“Stupid William, you really are stupid.” Emily Bennett wore a look of utter disappointment, then rested her chin in her hand and muttered to herself, “If only I could have a sword immortal as my master, maybe I could ride a sword into Chang’an too…”

William Carter gave a wry smile and scratched his head, muttering in a voice only he could hear, “Who would have thought that picking up a random drunk old man on the Northern Li grasslands would turn out to be a sword immortal…” William Carter was on the verge of tears.

Chapter Ten: Better to Suffer Together Than Alone

After the story ended, Emily Bennett was still unsatisfied. She leaned over and threatened William Carter in a low voice, “Stupid William, next time you guys go out, you have to take me with you. Otherwise, I’ll make sure you can’t go anywhere.”

William Carter still hadn’t recovered from the shock that the lecherous old man was actually a true sword immortal. He nodded absentmindedly, then, after a moment’s thought, looked at the teacher with some confusion and asked, “Teacher, since that John Thompson is so famous, why is it that after reading so many books and traveling to so many places over the years, I’ve never heard of him?”

The teacher shook his head and sighed, “Something happened back then. John Thompson rode his sword out of Chang’an and was never heard from again. There was no trace of the white-robed figure in the martial world after that. Later, it seems someone deliberately erased all traces of John Thompson, so none of the poems he wrote—poems worthy of being passed down through the ages—were ever left on paper. That line you just recited, I only heard it from The Old Hermit back in the day.”

The teacher paused, then smiled and said, “Besides, a whole sixty years have passed in a flash. The young girls of those days are now old and gray. Maybe only those of us with one foot in the grave still remember that white robe brighter than snow. How many people in today’s martial world know that back then, John Thompson once inspired half the martial world to don white robes and carry swords, with countless tales of romance and heroism? The world your master showed you is too lofty; all those old immortals know about John Thompson, but who would tell you about the martial world of those days? If you go ask those sixty- or seventy-year-old men still drifting at the bottom of the martial world, I guarantee they could tell you three days and nights’ worth of stories about the legendary sword immortal poet without repeating themselves.”

William Carter sighed softly, thinking that every time his master met an old man, he’d claim the man was a top expert and urge him to learn a move or two, which always sounded impressive.

But William Carter didn’t believe that those old men who chatted and fought over wine gourds with his master were really top experts. In his eyes, they were nothing compared to those two wandering swordsmen he once saw in Suzhou, standing on the roof of Drunken Immortal Tower, cursing at each other all afternoon with swords and sabers in hand. Even though they never actually fought before sunset, William Carter found it thrilling—this, he thought, was the real martial world.

As for that lecherous old man Samuel Thompson being the sword immortal poet John Thompson, it seemed almost certain now. He just wondered how the elegant, white-robed sword immortal of the past had become such a disheveled, drunken old man on the grasslands.

And whether John Thompson had ever truly asked the heavens with his sword, William Carter had no way of knowing. The first time he met him, the old man was clutching a battered sword scabbard, even in his drunken stupor never letting it go.

No one knew what had happened back then to erase all traces of someone like John Thompson; the power behind it must have been immense.

That being the case, the flying sword technique the old man taught him was the real deal. That sword move was called “Asking the Heavens.” He said he’d only teach him one move, but in fact, John Thompson also taught him a mental cultivation method.

It was easy to memorize but hard to understand, and since William Carter had never taken that sword move seriously before, up to now he’d only figured out a little—like making a thrown sword change direction.

Now that he realized he’d stumbled upon a treasure, William Carter decided he’d have to study that mental method carefully when he got back. If he could master even two or three layers of that sword immortal’s style, wouldn’t he be able to walk the martial world with confidence?

“All right, it’s about time. William, go with Emily to the teaching hall. From now on, except for the rest day every seven days, you must attend classes at the academy on time. Since Hunchback Harris won’t let you attend his classes anymore, so be it. It’s not like he could teach better than that George Miller you met on Tiantai Mountain in Yuezhou back in the day, right?” The teacher stood up and said, motioning for William Carter and Emily Bennett to leave.

“James Foster?” William Carter asked in confusion, “Is that the white-browed old man who talked with me all night when I was nine in Jiangnan? That old man actually talked me to sleep.”

“Haha, if that old fellow James Foster heard you say that, he’d be so mad his eyebrows would stand on end. Oh, and there are two books on the study desk—take them home and read them carefully. They’re both about the imperial exams. I bet you don’t even know what’s on the exam yet. And don’t be a shrinking turtle during the debate in three days. If you can make it into the top ten, Hunchback Harris won’t be able to give you a hard time.” The teacher stroked his long beard and smiled, then walked out toward the courtyard—apparently, he still had to give a lecture that afternoon.

William Carter put away the teapot and porcelain cups, then went to the study to pick up the two books on the desk. One was “Essays on the Imperial Examinations,” and the other was “A Hundred Model Policy Essays.”