Xu Fengnian led a squad of elite cavalry back to his residence and arrived at the courtyard where the old warrior resided. Upon entering, he was greeted by a table laden with sumptuous dishes—clearly, this was a man who reveled in meat and wine.
The old warrior’s imposing figure loomed like a small mountain. Even seated, his presence was overwhelming, not to mention the two chains and two massive blades at his side, which kept the servants cowering in the courtyard, too afraid to approach. Spotting Xu Fengnian, the old man barked, “Kid, did Old Huang Ninth go and throw his life away against that old immortal Wang in Emperor Wu City?”
Xu Fengnian, his expression somber, nodded and took a seat on the stool opposite the white-haired warrior, remaining silent.
The old warrior chuckled. “Little brat, I never expected you to be the sentimental type. In that regard, you’re far more decent than your father. That butcher Xu Xiao is not only cunning but also hypocritical—sweet words but a dagger in his heart. He’ll share hardship with you, but if you expect to share prosperity? Ha! Kid, what’s with that look? You think your half-baked skills can take me on? Without Old Huang Ninth, unless the Northern Liang Manor drags out the few remaining hidden experts, none of you stand a chance against me.”
Xu Fengnian muttered under his breath, “Only now that Old Huang’s gone do you dare act like the king of the mountain.”
The old warrior’s hearing was sharp, but he wasn’t angered. Instead, he laughed heartily. “Losing to him is nothing to be ashamed of. Old Huang Ninth’s swordsmanship was second only to that lunatic Deng Tai’a, who likes to wave around peach branches for fun. In all the world, how many swordsmen are there? Even the Wu Family Sword Tomb hasn’t produced a single swordsman in the last thirty years who could make Old Immortal Wang fight with both hands. I lost to Old Huang Ninth fair and square. In my lifetime, only Deng Tai’a and Old Huang have ever come close to matching Old Immortal Wang. In all the world, you could count them on one hand.”
His words earned a bit of Xu Fengnian’s respect. *This is what makes a true master*, he thought. *Such magnanimity is beyond ordinary folk. No wonder there are so few true experts in the world—it’s perfectly understandable that I’m not one of them.*
But just as Xu Fengnian was beginning to admire him, the old warrior ruined his lofty image with one sentence: “Kid, where’s a decent latrine around here? This gilded chamber pot isn’t to my taste. After being trapped underwater for years, I couldn’t even take a proper shit or fart. Hurry up and find me a good spot where I can let loose—I bet the stench will carry for miles!”
Watching the old man, still chewing on roasted meat, eagerly planning to stink up the place, Xu Fengnian’s face twitched. He stood up and called for a servant to lead the chain-dragging, blade-wielding old man to the outhouse. The young master himself quickly made his escape, muttering curses under his breath about so-called “masters.”
### The Phoenix Perches on the Parasol
The Wutong Courtyard was where Xu Fengnian had grown up. As the ancient saying went, *”The phoenix perches only on the parasol tree, and the fenghuang only on the tung tree.”*
The Grand Pillar of the Nation, Xu Xiao, often said with deep affection, “Son, when your mother was pregnant with you, she dreamed of a divine phoenix entering her womb. You were born for greatness! Who else would I dote on but you?”
At first, Xu Fengnian would retort, “Then why hasn’t any reclusive master ever said I have extraordinary bones, destined for martial arts?” Xu Xiao would console him, “True masters are the kind who plant their roots in one place and never budge. Look at Wang Xianzhi or those old swordsmen from the Wu Family Sword Tomb—do they ever go around calling themselves masters? Those who wander the world are just charlatans. How could they possibly recognize your innate brilliance?”
Eventually, Xu Fengnian grew tired of hearing it and stopped responding. As the sole heir of the kingdom’s only non-imperial prince, with countless powerful servants at his beck and call, he figured he didn’t need to roll up his sleeves and fight himself. Still, deep down, he envied those gallant heroes who roamed the winds and clouds, scaling walls and dueling atop city gates.
Now, having witnessed the transcendent skills of Old Huang the coachman and the white-haired warrior, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of regret. He’d heard that the rare legendary couples of the martial world were always composed of a peerless swordsman and a breathtaking beauty—never a dashing man and a peerless swordswoman.
But as soon as Xu Fengnian stepped into the Wutong Courtyard, his gloom dissipated. His head maid, Qingniao, greeted him, her slender arm adorned with exquisite Shu embroidery and perched with the “Six-Year Phoenix” goshawk. Seeing the young master, she smiled radiantly. “Young Master, Sweet Potato has already warmed your bed, and Green Ant is waiting by the chessboard for you to play a game of ‘rotten axe handle.'”
Xu Fengnian chuckled, stroking the goshawk before entering. In the outer chamber, two lovely maids helped him remove his outer robe.
The Wutong Courtyard housed over twenty maids, originally given elegant names like “Red Musk” or “Parrot.” But after Xu Fengnian’s travels, most were renamed—some more fortunate than others. The most favored maid, Red Musk, renowned for her natural fragrance, was rebranded with the vulgar moniker “Sweet Potato.” Others fared worse: one was named after strong liquor (“White Liquor”), and the unluckiest, a girl fond of yellow dresses, was simply dubbed “Cucumber.”
Inside the inner chamber, Xu Fengnian leaped onto the bed and burrowed under the covers, embracing a sixteen-year-old beauty. The entire quilt was fragrant with her scent—soon, it would grow even more magical. Once she stepped outside, bees and butterflies would follow her. This was Sweet Potato, his head maid.
The maid skilled in the nineteen-by-nineteen grid of Go was called Green Ant, hailed as the Northern Liang Manor’s female grandmaster. Even seasoned players dreaded facing her. Traditionally, Go boards had seventeen lines, but expanding to nineteen was one of Xu Fengnian’s second sister’s bold innovations—a move that once caused an uproar in the kingdom until the Shangyin Academy embraced it, making it the standard among scholars.
Xu Fengnian played a distracted game with Green Ant and lost miserably.
He wasn’t actually a bad player. His mentor, Li Yishan, had once praised him as having “extraordinary vision, though lacking in meticulous placement.” Coming from Li Yishan, this was high praise.
Still, Xu Fengnian was no grandmaster. That title belonged to his second sister, Xu Wei’xiong—a figure so formidable that even the most celebrated Go masters paled in comparison.
Pushing aside the unfinished game, Xu Fengnian lay back, letting Sweet Potato massage his temples as he stared blankly. Sensing his mood, Green Ant dared not disturb him. Eventually, he sat up and declared, “All of you, leave. No one enters—not even Xu Xiao—unless I permit it.”
Sweet Potato, with her voluptuous figure, fair skin, natural fragrance, and graceful demeanor, never fought for favor yet remained the most beloved. As she climbed off the bed, Xu Fengnian playfully swatted her backside, eliciting a blush and a radiant smile.
Once the maids had left, Xu Fengnian straightened up and retrieved a silk scroll from his robes—something that could be called a sword manual, the culmination of Old Huang’s life’s work. Even with his disinterest in martial arts, Xu Fengnian treated it with reverence, storing it in a mysterious mechanism box beneath his bed.
To open the box, one had to precisely shift seventy-two small tiles. The box was impervious—no blade could breach it. Xu Fengnian, eyes closed, manipulated the mechanism with practiced ease, a relic from his late mother. After securing the manual, he slid the box back into its hidden compartment and returned to bed.
### The Old Warrior’s Return
Estimating the time, Xu Fengnian figured the white-haired warrior should have finished his business. He dressed in his brocade robes and called out, “Cucumber!” The maid, who now loathed wearing yellow, hurried to fetch three cucumbers from another courtyard. Xu Fengnian took one, tucked two under his arm, and began munching as he walked.
Initially worried the area around the old warrior’s courtyard would reek, he was relieved to find the manor’s latrines well-stocked with incense. Even the old man’s explosive bowel movements couldn’t overpower the fragrance.
The old warrior had not only relieved himself but also bathed and changed into fresh clothes. Seated on the steps, he ran his fingers along his blade’s edge and asked without looking up, “Kid, you really aren’t afraid?”
Xu Fengnian sat beside him and smirked. “Old Huang said you’re the world’s finest blade master and never killed indiscriminately. So no, I’m not afraid.”
The old man laughed heartily. “Half-true, half-false. I don’t kill recklessly, but I’m not the best with a blade. Kid, your flattery is too slick—I don’t like it.”
Xu Fengnian grinned. “As long as the ladies like me, I don’t care if you don’t. After we thrash that turtle on Wudang Mountain, we’ll go our separate ways. But if you ever crave the manor’s food, you’re welcome to stay and feast.”
The old man chuckled. “That Wudang Mountain ancestor—what rank is he?”
Xu Fengnian pondered. “Probably not high. His seniority is absurd, but a Taoist under thirty can’t be that strong, right? Besides, he’s not even famous in the martial world.”
The old warrior nodded. “Ah, must be the junior brother of Wang Chonglou, the Wudang Mountain leader who cultivates the Great Yellow Court. I heard about him when I entered Liang. His martial talent is mediocre, but he’s devoted to mystical Taoist arts—somewhat extraordinary.”
Xu Fengnian asked the question that mattered most: “Can you beat him?”
The old man grinned. “Kid, here’s a lesson: whether you can win or not, you won’t know until you fight.”
Xu Fengnian couldn’t help but think, *That sounds heroic, but how’d that work out for you? Weren’t you stuck underwater for over a decade?*
The old warrior rapped Xu Fengnian’s head with the flat of his blade. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re thinking.”
Xu Fengnian forced a smile. “So, shall we go stir up trouble on that damned Wudang Mountain?”
The old warrior stood abruptly, his massive frame casting a shadow over Xu Fengnian, chains clanking. “Let’s stir!”
### Wudang Mountain
Wudang Mountain boasted two pools, four deep springs, nine wells, twenty-four ravines, thirty-six cliffs, and eighty-one peaks. Temples and palaces dotted the landscape every five *li*, their crimson walls and emerald tiles gleaming in the distance. At its heart stood the Jade Pillar Peak’s Taiqing Palace, around which the eighty-one peaks bowed in reverence—a spectacle known as “Eighty-One Peaks Paying Homage to the Summit.” For millennia, countless seekers of immortality had retreated to Wudang, meditating on cliffs or hiding in immortal coffins, listening to the chimes of divine music amid the misty peaks and verdant waters, leaving behind countless legends.
Wudang had been the Taoist holy land of the previous dynasty, overshadowing Dragon-Tiger Mountain. Only after the founding of the Liyang Dynasty, which elevated Dragon-Tiger Mountain, did Wudang’s prominence wane.
Yet no one dared underestimate Wudang’s millennia of heritage. Its current leader, Wang Chonglou, ranked among the Ten Great Masters, was rumored to have once split the raging Canglang River with a single “Immortal’s Finger.” Whether exaggeration or truth, he was revered as a Taoist sage. His cultivation of the esoteric and time-consuming Great Yellow Court only added to Wudang’s quiet grandeur.
### The Charge
Two hundred Northern Liang cavalry thundered forth.
A towering old warrior in black robes dragged his massive blade along the ground, kicking up dust.
The earth trembled.
The group stormed straight toward Wudang’s mountain gate, marked by the archway “Xuanwu Dangxing” (“The Dark Warrior Shall Rise”).
The lead rider charged through the archway before reining in his horse.
In the hundred-year history of the martial world, only one man had ever dared to scorn a sect so brazenly—the infamous “Xu the Butcher,” whose name alone struck fear into the older generation.
*A tiger father begets a dog of a son?*
Seated atop a powerful Northern Liang steed, Xu Fengnian smirked self-deprecatingly at the crowd of Taoist priests drawn by the commotion. He barked, “You’ve got half an hour to drag out that green ox rider!”
The priests hesitated. They knew of the revered grandmaster who liked to ride his ox backward, but they were mere low-ranking priests from the Jade Purity Palace at the mountain’s base. Even if the grandmaster were willing, it would take at least an hour to fetch him from the distant Taiqing Palace. Would these aggressive visitors wait?
### The Young Grandmaster
Behind the Jade Pillar Peak lay the Greater and Lesser Lotus Peaks. The Greater Lotus Peak housed numerous secluded caves for meditation, while the sheer cliffs of the Lesser Lotus Peak were reserved for one man alone.
This man had been brought to Wudang at age five by the previous grandmaster, taken as a closed-door disciple. As a child, he became the junior brother of the current leader, Wang Chonglou.
Among Wudang’s nine palaces and thirteen temples, thousands of Taoist priests respectfully addressed him as “Grandmaster Uncle.” The youngest even called him “Great-Grandmaster Uncle.”
Fortunately, this young ancestor never descended the mountain. After his initial arrival, he never again approached the “Xuanwu Dangxing” archway—not even for a glance. For over twenty years, he had spent most of his time either in the Taiqing Palace on Jade Pillar Peak or riding his green ox backward on the Lotus Peaks. Those fortunate enough to glimpse him reported that the grandmaster uncle was gentle, profoundly learned, and exquisitely refined.
### The Calm Before the Storm
While chaos erupted at the mountain gate, tranquility reigned by the stone turtle stele on the Lesser Lotus Peak’s cliff.
A young Taoist with an ethereal aura lounged on the stone turtle’s back, basking in the sun. With a wave, his grazing green ox approached, its horns hung with Taoist scriptures. He plucked one volume and was about to read when a sudden calculation made him pause.
Leaping down, he sketched intricate celestial stems and earthly branches in the dirt with a twig. His expression shifted, and after muttering to himself, he sighed deeply.
Straightening his Taoist robes, he mounted the ox backward, scriptures dangling, and descended the peak, half-singing, half-reciting:
*”Straight as a bowstring, dead by the road.*
*Crooked as a hook, ennobled in court.*
*Who drags their tail in the mud?*
*Who leaves their bones in the hall?…”*
Leaving the Lesser Lotus Peak, he released the ox and carefully selected a volume titled *”Spiritual Source’s Great Path Song.”* Reading as he walked, engrossed, he headed straight for Wudang’s base.
Occasionally, Taoist priests along the way would stop and greet him as “Uncle-Master” or “Great Uncle-Master,” to which he would always respond with a warm smile, exuding an approachable demeanor.
Everyone simply assumed this young elder was diligent and virtuous, living up to his reputation as the Great Uncle-Master who had annotated countless ancient and rare scriptures in the Jade Pure Palace. No wonder the sect leader once praised him, declaring, “He alone shall bear the weight of all martial arts and Taoist traditions.”
Little did they know, this highly respected Great Uncle-Master was currently engrossed in a scandalous romance novel—the very kind most despised by orthodox moralists—though it was cleverly disguised beneath the cover of *The Song of the Spiritual Source and the Great Dao*.
The Taoist kept flipping back to the same page, reluctant to move on. After all, this was the only copy of such an unparalleled classic on the mountain, borrowed years ago from that scheming young nobleman. As he neared the foot of the mountain, he had already reread that single page dozens of times. Finally, with reluctant satisfaction, he tucked the book away, his face radiating righteous solemnity as he declared, “Even if you beat me black and blue—this book, I will never return!”
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