The Thirteen Foundations

Ji Ning understood his father’s words only vaguely. “Father, you said I need to prepare my body for swordsmanship, and I barely follow that. But what do you mean when you say I also need to prepare my ‘heart’?”

“Don’t rush.”

Ji Yichuan looked at his son. A thick book appeared in his hand, and he tossed it to Ji Ning. “Read this fist technique carefully first. It has sixteen forms, covering the most basic and fundamental ways of generating power from the body. Once you’ve mastered this set, your body will feel light and free, and everything will move as you wish.”

“The sword is an extension of the body. If the body itself is not free and instinctive, how can the sword be?” Ji Yichuan looked at his son, worried he might aim too high. “Calm your heart.”

Ji Ning knew the principle of sharpening the axe before cutting wood.

“Yes, Father.” He answered and immediately lowered his head to study the book, memorizing the mysteries of the fist arts. The secret manual looked thick because the pages were made of tanned beast hide. After memorizing the secrets, he began practicing, and his father continuously corrected him, demonstrated, and taught him the tricks.

Actually, the Windshadow Steps already involved some power generation, but mostly in the legs. With prior experience, Ji Ning learned fairly quickly.

…

An hour later.

“Rest.” Ji Yichuan looked at his son, drenched in sweat. “From now on, practice these fists for one hour every day, until I deem your body ready for the sword.”

“Preparing the body is one thing.”

“The heart must also be prepared.” Ji Yichuan produced two black iron swords and threw them to his son. “Take them!”

Ji Ning caught the two swords.

Ji Yichuan pointed to an empty space nearby. With a whoosh, a metal puppet appeared, holding a saber in its hand.

“This is a puppet,” Ji Yichuan said. “Among Ki Refining cultivators, there are those who are skilled in making puppets. This is a very ordinary one, about as strong as a Houtian-level expert who has reached the peak, but its body is extremely tough.”

“Father, why are there red dots on it?” Ji Ning asked curiously.

The black metal puppet had more than a dozen red dots scattered across its forehead, throat, chest, abdomen, arms, wrists, back, and other places.

“Try stabbing the red dot between its brows with your sword,” Ji Yichuan ordered. “Quickly.”

“Yes.” Ji Ning thrust with his right hand.

Whoosh!

The sword tip passed by, hitting the puppet’s head about an inch off from the center of the brows.

Ji Ning was stunned. He had clearly intended to stab the forehead. He couldn’t help but try three more times, but each time he missed by a small margin.

“You see now, don’t you?” Ji Yichuan said flatly. “Even though you intend to stab the forehead, when you actually do it, you simply can’t aim true. How do you achieve accuracy? First, you need more control over your body; second, you need ten thousand repetitions.”

“Any sword technique can be broken down into thirteen fundamental forms: splitting, thrusting, lifting, sweeping, smashing, pointing, chopping, cross-blocking, parrying, binding, twisting, flicking, and hooking.”

“Splitting, thrusting, lifting, sweeping, chopping, and pointing are offensive.”

“Twisting, smashing, cross-blocking, lifting, parrying, flicking, and hooking are defensive.”

Ji Yichuan pointed at the metal puppet. “This puppet will stand still. It has nineteen red dots on its body. I will teach you the six offensive forms, the tricks for each, how to coordinate your posture and hand movements. Each fundamental sword form must be practiced a million times!”

“Later, the puppet will move and attack you with its saber. You will use the seven defensive forms to block its strikes. You will also practice defense a million times.”

“Offense!”

“Defense!”

“When you are familiar enough, the puppet will fight you in earnest, and you will mix all thirteen forms freely on it.” Ji Yichuan looked at his son. “The day those thirteen basic sword forms are ingrained into your bones and you can execute them with perfect accuracy—that is when your heart is finally ready for the sword.”

Ji Ning held his breath.

“Prepare the body.”

“Prepare the heart.”

“Only then can you truly begin learning sword techniques.” Ji Yichuan gazed at his son. “Sword techniques are complex, assembled from the thirteen basics. If the basics haven’t been fused into your very marrow, how high can your swordsmanship reach?”

“When the techniques I teach you become completely natural, you will have reached the first realm of swordsmanship—‘Basic.’”

“Swordsmanship also has three realms.”

“The Basic, Subtlety, and Unity of Man and Sky!”

“Subtlety in footwork means exquisite control of your body. Subtlety in swordsmanship requires exquisite control of both your body and your sword, seamlessly united. The difficulty is ten times greater!”

“Unity of Man and Sky? That’s even more distant.”

Ji Yichuan looked at his son. “Do you understand the path you must walk now?”

Ji Ning nodded heavily.

Cultivating the Crimsonbright Diagram of the Nine Heavens gave him the body of a Fiendgod, with unbelievable strength.

But cultivation of footwork and swordsmanship determined how much of that strength he could actually use.

“Father, how long will it take me to achieve Unity of Man and Sword?” Ji Ning couldn’t help asking.

“Hard to say.” Ji Yichuan shook his head. “I spent six years laying the foundation, and another six years to reach Unity of Man and Sword. That’s twelve years in total.”

Ji Ning held his breath.

His father was the strongest in the Western Prefecture of the Ji Clan, young and brilliant, yet it took him twelve years. Those with less talent never reached Unity of Man and Sword in their entire lives.

“Don’t aim too high. You must keep your feet on the ground.” Ji Yichuan looked at his son. “Let’s begin. I’ll teach you the first of the thirteen forms—the thrust.”

…

Under his father’s guidance, Ji Ning held a perfect posture, thrusting again and again! Splitting! Lifting! Pointing!

It was monotonous.

It was exhausting.

Fortunately, Ji Ning’s body recovered astonishingly fast, and his past life’s long illness had forged a will that refused to give up easily.

After an hour of offense, he practiced defense for another hour.

The metal puppet never tired, swinging its saber again and again, forcing Ji Ning to block.

Yuchi Snow stood in the distance, watching her son toil.

Ji Yichuan walked over to his wife and gazed at the boy fighting the puppet. “Snow, I never expected… I really never expected our son to possess such strong willpower. I was prepared to force him to cultivate if he complained of hardship. But he needs no forcing at all.”

“In the morning he practices footwork,” Yuchi Snow said, her heart aching for her son. “Though he complains of being tired, he never stops. Six hours a day, and Ning’er is only a child.”

“I remember when I was a child,” Ji Yichuan said softly. “My father forced me. I thought it was too hard and wanted to collapse, but every time I tried to stop, he would whip me. I cried while swinging and thrusting. It wasn’t until I was ten and my father was killed by a great demon of the Eastmarsh Swamp, and my mother and I fell from grace, experiencing the coldness of the world and my mother dying of illness, that I finally woke up. From then on I never complained about hardship again.”

One could not understand the exhaustion of continuous cultivation without experiencing it.

Physical tiredness was one thing; the heart’s fatigue was worse.

Without enough inner resolve and desire, one could not persist.

“I had doubted what my son would achieve,” Ji Yichuan murmured. “His talent in Fiendgod Body Refining is high, but if he isn’t diligent, his future will be limited. Now I believe my son will become a true expert on these lands. I’m sure of it.”

Yuchi Snow listened to her husband, watching their son immersed in practice, and nodded gently. “I believe it too.”

Watching himself grow stronger—more powerful than the superhumans he had seen in movies in his past life—the feeling was wonderful.

One year later.

Whish! Standing at a distance, Meng Yu suddenly threw four stones. Ji Ning, a little taller now, drew his bow, holding four arrows between his fingers.

Swish! Swish! Swish! Swish!

The four arrows flashed, leaving four trails of air in their wake, and struck the four stones mid-flight. The stones burst apart with a crack.

“Excellent.” Meng Yu strode over with a booming laugh.

“Master Meng Yu.” Ji Ning put down his bow.

“Your heart-guided arrow technique is already complete, and you’ve mastered my most proud four-arrow simultaneous shot this quickly.” Meng Yu nodded in praise. “I have nothing left to teach you. Now you need to practice on your own and accumulate experience. As your strength grows, your arrows will naturally become more powerful. This training ground is too small for you now. You need to go to more open spaces, shooting from one or two li away, even three or four li. The greater the distance, the more you must consider wind and other environmental factors.”

“Understood.” Ji Ning nodded.

Archery required perfect accuracy.

The arrow fell due to gravity during flight, and wind had to be factored in.

It sounded complex, but in reality, if he simply sensed the wind, he didn’t even need to aim—he just let the arrow fly. The angle and force had been drilled into his bones through countless repetitions. For Ji Ning now, within five hundred meters, not even a fly could escape.

But that was far from enough.

As cultivators grew stronger, Xiantian experts could shoot arrows that retained power after flying several li. The greater the distance, the harder it was to maintain accuracy—so he needed even more practice to gain experience.

“Starting tomorrow, I won’t come here anymore, young master. You’re the most talented student I’ve ever taught.” Meng Yu looked at Ji Ning. “Don’t waste your talent. One day you will become the most terrifying archer in the Yan Mountains.”

**

Preview: The next chapter jumps six years ahead. Don’t forget to bookmark and cast your recommendation tickets! Tomato needs your support!