If Xu Fengnian had heard his father and master’s account, he would surely have given Old Huang a stern lesson about putting more thought into naming sword techniques. If three swords drawn was called “Three Jin,” then would four swords be “Four Jin”?
At the moment, what Xu Fengnian most wanted to ask Old Huang was how many compartments were in that sandalwood sword case and how many swords it held.
The battle ended abruptly, far sooner than expected, leaving the young master, who had barely gotten his fill of the spectacle, feeling even more bored and resentful. He thought to himself, *Old Kui, Old Huang, you two heroes shouldn’t hold back—just tear the manor apart if you must! It’s not like you’ll have to pay for the damages!*
But life rarely goes as one wishes. Xu Fengnian couldn’t very well rush forward, weeping and begging the two masters to continue their duel.
Blades and swords have no eyes—life and death are at one’s own risk.
Later, after an expert explained it to him, the young master learned that Old Huang, with his sword case on his back, had ultimately used three swords in that battle, executing a total of six moves.
It was nothing like the storytellers in teahouses would have you believe—where two legendary masters would duel for days and nights, shaking heaven and earth, moving gods and ghosts to tears.
At this moment, the saber-wielding Old Kui sat on the ruined remains of a pavilion, its base the only thing left intact. His twin sabers were planted in the ground, his face ruddy, his white hair wild as he shook his head and declared, “Not today. We’ll fight another time.”
Meanwhile, the short and scrawny Old Huang stood on the embankment, his sword case strapped to his back. He rubbed his hands together before tucking them into his sleeves. To most of the onlookers, the sight was utterly absurd—this old stableman, who wouldn’t even let out a fart if beaten with a stick, was truly a case of “the real master hides his skills until he shocks the world.”
Xu Fengnian was undoubtedly the most shaken. How could he have known that it was Old Huang who had once plunged Old Kui into the depths of the lake?
Had it not been for that, would Great Pillar of the Nation Xu Xiao have allowed his most beloved son to wander six thousand *li*, constantly teetering on the brink of death yet always narrowly escaping?
Old Kui, seated on the ground, bellowed at Xu Fengnian, “Hey, kid! Bring this grandpa some wine and meat! Once I’m full and drunk, I’ll fight another five hundred rounds with Huang Laojiu! The loser gets to stay at the bottom of the lake!”
Xu Fengnian, hearing Old Kui’s booming voice from afar, hesitated for a long while before finally instructing the manor’s steward to prepare a lavish feast—including an entire roasted suckling pig packed into an oversized food box. Carrying it on his shoulder, he ran toward the embankment.
His steps slowed as he passed Old Huang, throwing him a glance. The old servant, who had been silently lamenting the young master’s failure to reward him with a jar or two of Longyan Chengang wine, rubbed his cheeks and signaled that all was well. Only then did Xu Fengnian muster the courage to approach and set the food box down before Old Kui.
The steward hadn’t forgotten to bring the young master a few crisp cucumbers. Old Kui wasted no time, tearing off a pig leg and stuffing it into his mouth, grease dripping down his chin. After over a decade of eating raw, muddy-tasting carp, the towering old man clearly relished this exquisitely prepared suckling pig.
Xu Fengnian squatted in front of him, slowly nibbling on a cucumber while contemplating how to craft a heartfelt opening line. After all, they had over a decade of history—it was only right to make the most of it.
Back when he’d dived into the lake to see Old Kui, it had felt like two ghosts staring at each other in the underworld. Now that they were finally in the land of the living, it was time to strategize. Otherwise, after all the risks and grand theatrics, if things didn’t pan out, it would hardly align with the young master’s principle of “repaying a drop of kindness with a flood of gratitude.”
Before Xu Fengnian could finish his scheming, Old Kui cut straight to the point: “Back then, it was the Northern Liang King’s scheme and Huang Laojiu’s strength that trapped me at the bottom of the lake, living a life worse than death. Today, you pulled me out—so we’re even. I’ll just spar with Huang Laojiu and reduce his five broken swords to four. As for the Northern Liang Manor, out of the goodness of my heart, I won’t tear it down. Kid, don’t expect me to repay any favors!”
Xu Fengnian blinked, thinking, *Damn, I’ve met my match in shamelessness.* He cautiously asked, “Honored elder, the manor has wine, meat, and Old Huang to spar with you. Why not stay?”
Old Kui scoffed. “There are plenty of masters in this world. Once I break Huang Laojiu’s ‘Sword Nine,’ I’m heading to Emperor Wu City to defeat that so-called ‘Second Under Heaven.’ Then who’s the real number one?! A tiny manor like this isn’t worth my time.”
Old Huang, who had taken off his sandalwood sword case to use as a seat, was chewing on a blade of grass. He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, mimicking the young master.
Xu Fengnian, awkward and at a loss, had no experience dealing with heroes like Old Kui, who killed as easily as slicing melons.
When Old Kui snatched the last cucumber from his hand, took a bite, spat it out, and tossed it into the lake before turning his glare back to Xu Fengnian, the young master wiped the spittle from his face with his sleeve and tentatively asked, “Honored elder, could you help me teach someone a lesson? A martial uncle from Wudang Mountain—a true master!”
Old Kui pondered for a moment before nodding. “I owe you for the decent meals these years. But if you ask for more, I’ll beat you black and blue. However, a good fight? That I’ll gladly take. Once I defeat Huang Laojiu, I’ll set off immediately!”
Old Huang, ever the contrarian, twisted his lips in disdain, the chewed-up grass stem dangling from his mouth as his wrinkled face twisted into a mocking grin.
Old Kui roared, “Huang Laojiu! You disagree? Then let’s fight again!”
Old Huang simply turned his back, refusing to engage.
Xu Fengnian, covering his ears, felt a headache coming on. If not for Old Kui’s promise to go to Wudang Mountain and teach that damned Daoist who rode an ox backward a lesson, he would’ve ordered Old Huang to toss this ungrateful old man back into the lake—this time for good.
Then Xu Fengnian suddenly had a thought. If Old Huang was so formidable, why go through all this trouble? Why not just take him straight to Wudang Mountain and settle things there? Why endure Old Kui’s tantrums? Weighing the pros and cons, his expression shifted between dark and light.
Old Kui, though rough in appearance, was sharp as a tack. Having devoured the entire suckling pig, bones and all, he patted his belly contentedly and smirked. “Kid, the moment your eyes start darting, I know you’re scheming. What, thinking of having Huang Laojiu throw me back into the lake? Let me tell you—inviting a Buddha is easy; sending one away is hard. Back then, if not for Li Yuanying’s dirty tricks, even if I lost to Huang Laojiu, I could’ve come and gone as I pleased. Four iron balls, eight thousand *jin*, with my twin sabers sealed inside two of them—that’s what trapped me. Now, with my sabers in hand, the world is mine! Hah! Scared yet?”
The young master forced a smile, muttering, “Of course not! Fengnian’s admiration for you flows like the great river and stretches like the stars over the plains!”
Old Kui chuckled. “You’re not much like that butcher Xu. I like you better. Get me a comfortable room and a table full of wine and meat.”
Xu Fengnian stood. “That’s easy.”
Old Huang spat out the grass stem. “No more fighting?”
Old Kui sneered. “What’s the rush? There’ll be plenty of time for that.”
Old Huang slung his sword case onto his back and said flatly, “If we’re not fighting, then forget it. I’m heading to Emperor Wu City to retrieve ‘Yellow Reed.'”
Old Kui’s eyes widened. “Seriously?!”
Old Huang nodded.
Old Kui sighed deeply, shaking his head with a bitter smile. “Then forget it. No point wasting my energy.”
Xu Fengnian was utterly lost.
After settling the towering Old Kui—who stood even taller than the nine-foot-tall Yuan Zuozong—into a courtyard, Xu Fengnian headed to the stables. There, Old Huang, with his sword case strapped to his back, was chatting with the chestnut horse as if bidding farewell.
Xu Fengnian asked in surprise, “Old Huang, what’s going on?”
The old stablehand replied softly, “All these years, I’ve been keeping an eye on Chu Kuangnu at the bottom of the lake. Now that the young master’s let him out, my job here is done. Back then, I lost by a single move to that old monster Wang Xianzhi and left my ‘Yellow Reed’ sword in Emperor Wu City. It’s been weighing on me—time to go get it back.”
Xu Fengnian’s expression turned bitter. “That giant sword embedded in Emperor Wu City’s wall? The one ranked fourth among the Ten Great Swords?”
Old Huang grinned and nodded.
Emperor Wu City stood on the cliffs of the eastern sea, built to gaze upon the vast waters. Its master, Wang Xianzhi, nearing a hundred years old, had been famous for eighty years—a true once-in-a-century martial genius. From his youth, he was known for never carrying a weapon, defeating opponents with just one hand.
By twenty-five, he had ascended to the ranks of the world’s greatest masters. At forty, he challenged the Sword God of that era, Li Chun’gang, snapping the legendary “Wooden Ox and Horse” blade with just two fingers. His fame shook the world, unmatched in glory.
Though indisputably the world’s number one, Wang Xianzhi insisted on calling himself “Second Under Heaven,” leaving the top spot vacant for twenty years and pushing the famed “Top Ten Masters” list to eleven.
Over the past fifty years, only two sword masters had risen to prominence. The new Sword God, Deng Tai’e, wielded a peach branch, seeking defeat but never finding it. After three duels with Wang Xianzhi—none won, none lost—he ranked third among the supreme masters.
The other was an enigma—a sword smith from Western Shu who, after thirty years of forging blades, awakened to the Dao of the Sword. Roaming the world alone, he collected famed swords into his case. Known only for a single battle, he lost but left his mark—and his sword—embedded in Emperor Wu City’s wall. Yet none doubted his glory in defeat, for his opponent was none other than Wang Xianzhi.
Who could have imagined that this swordsman, whose blade once shook forty provinces, had been living as a lowly stablehand in the Northern Liang Manor, chatting with horses and occasionally begging the young master for a jar of wine?
Thus, when Old Kui heard that Huang Laojiu was returning to Emperor Wu City to challenge Wang Xianzhi, he knew—just as he’d lost to him over a decade ago, he’d lose again now.
Xu Fengnian, holding a cucumber, asked with a wry smile, “Old Huang, tell me—how many swords are in that case? The whole world’s been guessing.”
Old Huang, with bits of hay stuck in his hair from lying in the stables, scratched his head. “Three layers, six slots. Originally held six of the Ten Great Swords. Now, just five.”
Xu Fengnian was speechless.
*Old Huang, you’re a master. Dare to go even higher?*
Old Huang grinned foolishly. “If the young master wants to play with swords, I can leave three or four behind.”
Xu Fengnian shook his head. “No need. I’d rather you carry a hundred swords and turn Wang Xianzhi into a pincushion. Then, when I go out to tease those heroines of the martial world, I can boast that I once stole chickens and ducks with you. Right, Old Huang?”
Old Huang’s toothless grin was utterly endearing. How could this man, who wouldn’t even fart if beaten with a stick, be the legendary “Sword Nine,” towering above all masters?
Xu Fengnian gave up trying to understand. He had a servant prepare a jar of Longyan Chengang wine and fetched a scraggly horse. Taking the reins himself, he escorted Old Huang to the manor gates, slipping him a few small-denomination silver notes. Old Huang didn’t refuse, saying only, “Young master, no need to see me off. I know the way.”
But Xu Fengnian insisted, “At least to the city gates, no?”
The horse was a sorry sight—not out of stinginess, but because a flashy steed would only paint a target on Old Huang’s back. Besides, Xu Fengnian doubted Old Huang would actually ride it. It was more for companionship.
The silver notes, totaling five or six hundred taels, were for wine. Old Huang had a fondness for yellow rice wine—whether because of his name or vice versa, who could say? The old man was full of mysteries. But to Xu Fengnian, he was simply the old stablehand who had carried him through hardships. Huang Jianjiu, the swordsman, was secondary.
From the Northern Liang Manor to Lingzhou’s main gate, even the longest road has an end.
The gate captain, seeing the young master’s somber expression, didn’t dare flatter him, merely clearing the way and shoving the crowd aside to leave the gate empty.
Xu Fengnian, still holding the reins, stopped beneath the inner gate’s arch. Handing them over, he said mournfully, “This is as far as I go. Old Huang, was it boring, spending time with a spoiled brat like me?”
Old Huang shook his head, studying the young master’s handsome face before replying cheerfully, “Not at all. It was fun—really. I don’t flatter, and you always said I speak honestly.”
Xu Fengnian smiled faintly.
Old Huang pulled out a stack of silk scrolls, each bearing charcoal sketches of sword stances. From “Sword One” to “Sword Nine,” the characters were crooked, like earthworms crawling through mud. Handing them to Xu Fengnian, he said, “Keep these, young master. If you ever meet a talented kid, take them as your disciple. It’ll make snatching maidens off the streets easier.”
Xu Fengnian accepted them carefully.
Old Huang hesitated, then said awkwardly, “Young master, I’m not educated. Never could name my sword moves—just numbered them one to nine. The first eight already have fancy names given by the martial world, but they never sat right with me. Could you think of one?”
Xu Fengnian nearly laughed. After a moment’s thought, he said, “We walked six thousand *li* together. How about ‘Six Thousand *Li*’? If you don’t think it’s too plain, let’s go with that.”
Old Huang gave a thumbs-up. “Perfect! When I get to Emperor Wu City and announce this name, even Wang Xianzhi might turn green with envy!”
With that, Old Huang took the reins, the wine jug hanging at his waist, and walked away.
Xu Fengnian climbed the city wall, watching the lone figure disappear into the distance. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouted, “Old Huang! If you run out of silver for wine on the road, just come back! I’ll save some for you!”
The old servant carrying the sword case and leading the horse stopped and turned, casting a deep glance at Xu Fengnian before shouting their shared catchphrase, “The wind’s picking up, let’s scram!” Then he dashed off in a comically adorable and rather foolish manner.
Sword Nine.
Six Thousand Miles.
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