After discussing the distant martial world, Wei Gaowei couldn’t help but shift to the one closer to home. “Miss Liu, your Heavy Sword Pavilion has an orderly lineage and is one of the few renowned martial families in Bozhou. It’s truly a pity that its reputation is overshadowed by the Eastern Yue Sword Pool and the Great Chest Platform. If it were anywhere else in the Central Plains, the Heavy Sword Pavilion would undoubtedly be the leading force in a region’s martial world.”
Liu Wanqing, whose horsemanship was mediocre, didn’t dare clasp her hands in gratitude but turned her head to express her thanks. “Wanqing appreciates Brother Wei’s recognition of the Heavy Sword Pavilion.”
Wei Gaowei waved his hand and declared loudly, “I’m just speaking the truth. I’ve long admired the Heavy Sword Pavilion. Its ‘heaviness’ isn’t just about swordsmen wielding massive blades—it lies in the grandeur of its sword techniques, their boldness and unyielding spirit, even among its female practitioners. Just this alone makes the Heavy Sword Pavilion worthy of standing firm in the martial world. Sect Leader Liu absolutely deserves a place on Huishan Mountain’s Great Snow Platform!”
Liu Wanqing felt her heart sway. As she turned away, the female knight pursed her lips slightly, lost in thought.
Wang Fumi, pure-hearted and sincere, simply rejoiced at their harmonious interaction.
Xu Fengnian sighed inwardly. *Old Wang, when divine couples roam the world together, remember: guard against fire, theft, and brothers-in-arms.*
Wei Gaowei’s smooth-talking charm worked wonders in small places like Bozhou. Though not yet thirty, he had likely spent over a decade navigating the martial world’s muddy waters—far more experienced than Wang Fumi, who was still just a scholar. When it came to scheming, Wang was leagues behind “Hero Wei.”
As they traveled north, Wang Fumi remained oblivious, and even Liu Wanqing might not have noticed anything amiss. But Wei Xiaoshuang, relying on intuition, began to show hostility, repeatedly inserting herself between Liu Wanqing and Wei Gaowei to cut their conversations short. Wei Gaowei took it in stride, and Liu Wanqing didn’t dwell on it.
After all, Liu Wanqing came from an upright family, and her bond with Wang Fumi was forged through hardship. She wasn’t the type to fall for someone at first sight or abandon old ties for new affections.
Yet love between men and women was strange—many could endure the harshest frost but crumbled under the gentlest spring breeze. Especially for naturally sensitive women, shifts in affection happened quietly, slowly, until the final, earth-shattering break.
Xu Fengnian, sensing the brewing trouble, felt a twinge of sympathy. His initial impression of Wei Gaowei had been poor—not just because the man was a fame-seeker (what man didn’t crave face, even if it meant boasting?), but because of the shrewd calculation hidden beneath his righteous facade.
Was slapping the table, drinking heavily, and swearing brotherhood in times of crisis true heroism?
Of course not.
Wanderer Wei Gaowei was far more polished than such crude men, but at heart, they were the same.
Human nature divided into two kinds: sunflowers and moss.
Wang Fumi, skilled in swordsmanship yet untouched by the martial world’s machinations, belonged to the former. Wei Gaowei, well-versed in its rules and seemingly affable, belonged to the latter.
Still, Wei Gaowei’s charm wasn’t entirely off-putting, nor was he outright villainous. Men like him thrived in the martial world for a reason—they were indispensable for banquets, flattery, and reputation-building.
Just as Xu Fengnian was about to intervene, the usually taciturn Song Xianhu surprised him. While washing their horses by the stream, Song teased Wang and Liu about when they’d get engaged, joking that he’d need to start saving for the wedding after their trip to the Eastern Yue Sword Pool. The remark turned both Wang and Liu beet red.
Xu Fengnian glanced at the seemingly offhanded “Little God of Wealth” from Fulong County, who met his gaze and nodded knowingly.
Later, while feeding the horses, Song Xianhu hesitated before approaching Xu Fengnian with a bag of feed. “Young Master Xu, your horsemanship rivals that of seasoned cavalrymen—I’m deeply impressed. This feed recipe comes from a retired soldier who claimed to have fought in the Spring and Autumn Wars, including the Snow Night March on Luzhou and the Battle of Xileibi. I was skeptical, but his formula works wonders.”
The merchant smiled. “I may be a businessman, but the people I admire most aren’t the ‘Ginseng King of Liaodong’ or the ‘Wealth God of the Northwest’—it’s the frontier cavalry, charging through snow and wind, their black armor dusted with frost. What a sight!”
Xu Fengnian nodded. “Frontier cavalry not only guard our borders but expand them. I, too, admire them.”
Song laughed. “Then we’re kindred spirits. Forgive my boldness in calling us so.”
Xu Fengnian grinned. “The honor is mine.”
—
The Eastern Yue Sword Pool wasn’t just a pool.
Back when Xu Fengnian first met Wen Hua, the wooden-sword wanderer had spun a tall tale, claiming the Sword Pool was a massive pond with thousands of swords at its bottom. Disciples would “fish” for their weapons with rods, and whichever blade they hooked became theirs. The absurdity had left Xu Fengnian awestruck—until he learned it was all nonsense.
By then, one had just entered the martial world, while the other had already left it.
Yet Wen Hua’s exaggeration reflected the lower rungs of the martial world’s yearning for its towering legends—their freedom, their heroism, their promise that hardship wasn’t the world’s fault but their own lack of fortune. *If we swim deeper, we’ll see wonders. If not, it’s just fate.*
Past the legendary “Immortal’s Slope,” where Lü Zu was said to have paused his flying sword for a drink, they entered the Sword Pool’s domain. Though the actual pool was miles away, everyone but Xu Fengnian fell into a strange, almost mystical state, as if the very landscape brimmed with sword energy.
The closer they got, the heavier the atmosphere grew. Even Wei Gaowei lowered his voice, and the group slowed their horses, wary of seeming provocative.
The illusion faded only when they saw the plaque bearing the words “Eastern Yue Sword Pool.”
Liu Wanqing, deeply moved, recalled her father’s words about his own fleeting epiphany on a snowy night—how, for a brief moment, he’d glimpsed the Grandmaster realm, sensing all things as swords while acutely feeling his own physical limitations.
*But how could a journey from Immortal’s Slope to the gate take less than an incense stick’s time?*
The mystery would have to wait until she returned home. Among their group, only Wei Gaowei’s depth was unknown; the rest, in her eyes, paled in martial skill.
Lost in contemplation even after dismounting, Liu Wanqing marveled at the unfathomable wonders of the martial path.
Wang Fumi stood beside her, respecting her silent reverie.
Ye Yan warned her lively younger brother against causing a disturbance in this foremost martial sanctuary.
Wei Gaowei whispered to the noblewoman Wei Xiaoshuang about the stone lions at the gate—”Guardians of Mountains and Seas,” crafted to imperial standards rivaling those of princes. The male lion had been stolen multiple times during chaotic eras, while the female bore a near-piercing scar from Li Chun’gang’s visit.
Xu Fengnian studied the plaque, its four characters penned by the founding emperor of the Great Feng Dynasty, exuding an overbearing sword intent.
Xu Baozao murmured beside him, “Another acquaintance here? Or are you paying respects to the late Sect Leader Chai?”
Xu Fengnian remained silent.
The Sword Pool’s gates were shut.
He looked up, sensing the subtle tension of an approaching storm.
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