Chapter 1027: Falling Like Immortals From Heaven

Facing Zhao Changling, who proclaimed himself an immortal, Tantai Pingjing revealed a trace of mocking smile. “A banished immortal is still an immortal, but the essence lies in the word ‘banished.’ Do you truly believe yourself to be a Daoist master of the mortal world, revered by the common folk as an unattainable terrestrial deity, whether you reside atop the mountains or below them?”

Tantai Pingjing was undoubtedly the last grandmaster of Qi practitioners in the mortal world, and with a single piercing remark, she exposed Zhao Changling’s true nature. Once an immortal descends to the mortal realm, they are no longer an eternal celestial being. It was akin to a high-ranking minister of the imperial court being exiled from the capital, wandering a thousand miles away. Though not reduced to a stray dog, their authority would pale in comparison to their former glory, forcing them to abide by local customs and rules.

Back when Xu Fengnian single-handedly slew countless ancestral masters of Longhu Mountain who emerged from their portraits outside the Imperial Astronomical Bureau in the capital, he had the advantage of the mortal realm’s terrain. Had Xu Fengnian been an ascended immortal himself, facing those Longhu Mountain ancestors who had long since achieved immortality in the heavens, he would have undoubtedly met defeat. Compared to Zhao Changling’s current bluster, Tantai Pingjing was far more curious about how this man had managed to evade the all-encompassing Heavenly Law, escaping death as a scholar and avoiding becoming a fragmented soul in the celestial well.

Zhao Changling did not advance further but instead lingered near the bridge railing, gazing at the quietly flowing river, ceaseless and unyielding, day and night. The elderly man, clad in an ancient Confucian robe from the Spring and Autumn era, clasped his hands behind his back, lost in memories, his brows furrowed as if recalling many unbearable and weighty matters.

One of the three great demons of the Spring and Autumn period, the “Butcher” Xu Xiao, the meritorious general of Liyang whose achievements overshadowed his lord, could divide his life into two phases. His enfeoffment as a prince in the northwestern frontier served as the watershed. Before that, he had served the old emperor of Liyang, Zhao Li, with unwavering loyalty. Afterward, the goodwill between the Xu and Zhao families dwindled to almost nothing. When Zhao Dun emerged victorious in the succession struggle, the new emperor had long harbored grievances against the foremost meritorious minister of the previous reign. The Xu and Zhao families became estranged.

Zhang Julu’s ascension to the pinnacle of the court marked the beginning of the imperial court’s covert suppression of the Northern Liang border army. The imperial examinations imposed barriers on Northern Liang scholars seeking entry into the central plains’ bureaucracy. By appointing Cai Nan, a trusted subordinate of Gu Jiantang, and Zhao Ying, the Prince of Huainan, the court sought to restrain Northern Liang from two fronts. Ultimately, this ensured that the people of Northern Liang, including the Xu family, became outsiders, relegated to the northwestern corner of the central plains, scarcely regarded as compatriots by the central plains’ nobility.

Li Yishan’s reputation as the least remarkable among the top strategists of the Spring and Autumn period stemmed largely from his failure to reverse the situation after Zhao Changling’s death. He did not successfully integrate the Xu family and Northern Liang into the central plains, leaving the Zhao court perpetually viewing Northern Liang as a dire threat. Thus, neither the Xu nor Zhao families emerged victorious. The Xu family’s elite cavalry, superior in strength to the border armies of the two Liao regions, never received financial support from the central plains.

In contrast, the Zhao court sowed the seeds for two rebellions along the Guangling River. Though they covertly facilitated the restoration of Western Chu, achieving the goal of weakening both the feudal lords and military factions, the war’s unfavorable progress and the immense toll on Liyang’s national strength far exceeded the late Chief Grand Secretary Zhang Julu’s expectations. It also emboldened the ambitious Prince Yanchi, Zhao Bing, who had been suppressed in the southern frontier for twenty years, to set his sights on contending for the central plains.

Similarly, the Xu family endured relentless battles, severely depleting their vitality. Even after their resounding victory in the first Liang-Mang war, the Northern Mang cavalry still refused to target the weaker border armies of the two Liao regions and the Ji border, instead resolving to conquer Northern Liang before swallowing the central plains. Thus, as things stood, the Xu family of Northern Liang, the Zhao court of Liyang, and the Northern Mang empress all lost. The true beneficiaries were Prince Yanchi, Zhao Bing, and the puppet Prince Jing’an, Zhao Xun, who was poised to claim the throne. As for the Grand Pillar of the State, Gu Jiantang, one of the four great generals of the Spring and Autumn period, his ultimate choice remained shrouded in suspense.

With Zhao Changling’s counsel, Xu Xiao, despite his towering achievements, avoided the fate of a discarded hound after the hunt. He was enfeoffed as a prince in the northwestern frontier, living out his twilight years in peace.

After Zhao Changling’s death on the battlefield of Western Shu, Li Yishan alone shouldered the burden of the Xu family’s estate. Yet now, with Northern Mang’s four hundred thousand cavalry pressing against Jubei City, the young prince was likely to meet an early demise. Comparing the two strategists of the Xu family—Xu Xiao’s right and left hands—their accomplishments seemed starkly different.

For now, Zhao Changling did not insist on entering the city to the north, and Tantai Pingjing refrained from striking.

The bridge formed its own isolated realm. Given Tantai Pingjing’s divine mastery and immense fortune, carving out a pocket dimension might be a stretch, but isolating celestial senses and creating a temporary barrier was effortless.

Zhao Changling mused aloud, “During the Spring and Autumn period, I was not only a strategist but, at heart, a master of diplomacy. Unlike the ancient sages of the Qin era, who persuaded lords as commoners, I, Zhao Changling, hailed from a noble lineage. Thus, even rulers, generals, and ministers of rival states welcomed me as an honored guest. Time and again, I carried out the Grand General’s orders with flawless success, earning the reputation of ‘unparalleled eloquence and wit.’ Some scholars under the Grand General even believed I alone could handle both strategy and decision-making, rendering the lowborn Li Yishan unnecessary.”

He shook his head slowly, sighing. “The world knows nothing of the truth. Yishan was Confucian in appearance but Legalist at heart, blending the ways of hegemony and kingship. This was the foundation of the Xu family’s military system, enabling the Grand General to rise from repeated defeats. In the end, I, Zhao Changling, was merely the face of the Xu family’s cavalry—an embellishment. Yishan was the indispensable core, the one who provided charcoal in snowy weather. Twenty years ago, Yishan might not have done better or worse than I. But in the two decades since the Spring and Autumn period’s conclusion, I have fallen far short of Yishan. Had it been me, the so-called three hundred thousand Northern Liang cavalry, unrivaled under heaven, would have long since disintegrated or become another’s bridal gown.”

Zhao Changling suddenly turned with a smile. “Heaven’s justice is clear, and retribution is certain. Sect Master Tantai, are you not curious why the Heavenly Law spared me a sliver of mercy?”

Tantai Pingjing remained cold and silent.

Unperturbed, Zhao Changling gazed skyward. “Because among my disciples—Chen Zhibao, Yao Jian, Ye Xizhen, and the Grand General’s brother-in-law, Wu Qi—these four were deemed crucial pieces by the celestial immortals, especially Chen Zhibao, the linchpin. The Spring and Autumn’s nine kingdoms were reduced to one by Liyang’s Zhao court, facing Northern Mang in a north-south stalemate—a balance the immortals endorsed. But if one side, after merely twenty years of recuperation, unified the realm, its territory surpassing even the Qin dynasty’s zenith, granting the people a century of peace, it would defy their design.”

He lowered his gaze, pointing at Jubei City. “Thus, even if Xu Fengnian succeeds in inheriting his title, he should die beyond Liangzhou’s borders, beneath the hooves of grassland steeds. Then, the Northern Liang cavalry would pass to Chen Zhibao, who would guard the northwest, forming a tripartite standoff with Liyang and Northern Mang, perpetuating endless war. Eventually, Liyang’s Zhao dynasty would endure another century, while Northern Mang’s grasslands would descend into infighting after the empress’s death, with the imperial clansman Yelü Dongchuang, the empress’s relative Murong Baoding, and the military magnate Dong Zhuo locked in a three-way struggle, sapping their strength. Chen Zhibao would launch two offensives: first north into the grasslands, reaching the heart of Northern Mang’s royal court, only to be thwarted by the harsh climate; then, in his twilight years, he would attack Liyang, only for the latter to cede Ji Province to the grasslands, prompting them to harass his rear. Chen Zhibao would besiege Tai’an City but fail to breach it, retreating in regret, his dream of conquest dashed. Emperor Zhao Zhuan of Liyang would wage two wars against Northern Liang in his prime and old age, ending in stalemate—Liyang battered but unbroken, Northern Liang victorious yet losing the grand scheme. Ultimately, Chen Zhibao’s Northern Liang dynasty would last but three generations before fading from contention.”

Zhao Changling laughed heartily. “This was perhaps the earliest vision of the world’s fate in the eyes of that eccentric Huang Longshi. Sadly, the brilliant Huang Sanjia sought his own demise, impulsively altering the ordained pattern, enabling Xu Fengnian’s unstoppable rise and thwarting Chen Zhibao’s patient strategy to inherit the three hundred thousand cavalry. Everything spiraled into chaos. If Zhao Ningshen’s summoning of Longhu Mountain’s founding patriarch to battle Xu Fengnian at Chun Shen Lake was merely a probe by the orchestrators—testing the limits of a certain celestial heavyweight—then Liyang’s subsequent breach of protocol, summoning Longhu Mountain’s ancestral masters with the immortals turning a blind eye, shattered their own rules. As for the recent schemes blatantly bolstering Northern Mang, they amounted to tearing off all pretenses.”

He pointed first to the sky, then to the ground, his smile tinged with mockery. “In truth, it’s the same everywhere. Factional strife is inevitable, and they must stir trouble to feel satisfied. One faction exits, another enters, back and forth. Many ancient sayings from the mortal realm have long laid bare the truths of heaven and earth. To be frank, the celestial heavyweight who chose you, Tantai Pingjing, was the one who once employed immortal means to spare me the Heavenly Law’s wrath. This was no reward for merit but a cleanup of loose ends, lest evidence remain. Moreover, he needed me to monitor Chen Zhibao. Otherwise, how do you think Chen Zhibao ascended to the quasi-Confucian sage realm so swiftly after his enfeoffment in Western Shu? Natural progression is rare—it requires gradual accumulation, like a trickle carving a channel. Chen Zhibao’s half-step to sagehood was forced, an imposed fortune. Blame Huang Longshi’s meddling, his reckless opening moves, then passing the board to Xu Fengnian to continue the game. By nature and foundation, Chen Zhibao should have become a Confucian sage in due time.”

Tantai Pingjing finally spoke. “After Cao Changqing’s death, his fortune split three ways. The largest portion scattered into Guangling, the smallest I intercepted, and the third was a bargain—the prerequisite for the first portion to merge with old Western Chu’s territory. This final strand was meant for Western Shu. Why did Chen Zhibao refuse it?”

Zhao Changling smirked smugly. “After inexplicably reaching half-baked sagehood, how could my prized disciple remain oblivious? His collaboration with the ambitious Xie Feiyu was a facade. Chen Zhibao, ever arrogant, would never accept handouts! The man I chose is a once-in-five-centuries genius!”

Tantai Pingjing sneered. “The founding emperor of the Feng Dynasty, a banished immortal reborn, indeed merits such praise.”

Zhao Changling grinned. “Tantai Pingjing, would you like to know which banished immortal you once were? I can enlighten you about your past life.”

The Qi master, usually as detached as the Heavenly Law itself, seemed struck on a raw nerve. For the first time, she erupted in fury. “How dare you!”

Zhao Changling chuckled leisurely. “‘If one could banish sorrow from the eyes, none would believe in white-haired grief.’ The ancients spoke true.”

Murderous intent flashed in Tantai Pingjing’s narrowed eyes. Her snow-white robes, though mostly still, rippled faintly, like a thin stream flowing over stone.

Beneath the bridge, an unnamed slender fish suddenly leaped from the water before plunging back in.

Zhao Changling smiled knowingly.

Tantai Pingjing mirrored his smile. “Calculating to the last detail, unsettling my mind—was this your way of signaling our location to Xu Fengnian in Jubei City?”

Zhao Changling waved a hand. “From the moment I headed north, you began veiling celestial omens. I sensed but a fraction, while Xu Fengnian perceived all. This bridge’s microcosm is but your illusion. I, Zhao Changling, am not naive enough to think a few words could shatter the centuries-old serenity of your Nanhai Guanyin Sect. Using the fish’s leap to test my last reliance—the immortal’s mindset after shedding my celestial form—Sect Master Tantai, as fellow intellectuals, this move was beneath us.”

Tantai Pingjing gazed at the Spring and Autumn strategist, the Xu family’s chief advisor who had once overshadowed Li Yishan, with pity. “Outsmarting oneself—Zhao Changling, do you know where you fall short of Li Yishan?”

Ignoring her, Zhao Changling frowned, turning toward Jubei City with a complex expression—confusion, surprise, and finally, realization and despondency.

Tantai Pingjing strode past him, heading south. Softly, she said, “The ‘Poison Strategist’ Li Yishan was, in truth, the most compassionate. Regardless of circumstance, status, or fate, deep down, he always chose to believe in the world’s goodness and in people’s hearts. You, Zhao Changling, are different. Thus, the one who inherited your legacy could only be Chen Zhibao, while Li Yishan chose Xu Fengnian.”

Zhao Changling stood in place, his back turned to Tantai Pingjing, who was slowly walking away. “I’ve lost, and so have you, Tantai Pingjing.”

Tantai Pingjing continued her steps without pause, descending the ferry bridge and heading south without looking back.

A voice of immense authority faintly echoed in her ears: “Mortal fool, utterly senseless!”

Blood immediately trickled from her ears.

Yet, a tender smile graced her lips as she whispered, “I am willing.”

As she passed, this towering female master of Qi cultivation saw golden light continuously dissipating from her body, her eerie snow-white eyes gradually returning to normal.

Zhao Changling remained where he stood, sighing softly.

A streak of rainbow light landed on the ferry bridge—none other than the young Prince of Beiliang, who had rushed here from Jubei City.

At that moment, the leap of a lone fish in the water might have seemed insignificant, but for Xu Fengnian in Jubei City, it was as startling as a thunderclap right beside his ear.

This alone revealed just how turbulent Tantai Pingjing’s state of mind had been.

Xu Fengnian arrived on the ferry bridge, eyeing the elderly scholar who had previously disguised himself as a fortune-teller—someone who had even managed to evade his perception. Xu Fengnian couldn’t help but feel wary, no less than he would toward the eunuch of Tai’an City, who had lived as long as the nation itself.

Zhao Changling was in no hurry to introduce himself. Instead, he smiled and asked, “Books say, ‘All banquets in the world must come to an end.’ They also say, ‘Life is full of reunions.’ But in the end, since life is bounded by birth and death, it is ultimately a series of partings. As for who I am, why don’t you take a guess?”

Xu Fengnian remained unmoved, his gaze fixed southward, where the towering woman had inexplicably chosen to disperse her own fortune and return it to the world.

Xu Fengnian did not try to stop her, nor did he know how.

Freed from Tantai Pingjing’s restraint, the banished immortal Zhao Changling looked around leisurely and remarked, “Some scholars claim to care for the world, yet their eyes are so high they see only an empty expanse, disdainful of the nation right beneath their noses—like me. Others, however, balance family, nation, and the world. In the Spring and Autumn era, only Huang Longshi and Li Yishan achieved this.”

Xu Fengnian frowned. “Who exactly are you?”

Zhao Changling chuckled, playing the elder. “Didn’t I tell you to guess?”

Xu Fengnian seemed to weigh the pros and cons of taking action.

Zhao Changling acted as if he noticed nothing. “Your mind is unsettled. What, is the Northern Mang army’s approach weighing on you like overgrown weeds? That’s no good omen. With your current state of mind, facing the ‘Heaven-Blessed’ Tuoba Pusa, you stand no chance—at best, mutual destruction.”

Zhao Changling sighed, gazing into the distance. “In the past, the great Chu had the noble Zhao Clan, a family of high officials since the founding of the Dafeng Dynasty, locked in a three-century feud with the Western Shu’s Su Clan. The grudge deepened during the Dafeng’s final years with the ‘Sweet Dew Southern Crossing.’ The Su Clan suffered but, instead of heading to the Guangling River, took an unexpected path and luckily seized Western Shu. During the Spring and Autumn era, the Su Clan, now a royal surname, sought to mend ties, proposing a marriage alliance with the wealthy Zhao Clan of Guangling. The Zhao Clan, eager to secure Western Shu as a refuge in times of war, agreed. A woman bearing the family’s burden married into Western Shu, only to lose in the palace intrigues to another noblewoman. The deceived Shu Emperor, in a fit of rage, poisoned her—she was six months pregnant at the time.”

Xu Fengnian said, “This woman was Zhao Changling’s elder sister. The siblings had relied on each other since childhood—she was like a mother to him.”

Zhao Changling nodded. “Yes. The younger brother rose in the family thanks to his sister, his talents and ambitions finally realized. But in the end, all he received was news of her tragic death and the family elders’ cold words: ‘She brought this upon herself, her death is no loss. The matter ends here—we must not blame the Shu’s Su Clan, lest we make things worse.’ The most hateful part was that after the Shu Emperor learned the truth, he showed no remorse. Instead, at a banquet, he joked to the Zhao envoy sent to mend relations: ‘From now on, any Zhao clansmen visiting Shu shall be treated as honored guests—except that insufferable Zhao Changling, who dared demand an explanation from me. An explanation? My word is divine will. If Zhao Changling dares set foot in Shu, I shall treat him as an enemy.'”

Time had passed, and those sorrows and pains now lay like an old, exhausted dog on the ground, too weak even to whimper.

Xu Fengnian smiled. “I doubt that fallen king ever imagined Zhao Changling would indeed come to Shu—with twenty thousand cavalry at his side. In the history of Western Shu, from its establishment as a prefecture in the Dafeng era to its secession as an independent state during the Spring and Autumn period, never had an external force brought more than ten thousand cavalry.”

Zhao Changling curled his lips. “A pity I never lived to see the Xu family’s iron cavalry storm the Shu capital. The Great General once promised Zhao Changling that once the Shu palace gates were breached, he could charge in first—whether to kill with his own hands or sit on the throne, it was all permitted.”

Xu Fengnian exhaled, then turned and bowed deeply to the elderly scholar. “Xu Fengnian pays his respects to Master Zhao!”

Zhao Changling also turned, shaking his head. “I do not deserve this bow.”

Xu Fengnian kept his head lowered. “You do!”

Zhao Changling had no choice but to return the bow with equal reverence.

Once they straightened, Zhao Changling smiled. “Don’t take what I said that day seriously. All these years, I—Zhao Changling, or rather, half a mentor to Chen Zhubao—am the root cause of your suffering. My descent now is a small compensation. But bound by the Heavenly Dao, or rather, certain powerful figures, I cannot aid you directly. I can only add some extra fortune to Beiliang, barely offsetting the Northern Mang’s unnatural influx of destiny. Celestials have their own rules—no one can truly dominate everything. After all, more oppose Beiliang than support it. This deception is already the limit of… well, you know who I mean.”

Xu Fengnian sighed in relief. “This is already more than enough.”

Zhao Changling shook his head. “But Tuoba Pusa now possesses a celestial physique at the Great Diamond Realm, with insights into the Finger Mystic and Heavenly Phenomena realms so profound they defy belief. His Finger Mystic is the Daoist Great Longevity’s, his Heavenly Phenomena the Confucian Sage’s. Such a terrestrial immortal is no mere terrestrial immortal—even in the heavens, he’d find few equals.”

Xu Fengnian nodded but said, “Tuoba Pusa may not be flawless. I’ll wait for the right moment.”

Zhao Changling looked surprised. “What do you mean? I’m genuinely curious.”

Xu Fengnian blinked. “Heaven’s secrets cannot be revealed.”

Zhao Changling laughed heartily. “As it should be.”

Then, his smile faded. “Tonight, we’ll see.”

Without waiting for Xu Fengnian’s reply, Zhao Changling vanished. “I’ll wander a bit, take this chance to speak with Yishan—words not meant for others.”

—

Xu Fengnian did not return to his study but went straight to the rear courtyard. Jia Jiajia was playing with an adorably clumsy “big cat”—though it was only big compared to ordinary alley strays. In truth, it was still young, fond of bamboo but not strictly vegetarian.

With war imminent, Xu Fengnian couldn’t possibly mobilize his intelligence network or soldiers to transport bamboo to Jubei City just for this little creature. His stance was simple: if the worst came, Jia Jiajia should not die here. He hoped she would leave Jubei City, even Beiliang, for the untouched lands of Western Shu, taking the cat to a sea of bamboo.

Xu Ying was nowhere to be found—likely she had left the city.

Jiang Ni sat on a small stool, lost in thought, not even noticing Xu Fengnian’s approach until he waved a hand before her eyes. She glared at him.

Xu Fengnian sat beside her. “I know you won’t leave, but I need you to promise me one thing. Only then will I let you stay in Jubei City.”

Jiang Ni nodded vigorously. “Tell me!”

Xu Fengnian grinned. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Jiang Ni’s eyes widened in indignation.

Xu Fengnian clasped his hands behind his head and said softly, “It’s good to be alive.”

Jiang Ni huffed. “Nonsense!”

Xu Fengnian retorted seriously, “That’s no nonsense.”

Jiang Ni turned to him curiously. “You’ve been floating around outside—did you land on your head and crack your skull?”

Xu Fengnian leaned closer, smirking. “Why don’t you check?”

Jiang Ni flushed red, barely managing two words: “Pervert!”

Xu Fengnian straightened, resting his chin on his hands as he gazed at the courtyard, sighing.

—

In Jubei City, Xuan Yuan Qingfeng sought Xu Yanbing, demanding a fight.

Xu Yanbing refused, which only made her more insistent. Knowing her temper, he didn’t give her a chance, retreating to the prince’s study to meditate.

Outside the city, a figure in crimson robes soared through the air like a dazzling red cloud.

Thirty miles east of Jubei City, a white-robed figure stood beside a veiled woman.

The former’s striking features blurred gender lines, while the latter’s graceful form hid a horrifically scarred face beneath her veil, her eyes vacant and lifeless.

Xu Ying, clad in red, circled the white-robed figure joyfully upon seeing her.

The white-robed figure pressed a hand to Xu Ying’s forehead, freezing her mid-air.

Withdrawing her hand, the white-robed figure glanced at the veiled woman and said coolly, “Of the three, you are the most pitiful. Neither I nor that vixen ever considered you a rival, yet you deluded yourself into thinking you held a place in his heart. After waiting all these years, finally calculating his descent to the mortal realm, you still failed to meet him—another eternal separation. Why torment yourself?”

The white-robed figure suddenly laughed. “Perhaps it’s better you didn’t meet. It would only have hurt more. In that sense, you, the Little Thought of the Princess’s Tomb, aren’t entirely unfortunate. I only hope you didn’t reveal the tomb’s secrets to the Northern Mang before leaving. With those treasures, the barbarians would’ve conquered half the Central Plains by now.”

Xu Ying landed, her smile radiant.

The white-robed figure, the undisputed top demonic cultivator in both Northern Mang and Liyang, ruffled Xu Ying’s head. “Only you are truly happy and lucky, aren’t you?”

Xu Ying merely giggled.

Luo Yang, the white-robed figure, declared loudly, “That city—soon, it will be renamed Luo Yang City!”

—

Wei Miao, the foremost expert of Nanzhao, resided in a quiet house in Jubei City. Hearing urgent knocking, he opened the door to find his wife—unexpected yet unsurprising—having parted ways with her on Wudang Mountain.

Wei Miao sighed. “Why come here? I told you to return to Nanzhao.”

She rolled her eyes. “Return my foot! Without a man, how’s a woman supposed to sleep at night?”

Wei Miao scowled. “Find one, then!”

She smirked. “If I really brought some bastard to you, you’d smash his skull in one punch.”

Wei Miao, invincible in Nanzhao, had no defense against her. Knowing she wouldn’t leave, he resigned himself and led her inside.

The woman, born in the barbarian mountains, looked around. “That handsome lad’s too stingy. This place isn’t worth much.”

Wei Miao said, “It’s borrowed. He never said it was a gift.”

She pouted. “That tightwad!”

Wei Miao whispered, “He can hear you.”

Instantly, she put on a sweet voice, as if the young prince were right there. “This courtyard is simply marvelous!”

Wei Miao stifled a laugh.

In the end, the old couple sat shoulder-to-shoulder on the steps. Though Wei Miao never considered them some fairy-tale couple, after all these years wandering the martial world, he’d met countless heroines and beauties—yet remembered none.

She leaned her head on his shoulder, eyes closed. “Sorry I couldn’t give you a child.”

Wei Miao, his rough hand gently wiping her tears, spoke softly—this simple man who’d never uttered a romantic word in his life: “Ten Wei Miaos wouldn’t be worthy of you. Really, my wife.”

—

Night fell.

At the cusp of day and night, thunderous roars erupted beyond Beiliang’s borders—yet only the young prince could hear and see them. Even supreme masters like Deng Taiwu sensed nothing.

Zhao Changling appeared atop Jubei City’s walls, laughing skyward. “Gentlemen, if not now, when?”

A celestial voice boomed in response: “Great Chu is the Central Plains!”

A scholar in Confucian robes, having shed his tattered Daoist garb, snorted. “Li Mi! It’s Western Chu, not Great Chu!”

A majestic rainbow light descended silently upon the city walls.

Another celestial proclaimed, “Shall our glorious Central Plains be trampled by barbarian hooves?!”

Another immortal laughed boldly from the Nine Heavens, “Three hundred thousand iron cavalry, guarding the northwest gate of our Central Plains, fighting to the death for twenty years without retreat—what a privilege to witness it with my own eyes!”

Another immortal stepped out of the Heavenly Gate right after, stretching lazily, “Our Dafeng Dynasty was weak back then, but now it’s up to you, the Northern Liang Iron Cavalry, to show your might.”

A towering immortal clad in black armor gazed down at the mortal realm and sneered, “Oh? The barbarians of the grasslands have put on quite the show. Think they’re impressive just because they outnumber us?”

…

One by one, the immortals descended, streaks of rainbow light crashing into various parts of Jubei City.

Dozens of exiled immirals who had ascended in different dynasties—tonight, they all became part of Northern Liang’s fate.

Exiled immortals from the heavens, falling like rain upon the mortal world.

Beneath a loquat tree stood the young prince of the fiefdom, a Liang saber hanging at his waist. Suddenly, the flickering figure of Zhao Changling materialized before him.

Xu Fengnian hesitated, words caught in his throat.

The old man reached out, though his hand could not truly touch Xu Fengnian’s body, as if patting the young prince’s head. “Gatherings and partings, the coming and going of fate—don’t grieve.”

Xu Fengnian raised his arms in a salute, lips pressed tight, silent.

The old man sighed regretfully, “It’s just a shame I can’t help you more.”

Xu Fengnian remained in that upright salute, like a poplar tree in the northwestern deserts—alive for a thousand years, standing for another thousand after death, and enduring yet another thousand in decay.

The old man’s voice grew faint, indistinct. He glanced at the new Liang saber at the young prince’s waist and smiled contentedly. “Fine blade!”

Xu Fengnian’s lips trembled.

The old man chuckled. “The Grand General asked me to pass on a message. He said the greatest achievement of his life, Xu Xiao, wasn’t marrying your mother—it was entrusting Northern Liang to you. But he also said he’s deeply sorry for the hardships you’ve endured.”

Xu Fengnian shook his head.

The old man spoke softly, “Xiao Nian, your mother once always urged you to avoid conflict, to endure when you could, hoping you’d be a gentle scholar. But now, if anyone dares to provoke you in the future—don’t hold back. Strike hard, strike to kill.”

Here, the old man couldn’t help but show a hint of helplessness.

In his memories, the princess consort had never been that kind of woman.

The young man nodded gently, tears streaming down his face.

The old man, his form now barely visible, closed his eyes as if listening intently. He sneered, “Hmm? I think I hear the hoofbeats of our Xu family’s enemies. And they sound quite numerous.”

Opening his eyes, he asked with the same vigor he’d once had when questioning Xu Xiao, grinning, “So, what do we do?”

The new Liang King, Xu Fengnian, unclenched his fist and rested his hand on his saber’s hilt. Laughing loudly, he declared, “What do we do? Simple—we crush them! On the battlefield, the only hoofbeats left will be those of the Xu family’s iron cavalry!”

The old man closed his eyes one last time. Before his spirit dissipated, the strategist of the Spring and Autumn Era seemed to reminisce about the glorious past or perhaps envision a peaceful future. He murmured softly, “Xiao Nian… that’s the way.”