Under the pavilion stood a man in green robes.
Above the pavilion, an old man concealed a green serpent within his sleeves.
Above and below the pavilion stood two generations of outstanding figures.
The martial world is always a place where waves rise endlessly. Even those rare geniuses blessed with extraordinary talent usually dominate for no more than ten or twenty years; thirty years is already the limit. In the past hundred years, something unusual occurred—Huang Longshi emerged in the realm of Go, while Wang Xianzhi guarded the City of Martial Emperors by the Eastern Sea. These were truly once-in-a-century phenomena, unlike the countless so-called “once-in-a-century” figures that flood the world today, and thus cannot be compared. Apart from these two extraordinary individuals, it has generally been the trend that later generations surpass the former. Wang Xiu, one of the four great masters of the previous generation known as the “Spear Immortal,” was defeated by his own disciple Chen Zhibao. Wudang Mountain produced a figure who, in an instant, grasped the Dao of Heaven while riding a green ox. After the decline and retreat of the old sword immortal Li Chungan, sword cultivation experienced only a brief period of obscurity before Deng Tai’a of the Peach Blossom Branch rose to dominate the sword path. Meanwhile, Qi Xianxia of Dragon-Tiger Mountain, Wu Liuding of Sword Tomb, and Lu Baixie, the Sword Immortal of Tangxi also emerged as brilliant new stars.
The older generation might have once been truly awed by the boldness of the phrase, “With one sword, Li Chungan swept eastward with the great river.” But as they aged and passed away, how many young people today still truly remember the sword immortal’s majestic Elegance of flying across rivers on a sword?
If someone hears the saying, “Had Li Chungan not been born, sword cultivation would have remained in darkness for ten thousand years,” they would likely find it overly arrogant and absurd.
At this moment, Cao Changqing in his green robes faced the legendary “Twin-Sleeved Green Snake” sword technique of the former sword master. He spoke boldly. Given Cao Changqing’s lofty spirit, he certainly did not intend to belittle the old sword immortal. Yet the meaning behind his words was clear to all: even if Li Chungan was at the peak of his Land Sword Immortal (earthbound sword immortal) prowess, Cao Changqing would still not fear him in the least. Even the young prince, who had witnessed the power of the Twin-Sleeved Green Snake firsthand, felt deeply anxious, fearing that the old man, now aged and missing an arm, might not be able to match Cao Changqing, who was at the height of his martial cultivation.
In a duel between masters, it is not only strength, wisdom, and courage that are tested, but also the heart. Cao the Green-Robed had lived a life of great turbulence. As a Confucian, he was skilled in cultivating righteous energy. After his nation’s fall, he, a mere commoner, dared to challenge the wrath of the Son of Heaven. He bore no weapon in hand, wore no armor, and in a single green robe, he entered and exited the imperial palace three times. His willpower and breadth of mind were undoubtedly far superior to those of ordinary martial cultivators. His reputation as an invincible strategist was unquestionable. After Wang Xianzhi became the unrivaled martial sovereign of the world, he built a city on the Eastern Sea and constructed the Pavilion of Disarmed Warriors. Beneath the top floor were six levels, each guarded by a martial slave to face challengers from across the land. Even the greatest experts usually defeated one guardian, rested for a time, and then resumed their ascent once their energy and spirit were replenished. Even the mighty Deng Tai’a, who could shatter enemies with a flick of his finger, still withdrew after each victory, engaging in a battle every half-day, and only after three days did he reach the top floor, defeating six guardians. But Cao Changqing fought two days straight and ascended all six levels in one go. It was said that when he faced Wang Xianzhi, he remained calm and composed, earning the title of having a qi as vast and mighty as Qi Xuanzhen’s. How could Xu Fengnian not fear that the old sword immortal might become stubborn and reckless? The old man was known for his pride, and if truly provoked, he might deliberately challenge Cao Changqing to a life-or-death match. Could that lead to his demise?
Meanwhile, deadly tension brewed here, while the debate on kingship and hegemony at Qu Shui was nearing its end. The poor scholar brought into Baoguo Temple by the young prince engaged in a fierce verbal duel with Yuan Jiangyan, the bearded scholar renowned for his eloquence. Surprisingly, the young scholar held his ground without yielding. His discourse on the complex philosophies of righteousness and profit, kingship and tyranny, was fluid and profound, encompassing all schools of thought. The three or four hundred onlookers completely abandoned their earlier disdain, no longer viewing the young man as a mere impoverished scholar seeking sensationalism. Especially when he first discussed the functions of virtue and talent separately, then merged them into a unified conclusion, showing that both paths led to the same destination, many self-proclaimed pure Confucians were shaken. The scholar’s words—”With broad abilities and dedicated effort, one can become a sage; possessing abilities without effort results only in empty rhetoric and a pedantic scholar”—were a slap in the face to the elite.
Yet Yuan Honghu remained unfazed, smiling it off. Even when the scholar passionately advocated for the ruler’s practical achievements and abilities, Yuan accepted it with magnanimity. Otherwise, with Yuan’s status, a single word from him could decide life or death. Objectively speaking, Yuan Jiangyan had still won the debate. Yet he himself judged it as neither victory nor defeat, and the abbot of Baoguo Temple, Yin Daolin, nodded in agreement. Thus, no one dared to object. For commoners seeking to rise above their station, participating in aristocratic debates was a shortcut to prominence. Yet while it was easy to say, it was extremely difficult to achieve. For a common-born scholar to even gain a seat at such a gathering was like climbing a mountain, and to earn recognition from the elite was even harder. To actually defeat a top-tier scholar like Yuan Jiangyan was even more extraordinary. Therefore, no one doubted that this young man, seated at the lowest rank, had already made a stunning debut, and wealth and honor were surely within reach.
The aristocratic clans, proud of their noble status, might not yet have taken action, but second- and third-tier gentry and high-ranking commoners were already considering whether to move first and claim this promising young man as a son-in-law. Once brought into their families, he could attend more gatherings like Qu Shui, gradually building his reputation. Gaining official recognition and pursuing a political career would then follow naturally. Compared to marrying into a family of mediocre scholars, this path was no less advantageous. If fortune favored him, and a powerful figure like Yuan Honghu truly took a liking to him, who could say he wouldn’t achieve a glorious future?
Xu Zhihu, watching from the pavilion with a detached eye, sneered coldly. Yuan Honghu’s magnanimity was surely because the scholar had ridden on the coattails of her younger brother. The scholar spoke in a genuine Jiangnan dialect, clearly a commoner from Yang Prefecture. If the Prince of Beiliang could bring him into the temple and grant him a seat, then the gentry of Yang Prefecture would naturally not mind his lowly origins, even going so far as to elevate his reputation personally. Which favor was greater? It was hard to say. Xu Zhihu mused that Yuan Jiangyan, as the leader of the Jiangzuo scholars, indeed had sharp insight and an exceptional ability to provoke annoyance. Observing from above, she noticed that after the scholar’s sudden rise to fame, he showed no sign of arrogance or self-satisfaction. Instead, as he rose and looked around, there was an inexplicable air of melancholy. Having experienced the ups and downs of life, Xu Zhihu had an unparalleled eye for men. This was strange—when a commoner scholar leapt from obscurity to prominence, some wept with joy, others went mad with excitement. Yet this man, Chen Liangxi, who was known to be close to Xu Huipu and skilled in painting dragons and tigers, had met her younger brother by chance. Could there be some hidden meaning in this encounter?
Though Xu Huipu’s temperament was cold and proud, she was ultimately a caged bird within a noble household. She could be carefree in small matters, but in great affairs, she was always powerless. It was just like Xu Zhihu’s own past—had she ever truly wished to marry and move far south? The beautiful maid, repeatedly teased by the young prince, gazed at the scholar beside her with admiration. His commanding presence and eloquence had been extraordinary. Even against a renowned scholar like Yuan Honghu, he had not flinched. Moreover, she had participated in countless debates and knew how to judge talent. The maids serving at such gatherings were no ordinary women. First, they had to come from a noble background, second, they needed to be exceptionally beautiful and talented. Like her, she had been fortunate enough to enter the Yuan family of Boling from childhood, where she was taught poetry, calligraphy, and music due to her intelligence. Today’s wine-serving maids were all refined young women trained by the Boling Yuan clan.
Seeing Chen Liangxi rise, she hurriedly offered him a cup of wine. He smiled gently, took the cup, and drank deeply to quench his thirst. In her heart, she couldn’t help but compare this refined young man to that dissolute rogue. Hmph! That shameless young noble might have a handsome face, but it was a shame to waste such good looks!
The poor scholar Chen Liangxi failed to see the “Xu Dianxia,” which was a pity, as he had wanted to sincerely thank him. Since he couldn’t find him, he didn’t dwell on it. Turning around, he noticed a pale, thin little girl and felt pity. He asked the maid for some fruits and pastries, pulled the little beggar to sit down again, and the maid brought a tray. The child was too timid to eat, so he picked up a delicate pastry and handed it to her. As the girl ate, Lower your head with unease, unsure whether she remembered the taste, he occasionally smiled and wiped the crumbs from the corner of her mouth. Seeing this warm scene, so unimaginable in aristocratic circles, the maid’s heart softened once more. This young master truly was a good person.
Outside the pavilion, Xu Fengnian could only guarantee he wouldn’t retreat further. To take another step forward was as difficult as ascending the Shu road to heaven.
Cao Changqing, who never carried a weapon, was arrogant beyond measure. Even facing the legendary Li Chungan of old, he still strode forward, ignoring the old sword immortal’s rising and intensifying sword aura.
Before the old man in sheepskin even raised his arm, dozens of deep, intersecting trenches had already appeared between them.
Sword Qi Rolling Dragon Wall!
In his battle with the Sword Saint of Xishu within the palace, Li Chungan’s sword qi shattered an ancient dragon wall that had stood for centuries. Before that, he had declared that there were no sword disciples in Xishu, entered the region alone, and beheaded sixteen sword masters who blocked his path, all of whom were torn apart by rolling sword qi.
At that time, Li Chungan had undoubtedly reached the pinnacle of his sword cultivation, nearly invincible in the world.
Cracks spread like a spiderweb, horrifying to behold. Yet when they reached Cao Changqing’s feet, they seemed to be blocked by an invisible force and abruptly halted.
Cao Changqing said calmly, “Senior, how could you be merely at the eighth level? The world only knows of your Twin-Sleeved Green Snake, but not of your sword qi that can open the Heavenly Gate.”
The more this middle-aged Confucian advanced, the wider the cracks became.
They were now only ten steps apart.
The old man in sheepskin remained composed, allowing Cao Changqing to approach again and again, merely narrowing his eyes and chuckling, “What useless chatter.”
Cao Changqing smiled gently.
Inside the pavilion, Jiang Ni, who had finally gathered the courage to stare at Cao Changqing, softly asked with lingering doubt, “Uncle Qizhao?”
Cao Changqing abruptly halted, nodded firmly, and was overwhelmed with emotion.
Jiang Ni’s eyes suddenly reddened. She wanted to rise but instinctively glanced first at the young prince, who remained expressionless. Then she cautiously turned to look at Xu Zhihu. Seeing this, Cao Changqing felt a deep pang in his heart. Without even needing the old sword immortal’s sword qi, the ground before the pavilion exploded downward in a violent tremor.
Seeing Xu Zhihu smile and nod slightly, Jiang Ni finally stood up timidly and asked, “Uncle Qizhao, could you please not fight?”
Dust rose in waves, spreading outward like ripples. In the center, Cao Changqing softly replied, “Cao Changqing obeys the Princess’s command.”
Even Xu Zhihu couldn’t help but stare in astonishment. Indeed, it perfectly echoed the conclusion Chen Liangxi had reached during the Qu Shui debate on kingship and hegemony—that pure Confucians were often close to being pedantic and incomprehensible.
The old sword immortal snorted coldly and finally retracted his sword qi.
Cao Changqing ascended the steps but did not enter the pavilion. He knelt once more.
This time, it was for the fallen kingdom of Xichu in its prime.
Xu Fengnian gazed at the small figure standing and the kneeling Cao Changqing, his expression complex.
Was it time to leave?
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