The sky stretched vast and high, with heavy clouds hanging low as the sun set in the west, painting the evening glow in dazzling hues.
The fewer than a hundred riders galloping northward seemed to ride beneath a canopy of the most resplendent Shu brocade.
As the cavalry neared the military stronghold of Chongzhong, scattered scouts from the Northern Mang halted atop the slopes, assessing the disparity in numbers before ultimately choosing not to engage.
The Liangzhou rangers had truly instilled fear in the Northern Mang scouts—not only had three elite reconnaissance units been nearly wiped out, but even the likes of Hong Jingyan, the shared leader of the Rouran Iron Cavalry, and the imperial relative Yelü Chucai had fallen in battle. Though the southern border of the Northern Mang had learned that all the rangers had shifted to the Liuzhou battlefield, the trauma of past defeats lingered. One of the Northern Mang’s southern expedition commanders, the Orange Prefecture’s Jiedushi Murong Baoding, had strictly ordered his scouts to withdraw upon encountering the enemy, exempting them from punishment for retreating without a fight. However, any scout unit that engaged recklessly would face execution—one casualty meant the squad leader’s immediate beheading, and three or more deaths meant the execution of both the squad and platoon leaders.
The hundred-odd riders, unarmored in the Beiliang frontier’s iron gear, paid no heed to the Orange Prefecture scouts who sniffed them out only to retreat in frustration. They pressed northward without pause, bypassing Chongzhong entirely and continuing along its outskirts.
Among this peculiar column of riders, most—around eighty—carried swords on their backs, clearly not the disciplined Beiliang frontier troops who would never recklessly draw their blades. One rider spurred forward, pulling alongside the only warrior at the front who bore a Liang saber at his waist, and grumbled, “Xu, even a mosquito’s leg is meat! We’ve run into eight or nine groups of Northern Mang scouts along the way. If you’d just let us fight, we could’ve taken down forty or fifty of them. What, has Qingliang Mountain really fallen so low that you can’t even afford the reward silver for such a small feat? At the very least, even if you’re short on funds, killing those scouts would’ve saved lives among your Liangzhou cavalry outside the pass. What kind of Northern Liang King are you?!”
Xu Fengnian kept his gaze fixed ahead, not slowing his horse as he calmly explained, “Dong Zhuo’s forces are about to attack Huaiyang Pass. Any delay here could mean—”
Wu Liuding, the current Sword Crown of the Wu Family Sword Mound, cut him off with a scoff. “Even if you reach Huaiyang Pass earlier, can you move the entire fortress to Jubei City? Neither Huaiyang Pass nor the Protectorate’s headquarters have legs—they aren’t going anywhere. The truth is, now that you’ve become a grandmaster on the Martial Rankings, your pride’s too big to bother with mere scouts. Your eyes are only on the likes of Tuoba Pusa and Hong Jingyan, isn’t that right?”
From behind them, a Wu Family swordsman sneered, “A grandmaster should act like one. If His Highness looks down on such small fry, he has every right to. What’s the issue? A Land Deity wouldn’t dirty his soles stomping on a few hundred ants.”
Wu Liuding rolled his eyes, unwilling to engage with the venomous swordsman. Even within the Wu Family Sword Mound, where swordsmanship was the family’s very essence, only their ancestor had ever managed to suppress that demon, Zhu Huang. No matter how confident Wu Liuding was in his future as the world’s greatest swordsman, he had to admit that, for now, he still lagged behind Zhu Huang in both skill and mastery. The Wu Family’s ancient rule was simple: the length of one’s sword aura determined the weight of one’s words. Though thick-skinned, Wu Liuding knew better than to waste breath arguing with Zhu Huang.
That said, if Cuihua—who carried the ancient sword Suwang—were willing to team up with him, Wu Liuding was confident they could turn “Zhu the Demon” into “Zhu the Pig.” Unfortunately, as a sword attendant, Cuihua was bound by the Wu Family’s eight-century-old tradition: she could never interfere in the Sword Crown’s duels with outsiders. To put it bluntly, a sword attendant’s sole duty was to collect the Sword Crown’s corpse.
Xu Fengnian shook his head with a faint smile, offering no further explanation.
Some matters of Beiliang were simply beyond the comprehension of these Wu Family swordsmen, whose ancestors had left behind the creed: “Seek not the city-spanning jade, but the sword that kills.”
Xu Fengnian’s heart was far heavier than his expression let on.
Chu Lushan had refused to leave Huaiyang Pass, sending only one message to Jubei City:
“Whether I, Chu Lushan, am in Huaiyang Pass or not, the situation on the Liangzhou frontier will be entirely different.”
Xu Fengnian understood the implication, but he still wanted to make one last attempt—to plead in person.
Not as the Northern Liang King, commander of three hundred thousand iron cavalry, nor as the Protectorate’s leader, but simply as Xu Xiao’s eldest son, meeting the Butcher’s adopted son, Lu Qiuer.
The urgency of his journey stemmed from Xu Fengnian’s certainty: once Dong Zhuo himself appeared outside Huaiyang Pass, Chu Lushan would never leave. And Xu Fengnian couldn’t very well knock him out and drag him back to Jubei City—that would be meaningless.
As for why he hadn’t left the eighty Wu Family swordsmen behind to rush to Huaiyang Pass alone—that was a more complicated matter.
In this world of countless affairs, peace of mind was the hardest to find.
The closer they got to the rugged southern entrance of Huaiyang Pass, even Wu Liuding—who had been feigning boredom—noticed Xu Fengnian’s unusual mood. So did the beauty Nalan Huaiyu, who occasionally stole glances at the young king’s back, and even Cuihua, whose sword heart had reached a state of pure intuition.
Huaiyang Pass, hailed as the most perilous stronghold beyond Liangzhou’s frontier, owed much of its impregnability to the narrow, winding southern approach, which left it free from rear threats.
Perhaps sensing his own unease, Xu Fengnian suddenly turned to Wu Liuding with a smile. “I heard your Wu Family’s ancestor once assessed the swordsmen of the Sword Mound over the past twenty years. Aside from Deng Tai’a, who was born with the fiercest killing intent, Zhu Huang has the heaviest murderous heart, and Cuihua the deepest killing aura. As the Sword Crown, what about you?”
Wu Liuding grinned shamelessly. “Me? Obviously, I have the best bones and the highest talent!”
Zhu Huang, arms crossed atop his horse, snorted in disdain.
Xu Fengnian chuckled. “Wu Liuding, don’t think I haven’t seen the world. Just among natural sword prodigies, I’ve met several—like the Guanyin Sect’s Coal Seller and the Taibai Sword Sect’s Chen Tianyuan—whose bones outshine yours.”
Wu Liuding shrugged. “So what? I still have the highest talent. When I was little, our ancestor said a once-in-a-century genius like me doesn’t climb the sword path by ordinary rules. No need for gradual progress.”
Xu Fengnian clicked his tongue in amusement.
Wu Liuding glared at him. “Xu, think about it. When we first met on the river, what was my realm? A measly pseudo-Finger Mystic. Yet I was already roaming the martial world as the Sword Crown. How do you think I managed that?”
Xu Fengnian smirked. “By your face?”
Wu Liuding blinked, then broke into a grin, rubbing his cheeks. “Fair point!”
Cuihua, who had been meditating with closed eyes, let out a faint sigh.
The white-haired elder of the Helian clan chuckled. “Your Highness, our young master isn’t boasting. Once, a strange fortune-teller visited the Sword Mound and divined his future by bone-reading. He said Liuding would leap the dragon gate three times in his life. The first was when he entered the Sword Mountain as a boy—no one expected the lazy brat to draw even one sword, yet twelve recognized him as their master, a rarity in our family’s long history. After that, he slacked off even more until the Sword Mound chose its new Sword Crown. Though he’d been stuck below the minor grandmaster realm, he suddenly grasped several Finger Mystic sword techniques…”
Wu Liuding laughed. “That’s what genius looks like! If I actually put in effort, imagine how terrifying I’d be!”
Xu Fengnian surprised him by nodding. “If I’m not mistaken, you have one more leap left. You’re halfway to the Finger Mystic realm now, so stumbling into the Heavenly Phenomena realm isn’t impossible. Not bad—you might even hold your own against someone like Huishan’s Xuanyuan Qingfeng, who supposedly grasped eternal life in a single night of snow-gazing. Of course, that’s assuming she only uses one hand.”
Wu Liuding flushed with anger. “Even if I only reach the Heavenly Phenomena realm and not the Great Heavenly Phenomena, I’ll still pull off a move or two worthy of a Land Sword Immortal!”
Xu Fengnian nodded again, adding salt to the wound. “A move or two? Impressive. I only know a few dozen.”
Wu Liuding turned pitifully to Nalan Huaiyu. “Aunt Nalan, he’s bullying me!”
She smiled sweetly. “I’m not your mother. Complaining to me won’t help.”
Xu Fengnian grinned. “Exactly. Sister Nalan, ignore him.”
Nalan Huaiyu arched a brow, her smile deepening, her charm as ethereal as mist over water.
Wu Liuding perked up instantly, whispering to Cuihua, “Hear that? Smooth talker, this one. A real veteran of the flower fields, eh, Cuihua?”
To his shock, Cuihua replied flatly, “No.”
The young Sword Crown’s heart withered as if struck by a Land Sword Immortal’s fatal blow. Life suddenly seemed devoid of meaning.
Xu Fengnian took a deep breath.
They had arrived at Huaiyang Pass’s southern gate.
If the Northern Mang’s assault on Liangzhou had been led by Murong Baoding, Xu Fengnian wouldn’t have needed to come at all.
But fate was fickle—Dong Zhuo had come.
Not only that, but the size of Dong Zhuo’s private army, long a subject of ridicule in the Northern Mang’s southern court, had doubled overnight!
During the first Liang-Mang war, Dong Zhuo’s forces had suffered significant losses, though not crippling ones. The Northern Mang’s southern court had always mocked his private army. Rumor had it that the old empress, upon meeting the chubby boy who called her “Imperial Sister,” had once smiled and told him, “Dong Fatty, you may keep your private army in the south, but don’t exceed a hundred thousand. Cross that line, and I’ll promote you—to northern general.” Whether true or not, Dong Zhuo’s forces had since hovered around sixty thousand, peaking at eighty.
Yet now, as Dong Zhuo petitioned to attack Huaiyang Pass, eighty thousand fresh Grasslands cavalry had seemingly materialized in his camp overnight!
Add to that the ten thousand Rouran Iron Cavalry gifted by the empress, and Dong Zhuo’s private army now dwarfed those of Tuoba Pusa, Huang Songpu, and Liu Gui combined, dominating the Northern Mang!
Both the Western and Northern courts must have been equal parts horrified and baffled.
Just what was this secretly amassed force for? Rebellion—or not?
At that moment, outside Huaiyang Pass, the Wu Family swordsmen’s gaze fell upon a flattering, mountain-like Fatty standing at the gate.
In the twenty years of Beiliang’s frontier wars, two figures had stood out in the art of sycophancy.
Li Gongde excelled at buttering up Xu Xiao with effortless grace.
Then there was the Fatty whose poetic talent earned him the nickname “Chu Eightfold,” known for laying it on thick with the young master in the most cringe-worthy ways.
Xu Fengnian dismounted, and Chu Lushan naturally took the reins, his movements practiced.
In the twilight, the two entered the city side by side.
Xu Fengnian remained silent.
After a pause, Lu Qiuer spoke softly, “I am at peace. I ask that Your Highness be at ease as well.”
Xu Fengnian kept his eyes forward. “That’s hard.”
Chu Lushan halted, murmuring to himself, “To be honest, this world, this empire—it’s never brought me, Chu Lushan, any joy.”
In the dim tunnel of the gate, shadows cloaked their faces.
Chu Lushan stopped and turned with a faint smile. “Because this empire has made the son of the man and woman I respect most… unhappy.”
The young king stopped too, saying nothing.
Chu Lushan couldn’t see his expression—and didn’t want to. He turned back around.
The two stood motionless in the darkness.
Suddenly, Chu Lushan spoke firmly. “Don’t send me off. In all my battles, I’ve never needed farewells—or someone to collect my corpse.”
He strode forward, emerging from the tunnel to gaze at the sky.
In his life, he’d flattered that young man countless times, spouting endless sycophantic drivel.
Now, the Fatty remembered a time long ago, when he’d carried a child on his shoulders while riding a Xu family warhorse.
Two brothers of different names, galloping together into the western wind.
With his back to the youth, the Fatty whispered in his heart:
*Xiao Nian, my brother—we need not meet again.*
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