Chapter 13: Old Kui with the Sword, Old Huang with the Chest on His Back

To say that Xu Fengnian wasn’t the least bit afraid would be a lie to himself.

However, Xu Fengnian trusted his instincts. The old monster trapped at the bottom of the lake for over a decade shouldn’t have any reason to hold a grudge against him. After all, they had shared a peculiar bond over the years—countless chicken legs and roasted meats tossed into the water by Xu Fengnian, who would dive down every now and then during spring and summer to make his presence known. By now, they had at least some semblance of camaraderie.

Xu Fengnian had never mentioned this to his father, Xu Xiao, but he was certain the old man already knew. At most, Xu Fengnian felt a lingering gratitude for the life-saving favor from years ago. Even if releasing this caged beast from the lake angered the Great Pillar of the Nation, the worst that could happen was a whipping. Besides, Xu Fengnian was curious—just how deep did the hidden talents of the Northern Liang Palace run? And was this old monster, who had spent over a decade in hibernation, truly on par with the legendary top ten masters of the realm?

Xu Fengnian feigned calm and said, “Old Huang, do you know what I’m doing? Why follow me? Can you even swim? Don’t drown!”

The old servant gave a shy smile but said nothing. As if feeling the weight of his bundle, he adjusted his frail frame and lifted the wooden case slightly.

When they reached the center of the lake, Xu Fengnian drew the unadorned Chunlei dagger from its plain sheath—far less ostentatious than the embroidered Xiudao—took a deep breath, and hurled it downward with the blade pointing straight into the depths.

A long moment passed. Nothing happened.

Xu Fengnian nearly cursed aloud. Had this been another wasted effort? Would he have to dive in and retrieve the dagger himself?

Old Huang slowly shuffled to the bow of the boat and stood motionless.

Xu Fengnian sighed. “Old Huang, stop pretending to be some grandmaster. How ‘high’ can you possibly be? I know you better than that.”

Old Huang turned his head and grinned.

Xu Fengnian glared. “What’s so funny? Think having no front teeth makes you special?!”

In an instant, the lake erupted with a violence never seen before—waves churning as if the heavens and earth were being overturned.

Xu Fengnian’s first instinct was to grab Old Huang and flee, leaving the mess for his father’s men to handle. After all, as the Young Master who couldn’t even hold onto his dagger while practicing a simple sweeping strike, it would be sheer stupidity to challenge the old monster head-on.

But soon, Xu Fengnian noticed something strange about the small boat. Despite the terrifying turbulence, the old groom—who had always been the first to bolt at the slightest hint of danger during their three-year journey—merely stamped his foot lightly, and the rocking vessel instantly stabilized, as immovable as a boulder.

Old Huang even had the audacity to turn and grin, gesturing to a height roughly equal to Xu Fengnian’s own—as if to say, “This is how ‘high’ I am.” Xu Fengnian was torn between laughter and exasperation. *Damn you, Old Huang. Now’s the time for jokes? Don’t come crying when the old monster knocks out the rest of your teeth—oh wait, you don’t have any front teeth left to lose!*

From the third-floor corridor of the Listening Tide Pavilion, a gray-robed figure leaped down, landing on one foot before springing gracefully toward the lake.

Xu Fengnian instinctively raised a hand, only to realize he had no cucumber to munch on. What a shame—this was prime entertainment.

The Listening Tide Pavilion, known among martial artists as the “Armory,” housed five guardians. Xu Fengnian, who had climbed all over the place as a child—even relieving himself in corners when nature called—had grown up calling them “Uncle” and “Grandpa” with practiced familiarity.

The guardian who had just emerged from the third floor was a Daoist master, a patriarch of the Nine-Peck Rice Sect, one of the three great Daoist traditions. According to his mentor, Li Yishan, this man was a true expert in the mystic arts, a genuine second-rank master who had willingly become a servant in the pavilion for the sake of a rare manuscript, *The Kinship of the Three*. As a child, Xu Fengnian had often ridden on the old man’s back when he grew tired of climbing stairs.

Clad in wide gray Daoist robes, the Nine-Peck Rice elder skimmed across the lake’s surface like a dragonfly skimming water, his sleeves swirling as he summoned two towering water pillars that shot straight toward the lake’s center.

Seeing that the boat wasn’t in danger of capsizing, Xu Fengnian relaxed and marveled, “So Grandpa Wei is this formidable? If I’d known, I’d have taken him on my travels. Those bandits would’ve been pissing themselves!”

Old Huang turned his head, his wrinkled face etched with a look of bitter grievance.

Not wanting to hurt the feelings of the man who had endured three hard years by his side, Xu Fengnian quickly added, “No matter how strong Grandpa Wei is, he could never replace you, Old Huang. The world has plenty of experts, but only one who can weave straw sandals and catch fish!”

The old servant responded with a tender, almost affectionate smile that sent shivers down Xu Fengnian’s spine. “Focus on the show!” he urged, turning back to the lake.

Two pitch-black chains burst from the water like dragons rising from the sea, their ends gripping two handleless blades—one gleaming like snow, the other crimson as blood. In Xu Fengnian’s words, they were “damn impressive,” the very epitome of a master’s aura. If he’d had a stack of silver notes on hand, he would’ve shouted, “Reward them!”

The twin blades shattered the Daoist’s water dragons in an instant.

Then, a towering figure surged from the lake—freed from the weight of the copper balls that had anchored him underwater for years. The white-haired old monster threw back his head and laughed, the sound nearly rupturing Xu Fengnian’s eardrums.

With a swing of the chains, the scarlet blade arced through the air, its overwhelming force splitting the sky with a howling gale.

The Daoist elder let out a soft cry, stomping the water to summon a towering wave that surged toward the blade.

The wave was cleaved in two. The blade’s momentum unstoppable, the old Daoist flicked his sleeves, attempting to block what was perhaps the most ferocious strike he had ever faced.

It was futile.

His wide sleeves disintegrated instantly.

Defeated in a single move, his body was sent flying before crashing into the lake, his fate unknown.

So the old monster had blades too.

Like Bai Hu’er Lian, he wielded dual blades—one summoning snowstorms, the other stirring waves. Xu Fengnian wondered which of the two was stronger.

Dazed, Xu Fengnian muttered, “Is this old monster invincible? If I’d known masters were this awe-inspiring, I might’ve listened to Xu Xiao and trained properly.”

Old Huang, ever the contrarian, turned and shook his head with a simpleton’s chuckle. “Not invincible, not invincible.”

Xu Fengnian focused intently. He noticed something terrifying—the old monster’s chains were fused into his very bones, becoming one with his body. This wasn’t mere binding; it was sheer madness. Who would be so obsessed, so arrogant, as to merge themselves with their weapons? If someone seized control of those blades, wouldn’t the pain be unbearable?

The twin-bladed old monster leaped onto a pavilion, swinging his weapons lightly. The expensive structure collapsed into dust, and the white-haired fiend laughed maniacally, his hair whipping like a demon’s.

The remaining four guardians of the Listening Tide Pavilion emerged, forming a defensive formation with solemn expressions.

Atop the Cool Breeze Mountain, the Great Pillar of the Nation, Xu Xiao, sat on a wooden stool, sipping green-ant wine from a master-crafted red clay teapot as he watched the spectacle unfold below. Beside him stood his adopted son, Yuan Zuozong, the “Left Bear,” his phoenix eyes narrowed.

Xu Xiao chuckled. “How many moves can they withstand?”

Yuan Zuozong, who had once carved through battlefields on a white horse with a silver spear, replied softly, “Father, Left Bear wishes to test himself.”

The Great Pillar shook his head. “No need. Someone below will handle this monster. Fengnian won’t be harmed.”

On the second-floor corridor of the Listening Tide Pavilion, a figure in white robes stood by the railing, a Xiudao at his waist. After a moment’s observation, he pushed the blade an inch out of its sheath before sliding it back, then turned and retreated inside.

Even Li Yishan, the palace’s most esteemed strategist, emerged from his dim quarters to witness the rare spectacle. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he murmured, “Sword Nine Huang, Chu Kuangnu… How many buildings will be destroyed this time?”

The old monster paid no heed to the guardians, as if few in the world were worthy of his attention. Instead, he roared, “Huang Laojiu! Come out and die!”

Xu Fengnian gaped. “Huang Laojiu? Old Huang, is he talking about you? Please don’t tell me you have some grudge with this old monster!”

Old Huang reached back and tore away the tattered cloth covering the long, ominous rosewood case that always sent a chill down Xu Fengnian’s spine. He turned and grinned—still toothless, as always. Every time Xu Fengnian saw that smile, he wondered how the old man managed to drink yellow wine without his remaining teeth letting it all leak out.

The old monster’s wild white hair and ferocious expression locked onto the boat’s bow, where the hunched groom stood with his case.

In the tense silence, Old Huang reached out a withered hand to stroke the case, then turned to Xu Fengnian with his usual foolish grin. Tilting his head back, he mimed pouring wine into his mouth and asked, “Young Master, how about it?”

Xu Fengnian laughed despite himself. “Look at you! Can’t you at least pretend to be a master? If you somehow win this, I’ll treat you to a hundred jars of Longyan Chenggang yellow wine!”

The groom—called “Huang Laojiu” by the old monster and “Sword Nine Huang” by Li Yishan—smiled faintly. In that instant, Xu Fengnian felt as if his vision had blurred. The foolish, simpleton-like aura was gone, replaced by something indescribable. The old servant, standing as steady as a mountain, suddenly seemed even more imposing than the blade-wielding monster.

Among the three grand plaques of the Listening Tide Pavilion, one read, “Aura Pierces the Heavens,” referring to the legendary, near-mythical sword energy recorded in ancient texts. Xu Fengnian thought, *If Old Huang really knows how to wield a sword, this calls for a thousand toasts!*

*Damn it all!*

Without any visible movement, the rosewood case trembled, emitting a dragon-like hum—not piercing, but soul-shaking.

Xu Fengnian was stunned. *The same Old Huang who’d stolen chickens and dodged hoes with me for three years… is actually a master?*

“Sword One.”

Whispering the words, Old Huang stepped lightly off the boat’s bow. The small vessel glided smoothly backward toward the shore, leaving gentle ripples in its wake.

Xu Fengnian watched as the frail figure strode across the water.

The rosewood case opened at the top, and a sword shot forth.

Atop the mountain, the Great Pillar stood abruptly, murmuring in unison with Li Yishan inside the pavilion:

“Sword One—Dragon and Serpent.”

The blade-wielding old monster laughed wildly. “Good, good! Huang Laojiu, I’ve waited years for this! Today, I’ll break all nine of your swords and leave you with one less to carry!”

Xu Fengnian, an outsider to martial arts, was furious.

Here was a clash between two of the world’s greatest masters, yet to him, it was just a blade against a sword—utterly incomprehensible. It lacked even the spectacle of the old monster’s earlier duel with Grandpa Wei.

The only thing he noticed was another sword flying out of the rosewood case.

Xu Fengnian didn’t realize that the highest forms of combat always returned to simplicity.

The Great Pillar, forgetting to drink, held his cup and sighed. “Sword Two.”

Inside the pavilion, Li Yishan murmured, “Twin Lotus.”

The two men, one on the mountain and one at its waist, were eerily in sync.

One sword became two. Two became three.

“Sword Three.”

“Three Pounds.”

Three swords filled the sky, their light enveloping heaven and earth.

The twin-bladed old monster. The three-sworded Old Huang.

They were like demigods.

Xu Fengnian plopped onto the boat’s deck, grinning foolishly. “Reward them! This is top-tier skill!”