Volume One: Beneath Mount Zhongnan Chapter Fourteen: The First Attempt at Inventing Through Time Ends in Failure

Li Xuanba and Mingyu returned home from the mountain. After dinner, Xuanba called over Li Mingyu, who was playing with Little Black. He instructed him, “Go wash the bamboo I brought back from the mountain this afternoon, remove the excess branches, cut off both ends, and keep only the central section with uniform thickness. Then, cut it into six-foot lengths with a knife.”

Li Mingyu was puzzled and asked, “Master, what are we doing? Six feet long—is it for making a bamboo bed?”

“Less nonsense, get to work! I’ll show you something extraordinary later,” replied Li Xuanba as he stood up, took out his broadsword from the house, and began to wipe it repeatedly with a clean white cloth, not even looking up.

It didn’t take long. About ten bamboo stalks were prepared as Master had instructed. Xuanba put down his sword, walked over, and picked through them. He discarded those with knots, those eaten by insects, and those with uneven joints. After several rounds of selection, only three stalks remained.

He set the bamboo upright like firewood and said, “Watch closely, boy.” Then, drawing his blade, he took a deep breath, flicked his wrist, and unleashed a cascade of blade flashes, like petals of a knife lotus, striking down upon the bamboo.

In the Tang dynasty, one foot was equivalent to 30.7 centimeters, so a six-foot bamboo stalk was roughly the height of a robust adult man. Xuanba’s blade swept from top to bottom. After the flurry of blade shadows, the bamboo, thick as a duck egg, was split into slivers as thin as chopsticks. Mingyu saw clearly that each strip was perfectly even, not a hair’s breadth off. He thought, “Master’s blade technique is magical! If this struck a person, wouldn’t they be sliced into thin pieces?”

Xuanba nodded in satisfaction, evidently pleased with his own handiwork. He asked smugly, “Boy, did you see how many strikes I made in that instant?”

Even with extraordinary eyesight, Mingyu couldn’t discern the exact number of strikes. He thought for a moment and replied, “Master, was it thirteen or fourteen?”

Xuanba, inwardly proud, answered, “Eighteen! Remember what I told you? When you can cut through bamboo as thick as an arm with a single stroke, your blade technique is at a minor level. What I just showed is the effect of mastery—a complete command of force. I taught you about using strength, now it’s about controlling it! Watch carefully!” With that, Xuanba processed the other two bamboo stalks in the same way, slicing them into perfectly uniform strips.

Mingyu, after hearing his master’s words, watched closely and realized it was indeed eighteen strikes, not one less.

Xuanba then gathered the scattered bamboo strips, checked each one to ensure uniformity, and said to Mingyu, “There are several large tubs of tung oil in the house. Bring them over.”

Mingyu brought the tubs of tung oil and saw his master standing beside the large vat he used for bathing, holding the bamboo strips. As Mingyu approached, Xuanba instructed, “Fill the vat with tung oil.”

Mingyu asked, “Master, are you going to use tung oil for my baths from now on? What sort of trick is this?”

Xuanba replied, “You’ve completed your foundation training and no longer need to bathe. I have another use for the vat. Hurry and fill it!”

Mingyu did as instructed. Xuanba then placed the bamboo strips into the vat full of tung oil to soak, sealing it with a lid.

Mingyu watched in confusion, thinking, “What is Master planning? Splitting bamboo, soaking it in tung oil—does he want to weave a basket? Old Yang in the village does that. Why not just buy two from him? Or is it for making skewers for lamb? But five-foot-long skewers would require a huge grill! Master is such a glutton—going to all this trouble for lamb skewers. Well, I love them too. Someday I’ll show him my skills!”

The next day, Mingyu’s routine remained unchanged: standing postures in the morning, training with his master in the afternoon, and an hour alone on the mountain practicing with the blade. This continued for ten days. Mingyu calculated that the bamboo skewers should be ready by now and asked Xuanba, “Master, the bamboo skewers should be soaked enough, right? When will we eat lamb skewers?”

“Lamb skewers?” Xuanba was baffled.

“A while ago, didn’t you split bamboo and soak it in tung oil? Isn’t it for making skewers?” Mingyu replied with a knowing look.

Xuanba, exasperated, flicked his forehead. “You glutton! All you think about is eating! These are for your martial arts training!”

Mingyu asked, “For me? For training? Are you really making a basket? Why not just ask Old Yang?”

“Stop asking. You’ll know in time!” Xuanba didn’t bother to explain, thinking, “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t go to such lengths.”

“How long until I find out?” Mingyu pressed, his curiosity burning.

Xuanba thought and replied, “It’ll be a while. The bamboo has to soak in tung oil for about a year before it’s ready—until it doesn’t crack or deform.”

Mingyu, seeing his master so secretive, could only let it go, though his curiosity lingered. As time passed, he forgot all about it, focusing solely on training as instructed. Xuanba’s demands increased, the daily practice growing more difficult. Fifty sandbags gradually became eighty, then a hundred. At first, Master threw them one-handed, then two-handed, now both hands launching them in rapid succession, leaving no room for error. The wooden pole he held also grew longer and heavier, with stones tied to both ends.

One day, Mingyu was practicing alone on the mountain. His small knife, just over a foot long, suited his height but was straight like a broadsword. Despite a month’s practice, it still didn’t feel right. The straight blade, with evenly distributed weight, lacked a satisfying swing. His hands were covered in blisters from the handle, forcing him to wrap them in white cloth.

Sweating profusely, with his clothes soaked, Mingyu checked the time—he hadn’t finished his session. His blisters had burst, blood seeping through the cloth. He sighed, “This knife is so hard to use! Balanced weight is good, but the lack of curve makes cutting difficult.”

Wait—cutting? Curve? Mingyu suddenly slapped his forehead and exclaimed, “Ah!” He thought, “I really am an idiot! I’ve been here years as a time-traveler, yet haven’t invented anything truly useful. A disgrace to the time-traveling legion!”

Straight blades aren’t good for chopping. Why not invent a curved blade? He thought of the famed swords of later ages: the Damascus saber, the Japanese katana, the Malay kris—each with a curve. Curved blades have forward balance, making them better for swinging and cutting. The Song dynasty’s machete, Yuan dynasty’s Mongol blade, Ming dynasty’s Yanling saber, Qing dynasty’s waist saber, and modern cavalry sabers all have curvature!

The more Mingyu thought, the more excited he became. He stopped practicing, found a piece of bamboo, and quickly carved it into a curved bamboo knife, modeling it after a cavalry saber. He swung it a few times—it felt much better. He chopped at some bamboo leaves, cutting them easily, and was satisfied. He rushed off to show his master.

Xuanba was napping in the courtyard on the lounge chair Mingyu had “invented.” Mingyu ran in, showing off, “Master! Look at this—it’s a divine weapon! I had an insight while practicing today and came up with it!” He was very proud, convinced that this blade shape had evolved through centuries of warfare and was proven effective. He handed the bamboo knife to Xuanba.

Xuanba, disturbed from his nap, glanced at the bamboo knife and sneered, “So it’s a barbarian’s curved blade. I thought it was something impressive.” He closed his eyes, ready to resume his nap.

Mingyu felt his master had misunderstood, not appreciating the curved blade’s advantages, so he explained patiently, “Master, look closely! This really is a divine weapon!” He demonstrated, swinging the blade in the air. “See, the tip is curved, the blade has an arc—good for chopping. Each swing, the balance is forward, and the curve makes it easier to cut. When it strikes, resistance is less, allowing the whole blade to slice, increasing the wound area. Straight blades only use the contact point for cutting, so the effect isn’t as pronounced!”

Xuanba showed no great reaction, didn’t even open his eyes, and impatiently asked, “Oh, I get it. Did you practice for an hour today?”

Mingyu, seeing no expected surprise, wondered if his master was still groggy. “Master, did you understand what I just said?”

Xuanba ignored him, repeating, “Did you finish your hour of practice?”

Mingyu, disappointed, replied, “Not yet, I’ll go finish it now.”

Xuanba grunted and said nothing more.

Still unwilling to give up, Mingyu asked, “Master, what about this curved blade? Can I use this kind from now on?”

Unexpectedly, Xuanba sat up, flicked Mingyu’s forehead again, and snapped, “Who let you use this useless blade? Who can you kill with it on the battlefield? Only barbarians who can’t afford armor use it!”

Mingyu, frustrated by Xuanba’s obstinacy, wondered why his master clung to tradition instead of adopting superior designs. Annoyed, he protested, “Master, didn’t you hear me? The curved blade is clearly better for chopping and cutting, making bigger wounds!”

Xuanba chuckled coldly, “So you don’t accept my teaching? Fine, today I’ll show you the truth, so you stop flaunting that useless blade and embarrassing me!”

He turned and left the courtyard, soon returning with a slab of pork. He gestured to Mingyu to come over.

Mingyu, still unconvinced, walked over defiantly. “If you can’t explain, I won’t accept it!”

Xuanba didn’t reply. He found a piece of bamboo, carved it into a straight blade like the broadsword, and said, “Use your curved blade and my straight blade—chop the pork with each.”

Mingyu followed instructions. Sure enough, his curved blade made a larger, longer wound, while Xuanba’s straight blade produced a wound only two fingers long—not even a third of what his own blade made.

Mingyu was very pleased, raising his head, eyebrows arched, indicating his master should look. “I’ve got scientific evidence—what does this bumpkin from over a thousand years ago know?”

Xuanba, expecting this result, sneered, “Measure the depth of the wound!”

Mingyu reached out to check. The wound from Xuanba’s straight blade was three fingers deep, nearly cutting to the bone. His own curved blade’s wound was less than a finger deep—limited by the bamboo material, it barely cut through the thick pork skin.

“How could this be…?” Mingyu was stunned. With his past military experience, he understood that while large wounds looked frightening, they weren’t necessarily powerful unless deep. A deep wound could break through flesh and reach organs or bones, causing serious injury.

Xuanba explained, “You see now why I don’t value your blade? If you’re just chopping flesh, a curved blade is sharp and makes long wounds. But on the battlefield, every enemy is armored. If your blade can’t break their armor, you’re as good as dead!”

He picked up his straight blade and continued, “This straight blade is different—its weight is balanced, easy to handle, suitable for stabbing and chopping. One strike can break enemy armor, and the wound is deep enough to reach bone! The broadsword we use now derives from the Han dynasty’s ring-handled sword, meant for battle. Even if the enemy is fully armored, one strike will break through and cause casualties! On the battlefield, breaking armor is essential—no matter how sharp your blade, if it can’t cut armor, it’s useless!”