Huang Baozhuang was taken at a young age by her master into the fairyland of the Northern Mang’s Xian Mansion. Her slender shoulders bore too many burdens early on. After that, besides practicing swordsmanship and playing chess, she had nothing else to do. Delicate like the finest white parchment in the world, she was watched over too closely by the Chess and Sword Mansion—no one was allowed to write even a single stroke upon this blank sheet. Growing from a child into a young woman, she interacted almost exclusively with her master and a few others, mainly the two mansion lords. She had stood countless times on the high pavilions, standing on tiptoes, gazing down at the laughter and joy below—so distant from her, filled with curiosity and longing.
After turning ten, Huang Baozhuang began to sense another self within her. At sixteen, she emerged from the mountains of Green Mountains with startling power, so formidable that the Chess and Sword Mansion had no choice but to assign a Grand Elder to watch her constantly. She was like someone stepping on a watermelon rind, sliding wherever fate took her. After turning twenty, her master had already passed away. Besides the Bronze Man Ancestor, only Senior Brother Hong occasionally came to play chess with her. The two were terrible at the game, and the Chess Mansion Lord, after watching a few matches, refused to stand by and watch again.
Huang Baozhuang knew she was good for little besides the presence of her other self and sword practice. Her chess was poor, and her literacy limited. She had always envied the senior disciples of the sect for their scholarly grace and eloquence. Before entering the Yanmen Pass, Senior Brother Dongxian, Wu Miaozai, had made a bet with Senior Brother Xihu over who could recite the “Buddha Niche Record” flawlessly. Thus, when she stood atop the city wall and saw this figure reciting so fluently, she felt deep admiration for his erudition.
Her master, the two mansion lords, the Bronze Man Ancestor, Senior Brother Hong, and herself made five in total. However, if the Young Prince had known that he himself was ranked third from the bottom among a number barely exceeding those six, he would surely have thought her admiration for erudition lacked sincerity.
Xu Fengnian, seeing no one around, took from his bosom a stack of thin, translucent face masks, like cicada wings. He carefully peeled off one and began applying it to his face, slowly adjusting every facial feature with his fingers. Huang Baozhuang made no effort to hide her shock. Don’t think it’s as simple as slapping on a mask—it was a delicate craft rivaling embroidery. Xu Fengnian’s vital energy was greatly depleted, and he feared any flaw might expose him. Just as he was about to ask her to point out any imperfections, she already understood his intent and gently extended her slender fingers, smoothing out the tiny flaws with care.
There were six masks in total. Shu Xiu had worked through the night for two full weeks creating them. The Young Prince himself didn’t know the exact details, but during that time, the mature and voluptuous Shu Dama, with her twin mounds like inverted spring bamboo shoots, kept coming to caress his face whenever she had free time. Each touch lasted for several incense sticks’ worth of time. Who knows if she had ulterior motives? On several occasions, the Young Prince distinctly felt the tips of her cherries harden against his chest or arms, leaving him in a whirlwind of lustful thoughts. She was indeed a ripe woman past her prime, and when spring came, she was as restless as a cat in heat.
Taking advantage of the moment while Huang Baozhuang helped him, and seeing her eyes filled with curiosity and wonder, Xu Fengnian smiled and explained, “This was crafted by a master of disguise from the Southern Highlands’ witch sect. She said there are five levels to the art of disguise: placing the piece, connecting the breath, rooting, embodying, and reincarnation. Placing the piece is the crudest form, only enough to fool those with poor eyesight. Connecting the breath is the first true level. If you can root the disguise, it becomes hard to detect. At the level of embodying, not only the appearance, but even the demeanor changes. As for reincarnation, even she only heard of it. There’s a saying that the face reflects the heart. Changing the mask is like altering one’s bone structure, possibly even shifting fate itself. She made six for me: one at the level of connecting the breath, one at embodying, four at rooting, and the one you held was merely placing the piece. The one that was damaged was a rooted mask. This concept, your Chess and Sword Mansion should understand deeply.”
Xu Fengnian stood up, and Huang Baozhuang quickly followed, stepping back a few paces. Xu Fengnian knew this place was unsuitable for lingering, so before leaving, he whispered softly, “Let’s pretend today never happened. Don’t speak of this to anyone.”
Unexpectedly, Huang Baozhuang shook her head. Xu Fengnian asked in surprise, “Will you report this truthfully to the Chess and Sword Mansion?”
She nodded.
Xu Fengnian furrowed his brows, his mind warring within himself. If this woman were merely a direct disciple of the Chess and Sword Mansion, aside from whether it was right or wrong to harm her, the safest course would be to kill her. But she carried the pearl in her mouth, and her origins were mysterious. Killing her would unleash a supreme demon, whether heaven-ranked or earth-ranked—it would be no different from suicide. But kidnapping her was clearly not a wise move either. She was an essential piece in the Chess and Sword Mansion, second only to Hong Jingyan in importance. Taking her away would be like stabbing the Chess and Sword Mansion in the back and then shouting, “Come chase me!” With their immense power and lofty status, who else would they pursue if not him? Neither killing nor kidnapping was viable—so was he really just going to let her go?
Xu Fengnian rubbed his forehead in thought. This woman seemed gentle enough. Earlier, when he had threatened her heart, she had urged him to flee first. Why, in the end, had she become such an unbending stickler, with not a shred of flexibility?
With a heavy sigh, Xu Fengnian concluded that it was clear he would leave a mess behind. After all, back then, to avoid trouble for the Fish and Dragon Gang, he had even gone so far as to take the *Gongyang Commentary* from the corpse of the old man with the hawk nose, trying to dispel suspicion from those outside the Chess and Sword Mansion. But if Wang Weixue was perceptive, this meant inviting disaster upon himself. Once you have lice, you no longer fear bites. After parting ways with the Fish and Dragon Gang in Liuxia City, chaos was inevitable anyway. Let the Chess and Sword Mansion come as they pleased—he would meet force with force and water with earth.
Huang Baozhuang hesitated, then raised a slender finger and said, “I’ll only say I saw you, that you made me spit out the pearl, but I won’t say your name, won’t mention your saber, and won’t speak of the mask.”
Xu Fengnian was momentarily stunned, then his face broke into a bright smile. He stepped forward twice, arms outstretched as if to give her a farewell embrace. Huang Baozhuang blushed and stepped back—exactly two steps. Would the flower-loving Xu Fengnian, raised among perfumed beauties, really stop there? He boldly took two more steps forward, his expression now adding a touch of seemingly sincere, pitiful innocence. The young woman from the Chess and Sword Mansion, growing even more shy, blushed like peach blossoms and took one more step back. From two steps to one—did the seasoned playboy prince not understand the subtleties of this dance? Had all those years of showering him with gold and jewels been in vain? He suddenly wrapped his arms around her, a woman who didn’t love him but simply lacked the skill to refuse. He sniffed near her black hair pinned up with a sandalwood comb and teased, “Next time I get the chance, I’ll come find you at the Chess and Sword Mansion. If you feel it’s unfair, you can hug me back then.”
Finally letting go of Huang Baozhuang, whether it was due to the pearl she carried or her innate Dragon Consort aura, her body was cool like a spring in summer, warm like jade in winter. Xu Fengnian leapt from her side, deliberately avoiding looking at her tearful, pouting expression. With one hand on the city wall, he vaulted down and sped into the desert, leaving Yanhuiguan behind.
Huang Baozhuang stood motionless atop the city wall, lost in thought. As dusk thickened, she recalled her master’s words—how the Yanhui Pass was where geese returned from the south, flying with reed leaves in their beaks. If one was lucky, one might even catch a glimpse of a mirage. She had finally gathered the courage to ask the mansion lord for this journey.
After a long while, Huang Baozhuang’s body suddenly stiffened. Slowly turning around, she saw two figures standing at the far end of the long corridor of green bricks. Then she relaxed, smiling. In her vision, two men stood side by side. One was of an almost unbelievable stature, nearly twice her height, his skin a rare golden copper.
The giant, resembling a celestial immortal, had a blank expression. Beside him stood another man whose sharpness surpassed even the giant’s. He looked to be in his early thirties, holding a string of heads like candied hawthorns. Some were already dry, their faces withered, while others still dripped with blood, their expressions lifelike. The head of Old Master Song, Lao Guitou, was among them, his final moments clearly filled with terror, his facial features twisted in fear. If the Young Prince had still been on the city wall, he would have mistaken this man for a younger version of Wang Xianzhi of Wudi City—not because of appearance, but because of the same terrifying aura.
The man in his thirties handed the string of heads to the copper giant beside him and approached Huang Baozhuang. He smiled—only she would recognize it as such. Anyone with even a bit of worldly experience would feel only icy dread at his expression. His eyes had no pupils, only eerie silver-white orbs. He pulled out the *Qingfu Sword Manual*, “gazed” at Huang Baozhuang for a moment, and spoke slowly, “The Bronze Man Ancestor and I went to the border city of Beiliang to repay a gift to that killer of our Northern Mang royalty, Chen Zhibao. On the way back, I picked up a few manuals. This Qingfu was originally meant for you, so I won’t hand it over to the mansion lord.”
After handing over the *Qingfu Sword Manual*, he said nothing more. In an instant, he shot into the sky like an arrow, and the entire city wall trembled under his leap. Huang Baozhuang saw her senior brother land on the back of a goose at the forefront of a V-shaped formation, flying northward. Holding the Qingfu, her eyes shone with pure reverence.
This senior brother was Hong Jingyan. Once, while playing chess, he had pointed to his own eyes and said that in the entire world, he saw only two people: one was Wang Xianzhi, the other was Toba Busa.
The Bronze Man Ancestor’s left shoulder tilted downward slightly, and she smiled and leapt up to stand on his shoulder.
Under the moonlight in the vast desert, the golden giant, holding six or seven heads, sped northward with the girl on his shoulder.
In the Northern Mang, only a few fairylands like the Chess and Sword Mansion could see the continuous green mountains and the gradual emergence of beauty. Huang Baozhuang truly loved this mid-tier poetic name. Toward this family without blood relations, she had no wish to lie—keeping silent was already her limit.
In the silent night, an old Confucian scholar arrived atop the city wall, carrying a heavy bamboo-bound book chest. He looked at the shattered stone tablet and shook his head in regret, murmuring about the younger generation these days. The aged man, his face lined with hardship, stood alone beneath the general’s command platform. After twenty years away from home, whether it was homesickness or some other impulse, it was time to return.
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