Chapter 33: Morning Practice, Flowing Water Technique: Ripple, Stream and Waterfall

Yu Liang woke before dawn, just like he always had. The old habit from his handyman days stuck with him, even though no one would come knocking to assign chores anymore.

He sat up on the bed, bare feet touching the cool stone floor, and took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dark.

The cave dwelling still seemed foreign to him. He had been here for sometime, and the silence was quite unlike that which he had become accustomed to within the noisy dormitories. No snoring, no footsteps, no voices from the other rooms.

He stood up, stretched himself out a little, and got dressed into something simpler, loose fitting pants and a sleeveless tunic as it would let him move freely. His outer sect disciple robe was hanging properly on a wooden peg right by the door, he would get dressed in that later.

Stepping outside, he noticed the small courtyard attached to his cave. A place he hadn’t paid attention to when he first arrived. It wasn’t large, maybe ten paces across, bordered by a low stone wall. A single tree grew near the corner, its branches mostly bare except for a few stubborn leaves.

The surface was solid with some irregular patches but otherwise firm.

The sky was still dark, though a faint line of gray had started creeping along the horizon.

The air was cold and sharp against his skin.

Yu Liang moved to the center of the courtyard and set down the blade he had brought with him. It was the same one that he took taken during the battle, an ordinary Tier 1 weapon, slightly chipped along the edge, but balanced well enough. He had considered getting a new one, but this would do for now.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, holding onto the cold air as it filled his lungs before slowly exhaling it. His mind began to clear. All of his memories of the sect, the library, everything that had happened since coming to this place faded from his thoughts, except for one thing—movements of flowing water, the technique that kept him alive.

The Flowing Water Technique.

It wasn’t a high grade art. In fact, it was one of the most basic techniques taught to disciples with water affinity. Most people dismissed it as too simple, too slow, and lacking the explosive power of fire or the untamed fury of wind. But Yu Liang had seen what it could do when pushed to its limit.

He opened his eyes and picked up the blade.

The first form was called Ripple. It focused on fluidity, redirecting force rather than meeting it head on. Yu Liang stepped forward, his blade cutting through the air in a smooth horizontal arc.

The speed of the movement was slow, but the flow of each action was smooth and natural.

He repeated it. Again. And again. And again.

His footwork shifted with each swing, his weight transferring smoothly from one leg to the other as his body turned in a slow, deliberate rhythm. The blade traced invisible lines in the air, and with each pass he focused on keeping the motion seamless.

Sweat started to form on his forehead even though it was very cold. The muscle memory was there from the battle, where he had forced his body past its limits. But before it was desperation; now, it was refinement.

After what seemed like an eternity, he finally stopped. His breathing was heavier now, but steady. With one hand, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and stared down at the knife, which caught the weak light of dawn that shone dully.

He moved on to the second form — Stream.

This one required more speed and precision. The blade cut upward in a diagonal slash, then reversed immediately, carving back down in a tight, controlled spiral. The key was momentum, using the weight of the sword to guide the next strike without losing balance.

Yu Liang’s pace increased. The sound of the blade slicing through the air grew more intense. His feet moved swiftly, turning and adapting, maintaining his balance low to the ground. It remained fluid in nature, but there was power in the movement, a growing pressure reminding him of water flowing through a narrow channel.

He could feel the spiritual energy in his dantian stirring, responding to the rhythm of the technique. It was faint, barely noticeable, but it was there. The Flowing Water Technique wasn’t just a sword form, it was a cultivation method in itself, a way to circulate Qi through movement.

His strikes grew faster and faster. The blade buzzed faintly as it cut through the air. For a moment he felt the same sensation he had experienced during the battle. The boundary between himself and the technique began to blur. He wasn’t just swinging a sword. He was becoming the motion itself.

Then came the third form — Waterfall.

Yu Liang stopped and lowered the blade. His chest rose and fell steadily. This style of attack was different from any other because it needed something beyond just speed and precision. It demanded everything — focus, timing, and a willingness to fully commit to the strike.

He raised the blade high above his head, both hands gripping the hilt. His eyes locked on a point in front of him, a section of the courtyard where the dirt was slightly raised, a natural mound that would serve as his target.

He took a deep breath and held it.

Then he brought the blade down.

The motion was sudden and forceful. The blade fell like a hammer, driven by the weight of his body and the surge of Qi he channeled into the strike. For a brief moment the air around the blade thickened, as if moisture itself had condensed along its edge.

The sword struck the ground with a dull thud and dirt scattered everywhere. A shallow groove appeared where the blade landed.

It wasn’t the devastating force he had unleashed during the battle as there was no life or death pressure driving him but the memory was there.

Yu Liang straightened and pulled the blade free. His arms trembled slightly from the exertion. His breathing also became heavier. He looked at the mark in the dirt, then at the sword in his hands.

The technique was still rough. There were gaps in his understanding, moments where his control slipped or his energy didn’t flow as smoothly as it should. But that was fine as he have time now. Time to practice, to refine, and to grow stronger without the immediate threat of death hanging over him.

He repeated the Waterfall form twice more, each time adjusting his stance, his grip, the way he channeled his Qi. By the third attempt the motion felt more natural, and less forced.

It was much brighter when he stopped. The sun was up and its pale rays were spread out on the courtyard. Yu Liang’s clothes were wet from sweat, and he felt ached in his muscles but it was satisfying rather than painful.

He put the blade aside and sat cross legged on the ground, closing his eyes as he maintained his breathing. The Qi in his dantian gradually settled, no longer churning with the intensity it had during his practice.

A few minutes later, he opened his eyes and stood up. The courtyard was silent, while the people surrounding in his area were waking up. He could hear faint sounds of people speaking, doors creaking, and footsteps.

Yu Liang picked up his sword and walked back into the cave. There was still much to do like cultivation, studying and planning his next moves.