Xu Fengnian stood silently in place. When he snapped back to reality, he noticed the crowd in the square staring at him with varied expressions. Even the sword master Chai Qingshan was whispering to the Wudang Taoist Yu Xingrui, his gaze particularly cryptic and amused.
Xu Fengnian could do nothing about it and had no intention of explaining further—doing so would only be like proclaiming one’s innocence while holding stolen goods.
When he arrived at the courtyard in front of the second hall, he saw Deputy Military Commissioner Yang Shenxing standing beside a one-armed old man with snow-white eyebrows, hair, and robes, looking rather troubled.
Xu Fengnian glanced at the old man, who looked more like an immortal from a Daoist painting than a mortal, and sighed. “Sui Xiegu, last time at Qingliang Mountain, you devoured three famous swords in one go, including ‘Wan He Lei.’ Even if we turned Jubei City upside down, we wouldn’t find a sword to satisfy your refined taste. I’m begging you—don’t stir up trouble.”
The Sword-Eating Patriarch, whose two long white eyebrows nearly reached his knees, curled his lips in a cold sneer. “Don’t play dumb, boy. You know full well I’ve long coveted the swords ‘Fu Ji’ and ‘Shu Dao’ from the Listening Tide Pavilion. I’ve come north this time to strike a deal with you. I’ll kill at least two thousand Northern Barbarians for you beyond the pass, and in return, you’ll give me those two swords. How about it?”
Xu Fengnian refused outright. “I’ve said it before—those two swords have been my second sister’s favorites since childhood. She loved them so much she never dared to take them out of the pavilion, which is why she carried ‘Red Chi’ to the Shangyin Academy instead. Even if I were willing to trade them, do you think I’d dare?”
Sui Xiegu mocked, “Indeed. Even with a hundred extra guts, you wouldn’t dare.”
Xu Fengnian stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Though ‘Fu Ji’ and ‘Shu Dao’ are among the Ten Great Swords of the world, there are still eight others in the Central Plains. How about I get you two swords just as good later?”
Sui Xiegu scoffed. “You might not even live past this autumn. What makes you think you can fetch swords from the Central Plains for me?”
Xu Fengnian slung an arm around the old man’s shoulder casually. “Simple. If I can’t get two swords on par with ‘Shu Dao,’ I’ll make it up with twenty slightly inferior ones! The Listening Tide Pavilion still has seven or eight left, and with the help of the Fish-Dragon Gang in Northern Liang, plus a few favors called in, we can scrape together twenty. What do you say?”
When it came to business, the young prince had no qualms about shedding dignity or pride.
Sui Xiegu shrugged off Xu Fengnian’s arm and twisted a strand of his long white eyebrow, narrowing his eyes as he weighed the offer.
Xu Fengnian pressed on. “Elder Sui, look—so many Central Plains masters are already in Jubei City, and more will come. Getting a few good swords from them shouldn’t be too hard. At the very least, I’ll make sure you have something to go with your wine. After all, we fought side by side against the Human Cat Han Shengxuan—that’s a life-and-death bond! You can trust me, can’t you?”
Sui Xiegu stopped at the study door and turned to the young prince. “Trust you? I’d sooner trust that Tantai woman!”
Xu Fengnian gave a thumbs-up. “Elder Sui, you truly are a legend of the same generation as Liu Songtao from Zhulu Mountain—bold and fearless! Even I wouldn’t dare call Tantai Pingjing ‘that woman’!”
Deputy Commissioner Yang couldn’t bear to watch or listen any longer and strode away in disgust.
Sui Xiegu muttered under his breath, “I admit defeat. For someone so young, your skin is thicker than my belly stuffed with hundreds of swords!”
The young prince took it in stride, grinning. “You flatter me, Elder. Too kind, too kind.”
Once inside the study, Sui Xiegu couldn’t stand Xu Fengnian’s exaggerated hospitality and dragged a chair over himself. He knew full well that the more eager Xu Fengnian acted now, the more he’d regret it later.
Sui Xiegu’s expression turned serious. “Is the Left Cavalry Army truly gone?”
Xu Fengnian, seated behind the desk, nodded.
Sui Xiegu frowned. “Will the Right Cavalry Army join the Great Snow Dragon Cavalry to hold the line, or will you let the Northern Barbarians march straight to Jubei City?”
Xu Fengnian didn’t mince words. “We won’t hold them. We can’t. Rather than pointlessly deplete our field forces, we’ll let the barbarians pile their dead outside Jubei City. If we survive this autumn and winter, by next spring—especially as summer approaches—their cavalry will suffer more with each passing day.”
Sui Xiegu chuckled. “You’re also trying to ease the pressure on Fatty Chu at Huaiyang Pass, aren’t you?”
Xu Fengnian didn’t answer immediately, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.
A man who had lived as long as the shortest-lived kingdom of the Spring and Autumn Era, Sui Xiegu’s accumulated wisdom was not to be underestimated.
The old man glanced around the sparsely furnished study, devoid of even the most basic scholarly ornaments, and sighed. “For a prince with real power, you’re living a surprisingly shabby life.”
Xu Fengnian laughed, waving his sleeve. “A shoulder bearing the moon, sleeves filled with wind, and a house empty of treasures—sure to be remembered in history!”
Sui Xiegu sneered. “You can still laugh? Aren’t you ashamed of letting your father down?”
Xu Fengnian tucked his hands into his sleeves, leaning back in his chair with a faint smile. “Even if I’m a disappointment, Xu Xiao can’t scold me to my face now, can he?”
Sui Xiegu smirked but said nothing. The Sword-Eating Patriarch, who had once exchanged an arm with the Sword God Li Chungang, fell into deep thought before speaking slowly. “In all my years, I’ve never had strong feelings about the Northern Barbarians. But compared to those who only experienced the Spring and Autumn Wars, I’ve seen firsthand the devastation of their cavalry raids. I was just over twenty then, traveling with my sword in Ji Province. At a strategic pass—recorded in old Northern Han histories as ‘Zhiguan Xing,’ though I don’t know what the Liyang court calls it now—I saw thousands of riders charge through.”
The old man’s tone was calm, devoid of heaviness or anger. “I wasn’t a Northern Han native, nor did I care much for nations or borders. My ambition was to reach the pinnacle of swordsmanship, indifferent to worldly affairs. So I didn’t draw my sword to stand alone against the tide. Further north, near Ji Province’s border, the roads were littered with corpses—soldiers, civilians, men, women, and children, all dead in various ways. Your Northern Liang cavalry, from the Spring and Autumn Era to now, would recognize these deaths. But there was one small thing you might not have seen: jackals by the roadside, their bellies swollen like wealthy men in peaceful times, barking at passersby instead of fleeing. Back then, it didn’t move me—survival of the fittest seemed natural, and it only strengthened my resolve to master the sword. But now, remembering that scene, it unsettles me.”
This was precisely why Xu Fengnian didn’t expect the Central Plains masters to stay in Jubei City. As Sui Xiegu said, whether thousands or tens of thousands died beneath the hooves of the northern cavalry—beheaded, gutted, impaled, or shot—to those martial artists who sought only to stand atop the martial world, the sight held a vastly different meaning than it did to border soldiers. Some might have stepped forward to fight, like the young swordsman Sui Xiegu once was, but in the end, they’d retreat once the battle grew too dire, content with having done their part.
Back then, Sui Xiegu had watched coldly, his sword sheathed. Even now, all he felt was a vague discomfort.
Xu Fengnian couldn’t do that.
Not necessarily because he was more compassionate than Sui Xiegu, but because he was born a Xu, raised by that cripple surnamed Xu.
Had he been elsewhere—Ji Province, the Two Liaos—facing the Northern Barbarians as an outsider, a martial grandmaster unbound by duty, he might have fought fiercely like those other masters, then retreated when the odds turned hopeless. He wouldn’t have stood his ground to the death.
Chai Qingshan, Xue Songguan, Wei Miao, Mao Shulang, Cheng Baisuang, Ji Liu’an, and others—whether already in Jubei City or on their way—why should they fight to the death beyond Liang Province’s borders, their flesh and blood against tens of thousands of northern cavalry?
Sui Xiegu broke the silence, his eyes opening. “Heaven gives life to all things, and it can take it away. Xu Fengnian, are you truly unafraid?”
Xu Fengnian smiled. “Did Tantai Pingjing say that?”
Sui Xiegu neither confirmed nor denied.
The old man rose and walked to the window, his broad back exuding loneliness. “In swordsmanship and sword intent, I once believed I was second to none. Yet strangely, I never liked wearing a sword—preferring to gorge on famous blades instead. Maybe Li Chungang was right—I was never a true swordsman. Then what am I? To be asking myself this at my age is laughable.”
Before Sui Xiegu left the study, Xu Fengnian proposed another deal.
The Sword-Eating Patriarch, caught off guard, neither refused nor agreed before striding away.
Outside, the old man walked slowly down the corridor, pausing to gaze at the lush loquat tree in the courtyard.
Not long after, Xu Fengnian also left the study, handing a freshly written secret letter to a senior intelligence officer from the Drizzle Bureau. As they stepped out of the side room, the young prince said calmly, “When you deliver this, tell him that if that day ever comes, I, Xu Fengnian, beg him to do this.”
The aged spy clenched his jaw, nodding fiercely before galloping off on horseback, leaving the princely residence and Jubei City behind.
Xu Fengnian stood on the steps, gazing into the distance as the autumn wind brushed past silently.
The Northern Barbarian army would soon arrive at Jubei City’s gates. Some prepared for death while still alive.
※※※
The young prince turned gently, looking up to see Hehe Girl and the crimson-robed Xu Ying sitting side by side on the roof.
He made a face at them.
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