Eui wasn’t sure what to make of Guan Yu. Like his son, he maintained a permanent facade of stern stoicism, but where Guan Yi’s legendary stoneface was a mask for his sarcastic deadpan sense of humor, his father was much harder to read.

At first, she’d gotten the impression that he didn’t like her or Jia. The way he’d glared at them when they first met, and his disinterest in engaging socially had been a stark contrast to Xin Hai and Lin Xiulan’s friendly demeanors. Yet, he’d been consistently supportive of their cause—once he’d taken the time to deliberate on it—and now he was even helping with her training.

“I do not pretend to know the limitations of your cultivation methods, but reinventing a technique is never as simple as using a different element of qi. My Earth Rending Sword is no simple gimmick to be modified at a whim.”

Eui pursed her lips and suppressed a growl of frustration. Guan Yu was the original creator of the spiritual art that she was trying to modify, and it would be stupid to reject his advice.

“I’m aware of that, Elder. The Earth Rending Sword Art is simple in execution, but profound in the depth of its true mastery. I haven’t been studying it flippantly. That said, I believe that what I am trying to accomplish should be possible—I’ve seen Guan Yi do something similar, and there is some overlap between your technique and my own signature style.”

Guan Yu’s face didn’t change, but he spared his son a glance and nodded once.

“Perhaps. Yi’er has explained the theory to me in full, but I’d like to hear it in your words.”

Eui ignored the unusually cute way he referred to his son, and went over her theory.

“Both Six Arms of Asura and Earth Rending Sword treat weapons as an extension of the self. The main difference is that Six Arms imbues the destructive intent of my essence into the weapon, while Earth Rending Sword ‘borrows’ the intent to cut from the weapon into my qi. Essentially, one turns the weapon into essence, and the other turns the essence into a weapon.”

Guan Yu nodded.

“An apt comparison. You believe, then, that the two techniques are compatible?”

Eui grimaced.

“I thought they were. But nothing I’ve tried has worked. I couldn’t use Earth Rending Sword with Destruction qi if I tried, because my soul is Yang aligned, and trying to reverse the infusion of Six Arms just made my sword explode in my face. My other idea was to use Guan Yi’s trick of channeling his martial art through Earth Rending Sword’s projected strikes, but that also exploded in my face.”

Guan Yu stroked his chin thoughtfully, then picked up a wooden training sword from nearby.

“Your errors are many. First, I will address my son’s technique. Indeed, the Earth Rending Sword Art requires one’s weapon to be an extension of their soul. Your qi is who you are, the blade is part of you, and thus your qi may express the properties of your blade.”

He swiped the wooden blade in a lazy arc, and a training dummy several meters away instantly fell in two pieces. Eui didn’t even sense the wave of qi.

“Guan Yi’s technique imbues his blade with toxic miasma, which is then carried by his Earth Rending strikes as an extension of his blade. The blade is venomous, his qi carries the properties of the blade, and so his qi too is venomous.”

“That’s exactly what I—”

He held up a hand to stop Eui’s protest.

“If you have questions, you can ask them when I am finished. My second point is one of balance. Metal and Miasma exist as opposites—real metal can be flexible or rigid, sterile or poisonous, Yin or Yang. The relationship between the elements of Metal and Miasma represents this well. Together, they create a stable balance. But what of Destruction?”

Eui frowned.

“They’re...almost balanced? They mostly cancel out to Fire.”

“Indeed. A volatile qi which is wholly incompatible with the principles of my Sword Art. Which brings me to my third and final issue—Destruction. If Fire is too volatile for the Earth Rending Sword Art, then Destruction is anathema to it. A blade is an orderly, deliberate thing—to cut with a blade is an act of purest precision. Destruction is chaos—it rejects order, and it seeks only death. If I cut a training dummy, the wooden post and bundle of straw remain—they may be remade. If I destroy a training dummy, then everything it was will cease to be.”

Eui had always hated the way Qin’s spiritual artists waxed poetic about their arts, but did her best to seriously consider Guan Yu’s words.

“So it’s just hopeless, then? I’ve wasted my time and effort on something that’s just impossible.”

“No.”

Eui blinked—that wasn’t the answer she was expecting.

“An Eui, nothing is impossible. Your principle error is in seeking to methodically create something new by rationally assembling components in ways that logically fit together. A fine process for a Goryeon mage creating a new spell, or a ritualist designing a grand formation—but utterly worthless for cultivation of the spiritual arts.”

“I’m...not sure I understand.”

“Let me elaborate, then. When I created the Earth Rending Sword Art, I did so from nothing. I did not build on the knowledge of my elders, nor did I study the elements or their meaning. In truth, I did not even know I was creating anything.

“I started with only a single thought—a fundamental truth from which everything else was wrought. I would master the art of cutting. Stripped of all else—I didn’t seek the mastery of the sword, or dueling, or killing my enemies. Only cutting. From one goal, my entire art was formed, and from that, my sect.”

Eui furrowed her brows, trying to parse his flowery language.

“So I need to just...start from my goal and work backwards? Forget about the how or the why and just do it?”

“If that is how you wish to interpret my words.”

Ugh, what a frustrating non-answer. Eui doubted she was going to get anything better out of him, though, and it really had given her more to think about. She just had one other question.

“Why a sword?”

Guan Yu had already been turning to leave, but paused.

“Pardon?”

“Why a sword? Anything can cut if you try hard enough, and you could have just—I dunno, used a qi technique that focused on pure cutting intent or whatever. Why actually use a weapon?”

“Ah. Well, it did not have to be a sword, per se. It took centuries to perfect my technique, and it helped to start with something that represented the intent to cut.”

That reminded Eui of Guan Yi’s signature polearm. Could it be?

“What about the guandao? It’s named after you, isn’t it? And your son uses it—I bet that’s not a coincidence. You must have used it a lot. Why that instead of a regular sword?”

“Perhaps it was—I never kept track of such things, and I doubt I was the first to favor the weapon.”

He turned to leave, but Eui didn’t back off.

“That wasn’t an answer.”

Guan Yu paused, sparing her a glance over his shoulder before looking straight ahead and walking away and leaving her with his parting words.

“It had a longer reach.”

While Eui was getting lectured by one of the three grandmasters of the sect, Jia underwent her own struggles. Sweat beaded on her brow as she held her body inches off the ground and tried to move forward to no avail.

“I have to say, it’s rather gratifying to see that there’s something you’re actually bad at.”

Jia dropped to the ground and shot Yan Yue a dirty look.

“You could always help instead of making fun of me.”

Her best friend giggled mischievously and cocked her head.

“I suppose I could, but I think I’d rather relish this a little longer.”

Jia rolled her eyes and sat down to meditate again—partly to restore her exhausted qi, but also to try to figure out where she was going wrong.

She’d been studying Narae’s flight since her little sister first invented the technique. It was a complicated mix of Gravity and Void magic that seamlessly fused martial and spiritual arts. Narae could reduce her weight to practically nothing, then freely control her movement through the air.

For Jia, the biggest obstacle was the Weightless Fist Style martial art—a powerful technique that was specific to the current ruling clan of Yamato, the Hayakawa. Kaede had shown considerable trust in them by offering to teach Narae the technique in order to take advantage of her elemental affinity for Gravity.

Jia did not share that elemental affinity, and while she’d been diligent in mastering the technique to the best of her ability, the Weightless Fist remained extremely difficult for her. She’d been seeking other options for creating her own technique based on the same principles, but like Eui, she kept running into roadblocks.

“Xin Wei, you practice a Gravity art, don’t you? Do you have anything to add?”

The young master of the sect glanced up from his own meditation and frowned.

“I’d venture to say that we have both the most numerous and the most advanced Yin practitioners in the empire—none of them use Gravity arts since, as I’m sure you’re painfully aware, they are Yang-aligned. If Hayakawa’s technique isn’t enough, I fear little else will be.”

Jia sighed—that was exactly the answer she’d expected—she turned hopefully to Yue who simply shook her head sadly.

“Flight is historically something we Yin cultivators struggle with. Perhaps at the xiantian ranks, a brute force solution might present itself, but until then you might simply be out of luck.”

Yan Yue was the foremost expert in Yin arts that Jia knew, short of Grandmistress Lin Xiulan, who had told her the same thing. Her retort was always the same.

“If Narae can do it, then I should be able to do it too...”

Yue chuckled softly.

“I’m sure it must chafe at your pride to see a student surpass you, even if it’s only in one specific area—but imagine how the rest of us have felt witnessing your meteoric rise. Why is it so important that you learn how to fly by yourself, anyway? I know you can do it as Yoshika—why not just refine that method?”

Jia crossed her arms.

“It’s not the same. And I’m not doing this because I envy Narae!”

“Of course you aren’t. If her method isn’t compatible with your physique, why not try another one?”

“I would, but I don’t know another one. Narae is the only Yin-aligned cultivator I’ve encountered who can fly.”

Yue shrugged.

“Then perhaps you’ll have to invent something for yourself. Many of the greatest techniques in the empire were created while their pioneers were still in the houtian stages—and it wouldn’t be the first time you started from scratch.”

Her words were a serendipitous mirror to the advice that Guan Yu was offering to her partner at that very moment. It made a certain amount of sense—Jia and Eui were the pioneers of unified cultivation in their world, yet they had hardly dipped their toes into exploring the true possibilities of it.

Instead, they clung to the tried and true methods of those that came before them—only occasionally mixing and matching compatible techniques, or borrowing inspiration from some of their more enterprising friends.

As Eui returned from her lecture, Yoshika was of one mind. Guan Yu and Yan Yue were right—it was past time for her to start truly inventing her own techniques.