Chen Yu originally thought that after causing trouble, the man would have to flee Guangling with his tail between his legs. What difference did it make that he was the heir of Beiliang?
This was Guangling, a domain painstakingly cultivated by Prince Zhao Yi for twenty years. Its accumulated authority ran deep. According to the ancestral regulations, princes were forbidden from meeting one another. Yet everyone, both inside and outside the court, knew the truth about the seven great feudal lords. In reality, only the Princes of Yanche and Guangling could rival Prince Beiliang. Unfortunately, Zhao Yi was one of them.
Besides its mighty navy, renowned as the strongest in the realm, Guangling also maintained a considerable number of elite cavalry. Among them, the eight thousand personal guards known as the Beikui Army were the elite of elites—swift as piercing arrows, fierce as thunder and lightning. Their cavalry commanders, Lu Shengxiang and Zhang Erbao, were acknowledged as peerless warriors in the Liyang Dynasty, their reputations rivaling those of Xu Xiao’s five adopted sons—except for Chen Zhibao. Lu Shengxiang, in particular, had earned great fame during the Spring and Autumn Wars, first capturing Luzhou in a snowy night raid, then leading a thousand riders through Dongyue.
General Gu Jiantang had disbanded his old forces, bringing only his loyalists into the Ministry of War. Consequently, all the military might was divided between the Princes of Yanche and Guangling, leaving not a single soldier left for the dozen or so regional governors to claim.
In terms of military achievements and strength, Prince Zhao Yi of Guangling naturally could not rival the non-imperial prince Xu Xiao. However, even a mighty dragon could not contend with a local serpent. Moreover, Xu Fengnian was at best a young dragon crossing the river—how could he possibly contend with Zhao Yi, a cunning serpent already deeply entrenched in Guangling?
As circumstances forced them to move slowly, Chen Yu and her maid Qingniao, along with a few others, walked forward. Looking up, they saw the crowd along the riverbank scattering in panic, leaving behind a chaotic mess. A black torrent surged toward them on land—Guangling’s Beikui cavalry, mounted on dark-maned horses, clad in pitch-black armor. Their momentum was so overwhelming that it rivaled the great tidal surge of Guangling itself.
Chen Yu furrowed her delicate brows. Had Xu Fengnian gone mad? She didn’t mind that his method of punishing Prince Zhaobiao had been brutal—after all, evil must be met with evil. The grudges between top aristocrats rarely involved tenderness or sentimentality. But for Xu Fengnian to defy danger and swim against the tide was simply reckless. Was flaunting his might and making a spectacle really the way to go? Didn’t he understand the simple truth that a man of noble birth should avoid sitting beneath a hanging roof?
Chen Yu gave a faint, disdainful snort, her lips curling into a cold smile. How unfortunate—just as the hidden threads of fate began to weave, barely stepping out of the garden, the line had already snapped here on the banks of the Guangling River.
Shuxiu and Yang Qingfeng had no reason to stand aside. Qingniao held the spear called Channa, and the three of them kept a distance behind the young prince and the old man in the lambskin coat. Since they had abandoned the carriage, Qingniao hadn’t forgotten to bring the sword case of Deng Ta’a for Shuxiu. The two ahead were ready to face the first cavalry charge head-on—an act of such brazen arrogance that it sent chills down the spine. The young prince strode forward gracefully, his waist adorned with twin blades, his hand resting on their hilts. Though his face was pale and his health seemed poor, after the display of pressing down the horse’s head and the astonishing feat of controlling objects with sheer force of will, no one doubted that he was merely a sickly noble.
The one-armed old swordsman, knowing that this battle might well be his last in this world, had nothing left to lose. If the sword sovereign of Xishu had once slain a thousand riders before dying from exhaustion, then Li Chungan would show the world that the peak of swordsmanship was far beyond that!
He, Li Chungan, had reigned over the martial world for a hundred years. What did it matter that he had lost twice to Wang Xianzhi? Was there truly no younger generation capable of dethroning the Lord of Wudi City? Was Deng Ta’a the only one? In the great river of swordsmanship, even one was too few!
Chen Yu walked at the rear. Beside her, the fat pig Zhao Biao, who had been unconscious, slightly opened his eyes. The three hundred jin of flesh rolled with a grunt, and in a flash, he sprang to his feet with surprising agility, making one doubt whether their eyes had deceived them. His jiggling flesh shook violently as he bolted in the opposite direction of Xu Fengnian, running for dear life. He only wanted to escape this battlefield as quickly as possible. Witnessing this, Chen Yu was slightly taken aback. She thought to herself that this Guangling prince wasn’t entirely foolish after all—he knew how to feign death to escape. If he hadn’t made such a shameful scene, he might have lost even more flesh.
Chen Yu stopped glancing at the pile of fat filth and turned her gaze to the young prince of Beiliang, who was already drawing his blade. Sighing inwardly, she thought that if she were in his place, she would have loudly announced his identity before the crowd had fully dispersed, spreading the name of the Beiliang heir across the Guangling riverbank. That way, Zhao Yi would hesitate to unleash a thousand iron riders in broad daylight. After all, killing the heir of Beiliang would be a crime that would shake the imperial court. Moreover, this heir was of the highest rank in the Liyang Dynasty, a first-class noble with hereditary privileges. But the opportunity had passed in an instant. The spectators, regardless of their backgrounds, had no courage to witness the spectacle. Even if they learned the truth afterward, they no longer had the qualifications to testify—so who would dare speak out against the court?
The mysterious Chen Yu, her thoughts tangled, recalled the retreating figure of the white-cloaked young man who had thrown away his sword. She vaguely remembered hearing a phrase and murmured to herself: “A hero dies to leave behind a great name. That is true, but such is the way of a desperate man burning his boats. You clearly have the potential to become a mighty warlord who dominates the north and conquers the south. Why, then, are you so reckless? I thought you were a man of hidden virtue beneath a hollow exterior, but it seems both inside and out, you are nothing but rotten husk.”
On the viewing platform of Dayanji, a massive Zhao banner fluttered in the river wind. A middle-aged man, even more obese than Zhao Biao, sat in a nine-dragon robe with a jade belt. His robe was made of golden-yellow brocade, its hem embroidered with waves and sea dragons, harmonizing with the surging tides of Guangling.
The chair beneath him was three times the size of a normal one. He didn’t move like a mountain—he simply sat there and yet towered over many officials on the Dayanji platform. No one outside the imperial clan could wear a dragon robe, except for rebels. The nine ranks of dragon robes were distinguished by color. Except for the crown prince, feudal lords and ordinary princes were supposed to wear light yellow, blue, or stone-blue robes, at most with golden embroidery along the edges. But this mountain of authority and dignity here wore a specially granted robe of the purest golden-yellow, a sign of the emperor’s boundless favor. The reason was that this powerful feudal lord and the current emperor were born of the same mother, their brotherly bond deeper than that of any other royal prince. Prince Zhao Yi of Guangling was the only one in the world who could share a bed with the emperor!
Once, he had struck a prefect’s head with a jade As You Wish until his brains splattered, and the only consequence was a eunuch from the capital arriving in Guangling to deliver a meaningless verbal reprimand from the emperor.
Beside Prince Zhao Yi stood an emaciated old man, with a pair of whiskers like a rat. He wore a robe of the finest Suzao craftsmanship, though his appearance was hideous. To Zhao Yi’s right stood a middle-aged general, handsome and dignified, his hand resting on his sword. Clearly, the great prince placed great trust in this warrior. This was none other than the famed general of the age, Lu Shengxiang, known for his cunning strategies, especially his mastery of long-range raids with elite cavalry. Dongyue’s fall was half his doing. Born of a humble family, Lu Shengxiang enjoyed an excellent reputation both in the military and among scholars. No one knew why he had remained in Guangling all these years.
At the time when Gu Jiantang entered the capital with twelve riders, Lu Shengxiang should have been among them. For years, rumors had persisted that he would be summoned to the capital to serve as Vice Minister of War, biding his time for five or six years until Gu Jiantang advanced further, at which point he would take over as Minister of War. But this year, with the sudden emergence of the sword immortal Lu Baijie from Tangxi County, the court’s speculation finally quieted.
The chief strategist of Guangling Prince’s Mansion, a wily old fox with a rat-like face, extended a slender finger to stroke his mustache, speaking in a peculiar tone: “Shengxiang, you overestimate this Beiliang heir. If I had known, we could have played cat and mouse, slowly savoring the meal.”
The moment the Beiliang heir set foot in Guangling, secret agents from the Prince’s Mansion had already delivered the news to the Chunsue Tower. This tower was off-limits to ordinary people, a military command center of the Prince’s Mansion. All matters within Guangling, no matter how trivial, were decided here. Hence, it was regarded by Guangling officials as a great gate of power. To enter the tower and meet with Prince Zhao Yi meant that an official had truly established himself in Guangling. To have advised Zhao Yi when he first became the military governor of Guangling meant that one had become an influential noble, red-hot and feared even more than the so-called regional governors and prefects.
That day, when Xu Fengnian came to view the tide, the direct lineage and strategists within Chunsue Tower adopted a cold, indifferent attitude—no attempt to recruit or intimidate. However, Prince Zhao Biao’s actions had disrupted their plans. To the shadowy powers within Chunsue Tower, this was no big deal. Most of them were young and ambitious men who had only secured their positions in the past twenty years. They held little reverence for the Different surnames king Xu Xiao. Several radical strategists had long advocated using the Beiliang cavalry as a stepping stone for Guangling’s mighty army. Therefore, when they heard that the heir had led thirty riders to provoke Xu Fengnian, only to be humiliated by having flesh cut from his body, even Lu Shengxiang felt anger. He immediately proposed that before the Beiliang heir could reveal his identity for self-protection, they should unleash a thousand iron riders in a thunderous assault. Even if the old swordsman Li Chungan, famous in Wudi City, guarded him, even if all thousand Beikui riders perished, they could simply send another three thousand!
To kill a young man destined to inherit the title of Beiliang King, and to eliminate a legendary swordsman of the martial world—Lu Shengxiang believed his lord had the resolve to sacrifice one or two thousand Beikui soldiers.
Others might not know the hidden thoughts of the emperor in the capital, but Lu Shengxiang, a famed general well-versed in military affairs and court politics, had stood among the top three in Chunsue Tower for over twenty years. Surely, he had some understanding of the Bottom line? Naturally, today’s turmoil would surely provoke Xu Xiao’s fury, triggering a chain reaction. The capital might issue an imperial edict, even possibly demoting Prince Zhao Yi by a rank. But such short-term gains and losses could be ignored in the grand schemes of court politics and war between nations. Xu Xiao had spent his life in battle, bearing countless wounds. Now over fifty, how much longer could he live? What could twenty more years grant the crippled Xu? By then, Beiliang would collapse, and his lord would still be under sixty, with descendants aplenty. Lu Shengxiang dared to predict that not only would Zhao Yi regain his title, but the young prince would also obtain the hereditary privilege he so desired. Beiliang’s power, like a giant serpent coiled along the northern border, had a fatal weakness—the Xu clan had only two sons. The younger, Xu Longxiang, was a fool. If the eldest, Xu Fengnian, died, could Xu Xiao, who had toppled the Eight Kingdoms of Spring and Autumn, truly defy fate? Unless a sage of the three great teachings became a terrestrial immortal, a youth’s past would be nothing but bones. Since ancient times, all have claimed “Long live the emperor,” but who has truly lived forever?
Lu Shengxiang did not bother to argue with the mustachioed strategist. He simply said, “If Xu Fengnian seeks death, can you and I stop him?”
The Prince’s Mansion’s chief strategist, with a hideous face, chuckled, his eyes flashing with sharpness.
Indeed, one should never judge a book by its cover.
When Lu Shengxiang had proposed using a thousand riders to chase Xu Fengnian, he wasn’t entirely sure whether Zhao Yi had the patience to endure for twenty years. But in reality, this great prince not only sent Zhang Erbao to lead the army but also dispatched someone with the Tiger Tally to the Shanwei camp, ordering the entire Beikui force to mobilize. This decisiveness and ruthlessness even moved Lu Shengxiang, a man known for his bloodthirsty nature. After all, killing the only heir of Beiliang meant that Guangling would be at war with the Beiliang cavalry forever. If the two armies truly clashed on the battlefield, even two Guanglings would be doomed to defeat. Zhao Yi had only two pillars of support—the emperor, his elder brother born of the same parents, and the thousand-mile Rivers and mountains of the Liyang Dynasty between Beiliang and Guangling!
With just a few words from a handful of people, the future of the dynasty for the next twenty years was decided on the Dayanji platform.
Lu Shengxiang listened to the crashing tide, his heart far from as calm as his expression and tone suggested.
This was power.
What were beauty, delicate hands grinding ink, and red sleeves adding fragrance compared to standing alone at the pinnacle of a painted landscape?
Prince Zhao Yi of Guangling rested his elbow on the armrest, supporting his snow-white face and chin. It was unimaginable that a man nearing four hundred jin could have such smooth skin. Smiling, he said, “Carrying those few women on a journey through the martial world is like a three-year-old child holding gold in a crowded market—how could he avoid attracting bees and butterflies? Biao’s taste has always been good. This time’s loss isn’t his fault. I underestimated the courage of the Xu family’s child. Indeed, to slaughter scholars in Jiangnan, to curse at Longhushan on the snowy terrace of Huishan, to ascend the walls of Wudi City—even if he were a mere silk pillow, he should at least be crafted by Guangling’s Suzao artisans, wouldn’t you agree?”
Lu Shengxiang did not respond. Instead, he gazed at the Beikui light cavalry surging like a flood on the reviewing platform. That small group of Beiliang visitors truly dared to stand against the tide. The northern barbarians must have been spoiled rotten by the crippled Xu.
The aged, mustachioed strategist sneered, “That little brat is foolish but bold, not much of an achievement. With the Prince’s strategic planning, he’s bound to be caught in the palm of your hand. Perhaps the boy won’t believe until his dying breath that the Prince would dare defy even Xu Xiao’s face. I wonder how many times that old swordsman, Li Chungan, can withstand a thousand cavalry charges?”
Lu Shengxiang shook his head, his tone heavy: “It is said that Li Chungan achieved the realm of a terrestrial immortal on Huishan, firmly established in the sword immortal realm. The tale of the former emperor of Xishu slaying over a thousand Beiliang riders is no mere rumor. This Li, the old swordsman, will be a formidable foe.”
Prince Zhao Yi of Guangling smiled: “A thousand Beikui riders cost me quite a bit of silver. Losing them is somewhat regrettable. But Guangling has been too peaceful and dull these years. If a thousand or a few thousand lives can bring some amusement, it won’t be a total loss. Shengxiang, Zhu Po, watch this grand performance carefully. Don’t waste my silver.”
Lu Shengxiang remained expressionless. The strategist called Zhu Po smiled and said, “I don’t deal much with martial artists, but today I’ll be sure to open my eyes wide and see if this so-called sword immortal can truly turn the tide.”
Zhao Yi snapped his fingers and joked, “A sword immortal flying a blade to sever a head—His Majesty dares not be arrogant. If Li Chungan, in desperation, cuts off my head with a single sword strike, it would become a great joke.”
After the finger-snap, an elderly swordsman with a gaunt face but radiating an intense sword aura slowly ascended the reviewing platform. He placed his hands over the hilt of his sword, facing the cavalry and Li Chungan, closing his eyes in deep concentration.
This old man was none other than Chai Qingshan, the last great sword master of Dongyue’s Sword Pond. His swordsmanship was unrivaled in the southeast of the empire, having saved Prince Zhao Yi from countless assassination attempts. However, the current Sword Master of Dongyue’s Sword Pond, concerned about the reputation of the Sword Pond, had no choice but to expel Chai, his master’s uncle.
The mustachioed strategist chuckled, “Chai Qingshan, you are indeed a grandmaster of the sword. Moreover, your senior brother was humiliated by Li Chungan, leading to his shame and suicide. You two enemies meeting face-to-face should be filled with rage. Why are you so calm? Could it be that Li Chungan’s feat of splitting the heavens with a sword in the East Sea has frightened you out of your wits?”
Zhao Yi frowned: “Zhang Zhu Po, don’t be petty like a woman. Master Chai merely killed your useless nephew. What’s the big deal? If you keep chattering, do you think I won’t make you fight him right here and now?”
Zhang Zhu Po’s eyes flickered, and he immediately slapped himself twice, apologizing: “This servant knows his mistake.”
Chai Qingshan remained still, his expression unchanging.
The naval drill continued on the river, but the Guangling riverside was instantly filled with swirling winds and gathering clouds.
The vanguard general, Zhang Erbao, charged ahead, wielding a horse spear that whistled through the air as he swung it.
The old man in the lambskin coat held a standard sword from the Youfeng cavalry unit—far from a divine weapon—but as he gazed at the endless Guangling cavalry, a faint smile appeared on his aged face.
“When I first entered the martial world, I walked the Guangling tide with a sword in hand, believing that as long as I had a sword, the heavens and earth were mine to roam freely. How nostalgic that youthful ignorance feels now.”
“At last, I am leaving the martial world, and here on the Guangling River. Young Xu, I’ve known you for a while. I won’t call us friends across generations, but I do find you likable. If you fight with all your might, your reputation will grow, but it may not be good for your future command of the Beiliang cavalry. As the heir, you must hide your strength, even wishing to pour dirt on yourself to sleep peacefully. I see you living uncomfortably, unlike us A wandering rogue who chase fame and reputation. Therefore, don’t blame me for taking all the glory in this battle. I’ll kill all a thousand riders. If Zhao Yi doesn’t care, I’ll kill another three or four thousand. I must have my fill.”
“If by chance we do lose, don’t think of avenging me. Just run. Before I die, I’ll save enough strength to send you out of Guangling.”
Xu Fengnian laughed: “Xu Xiao once said that a true man may act carelessly in small matters, but when it comes to life and death, he must still act accordingly—there are things he must do and things he must not do!”
“If you trust this young servant, go ahead and fight. I’ll guard your back.”
“Let’s fight all the way to Dayanji!”
Old swordsman Li Chungan stopped walking and laughed mockingly: “You say these bold words because you know I won’t lose, don’t you?”
Xu Fengnian looked wronged: “Old master, your words wound deeper than the Qing She sword!”
The old man laughed heartily, then with a flick of his foot, he shot forward, declaring boldly, “Deng Ta’a, do you really think your sword skills surpass mine?”
Later records stated that on the tenth day of the eighth month, during the tide-watching festival, Li Chungan’s single sword cut through 2,600 enemies and shattered their armor.
From that day on, there were no longer distinctions between old and new sword immortals in the martial world.
Blood flowed like a river, staining the shores, uncleaned even by the crashing tides.
As Xu Fengnian approached Dayanji with the Beiliang heir, he smiled and asked Prince Zhao Yi of Guangling: “If I die here, Xu Xiao will make every household in Guangling hang the swords of Beiliang. Do you believe me?”
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage