Xu Fengnian awoke at dawn, the luxurious silk bedding so comfortable he could feel its embrace even with his eyes closed. It filled him with contentment. Those who have never starved or suffered the biting cold can hardly fathom the overwhelming joy of warmth and a full belly. The saying “hunger cures all ills” carries a truth that no amount of earnest advice from elders can truly convey.
When he spoke of his three-year journey on Yellow Crane Tower with his childhood friends Li Hanlin and Yan Chiji—both pampered sons of privilege—they were only curious about the tales of the martial world and its legends. The hardships of hunger and cold meant nothing to them. Xu Fengnian, whose hands and feet still bore calluses that refused to fade, counted himself lucky to have returned alive to Liangzhou.
As soon as he sat up, his personal maid, Sweet Potato, who slept on a small couch nearby, entered to help him dress and don his crown. Xu Fengnian didn’t refuse. While understanding the struggles of the common folk was good, taking it too far would be unwise.
As Sweet Potato’s deft hands moved, she softly reminded him that a secret letter had been placed on the table. Xu Fengnian acknowledged with a hum.
In noble households, overstepping boundaries was a grave offense. No matter how favored a maid or concubine might be, none dared to be careless. After washing his face and rinsing his mouth, Xu Fengnian gently opened the letter. Such occurrences were rare—Phoenix Pavilion wasn’t a place just anyone could enter. The envelope bore a small seal script character: *Yin*.
This didn’t surprise Xu Fengnian. It was common knowledge that his father, Xu Xiao, had ten elite assassins named after the Earthly Branches, shadowy figures skilled in esoteric arts and silent killings.
The letter detailed Old Huang’s journey to the Eastern Sea, recording every triviality with blunt simplicity. At first, it was filled with mundane details, amusing Xu Fengnian. No doubt his own embarrassing escapades during his travels had been similarly documented for his father’s amusement.
But when Old Huang entered the territory of Emperor City—where one could “view the vast sea from the eastern cliffs”—the tone shifted. The *Yin* agent had appended additional secrets beyond Old Huang’s movements. Several renowned swordsmen had already gathered in Emperor City, including the master of the Yue Royal Sword Pool and two rarely seen experts from the Wu Family Sword Tomb. All awaited the climactic battle atop the city walls. The next entry mentioned the famed first-rank master Cao Guānzi renting an entire seaview tower within the city.
Though Xu Fengnian hadn’t witnessed it himself, the oppressive tension was palpable—like a storm gathering over the city. The second-to-last entry described Old Huang resting at a tavern near the main city gate, ordering two taels of wine, half a catty of meat, and a plate of peanuts.
*Same old, unhurried Old Huang.*
Only one entry remained. Xu Fengnian hesitated, recalling countless moments from those three years. The worst had been encounters with bandits, while the smaller struggles were too numerous to count—scams, thefts, and desperate attempts to fill his belly, often ending in failure and humiliation.
From shamelessly flirting with pretty women to avoiding even moderately attractive ones, from being picky about food and wine to being grateful for a sip of hot tea or a hint of meat—the contrast was stark.
He’d once posed as a poor Taoist, telling fortunes for coins.
He’d set up a Go board in an alley, only to lose money to local hustlers.
He’d sold calligraphy and written letters for villagers.
He’d stolen chickens and ducks, rarely escaping without a chase.
—*Young Master, these cucumbers were stolen from the village garden. You can eat them raw.*
*Pah! How can anyone eat this?*
The disheveled young lord sat on a dirt mound, tossing the half-eaten cucumber far away. After a while, he weakly waved at Old Huang, who was devouring his own cucumber nearby. *Hey, Old Huang… fetch that cucumber back for me. Too tired to move.*
—*Young Master, this is roasted corn. Better than raw cucumbers.*
*Stop yapping. Eat!*
—*Old Huang, what’s this thing you dug up?*
*Sweet potato.*
*Edible raw?*
*Yep.*
*Damn, it’s crisp and sweet.*
*Young Master, can I say something?*
*Speak!*
*It’s even better roasted.*
*You bastard! Why didn’t you say so earlier?!*
—*Almost got killed stealing this chicken, but it was worth it! Tastes just as good as young venison.*
*Delicious.*
*Old Huang, back in the village, why were you staring at that woman’s backside? Last time, you ogled a nursing mother. What, hoping your gaze alone would get her pregnant?*
*Dare not touch, only look.*
*Pathetic!*
—*Old Huang… am I dying? Shouldn’t have touched that box in your bag.*
*Nah! Don’t think like that, Young Master. Fear kills. I always think positive. Think of good wine, good meat, and pretty women. You’ll pull through.*
*Thinking about them just makes me want to die more.*
*No, no! You still owe me jars of yellow wine! A man’s word is unbreakable—not even four oxen, five donkeys, or six horses could drag it back. Where I’m from, we say a single fart can leave a crater.*
*Old Huang, that’s not funny at all.*
*Want me to tell another joke?*
*No! Those ancient, vulgar stories you’ve told a thousand times already? My ears are calloused. Enough. I’ll sleep. Don’t worry, I won’t die.*
*Alright.*
—*Old Huang, never married?*
*Nope. When young, all I knew was hard labor—blacksmithing. Never saved a coin. By the time I could, no girl would look at me.*
*What a dull, regretful life.*
*Not really. Like how I’ve never tasted bird’s nest or bear paw, so I don’t crave them. Just seeing them once is enough. Makes sense, Young Master?*
*Didn’t expect you to be so philosophical.*
*Heh, just passing thoughts.*
—*Old Huang, that Wen Hua kid keeps obsessing over swordsmanship, but he doesn’t look talented at all.*
*Young Master, talent’s hard to judge. When I was young, chopping wood, the strong ones slacked off after two hours. I was slow, but if I sharpened my axe and worked ten hours, I’d carry more down the mountain. And sometimes, staying longer meant finding good timber—one log could sell for a lot.*
*That’s just dumb perseverance.*
*Dumb folks need dumb methods. Otherwise, we’d starve. Can’t waste this life doing nothing.*
*Ugh, your logic’s unbearable. Say, Old Huang… if I learned the sword, would I have a future?*
*Your future’d pierce the heavens!*
*Old Huang, coming from you, that’s the least inspiring praise ever. And stop looking at me like that!*
—Sweet Potato watched the young lord’s expression, her lips curling slightly.
Xu Fengnian steadied his thoughts and finally turned to the last entry.
*”Sword Nine Huang, carrying his box, leaped onto the city wall, stopping twenty zhang from Wang Xianzhi. Five swords flew from the box, executing eight sword forms. Wang Xianzhi countered with one hand. Sixty-eight exchanges later, Sword Nine was unleashed. Wang Xianzhi moved his right arm. Sword Nine—like a galaxy pouring down for a thousand miles—destroyed Wang Xianzhi’s right sleeve. Wang Xianzhi fought with full strength. Sword Nine Huang, with one hand and one sword, broke through forty-nine of his moves before falling.*
*Addendum 1: Sword Nine Huang’s meridians were shattered. He sat cross-legged on the wall, gazing north, dead yet unyielding.*
*Addendum 2: After this battle, none in the world dare claim Sword Nine Huang was inferior to Sword God Deng Tai’a. Cao Guānzi in the seaview tower praised Sword Nine’s might as peerless.*
*Addendum 3: Sword Nine was named ‘Six Thousand Li,’ as spoken by Sword Nine Huang himself.*
*Addendum 4: Before death, Sword Nine Huang seemed to speak last words. Only Wang Xianzhi heard them.”*
Xu Fengnian stared at the letter, his profile unreadable. After a long silence, he finally murmured, *”Sweet Potato, heat some yellow wine.”*
It wasn’t the season for warmed wine—the lake’s crabs and fish were still small. Sweet Potato gently replied, *”My lord, now?”*
Xu Fengnian nodded. *”I’m in the mood.”*
Sweet Potato, ever perceptive, asked no further. She fetched an aged jar of Huizhou yellow wine from Phoenix Pavilion’s storied cellar, heated it, and brought it to the young lord, who sat by the window on the second floor’s bamboo couch.
Xu Fengnian requested two cups and dismissed all the maids, including Sweet Potato and Green Ant. The room, filled with priceless antiques and scrolls, grew still. He poured two cups and sat silently all day, his face betraying neither joy nor sorrow.
As dusk approached, his gaze fell on the neglected *Xiudong* blade hanging on the wall—a decorative piece.
Xu Fengnian rose, took down the elegantly named but deadly sword, and unsheathed it. Cold steel bit into his skin.
The last time he’d recklessly touched Old Huang’s sword box, he’d nearly died. The sheer sword intent within was overwhelming. *Xiudong*, like the other blades, was no ornamental trinket like those worn by Liangzhou’s fops. Few in the manor could imagine that this pleasure-seeking young lord had first held a blade at six.
Sword in hand, Xu Fengnian descended to find the maids gathered in the courtyard, their faces worried. He smiled. *”Go about your duties—even if just for show. Otherwise, Steward Shen will scold Phoenix Pavilion for its lack of discipline.”*
He hurried to his bedroom, retrieved a lacquered box from under the bed, and pulled out a stack of charcoal-drawn sword manuals—now relics, like the box itself.
Undisturbed, he studied them all night. When he finally placed the manuals back, he noticed his father, Xu Xiao, sitting silently beside him.
*”Understand any of it?”* Xu Xiao asked.
Xu Fengnian shook his head. *”No. Old Huang’s drawings are terrible, and my comprehension’s worse.”*
Xu Xiao chuckled. *”You want to learn the sword?”*
*”Yes.”*
Knowing his son well, Xu Xiao pressed, *”To retrieve the six swords from Emperor City?”*
Xu Fengnian’s voice was calm. *”No reason to leave them there as a joke at Old Huang’s expense.”*
Xu Xiao said flatly, *”Think you can do it before fifty?”*
Xu Fengnian sighed. *”Who knows?”*
Xu Xiao offered no comfort. He stood and left with a casual remark: *”Think it through before telling me.”*
Watching his father’s retreating back, Xu Fengnian called out, *”What were Old Huang’s last words?”*
Xu Xiao paused but didn’t turn. *”I’ll tell you when you’ve mastered the sword.”*
In truth, the words didn’t matter.
Old Huang was gone.
Six thousand miles of wind and clouds, a sword box standing on the city wall.
Yet the jars of yellow wine remained.
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage