In the span of a single night, the two arrived at the ferry crossing by the She River, where they could already glimpse the distant silhouette of Huishan Mountain’s Guniudagang Ridge—and, of course, the opposing Longhu Mountain.
Had it not been for the girl’s slower pace, they might have reached Huishan’s Daxueping before dawn.
Now, they waited at the ferry for the departure of a massive two-story vessel. Huishan had become a true holy land of the martial world, and the sight of snow atop Daxueping had even been dubbed one of the “Ten Scenic Wonders of Liyang” by enthusiasts. Martial artists flocked to Huishan daily, as numerous as fish crossing a river. Multiple ferry crossings along the She River offered direct passage to the mountain’s base—though boarding required a hefty toll of one tael of silver! Of course, one could also travel by land, but that meant missing the breathtaking view of Queyue Tower from the river. Ever since rumors spread of someone spotting the legendary purple-clad figure of Huishan atop the tower from a ferry, business had boomed. After all, while anyone could set foot on Huishan, very few could ascend to Daxueping on Guniudagang.
With still some time before departure, Xu Long Xiang and the girl from the Xu family of Guanhai sat at a porridge stall for breakfast, surrounded by burly, rough-looking men exuding an air of lawlessness. One of them, catching sight of Xu Baozao’s slender waist and the alluring curve of her hips beneath her coarse skirt, felt his blood rush. If only she wore silk like a noblewoman, that plump rear would be downright lethal! But when the men eagerly maneuvered for a glimpse of her face, they quickly cursed and retreated in disappointment.
Xu Baozao remained indifferent—until she noticed the faint smirk on Xu Long Xiang’s lips. Annoyed, she pressed a finger to her temple, feigning to peel off her mask.
Xu Long Xiang said flatly, “Face the consequences yourself.”
Grudgingly, she lowered her hand. “Who are you handing me over to?”
He didn’t mince words. “Not a person, exactly. More accurately, to Huishan. You’ll be safe there—even someone like Song Li wouldn’t dare touch you.”
Her expression turned icy. “Other than that woman on Huishan, what’s the difference between anyone else and Song Li? They’re probably worse than a high-ranking general like him.”
Xu Long Xiang rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Come to think of it, I never asked what you wanted. Diverting Gao Tinghou’s cavalry was already accomplished, and with my disciple guarding that boy, there shouldn’t be any major issues. I brought you to Huishan because I mistook you for someone from my past. But it’s not too late to change plans. I’d rather not owe Huishan a favor for nothing.”
Xu Baozao remained silent.
He continued, “Though I don’t care for Song Li, many women would consider him a rare catch. Skilled in both literature and martial arts, a self-made man, still young yet already a high-ranking general, even serving as a deputy military governor…”
She cut in sharply, “Between men and women, is mutual affection not necessary?”
Xu Long Xiang chuckled. “Should I toss you in front of Song Li, then? I can’t—I might not resist the urge…” He trailed off, genuinely concerned he might kill Song Li on impulse, forcing the Guangling Circuit to find a new deputy governor.
The porridge stall attendant urged them to pay and leave, not to hog seats and delay business.
Xu Baozao watched as the man in green obediently paid in copper coins, finding it odd. She had secretly read tales of gallant heroes and star-crossed lovers in her chambers. Though she never left the Xu family estate, she envied the freedom of those who lived and died by their own choices. After turning ten, she hadn’t even been allowed to visit temples.
Xu Long Xiang weighed the change in his hand, then spotted a vendor selling golden persimmons. After haggling, he bought two catties, bundling them in his robe before squatting at the dock’s edge and tossing one to Xu Baozao.
She wiped it carefully with her sleeve before taking small, delicate bites, shielding her mouth with her hand. The persimmon was ripe but still carried a faint bitterness.
Xu Long Xiang devoured his with gusto. “I’ve had persimmons from all over—chicken-heart yellows from Longxi in Beiliang, ox-heart persimmons near the capital, lotus persimmons from Yuezhou, square ones from southern Jianzhou. But none compare to the wild ones I had years ago in Jiangnan—small, bright red, delicious.”
Xu Baozao frowned. “Your table manners are atrocious.”
He ate one after another until only two remained, then gazed into the distance.
Unconsciously, it had been over a decade since Old Huang, the gap-toothed man, passed away.
Suddenly, Xu Baozao crouched abruptly, feeling a breeze over her head. She turned to see a sly-faced man retracting his hand, clearly having aimed for her rear.
She glared. The short, wiry man, with a gold-sheathed dagger at his waist, grinned and taunted her with a crude gesture.
Furious, she snapped at Xu Long Xiang, “You’re just going to ignore this?!”
He sat cross-legged, hands on his knees, eyes narrowed in amusement. “A decade or so ago, I wasn’t much better.”
She hurled her half-eaten persimmon away. “You’re disgusting!”
He laughed. “A man’s not a man if he’s not a little shameless in his youth.”
She glared at him in utter disappointment. “How could someone like you become a martial arts master? Heaven must be blind!”
Xu Long Xiang nodded absently. “Yeah, yeah.”
Encouraged by his lack of reaction, the dagger-wielding man and his two burly companions closed in, leering. One crossed his arms. “This girl’s face might be a letdown, but in the dark or under covers, with that body? Bet she’s as good as any courtesan!”
The short man sneakily extended a foot, as if to “measure” her curves.
In an instant, all three men soared into the air like uprooted bamboo, landing gracefully on the She River’s surface. With effortless ease, they skimmed across the water, vanishing swiftly from sight.
The onlookers were awed. Such mastery of qinggong! Truly, experts reveal nothing until they act!
If only the trio hadn’t shrieked like startled hens, their exit would’ve been flawless.
Xu Long Xiang clicked his tongue. “Impressive.”
Xu Baozao, who’d briefly reconsidered her opinion of him, scowled again. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were the one wearing a mask!”
For once, he didn’t retort, just hunched his shoulders, sleeves tucked, gazing into the distance like a peasant eyeing his harvest.
She sneered. The scholars in her books were all refined, noble, and graceful—nothing like this!
They remained silent until the ferry’s departure. Xu Long Xiang motioned for her to board first, noticing the men’s lingering gazes. As she stepped onto the plank bridging the dock and boat, she suddenly turned, raising two fingers in a warning for him to mind his eyes.
He smiled and nodded.
They stood at the stern, avoiding the cabin. Xu Long Xiang leaned on the railing while she finally broke the silence. “Your disciple—can he really escort them safely to Jianzhou’s border?”
He hummed in affirmation.
She pressed, “Your disciple and that young swordsman—their blades hum in their sheaths. Are they like the land-bound sword immortals from legends, who can slay from a thousand miles away?”
He laughed. “Far from it. In the last century, true sword immortals were few—Liu Songtao of Zhulushan, Li Chun’gang the Sword Master of the Spring and Autumn Era, and Deng Tai’a the Peach Blossom Sword God. Even today’s second- and third-ranked swordsmen, Yu Xinqing and the female sword servant Cui Hua of the Wu Family Sword Vault, fall short.”
She muttered, “I’ve only heard of Lü Zu from Wudang Mountain.”
He smirked. “Your Liu Guanshan never told you these tales?”
She frowned. “Liu Gongzi was a guest of our Xu family. We’re not close. He said he only saw me from afar years ago.”
Xu Long Xiang asked, “The scholar who broke off two engagements?”
She scoffed. “I saw him once at a temple when I was young. A hypocrite.”
He shook his head. “Liu Guanshan may not be truly chivalrous, but that scholar might not be a fraud.”
She mocked, “And you’d know?”
He sighed. “Liu Guanshan isn’t a bad man—he risked his life for you, even defying a deputy military governor. His feelings were real. As for that scholar, he chose filial piety over love—a hard decision. You’re too young to understand.”
She snapped, “What nonsense are you spouting?!”
Xu Long Xiang looked toward Huishan, still distant. The towering Queyue Tower, nine stories high, rivaled only the Listening Tide Pavilion of Qingliang Mountain and the Star-Gazing Platform of the Imperial Observatory. Huishan held deep memories for him—where the old man in sheepskin reclaimed his title as a sword immortal, where he first witnessed the grandeur of the Three Teachings’ saints. The battle when Confucian sage Xuanyuan Jingcheng cleansed the mountain, challenging its patriarch Xuanyuan Dapan, was legendary. The scholar’s declaration—”I invite the Patriarch to die!”—was sheer heroism.
Leaning on the railing, Xu Long Xiang murmured, “Who says scholars lack courage? Xuanyuan Jingcheng’s devotion, like Li Dangxin’s, reached the pinnacle of love.”
Xu Baozao listened intently. Her crude mask made her face’s unnatural hue obvious. The art of mask-making had three tiers: ventilation, rooting, and divine fusion. Shuyu, a former spy of the Listening Tide Pavilion, had once traded a divine fusion mask—costing her ten years of life—for her freedom. Whether she regretted tying her fate to Zhao Xun, the “Ten-Day Emperor,” and dying for him, Xu Long Xiang never knew. But when he last saw her, leaping into the river to save the drowning prince, he thought she might have truly loved him.
He wondered if Zhao Xun ever saw her real face.
Xu Baozao suddenly asked, “Aren’t you worried Gao Tinghou will turn back to chase your disciple?”
He explained, “A skilled qi master arrived in Guanhai. I left traces deliberately to lead them astray.”
Her eyes lit up. “A qi master? Like the immortals who feast on mist and dew?”
He smiled. “You could say that.”
She noticed how his narrow eyes crinkled further when he smiled—like willow leaves in spring. Still, she disliked it.
Xu Long Xiang felt at ease. Having decimated the qi masters of both Liyang and Northern Mang, he now viewed the martial world with the detachment of Deng Tai’a riding his donkey through the rivers and mountains.
Suddenly, he straightened.
Atop Queyue Tower, a flash of purple—like a celestial gazing down upon the mortal realm.
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