Under the night sky, the grand hall of the feudal residence was illuminated by thick candles as thick as a baby’s arm, casting a bright light that turned the spacious hall as radiant as daylight.
Gathered within were generals whose presence alone seemed to shimmer with an intangible brilliance, complementing the dazzling glow of the hall. Among them were Yuan Zuozong, the commander of the Northern Liang cavalry; Gu Dazu and Chen Yunchui, the deputy commanders of the infantry stationed in Liangzhou; Yang Shenxing, a deputy military governor who had truly integrated into the Northern Liang border forces; Le Dian, who had once served as a deputy general in Youzhou before transferring to the elite Snow Dragon Cavalry and now commanded a heavy cavalry unit; as well as Cao Xiaojiao, Hong Xinjia, and others who had rushed from Youzhou. There were also numerous influential officers summoned to Jubei City, such as Deputy Generals Wang Zhi and Huang Xiaokuai of Lingzhou, the two garrison commanders of the eastern gate of Liangzhou, Xin Yinma and Wei Shaqing, Lingzhou’s Fengqiu Commander Zhu Boyu, Northern Commander Ren Chunyun, and Jiao Wuyi, who had replaced Huang Xiaokuai as the Pearl Commander. These military leaders had gathered to discuss the defense of Jubei City.
Among them, Hong Xinjia, the architect of the Hulu Pass beacon and fortress system, held a relatively low rank. Yet, even the young feudal lord and the two deputy border commanders listened intently as he meticulously detailed the city’s defense strategies.
A group of scholarly advisors in blue robes also attended as observers.
The madman Hong Shuwen was undoubtedly the most legendary figure among the White Horse Righteous Army, rising swiftly to become the youngest cavalry commander under Han Laoshan, the general of Lingzhou. Though he had once roamed the martial world with the young heir and even participated in the assassination attempt on the Liyang prince Zhao Kai at the Iron Gate Pass in the Western Regions, he now stood guard at the entrance of the hall, arms crossed over his sword, eyes closed in cold indifference—like an unyielding door god ready to draw his blade at the slightest provocation.
Bai Yu, the governor of Liangzhou; Wang Jijiu of the Rites Bureau; and Cheng Baishuang, a grandmaster from the Southern Territories, arrived together. After a congenial conversation, Wang Jijiu stealthily produced several jars of his treasured Green Ant Wine and persuaded the two scholars to join him for a drink. Half an hour later, when the advisors announced the night’s military council, the tipsy Wang Jijiu found himself in an awkward position. Showing up reeking of alcohol in the heavily guarded hall would be inappropriate, and he lacked the courage to face the sharp glares of the rough-edged generals.
Wang Jijiu knew exactly who the softest target in Jubei City’s feudal residence was—not the cunning old foxes like Li Gongde or Yang Shenxing, nor the refined and humble Bai Yu, nor even the passionate military advisors. It was the young feudal lord himself. Even if the old man had let slip the embarrassing tale of staggering out drunk, the worst consequence had merely been a humiliating defeat on the chessboard.
Moreover, Wang Jijiu dared not indulge in the eccentricities of a scholar, knowing full well that the Northern Liang’s military and civil leaders had no patience for such antics—nor was he particularly adept at them himself. After vigorously fanning himself to dispel the alcohol fumes, he finally mustered the courage to lead his companions to the council hall.
At the entrance, the door god Hong Shuwen allowed the elegant Bai Yu to pass but barred Wang Jijiu and Cheng Baishuang. Bai Yu, once a young celestial master of Longhu Mountain, embodied the principle of “better you than me” and ignored the old man’s pleas for help, merely casting an apologetic glance over his shoulder.
Wang Jijiu, who had confidently promised Cheng Baishuang entry, now wore a pained expression. He forced a bold smile at Cheng Baishuang, assuring him everything was under control, then turned to whisper to the young general. He argued that the prince trusted the Southern Territories grandmaster, that Cheng Baishuang was a man of integrity who would neither cause trouble nor leak military secrets.
Hong Shuwen, arms still crossed, remained unmoved. No matter how the old man groveled, he refused to budge.
Exasperated, Wang Jijiu abandoned all pretense of scholarly dignity and snapped, “Hong Shuwen! Do you really think the prince won’t let me in if I start shouting right here?”
The unflappable madman smirked. “Go ahead, old man. If the prince orders it, I’ll step aside. But with that stench of alcohol on you, I’m not backing down today!”
Wang Jijiu glared, eyes bulging like copper bells. Hong Shuwen lazily retorted, “What, not happy? Planning to bully me just because you’re older and I’ve trained less?”
The old man nearly spat blood at the shameless young warrior. But as a true scholar, he lowered his voice and extended a single finger.
Hong Shuwen eyed it disdainfully.
Gritting his teeth, Wang Jijiu raised two fingers.
“Scholars,” Hong Shuwen muttered, “always so indecisive.”
Taking a deep breath, the old man slapped five fingers onto the young man’s arm, his face a picture of misery. “This is all I have! Don’t push me further—just give me a straight answer!”
Hong Shuwen finally relented, stepping aside with a grin. “After the meeting, I’ll come collect—five jars of Green Ant Wine. One short, and I’ll tear down your Rites Bureau. And remember—stay on the fringes with the advisors.”
Too heartbroken to bargain, Wang Jijiu hurried inside, tossing a parting whisper to Cheng Baishuang: “Old Cheng, the night breeze is lovely out here. Enjoy the view—I won’t keep you company.”
Once safely inside, Wang Jijiu turned and theatrically wagged a finger at Hong Shuwen, his face a mix of triumph and mockery.
Realizing the promised wine was now a lost cause, Hong Shuwen feigned a kick.
Wang Jijiu beckoned tauntingly, as if daring him to strike—only to bolt when Hong Shuwen made as if to storm the hall.
Unfazed, Hong Shuwen resumed his post, eyes closed.
Cheng Baishuang watched in amazement. How had such refined men—Bai Yu, the eloquent gentleman, and Wang Jijiu, the once-dominant scholar—become so shameless in Northern Liang?
Amused rather than offended, Cheng Baishuang remained outside and asked softly, “Might I stand here and listen to the council?”
Hong Shuwen didn’t open his eyes. “Since the prince allows you free movement in the residence, you can stand, lie, or even stand on your head out here for all I care—just don’t cross the threshold.”
Cheng Baishuang, who carried the aura of a Confucian sage, merely smiled.
Earlier, over drinks, Bai Yu and Wang Jijiu had shared anecdotes about the young feudal lord’s occasional visits to the advisors’ “vegetable garden”—a room filled with young scholars in blue robes, discussing everything from trivial matters to grand philosophies, rarely touching on military affairs. Once, Bai Yu had joined them, and the night had been filled with laughter as the young prince and governor mingled freely with the scholars.
When one advisor declared his willingness to die in battle, the prince had neither praised nor dismissed him. Instead, he reminded them that scholars served best by strategizing and speaking out—not by sacrificing themselves on the battlefield.
Now, standing outside the council hall, Cheng Baishuang pondered these words, gazing at the memorial archway in deep thought.
As the meeting concluded and generals departed in waves, the young feudal lord finally emerged with Wang Jijiu, joining Cheng Baishuang, who had waited for hours. Bai Yu had already left to attend to urgent matters.
Spotting the Southern Territories grandmaster—who had recently ascended to the Great Heavenly Phenomena realm—the prince remarked, “After Cao Changqing and Xuanyuan Jingcheng, the world finally has another Confucian sage to anchor its fortunes.”
As they descended the steps, Cheng Baishuang shook his head. “My limitations prevent me from reaching that realm.”
The prince frowned. “How so?”
Cheng Baishuang smiled. “Even now, I lack the resolve to ‘establish the heart of heaven and earth, continue the lost teachings of sages, and bring peace to all ages.’”
The prince nodded, unperturbed.
Suddenly, Cheng Baishuang asked, “What, in your view, defines a scholar?”
The prince replied, “In peace, they govern. In chaos… they should not be overly burdened.”
Cheng Baishuang pressed, “Should they not rise to save the nation?”
The prince shrugged. “That’s their choice to make—whether they’re willing, able, or daring enough.”
Cheng Baishuang fell silent, then chuckled. “Fair enough.”
※※※
At dawn, outside Jubei City, a rider from Liuzhou’s Old Woman Mountain galloped eastward, reining in abruptly before the gates.
Turning, he saw a figure clad in armor, twin blades at his waist, smiling up at him.
Dismounting, Lou Huang sensed the unfamiliar, intense killing intent radiating from his senior brother and asked, “How is Xie Xichui?”
Yu Xinlang sighed. “Alive, but barely.”
Lou Huang said nothing more.
After a pause, Yu Xinlang said, “I have a favor to ask.”
“Name it.”
“Take Little Green Robe back to the Central Plains. I’d hoped she could grow up carefree by the Listening Tide Lake… but that’s no longer possible.”
Lou Huang shook his head. “Ask someone else. I’m staying.”
Yu Xinlang frowned. “You too?”
Lou Huang scoffed. “Why should you have all the glory?”
Yu Xinlang had no retort.
Lou Huang sighed. “Pity we lack decent swords.”
Yu Xinlang patted his Liang blade. “This works fine. Cuts clean, no need to move the bodies.”
Lou Huang grinned. “Mind sharing one?”
Yu Xinlang decisively refused, “Not a chance.”
Lou Huang clicked his tongue. “I also want you to promise me something.”
Yu Xinlang grinned. “Let me hear it first. Whether I agree or not depends on what it is.”
Lou Huang bared his teeth. “If I kill more enemies than you in the upcoming battle beyond the pass, will you call me ‘senior brother’ from then on?”
Yu Xinlang patted his junior brother’s shoulder and spoke earnestly, “Though it’s said that a junior brother who doesn’t aspire to be a senior brother isn’t a good junior brother, as your senior brother, I can understand this sentiment. But alas, I still won’t agree.”
Lou Huang wasn’t surprised. He tugged at the reins of his horse and walked forward, a faint smile playing on his lips.
During all those years in the Eastern Sea’s Martial Emperor City, the two brothers-in-arms had almost no interaction, let alone casual conversations like this.
Yu Xinlang, who seemed easygoing but was actually the hardest to persuade, possessed talent too great, bones too refined, cultivation too profound, and sword comprehension too deep. Even though he was the most mild-tempered among all of Wang Xianzhi’s disciples, he still gave off the impression of looking down on others from a lofty height.
That version of Yu Xinlang—Lou Huang truly couldn’t bring himself to like.
But the current Yu Xinlang, with his fiercely competitive junior brother Lou Huang, was someone he found hard to dislike.
Yu Xinlang suddenly said, “If we manage to leave the Northern Liang border alive, I’ll find a gentle and charming woman and settle down in a peaceful little village to spend the rest of my days.”
Lou Huang nodded. “Sounds good.”
Yu Xinlang sighed. “It does. But right now, I’m a bit worried. With my looks and charm, finding a pretty young lady from Northern Liang’s Rouge County would be effortless. But what about you, junior brother? What if I come across a woman who’s perfect but not my type, and I want to introduce her to you, but she only has eyes for me? That would put me in a real dilemma.”
Lou Huang took a deep breath.
Then another.
Only then did he suppress the urge to punch someone.
※※※
At noon, in a secluded courtyard of the estate, a white-haired, white-robed, one-armed old man leisurely raised his cup and drank.
This old man, who had a penchant for devouring famous swords of the world, was not only of the same generation as Liu Songtao and had once rivaled Li Chungang in swordsmanship, but he was also the shared master of the Western Shu Sword Emperor and the Sword Nine Huang of Qingliang Mountain.
Across the stone table sat Chai Qingshan, the current sect master of the Dongyue Sword Pool. Though in terms of martial reputation and influence in the Central Plains, Chai Qingshan far surpassed the reclusive “Sword-Eating Patriarch,” in terms of seniority in the martial world, the nearly seventy-year-old Chai Qingshan was still a generation—or even two—below Sui Xiegu.
Sui Xiegu had once visited the Sword Pool in his prime and defeated a senior member of the Song family, who was already in his sixties at the time. Though the elder lost and his sword became Sui Xiegu’s meal, he still held Sui Xiegu in high regard until his dying breath, considering him a true peer in the path of the sword.
When the young Chai Qingshan, an outsider by blood, first entered the Dongyue Sword Pool, he and the previous sect master, Song Nianqing, became fellow disciples under the guidance of their grandmaster, who imparted all his knowledge to them. Thus, upon finally meeting Sui Xiegu in person, Chai Qingshan bowed deeply with genuine reverence.
Recalling those old memories, Sui Xiegu said slowly, “Back then, every time Li Chungang defeated a renowned swordmaster of the martial world, I would follow right after to stir up some trouble. But some swordsmen, after losing to Li Chungang, had their sword hearts tarnished and their sword intent shattered. Naturally, defeating them wasn’t much of an achievement.”
Here, Sui Xiegu glanced at Chai Qingshan and sneered. “Song Nianqing’s father—your master—was one such man. He couldn’t handle defeat and died of depression after the humiliation. In contrast, your grandmaster, though less skilled in swordsmanship than his nephew, the sect master, had a far sturdier spirit. After losing to me, he honed his skills for twenty years and challenged me again—only to lose once more. But do you know what that centenarian said with a smile as he watched me break his sword?”
Chai Qingshan shook his head.
Sui Xiegu sighed, narrowing his eyes. “The old man laughed and said, ‘Damn it, life’s only a hundred years long—how can that be enough to wield a three-foot sword? Not enough, not enough! In the next life, the next hundred years, this old man will still practice the sword!'”
Chai Qingshan remained silent, but his heart was stirred.
Sui Xiegu said flatly, “That said, your master’s downfall in the sword path wasn’t entirely his fault. As the leader of a sect, especially one as ancient and prestigious as the Dongyue Sword Pool, he had borne the weight of his family’s rise and fall since birth. Naturally, it was harder for him to let go.”
Chai Qingshan, still a sect master himself, sighed sincerely. “Indeed, it was no easy burden.”
Sui Xiegu added cryptically, “And even harder for others.”
Chai Qingshan was momentarily taken aback before understanding.
At that moment, Hong Shuwen, who hadn’t left Jubei City with the two deputy generals Wang Zhi and Huang Xiaokuai, strode into the courtyard carrying a massive wooden box. His face was as dark as if someone owed him a million taels of silver. He slammed the box onto the stone table and glared at Sui Xiegu, declaring bluntly, “The Prince asked me to deliver this to you, old man. Six swords in total—aside from the ‘Shu Dao’ and ‘Fu Ji,’ there are also ‘Jing Shi’ and ‘Long Lin,’ among others, all from the Listening Tide Pavilion’s collection.”
Sui Xiegu casually opened the box. A chilling sword aura filled the courtyard, as if winter had descended. Inside lay several legendary swords, like peerless beauties hidden away in secluded chambers.
Sui Xiegu muttered to himself, “That boy actually made a loss for once.”
With a flick of his sleeve, the box snapped shut. He looked up and asked with a smile, “This surely wasn’t your prince’s idea. If I’m not mistaken, it was Xu Weixiong’s daughter’s doing?”
Hong Shuwen, unimpressed by the so-called “Sword-Eating Patriarch,” snapped, “I’m just here to deliver the swords!”
As the young man turned to leave, Sui Xiegu suddenly called out, “Four swords are enough to make me act. Take two back—I’m not one to exploit others’ desperation.”
Hong Shuwen immediately bent down and reopened the box, asking hurriedly, “Elder Sui, which ones are ‘Shu Dao’ and ‘Fu Ji’?”
Sui Xiegu snorted coldly and ignored him.
The “Shu Dao” sword was easily recognizable—its blade was unusually long, and its scabbard bore inscriptions. But identifying “Fu Ji,” which was equally renowned in the registry of great weapons, proved trickier. After much deliberation, Hong Shuwen hesitated between two swords, afraid that picking the wrong one would cost his prince dearly.
Sui Xiegu twirled a strand of his snow-white eyebrow, amused.
Finally, Hong Shuwen gritted his teeth and reached for one that looked like “Fu Ji.” Just as his fingers closed around the scabbard, Chai Qingshan coughed lightly. Hong Shuwen immediately set it down and grabbed another sword with a black scabbard instead. Holding one in each hand, he laughed heartily and strode away.
Chai Qingshan hesitated before saying, “I hope the elder doesn’t take offense.”
Sui Xiegu replied indifferently, “It doesn’t matter.”
※※※
At dusk, an elderly scholar who had shed his Daoist robes walked slowly toward the ferry bridge, heading north.
A tall woman in white blocked his path on the bridge.
The old man paid her no mind and continued forward, asking with a smile, “Why must a Heavenly Being trouble an Immortal?”
The woman, whose eyes were as cold as snow, replied calmly, “Defying the natural order is unforgivable by Heaven.”
The old man feigned surprise. “Oh?”
The tall woman was none other than the grandmaster of Qi practitioners, Tantai Pingjing. Her gaze sharpened. “Zhao Changling! The fact that you weren’t imprisoned in the Water-Moon Heavenly Well was already Heaven’s mercy. Don’t push your luck!”
The old man responded lightly, “And what if I do?”
Standing in the middle of the bridge, she declared, “Take one more step, and even if it means mutual destruction with Xu Fengnian, I will ensure your soul is obliterated!”
The old man burst into laughter. “How terrifying!”
Then his expression turned cold. “But alas, I am the Heavenly Immortal Zhao Changling!”
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