen is an orphan and has grown up in Qingshi Town's Baijiafan family since he can remember. He does not have a prominent family background, nor an amazing talent. The only thing he has is an almost paranoid obsession with swordsmanship. Uncle Wang, the blacksmith in the town, felt sorry for him and gave him this iron sword. From then on, this sword became his only companion.
"Basic sword moves, chop, stab, tease, sweep, point..." Jian Chen murmured, striving to be standard and meticulous in every move. He only practiced the most widely spread basic swordsmanship in the mainland, but in his hands, he had an extra level of stubbornness and piety that others could not match. He firmly believed that swordsmanship was so powerful that even the most basic moves could break mountains and seas if practiced to the extreme.
Tonight's starry sky is exceptionally bright, with the stars running across it like a flowing silver ribbon. Jian Chen was tired from practicing his sword, so he lay on the straw mat in the courtyard and looked up at the stars. He often fantasizes about whether there are swordsmen who pursue perfection on those distant stars. What kind of grace will they have?
"Wha—!"
Just when Jian Chen was wandering out of the sky, a dazzling stream of light pierced the night sky, dragging a long flame tail, and fell straight towards the direction of Qingshi Town!
"Meteor?"
