The Blue Sky of Wagang

A stream flowed at the foot of Wagang Mountain, its water icy cold.

Young Luo Dong waded barefoot into the stream; the smooth stones sent a chill down his spine, making him want to scream, yet he gritted his teeth and held back. He found a strange pleasure in this near-self-torture, a release from his frustration and exhaustion.

This was his habit, the only secret enjoyment in his monotonous life of sword training.

Luo Dong pulled his sword from the water, watching the glistening droplets slide off the tip. The unblemished blade reflected his clear, bright face.

The thirty-seventh disciple of Lin Shiqian, the swordsman of western Fujian, had spent seven years practicing swordsmanship amidst these green mountains and clear waters. Aside from martial arts, his life was a blank slate. He would rather have a few scars on his clear face than remain so untouched. He could no longer bear everything here; he wanted to leave, to go anywhere.

That night, he lay in the stream, gazing at the starry sky, dreaming of his future life in the martial world. When he sprang from the water with a "splash," he saw her eyes in the darkness, her face filled with surprise under the moonlight—an unforgettable, captivating face. The man, recognizing his third senior brother, felt a sharp pain that made it hard to breathe.

Where did she come from? In this Wagang Mountain, the only family was their master, Lin Shiqian, and forty-three sword-wielding disciples. This mystery lingered in his mind.

In the outhouse, Little Mouse Three, watering the mottled walls, casually remarked, "Do you know that Third Senior Brother has a beautiful cousin? This cousin is his fiancée." Luo Dong suddenly understood everything, frozen in pain.

Luo Dong's clumsy hand once again reached for his senior brother's sword tip, finally provoking the Fujian swordsman to lose his temper, who slapped him to the ground. In the burning pain on his face, Luo Dong unexpectedly remembered the little red shoes that shimmered as she fled that day.

He was his father's pride, the only son he had sent to learn martial arts and swordsmanship at great expense. He was his master's hope, expected to shine at the quadrennial Luoyang Sword Trial. Yet, only he knew his own pain. In those sword techniques, he found no personal feeling; he was merely a tool for performing the art, a rigid, formulaic shell of a life.

He could pierce his senior brothers' evasive maneuvers with a single strike, yet he had to counter each move one by one. This ridiculous game, played countless times, one day suddenly sparked a terrifying doubt.

He doubted everything. He even doubted his master's integrity—his master's only son, the good-for-nothing third senior brother—wasn't his marriage to her arranged by his master?

Ordered to stop practicing swordsmanship, the young Luo Dong coldly watched his fellow disciples' enthusiastic martial arts practice, while simultaneously plotting revenge on his dull life. By the verdant stream, he waited day after day for his prey.

The sky was blue, the water cool, and the breeze was soft and intoxicating. Luo Dong lay on the ground, the martial arts techniques swirling in his mind like a jumbled mess. The last fragments, however, remained clear and distinct, like lightning flashing tiger claws, making one eager to try them out.

Once, Luo Dong picked up a pebble and threw it. It bounced off a tree trunk, his body flying in an arc. His sword pierced the water, hooking up a wriggling fish. He touched the bouncing pebble with his toes and smashed it into the water, the fish's white belly floating on the surface. In a lightning-fast instant, the two fish, the bouncing pebble, and Luo Dong himself were all in motion. Luo Dong returned to the stream bank, his sword sheathed, and everything returned to stillness. He often practiced this game, imagining his body soaring and roaming in the ever-changing moments of nature.

Amidst the lush greenery, Luo Dong first noticed a splash of crimson, then her figure. A few dozen paces from him, she suddenly stumbled, her body finally landing in his arms. A clear, bright face lay above her upturned face, and above that, the blue sky, the two seemingly one. His warm breath on her face felt like a gentle early summer breeze, making her weak and her face flush.

Luo Dong held her waist, as if cradling a delicate white cloud, his hands resting on her waist, wanting only to hold her tightly, to press her against his body, to confirm that she was a living, breathing person.

Luo Dong's heart raced, his face suddenly flushed. He pulled her close, flying towards a corner hidden by the trees. She was like a gust of wind, completely out of her control, terrified yet seemingly living in a dream, not wanting to struggle at all. He remembered how many times she had placed her secrets in the water, letting them drift away with the stream.

When Luo Dong pressed his lips to hers, she was already beyond her control, her hands circling behind his neck, trembling like flower petals. Their lips parted, the boy's heat growing stronger, a soul-stirring intoxication for her. A more mature young woman was seduced, her soft body pressed against him like a fruit offered up for picking.

Her dreamlike eyes opened and closed, becoming hazy, her cheeks flushed as if drunk, her delicate lips trembling—all of this was encouragement. Luo Dong's hand explored the soft mound of her breasts, the boy's impetuousness and greed lingering. The hand that held the sword grasped her breasts, hard and soft, equally precious, inseparable.

The sword pointed directly at Luo Dong's naturally sharp weapon. The young swordsman's impulse to test his sword was finally unstoppable, clearly displayed to her.

Peeling back the petals revealed her dazzlingly white body, delicate and tender like a flower's stamen, her two nipples, smooth and fresh, cherry-red like blood. Beneath her full belly lay a gaping wound, a gruesome mess, neither neat nor clean, a festering abyss of sin, overgrown with weeds, strange and jarring to the eye. Her two drooping, snow-white thighs stirred the young man's blood.

Luo Dong's erect member pierced the wound, causing her to let out a soft moan. The thrust was met with resistance, then deeper, like a sword penetrating her body, only the hilt remaining. Luo Dong felt the warmth of her blood. He withdrew his blood-drinking member, drawing out a stream of blood that trickled down her white thighs.

Luo Dong was no longer the innocent boy he once was. He plunged the member into the wound again, the inserted material causing it to swell even more, the weeds spreading out. When he pulled it out, the weeds gathered again, and the wound became increasingly slippery. Her moans grew stranger, finally merging into a single, inaudible, yet palpable murmur.

Finally, he sprayed hot semen inside her, the wounds closed up, and she gripped his weapon tightly. Luo Dong had become one with her, his body merging into hers, inseparable for a long time...
The story of the abandoned disciple Luo Dong spread throughout the martial arts world a few months later: he abandoned his impoverished and ailing single father; he tarnished the reputation of his master who had raised and taught him for seven years; he betrayed his sect, seriously injuring many of his fellow disciples; he raped his sister-in-law, who was three years older than him; he bullied his honest third senior brother and abducted his wife; during his wanderings in the martial arts world, he murdered many martial arts figures...

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The Blue Sky of Wagang

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