Volume One: Beneath Mount Zhongnan Chapter Fifteen: The Blade Technique Takes Shape

Only then did Li Mingyu truly understand; it was as if playing a game—what mattered most in a weapon was its ability to break through defenses. No matter how fine the weapon, without enough offensive power, each strike would deal only the barest forced damage. If it couldn’t break armor, it was useless. He clasped his fists respectfully and said, “Master, your lesson is well taken. I have learned.” Yet in his heart, emotions churned. He had been too presumptuous, always assuming that things from a thousand years in the future must be superior, so far ahead of the ancients, neglecting that every era, every enemy, and every challenge required its own solution. He had underestimated the wisdom of those who came before.

Since the invention of the saber, people gradually found it superior to the sword for hacking, more durable and less prone to breakage. By the Han dynasty, swords had become ornamental weapons, while sabers—straight backed and edged, with a thick spine and a flat, rounded ring pommel—were the blades of the common soldier. The Han army, paired with the matchless ring-pommel saber and the empire’s might, swept across the world, crushing the Xiongnu and securing the Han’s formidable reputation. One could even say the ring-pommel saber was the backbone of Han China.

The Tang horizontal saber, which evolved from the ring-pommel saber, featured a ring pommel, a narrow body, a long blade, a straight back, and a small guard, often wielded in both hands. Designed for battle, it needed to break armor and endure. Armor-piercing required hardness and a thin edge, while durability needed toughness. Thus, the Tang saber used advanced steel-cladding methods: a wrought iron exterior, a core of refined steel, and partial quenching of the edge, known as clay-tempering. The blade’s edge was hard enough to cleave armor, while the body remained tough and resilient.

In war, these sabers, balancing armor-piercing and durability, could split open an enemy’s armor. In the CCTV documentary "Ancient Weapons Unveiled," a modern swordsmith recreated a Tang saber using traditional methods and was able to pierce through the strongest section—the heartguard—of a replica of the famed “Mingguang Armor” with a single blow, demonstrating the saber’s formidable power.

By the Song and Yuan dynasties, iron and steelmaking advanced rapidly, and soldiers’ armor became thicker and sturdier. The Song dynasty’s “Footman’s Armor” was composed of over 1,800 plates and weighed more than sixty pounds—a marvel of protection, the heaviest in China’s history. Meanwhile, their primary adversary, the Jin dynasty’s “Iron Pagoda Cavalry,” wore heavy armor from head to hoof, even outfitting their horses in full barding. Against such ironclad foes, breaking through with a saber or sword was exceedingly difficult. With the Song’s national strength diminished and many manufacturing techniques lost after decades of war, the army relied more on axes, hammers, or long spears for their piercing power.

Song dynasty sabers came in eight varieties: writing-brush saber, phoenix-beak saber, brow saber, halberd saber, crescent-moon saber, falling saber, and hand saber. Excavated weapons show that, facing heavily armored opponents, Song sabers became shorter and broader, with wider, more slanted points. According to the military classic "Essentials of the Martial Canon," sabers of the Song period were generally wider and thicker than before, with a curved body and upturned tip for greater weight and chopping power.

In the Ming and Qing dynasties, with the advent of firearms, traditional metal armor lost its effectiveness, while cotton armor proved superior. On the battlefield, bows and firearms dominated at range, while spears, sabers, and shields were used up close. During this period, the saber retained traditional Chinese forging techniques and also began to adopt more complex methods from West Asia and Japan. The styles and forms changed: the slender and slightly curved embroidered spring saber, light and suitable for medium-range fighting; the Qi family saber, with no false edge or blood groove, a straight handle, and a Japanese-style point, ideal for hacking through metal armor and melee; and the yanling saber, with elegant lines, a powerful blood groove, a keen edge, and a shape suited for both combat and ceremony.

Facing the lighter cotton armor, the shape of the saber evolved again. The blade was straighter, with a curve beginning near the tip, which was also upturned, making it suitable for both chopping and thrusting. This design combined the strengths of straight and curved blades, typically wielded single-handed for agility in combat. The spine was thick, the rear of the blade straight for powerful cuts, while the front began to curve, enhancing the saber’s thrusting, slicing, and flicking capabilities; it was also well-suited for cavalry. Near the tip, the back of the blade was sometimes sharpened, allowing it to pierce the popular chain and cotton armor of the later Ming.

The famed Japanese katana, due to Japan’s scarcity of iron ore, was rarely paired with metal armor. Samurai often wore bamboo or rattan armor, and as their adversaries changed, so did their weapons. Descended from the Tang horizontal saber, the katana, needing less armor-piercing ability, became more deeply curved and thinner, optimized for cutting rather than hacking through plate.

In modern warfare, the saber’s role became more utilitarian—modern military knives are designed for versatility: clearing paths, close combat, survival, cutting, and as general tools.

The so-called world’s three great swords refer not to a specific type, but to their forging techniques.

As for all this, how could an ordinary modern soldier like Li Mingyu have known? He’d simply assumed that what came after must be best, and tried to plagiarize it without a second thought, until his master’s stern lesson opened his eyes. Every enemy required a different response; what came after was not always best, but had to be suited to its time and foe.

After his master’s rebuke, Li Mingyu came to understand these differences and devoted himself wholeheartedly to practicing the horizontal saber. He set himself a goal: in six months, he would reach proficiency. Besides the hour a day his master required, he added another half hour of self-training, practicing until dusk, drenched in sweat, before he would finally rest.

After three months, he could chop through a bamboo stalk as thick as a child’s arm in a single blow. Yet every strike took all his strength; after only three or five, he would be exhausted. Perhaps he was still too young, his endurance lacking, but he was not satisfied. He remembered his master’s words: a true master of the saber could control his force at will, achieving maximum effect with minimal effort.

So, for the next few months, he focused on improving his efficiency—how to maintain power while using less energy, so he could strike more times.

After another three months, Li Mingyu stood before a bamboo stalk as thick as a child’s arm, breathing slowly and steadily, eyes on his nose, nose on his heart, his mind utterly calm. Once his spirit was steady, he drew a deep breath and let out a clear shout, stepped forward, and slashed diagonally—a flash of cold light, and the bamboo split with a crisp crack! Swiftly, he twisted his wrist, and with another stroke, the fallen bamboo was cut in two. Switching to a two-handed grip, he struck twice more, chopping the halves into four pieces.

As the bamboo segments fell but had not yet touched the ground, Li Mingyu dropped low, crouched, and, stepping forward, slashed upward at one segment, cutting it neatly in two.

At last, his breath gave out. He steadied himself. Five strikes in one breath! The entire sequence had flowed seamlessly, one continuous movement.

This was the fruit of months of hard training. Li Mingyu nodded in satisfaction—finally, a bit of progress. Only, his last strike had been rushed as his breath ran out, so the angle was slightly off; a small regret.

Now, after several months, he could swing with full force fifteen times before tiring, a remarkable improvement.

Seeing that dusk had already fallen, Li Mingyu let out a long breath and called to the black tiger napping nearby, “Xiao Hei, let’s go. We’re done for today.”

Over the past few months, Xiao Hei had not grown much in size, but his muscles had become more compact, and each movement seemed about to burst with power. Hearing Li Mingyu’s call, he stood, shaking off fallen leaves. He truly couldn’t understand why, after so many months, his master was obsessed with battling bamboo every day, leaving less and less time to play with him. After all, he could shatter several bamboo stalks with one paw—why bother chopping them so much?

Wasn’t bullying animals in the mountains more fun than cutting bamboo? Each time Xiao Hei patrolled his territory, all the beasts fled before him. He would find some tasty prey, tease and chase it until it ran exhausted, and then enjoy a hearty meal. Thinking of tender pheasant, chewy hare, or juicy wild boar, Xiao Hei’s eyes gleamed green and his mouth began to water.

Li Mingyu, having packed up, noticed Xiao Hei lost in thought, drooling, and called more firmly, “Xiao Hei, let’s go! What are you daydreaming about?”

Hearing his master call again, Xiao Hei shook his head, yawned with jaws wide, stretched lazily, then padded over and nuzzled Li Mingyu affectionately. With a swish of his great tail, he followed Li Mingyu down the mountain, moving with a lazy grace.