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“Losing isn’t scary. What’s scary is losing heart.”
Song Xilai said while watching Jian Wusheng, “Like a sword, a swordsman’s body will break before it bends[1]. Like a sword, a swordman’s heart will plow ahead no matter the opposition.”
“To have a sword without a heart is like having no sword at all.”
“But if your heart is there, then your sword will never falter even if you don’t wield a sword.”
“We swordsmen may bow our heads from time to time, but never our hearts.”
Song Xilai raised his voice, “Tell me. Is your heart still there?”
“It is!” Jian Wusheng replied loudly.
“Did it fall?”
“Never!”
“Did it bend?”
“Never!”
It was like someone had shown Jian Wusheng the light. His lost, dejected eyes slowly regained their previous clarity, and determination returned to his face once more. The dust covering his sword was removed, and its gleam was bright enough to pierce the nine heavens.
“Thank you for your guidance, senior uncle. Wusheng understands now.”
“If your heart hasn’t fallen or bent, then your sword should advance courageously as well. If a man stands in your way, kill him. If a Buddha stands in your way, kill him as well.”
“I understand, senior uncle!”
Ye Qing heard Song Xilai’s counsel as soon as he left the platform. When he saw Jian Wusheng regaining his previous confidence, he too let out a sigh of relief.
Assuming...
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