The next day, early in the morning, Wen Qingye was instructing Xiaxia in swordsmanship.
Xiaxia pouted as she swung her sword. "Master, why does the sword always feel unsteady when I hold it? And when I thrust, I always miss the mark."
Wen Qingye said coolly, "First, your foundation is too poor. Your fundamentals are lacking. Second, you think too much when you strike, clouding your mind with distracting thoughts."
"Oh." Xiaxia blinked her big eyes and nodded, looking as if she only half-understood.
"Young Master Wen, something terrible has happened! Something terrible!"
Just then, Xiaxia's third uncle, Xia Dong, ran in frantically, bent over with his hands on his knees, gasping for breath.
Xiaxia quickly said, "Third Uncle, what is it? Calm down and tell us. Don't panic."
