Dong Sheng, a native of Xuzhou, had studied swordsmanship for several years and was insufferably conceited about it. One day, while out on an errand, he encountered a traveler riding a donkey. Dong Sheng approached him for conversation. The traveler spoke with great spirit and, when asked his name, introduced himself: “I am from Liaoyang, my surname is Tong. I have been roaming the world for over twenty years and have only just returned from overseas.”

Dong Sheng remarked, “I hear there are many extraordinary individuals overseas. As someone who has traveled widely, have you happened upon any?” Mr. Tong replied, “Why does the esteemed brother ask such a thing?” Dong Sheng explained, “I have practiced the sword since childhood, yet my skill has never truly advanced. Therefore, I wish to seek out a master among these hermits.”

Mr. Tong said, “Extraordinary people are everywhere, but they are extremely selective in choosing disciples; they will not impart their skills to anyone who is not a loyal official or a dutiful son.” Dong Sheng insisted, “I am a filial son! My reverence for my elders is known far and wide.” Mr. Tong smiled faintly and inquired, “But what of your swordsmanship? Might you demonstrate it for my inspection?”

Dong Sheng nodded readily. “Very well, I shall make a fool of myself.” He drew the sword he carried and executed a set of forms—thrusts, parries, chops, and cuts—with practiced precision. He finished by declaring, “This blade is peerless in sharpness; it cuts through a tree as easily as slicing tofu.” He brought his right hand down in a diagonal slash, and the sword struck a small tree, which snapped cleanly in two with a sharp kacha.

Dong Sheng watched, chuckling. “Brother, your sword is merely common iron, stained with the sweat of your hand—a second-rate weapon. Though I know little of swordsmanship myself, I happen to carry one. Please, examine it.” As he spoke, he reached into his sleeve and produced a short sword, barely a foot long. With a twitch of his wrist, the short blade sheared through iron as if it were mud. With a single pass, Dong Sheng’s prized sword was cleaved into two pieces.

Dong Sheng was utterly astounded. He borrowed the short sword for examination, treasuring it, and only returned it after a long while. He then invited Mr. Tong back to his home, seizing the opportunity to solicit instruction in the art of the sword. Mr. Tong laughed. “The Way of the Sword is something I know nothing about. Brother is clearly an adept; please, you must instruct me.” Dong Sheng, not one to refuse flattery, launched into an explanation of swordsmanship, talking volubly, spittle flying, while Mr. Tong remained noncommittal, listening intently without uttering a single word.

One explained, the other listened, and time slipped away unnoticed until it was late into the night. Suddenly, a clamor erupted from the room next door. Dong Sheng started violently. “The room next door is where my father sleeps! What is all this noise in the middle of the night?” He listened intently and vaguely heard a man shouting fiercely, “Old Man Dong, hurry and send your son out to be punished, and perhaps I will spare your life.” This was followed by sounds of blows landing, groans of pain from Old Man Dong, and bursts of roaring laughter, all intermingling without cease.

Dong Sheng’s face shifted dramatically. “This is bad! Bandits! My father is in danger; I must go to his rescue.” Mr. Tong cautioned, “Wait a moment. From the sound of it, the robbers are numerous and strong. To rush in and argue with them now would be nothing more than rushing to your death. This matter requires careful thought.” Dong Sheng anxiously asked, “What is to be done?”

Mr. Tong reasoned, “The robbers specifically demand to see you, which clearly shows malicious intent. Brother, you have a wife and family. If you die here now, what will become of your wife? You first return to your room and consult with your wife on a counter-strategy. I will hold them off for a while.” Dong Sheng agreed, nodding, and immediately went to his wife’s chamber, briefly recounting the events. His wife wept upon hearing this, saying, “The robbers look savage. You must not show your face.”

Dong Sheng argued, “My father is in trouble; how can I stand by and do nothing?” His wife retorted, “Is your father’s life more important than your own precious life? If you die, what will become of me?” Dong Sheng sighed, “You speak wisely. What course of action do you propose we take next?” His wife instructed, “Prepare your bow and arrows, ascend to the upper floor, and fortify your position. As for Father’s safety, we cannot worry about it now.”

As the two were discussing matters, Mr. Tong pushed open the door and walked in, chuckling, “Is this the so-called filial son? Ha, nothing more than that.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he vanished. Dong Sheng was greatly alarmed and rushed to his father’s quarters to check. The room was empty; there were no bandits, only a few straw dummies.

Moments later, footsteps sounded outside the door. Old Man Dong returned slowly, carrying a lantern. Dong Sheng questioned, “Father, weren't you just in the room? How did you end up outside the door?” Old Man Dong glared at him. “Nonsense! From dusk until now, I have been drinking with friends.”

Hearing this, Dong Sheng suddenly understood. “So, Mr. Tong was indeed one of those extraordinary people. Everything was a test of my character. Alas, I failed to pass; otherwise, I could have learned the peerless art of the sword. What a pity—a situation entirely of my own making, who else can I blame?”