Chapter 34: Sword Qi from the Mouth

Immediately, Tang Shen’s stern admonishments echoed across the empty training ground.

“Don’t let your mind wander. Breathe naturally through your nose. Lift the perineum, contract the pelvic muscles, sink your breath to the lower abdomen, hold your stance! Your legs must be parallel—don’t let your feet splay outward.”

“Yes, that’s it. The lower abdomen is three inches below the navel. As you inhale, focus on slowly sinking the breath down with your mind.”

“Keep your toes parallel—your knees mustn’t go beyond your toes. You’re tilting again!”

“Keep squatting. Don’t rise up. Keep your thighs parallel to the ground. Didn’t you hear me?”

“Don’t stick out your chest. How can you keep your balance like that? Round your back. Round it, I said! But don’t hunch over!”

“Hold your arms out in front of your chest as if embracing a ball. Imagine you’re really holding something with strength, not just posing.”

“Don’t lower your head. Lift it up. Feel a force rising from your legs, waist, and back, as if your head is suspended from above.”

“Steady. No matter how uncomfortable you feel, maintain your breathing rhythm. Don’t let any part of your body move out of place. Don’t let your form collapse.”

As he spoke, Tang Shen impatiently landed a slap on Kuina’s backside.

“Tighten up! Didn’t I tell you not to stick your hips out? Contract the pelvic muscles, tighten up!”

Kuina felt aggrieved but couldn’t find the words to protest.

After all, it was her first time assuming such a posture; being out of form was only natural.

But Tang Shen didn’t care—he refused to treat Kuina as a mere beginner. She’d practiced kendo for years and was far stronger than an ordinary child. Before his rebirth, she was already something of a little prodigy.

This was only the foundation—if she couldn’t even manage this, how could she hope to progress further?

Tang Shen had practiced these very basics in his previous life. Though he’d started late, the benefits were undeniable: these foundational exercises strengthened the body, improved the internal organs, and cultivated vigor and spirit. The longer one held the stance, the greater the benefit.

Even before his rebirth, he squatted like this every morning for half an hour.

Slowly, Kuina felt her initial discomfort fade. In its place, a tingling numbness spread from her soles, through her calves, thighs, spine, neck, and finally to her head, accompanied by a surge of warmth.

Though the dawn air was still chilly, she felt a gentle heat rising from within—a marvelous sensation.

The stance seemed simple, but Kuina was amazed at how many mistakes she’d made and how many times Tang Shen had corrected her. She hadn’t sensed her own imbalance at all.

Her breathing grew long, slow, and clear, and she could feel a current flowing downward with each breath.

“This must be what Master meant by ‘sinking the breath to the lower abdomen,’” Kuina thought.

“Your breath is erratic—stop daydreaming and keep the rhythm!” Tang Shen’s rebuke startled her into banishing her distracting thoughts.

Tang Shen couldn’t help but admire Kuina’s talent. She’d found her rhythm so quickly. Back when he first tried this stance, his coach had scolded him for a month.

Her physical condition, honed by years of kendo, was indeed exceptional.

Typically, a beginner could only endure five minutes in this squat, but Kuina had lasted half an hour. Though drenched in sweat, she was still spirited—she hadn’t even reached her limit.

Seeing that Kuina was focused and steady, Tang Shen leapt onto a wooden post and assumed the horse stance himself.

He hadn’t done this since his rebirth, and his body felt restless. As soon as he entered the rhythm, his mind emptied, and he entered a state where his head pressed the sky, feet gripped the earth, his chest was hollow, and his breath fell straight through to his shoulders.

Off to the side, Koushirou had watched all along. When he saw Tang Shen slap his daughter’s backside, he almost lost his temper—he himself had never struck her, let alone allowed a man to do so. He restrained himself, suppressing his anger.

He decided to try the stance as Tang Shen described, slowly squatting down. He felt even more awkward than Kuina, especially with Tang Shen’s constant corrections ringing in his ears, but he tried to adjust accordingly.

He was far stronger than Kuina, and his body control was superior.

At first, he dismissed the posture as merely uncomfortable. In his mind: What sort of nonsense is this?

But as time passed, Koushirou’s eyes filled with astonishment—he actually began to feel something in his body.

Considering his own level of fitness, it usually took a great deal of exertion for him to feel even slightly warmed up. Yet this seemingly simple posture produced a sensation in his body almost immediately. It was strange and unique.

What kind of technique was this?

For the first time, he realized that there was a subtle profundity hidden in this small movement that he could not comprehend.

It was not as simple as it seemed.

He couldn’t help but try to follow Tang Shen’s instructions, adjusting his breath, sinking his energy to his lower abdomen. The feeling did not fade—if anything, it grew more distinct.

His mind gradually emptied, and he lost himself in the sensations and changes within his body, savoring them carefully. For a moment, he forgot all about the passage of time.

The pitch-black sky gradually faded to gray, and as the first ray of sunlight broke over the horizon—

A drawn-out, sudden cry shattered the silence.

Koushirou was jolted out of his state. He turned to see Tang Shen, bathed in morning light, throw his head back and let out a long, resonant howl. With the cry, he exhaled a dense breath from his mouth. Strangely, the breath did not immediately disperse; instead, it condensed into a long, thread-like form—a fine strand about an inch in length—that traveled several inches through the air before vanishing.

The scene lasted but an instant and then was gone.

With the bright morning light, anyone with poor eyesight would have missed it entirely.

But Koushirou had no doubt about his own vision—he was a master swordsman, his sight among the finest in the world. There was no possibility he’d imagined it.

He had seen it clearly, unmistakably, the sound of the howl ringing in his ears, his mind fully awake.

His pupils contracted, and his eyes filled with disbelief.

“Was that sword energy?”

Koushirou was startled, but immediately dismissed the thought.

He could clearly see that Tang Shen’s level of swordsmanship was nowhere near capable of producing sword energy, much less from the mouth. He had seen swordsmen unleash sword energy with a blade, with a dagger, even with their bare hands—but never had he seen anyone emit it from their mouth.

Sword energy was the manifestation of a swordsman’s understanding and mastery of the blade, the culmination of their comprehension and refinement of swordsmanship.

But almost all swordsmen needed a tangible medium—something to carry the sword energy and unleash it.

Sword energy was destructive, even to the swordsman themselves. Only those with bodies and meridians strong enough could withstand its force.

To do it by hand or foot was already remarkable, for only through intense training could those parts bear the strain.

But the mouth was exceedingly fragile, and Tang Shen’s current strength was pitiful—even the weakest sword energy would be unbearable.

Even someone of Koushirou’s level could never emit sword energy from the mouth.

So he dismissed the possibility entirely.