When playing Three Kingdoms games, I’ve often wondered: how could the Fangtian halberd be so formidable in the hands of Andrew Johnson? It’s just a weapon that was later phased out; because of the crescent blade on its head, its center of gravity is extremely forward, making the whole weapon very hard to control. Also, due to the crescent, once the weapon pierces the body, it’s very difficult to pull out. How did Andrew Johnson manage all this? Thinking of the style and flair of this flying general of the Three Kingdoms, I can’t help but be entranced.

Peter Grant slowly strolled over to my side at this moment, and seeing me staring so intently at the halberd, he said, “This halberd was crafted by Philip Carter of Yuzhou, forged over three years using gold, copper, and iron. It’s exceptionally sharp and is named ‘Armor Breaker.’” I casually asked, “Who is Philip Carter?” Peter Grant immediately widened his eyes, as if shocked by my ignorance. Can you blame me? In Chinese history, craftsmen held very low status—even if he was famous at the time, if he never held office, the historical records wouldn’t mention him. How would I know who Philip Carter is?

However, in Peter Grant’s eyes, it was probably just because I was too poor to associate with someone like Philip Carter. In that era, if a warrior’s household didn’t have weapons made by Philip Carter, it meant they were either too poor or of low status. The clothes we wore were all stripped from bandits. If it weren’t for the fact that I had Patrick Turner, such an exceptionally robust servant, by my side, giving me at least a bit of status, I suspect Peter Grant would have kicked us out immediately.

“Sir, do you not know Philip Carter? He is a master craftsman of the time. Though still young, the weapons he makes are what all warriors dream of. People say he will become a great master in the future. I obtained this halberd only after much pleading, and Philip Carter finally sold it to me. Didn’t your teacher ever tell you Philip Carter’s name?” Peter Grant was very surprised.

“My teacher Lu only taught me literature. For martial arts, I studied under an old man in the mountains. In the mountains, there’s no sense of time, so I never heard of Philip Carter.” Peter Grant’s eyes immediately lit up. An old hermit in the mountains—how skilled could his martial arts be? He looked me up and down, sizing up my rather thin frame: “I’ve practiced martial arts since childhood. I don’t know the name of your mountain teacher, but why don’t we have a match so I can learn from you, brother?”

Hearing this, Patrick Turner immediately showed a look of pity. In the valleys of Mount Tai, he had witnessed my ferocious fighting style. Now, looking at Peter Grant, who had just instructed him, it was like watching a corpse jump around.

“I left my master and came down the mountain before finishing my training. I haven’t learned even a tenth of my teacher’s skills. How about this,” I said, pretending to be modest, “my servant here is still recovering from his injuries, but he can just about manage a match with you.”

Peter Grant turned his gaze to Patrick Turner. When we left, I’d wrapped his face up like a pig’s head so no one would recognize him. Even Peter Grant couldn’t help but feel it would be an unfair victory. “Is this man also a disciple of the mountain hermit?” “No,” I replied.

Judging by the look in Patrick Turner’s eyes, Peter Grant thought it was my servant’s reluctance to see me embarrassed. He immediately insisted on sparring with me, even offering to wrap the halberd’s head in cloth and promising to go easy on me during the match. Seeing Peter Grant’s confidence swelling again, I agreed. Looks like if I don’t beat him until his face is covered in “peach blossoms” today, he’ll never understand why the flowers are so red.

I took the sword from Patrick Turner and tied it up properly. It seems that Han dynasty weapons were all sorts of shapes and sizes. Peter Grant didn’t show the slightest curiosity about my sword, perhaps thinking that, with its hardwood scabbard, it was nothing more than a crude staff from some mountain hermit. Pity—I’d planned to show it off, but now I’d have to demonstrate its use on Peter Grant’s head.

I stood there, feet neither too close nor too far apart, one hand holding the sword and resting it on the ground, making it look more like a cane. Slowly, I relaxed all my muscles. According to modern sports science, some people tense up all their muscles before a fight, which actually prevents them from using their strength. Only by relaxing the whole body before a fight, and then using the muscles of the legs, waist, abdomen, arms, and neck all together when exerting force, can one strike like lightning, each move deadly. Perhaps this is what the ancients called the unity of man and nature. I have two thousand years of history over Peter Grant—if I can’t even handle him, how can I survive here?

With my forward rush, the sword became a flash of lightning, slicing through the space of several meters between us, slashing at Peter Grant as he thrust with his halberd. The whistling sound of the sword cutting through the air drew everyone’s attention, and when sword and halberd clashed, Peter Grant staggered back with the sound.

How could I let him retreat so easily? Following the momentum of my sword, in the blink of an eye I slashed at Peter Grant nine times in a row, each strike coming from a cunning angle, like bolts of lightning. Amid the shrill sound of the sword slicing the air, sword and halberd clashed repeatedly, and Peter Grant was forced to defend, retreating again and again. In that moment, in Peter Grant’s eyes, I seemed to transform into a god filled with awe-inspiring power, pouncing on him like a tiger descending the mountain, the tip of my sword raining down on his head, face, and shoulders.

And at that moment, I was suddenly enlightened. I finally understood the principle of swordsmanship: “the sword moves with the green,” meaning the sword’s momentum is to attack, using offense as defense. As long as I attack so fiercely that my opponent is at a loss, forced to respond to every move, unable to think of anything else or attack me, I am invincible. In that instant, my sword was like a flash of lightning, tearing through the void, yet giving off a strange sense of lightness and grace, as well as the force of thunder and the violence of a storm. In that moment, I almost wanted to rush forward and kiss Peter Grant twice.