The sharp whistle of the wooden sword sliced the cool morning air.
Swing. Swing. Swing.
A young boy persisted, his small hands clenched around the wood. Sweat beaded on his forehead and traced paths down his temples. His arms shook with the effort.
Suddenly, the sword slipped from his grip and hit the packed earth with a soft thud. He doubled over, gasping for breath.
"Haa... haa..."
A quiet voice cut through his labored breathing.
"What was that?"
The boy froze.
An older man stood a few paces away, arms crossed. He looked to be in his mid-forties, his face composed, but a hint of disappointment shadowed his eyes.
"You're tired already, after just twenty-seven swings? Or have you forgotten the maximum count?"
The boy looked down, unable to meet the man's gaze.
"One hundred."
The older man gave a slow nod.
"That's right. Now, get back to it until you reach one hundred."
Without a word of protest, the boy retrieved the fallen sword. He resumed his swings, picking up where he had stopped.
After he completed fifty-eight swings, the older man observed the clear exhaustion etched on the boy's frame. He let out a soft sigh.
"That's enough for now. Go get some rest."
Confusion flickered across the boy's face, but his body, pushed to its limit, finally gave way and the boy collapsed onto the ground.
His chest rose and fell with every exhausted breath. He didn't have the strength to lift a single finger.
His master glanced at him before quietly walking away, leaving the boy to recover on his own.
The boy stared at the clear blue sky above.
A relieved sigh escaped his lips.
"What a relief, I didn't have to do a hundred swings today. If I had, I think my body would have just shut down and I wouldn't have been able to move a single muscle afterwards."
For a brief instant, a faint smile flickered across his face, but it was quickly replaced by a stern expression, his features tightening up in a matter of seconds.
"Wait. I still have chores..."
The happiness didn't last long, it just disappeared. The boy was so tired, but he made himself sit up anyway, letting out a deep groan as he did.
"Why is growing up so difficult?"
The boy slowly pushed himself to his feet, dusting the dirt from his clothes, his body still ached from training, every muscle begging him to rest.
Unfortunately there was still work to be done.
As he breathed out a soft sigh, he began walking towards the fields. Out of all the tasks his master had assigned to him, ploughing the fields was the one he enjoyed the most.
There was something about the repetitive movement that helped calm his thoughts, and the cool breeze made the tiredness a bit more manageable. The fresh air filled his lungs, and he felt his mind start to clear, like the fog lifting off the fields at dawn.
It was a small comfort, but it was enough to make the hard work a little more bearable.
Once the fields were finished, the young boy returned to the house. He swept the wooden floors, cleaned each room, fetched fresh water, and finished the remaining household chores one by one.
By the time he was done, the golden sun had begun to sink beyond the distant mountains, painting the sky in shades of orange and crimson.
"...It's already evening."
So, after getting everything else done, the only thing left to do was to make dinner.
The boy stepped into the kitchen and lit the stove. Before long, the comforting aroma of freshly cooked food filled the small house.
He carefully prepared two simple meals before placing them neatly on the table.
Looking over his work, he gave a small nod of satisfaction.
"Not bad."
A faint smile crept onto his face because this time, for a change, he was pretty sure he hadn't messed anything up.
After finishing up with dinner, the boy grabbed a cloth to wipe his hands, and then he headed to the room where his master liked to spend his evenings.
He gently slid the door open.
"Master?"
He sat there, calmly, in front of the huge dragon painting on the wall. His hands were folded on his knees, and he was talking to it softly, like it was someone he knew really well, someone who would understand everything he said.
The boy blinked.
No matter how many times he witnessed it, he could never understand it and it wasn't just the painting.
Sometimes his master would spend an afternoon talking to the birds perched outside the window. Other times, he would greet the stray cats that wandered into the yard as if they were honored guests.
It was strange....very strange.
After spending years together, he had grown accustomed to his master's ways, and it had become second nature to accept him for who he was.
Just as he was about to say something, his master turned to him with a gentle, warm smile, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade away.
"Sun Yunso, is dinner ready?"
"Yes, Master Su Qing."
"Excellent."
Su Qing slowly rose to his feet
"Then let us eat."
As the old master made his way to the door, he walked by Yunso with the same peaceful smile that had become so familiar.
Sun Yunso, however, couldn't resist taking one last look at the dragon painting, and he found himself pondering the same question he always did - what was it about that painting that made his master treat it like an old friend, having normal conversations with it as if it were a real person?
The master's behavior had always seemed a bit strange to Yunso, but at the same time, it was also kind of comforting to see him so at ease with the artwork.
He just wasn't interested enough, so he decided to drop it and followed his master to the dinner table instead.
The two sat across from one another in comfortable silence and only the sound of clinking chopsticks against bowls and the occasional crackle of the fire was heard.
Yunso quietly watched his master as they ate.
Su Qing took another bite, and then another. A small smile started to form at the corner of his lips. He remembered how, years ago, Yunso's cooking had been a complete disaster.
Burnt rice, oversalted soup and undercooked vegetables.
Su Qing had managed to get through every meal without saying a word of complaint.
As Su Qing watched the boy cook, he was amazed at how much his skills had improved. It was incredible to see how far Yunso had come, and it filled Su Qing's heart with a sense of pride and warmth, reminding him of just how much the young boy had grown and developed over time.
SunYunso blinked.
"M-Master..."
Su Qing looked up.
"...Is that a smile?"
The question took him by surprise, and in a split second, he looked away.
I"'m completely clueless, what are you even referring to with this smile thing?"
Sun Yunso raised an eyebrow.
"I just saw one."
"You didn't."
"I did."
"You imagined it."
"Master."
Su Qing cleared his throat, then spoke in a totally serious tone.
"And besides...What even is a smile?"
Sun Yunso burst into laughter. He laughed so hard he nearly dropped his chopsticks. Su Qing frowned, pretending to be annoyed.
"You find your master amusing?"
"N-No..."
Sun Yunso struggled to hold back another laugh.
"I've just... never heard anyone deny smiling before."
"Hmph."
Su Qing crossed his arms, turning his head to the side, but a small smile still managed to sneak onto his face.
The next morning was a clear blue one. Sun Yunso finished all chores for once. His training, as well as his house's works.
Even the fields had already been ploughed, and he just stood in the centre of the courtyard with both arms crossed on his chest.
He had nothing—absolutely nothing to do. He sighed out.
"I didn't know that such a feeling existed. So boring."
He looked at the field, completed.
He looked at the house, already cleaned, checking buckets, to his surprise they were full.
"If I continue like this I am going to die by being bored."
Sun Yunso shrugged his shoulders and then he wandered around the property randomly, in hopes to see something that would attract his attention.
His boredom increased with each step.
Then he saw a work room, it would have not mattered if there had not been loud noise from it. He stopped walking and went towards it, just to have a closer look.
Drawn by curiosity, Yunso quietly made his way toward the old forge, the rhythmic sound grew louder with every step.
He slowly and quietly made his way to the door and took a peek inside.
The furnace burned with a brilliant orange glow, filling the room with warmth as sparks danced through the air.
Standing before the anvil was a lone figure, completely absorbed in his work.
The hammer rose and fell.
As the glowing steel yielded to each deliberate blow, Yunso's eyes locked onto the man's back, and suddenly, he knew who it was.
"...Master?"
His eyes widened in surprise.
It was Su Qing.
Sun Yunso had always thought of his master as really good with a sword.
But a swordsmith?
That was something he had never expected. Question after question flooded his mind.
'Since when could the Master forge swords? Has he always known how? Why has he never told me?'
Sun Yunso had a million questions, but he just couldn't seem to ask them. So he stood there, quietly watching, as his mind ran wild with thoughts.
As Su Qing worked, every swing of the hammer was smooth and every movement seemed to flow effortlessly. It was as if he wasn't forcing the steel into shape, but rather guiding it with a gentle touch.
Sun Yunso found himself becoming completely absorbed in the scene, his eyes fixed on the way Su Qing's hands moved with precision and control.
Without even realizing it, he slowly raised one of his own hands, mimicking the movement of the hammer as if drawn into the rhythm of Su Qing's work.
The sound of the hammer ringing out against the steel was almost hypnotic, and Sun Yunso felt himself becoming more and more captivated by the unfolding scene, his fascination growing with each passing moment.
Su Qing stopped what he was doing and put the hammer down, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He then reached for a cup of water to take a drink, and as he did, his gaze wandered over to the entrance of the workshop.
A shadow stretched across the floor.
He couldn't make out the person's face, but the tiny frame was a dead giveaway - he knew exactly who he was looking at.
Without turning around, he spoke.
"Do you need something, Yunso?"
Sun Yunso jolted.
"...!"
'Master knew I was here?'
He finally decided to stop hiding and walked into the workshop, looking a bit awkward and trying to smile.
"N-Nothing much...I just wanted to watch you work."
Su Qing glanced at him briefly, and then a faint smile crossed his face.
"Is that so?"
He gestured toward the empty space beside him.
"Then come."
Sun Yunso's eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly got up to sit next to his master. The warm air from the furnace enveloped him, a stark contrast to the cool atmosphere outside. Su Qing reached for a pair of long tongs, his hands closing around them with a firm grip.
He then picked up the glowing blade, fresh out of the forge, its steel burning with a brilliant orange hue. For a moment, he just held it there, the heat emanating from it seeming to dance in the air.
He gently took Yunso's hand.
"Master?"
"Hold this."
Sun Yunso gently wrapped his hands around the tongs, and Su Qing placed a hand over his, helping to balance the weight so it wouldn't be too much for him to handle.
"Steady."
Together...Master and disciple slowly lowered the glowing blade into the cooling trough.
Steam erupted into the air.
The sound echoed throughout the workshop as white mist rose around them. Yunso's eyes sparkled.
"Amazing."
Su Qing looked at the wonder on the boy's face and couldn't help but smile.
"Do you want me to teach you?"
Sun Yunso's head shot up.
Without a second's hesitation he nodded enthusiastically.
Su Qing chuckled softly.
"Very well. From today onward you'll learn that a sword is forged long before it's ever drawn."
As time went by, Sun Yunso slowly but surely got better at working with metal, thanks to Su Qing's calm and patient teaching.
He was getting better with his hammer swings, more steady and strong. The boy who used to fumble with tongs was turning into a skilled young sword maker. His days started with sword practice in the morning, then he'd work in the fields and around the house in the afternoon. Every evening, the sound of clanging steel filled the workshop, a familiar rhythm that marked his progress.
Those simple days quietly slipped by. Without either of them realizing it the bond between master and disciple had begun to change. It no longer felt like a relationship built solely on teaching.
It felt like a father raising his son.
They just knew, without having to say a thing.
The warmth of their everyday life said enough.
For a time peace was all they knew. Until the day everything changed.
The warmth of the forge, the laughter at the dinner table and the quiet life they had built together...
It all disappeared in a single night.
Twelve figures descended upon the small home. None of them spoke their names nor showed their faces.
The peaceful home was reduced to ruin.
"Master!"
Sun Yunso's desperate voice echoed through the chaos.
He tried to run, to reach Su Qing. But searing pain exploded across his face.
"AAAGH!"
A blade carved across his eyes. Warm blood poured down his cheeks and darkness swallowed his vision. He stumbled to the ground, clutching his face as tears and blood mixed together.
"Master! Master!!"
His trembling hands searched desperately through the dirt.
He couldn't see or fight.
There was nothing he could have done.
A dull sound echoed through the ruined home.
Thud.
Silence followed.
Sun Yunso's breathing stopped. Heavy footsteps approached.
A cold voice broke the silence.
"Su Qing, the Phantom Blade, has been put to death."
Another voice answered.
"Good, let's leave and the bounty is ours."
As they walked away, the sound of their footsteps slowly disappeared into the distance, one by one.
Only silence remained and the cries of a twelve-year-old boy who had just lost the only family he had ever known.