Xu Fengnian had no interest in staring blankly at Jiang Ni. He left her sitting on the ground and went inside to unpack his luggage. Aside from a large luminous pearl and several brushes with tips as sharp as needles made from Dongliao rabbit hair from Guandong, he tossed all other books onto the table, forming a towering pile.
Looking around, there was “Sword of Slaughtering Whales” from Zijin Manor, “Vajra Subduing Demons Fist” copied by Two Chan Temples, “Finger of Avalokitesvara’s Enlightenment” from the largest nunnery in the Southern Sea, and more than fifty volumes of martial cultivation secrets from various sects. All shared one common trait — they were supreme techniques from different schools, possibly not reaching the highest level, but mastering even one would be an extraordinary feat for Xu Fengnian.
He brought them all here from Tingchao Pavilion not with the intention of learning every martial style thoroughly, but hoping to absorb the best elements and pick out one or two applicable moves from each manual that might enhance his swordsmanship. At the very least, seeing so many styles would help him become familiar enough to remain unfazed should he ever encounter someone walking on water or flying over grass like a pig floating through the air.
Like playing a game of chess, these books served as standard patterns and strategies. As long as he could predict three or ten moves ahead after the opponent placed a single piece, then no matter how clever their variations, he could simply cut them down early with one decisive stroke.
Flipping through a few pages of one manual, Xu Fengnian set it aside, picked up his sword, and prepared to go practice six hundred slashes and six hundred cuts at Bai Xiang Pond. But upon stepping outside, he noticed Jiang Ni still hadn’t gone down the mountain. She sat on a bamboo chair wiping dirt from her face with her sleeve, delicate movements suggesting she exerted effort with every slight tug. After all, where in this world could you find a woman who didn’t care about beauty?
Smiling playfully, Xu teased, “Little Ni Ren, the night is turning dark and windy—too scared to descend alone? I have a kind heart; shall I call a handsome young Taoist monk with rosy lips and white teeth to accompany you?”
Jiang Ni scoffed coldly, “The Great Column Country asked me to stay here on Wudang Mountain. I heard someone already performed the adult ceremony—how amusing.”
Annoyance flashed across Xu Fengnian’s face. Ignoring this rootless little weed’s sarcasm, he merely furrowed his brows and muttered, “Has Xu Yao lost his mind?”
Jiang Ni remained silent, expressionless. Then slowly, using her slender fingers like tender scallions, she began combing dust and dirt from her flowing black tresses.
Xu Fengnian gathered some medicinal herbs from the forest and dropped them in front of the house, saying, “You stay here; I’ll go elsewhere.”
Jiang Ni showed no reaction, remaining perfectly still like a clay Bodhisattva, still tilting her head without glancing toward the Prince, meticulously tidying the battlefield of herbs. She wouldn’t touch the bundle he left behind.
Holding the glowing pearl and a brush made from wild rabbit fur, Xu entered a cave atop Xuanxian Peak. He carved a hollow into the stone wall and embedded the pearl within. The chamber instantly illuminated. Blood seeped through cloth bindings wrapped around Xu Fengnian’s hands as he continued practicing sword strokes, though cautiously refraining from striking directly under the waterfall.
Late into the night, exhausted beyond measure, he settled beneath the farthest rock wall from the waterfall, legs crossed, falling asleep still clutching his blade.
At dawn, he awakened precisely on schedule. Opening his eyes, Xu saw Hong Xixiang squatting near the waterfall, splashing water onto his face. Xu generally preferred ignoring such a person when possible and instead began drilling sword cuts and thrusts in the open area.
While Xu practiced rigid forms, the cow-riding youth who’d spent over a decade grazing cattle on the mountain now studied the priceless heavy Ji Bi (jade tablet) against the stone wall. The round gem gleamed green and translucent in daylight, radiating moonlike brightness at night. Though small compared to others, its hues rivaled the most dazzling of Rosy Glow (rainbow-like brilliance).
The largest known nocturnal pearl resided in the imperial palace, cradled by four beauties twenty years of age encircling it in Princess Suizhu’s study—the Emperor’s beloved daughter named thus because during her birth, the Kingdom of Sui presented a colossal pearl unearthed beneath Mount Tai.
Xu Fengnian once almost possessed two “Suizhus,” had he agreed to journey southward and accept becoming royal consort.
Whether the delicacy burned his hands, he never discovered, since mistakes of such caliber rarely occurred in Beiliang Mansion—thanks to the gentle hearts of Wu Tong Courtyard maids. Yet the roasted sweet potato certainly scorched tongue, hand, and heart alike—facts only the Crown Prince himself fully understood.
Dampness filled the cave. Coupled with the sweat from training, the conditions became dangerous for health. Thus, Xu dared not linger too long.
Slung over his shoulder, Xiu Dong Dao (Xiudong Blade), he carried a renowned brush crafted from Dongliao rabbit hairs—known as the finest type of hard-tipped purple hare bristles. Hare bristle inherently stiff, yet northern varieties stood firmer still, with Dongliao purple hares considered indisputably superior. These brushes excelled at writing bold, vigorous characters—sharp as needles, precise as knives. Truly, a pen worthy of being called a blade among brushes.
Since childhood, Li Yishan demanded Xu use only hard-bristled brushes for handwriting. Soft sheep-hair brushes were strictly forbidden—delicate, spineless scripts earning disdain from the mansion’s foremost cultured scholar. Still, Xu knew someday he’d wield soft brushes to write grand inscriptions for plaques.
Though often mocked as superficial nobility—a golden exterior hiding straw within—and frequently engaging in poets’ affairs buying verses dearly, Xu indeed understood music, chess, calligraphy, painting, tea, and wine, though perhaps not mastered any.
Swordplay required strength; calligraphy demanded finesse. Especially after wielding swords, handling brushwork proved particularly difficult.
With the Dongliao brush dipped in water, Xu wrote out passages from “Sword of Slaughtering Whales” upon bluestone slabs. Words born of thought shaped bold running script exuding murderous intent.
Hong Xixiang crouched beside observing closely, exclaiming, “What elegant calligraphy! A hundredfold better than Master Senior apprentice brother’s earthworm scribbles. Whenever he corresponded with disciples going down the mountain or outsiders, he always begged me to transcribe!”
Paying no heed to such flattery, Xu bit the Dongliao brush shaft between his teeth. Though arduous, climbing mountains and training swords previously hadn’t stripped away the calluses painstakingly built over three wandering years.
Nowadays, bleeding constantly from his palms, whenever not swinging steel, he idly let Xiudong dangle off his shoulder—an artistic pose seemingly poetic, yet masking murder lurking deep within.
Approaching the hut, yesterday’s herbs lay untouched today exactly where he left them. Smiling slightly, Xu pushed open the door. His first glance revealed Jiang Ni wasn’t sleeping on the bed—perhaps touring the Crystal World (Crystal World)? Looking again, he found the freshly groomed Ni Ren seated upright facing the wall, dozing peacefully.
Her refusal to sleep on the bed, Xu readily understood, stemmed from disgust towards his former resting spot. Clearly, the tender back bearing burdens uphill couldn’t tolerate further pressure.
Spitting the hare brush onto the table, Xu nudged this once regal princess—now reduced from imperial captivity to Beiliang Mansion prison, and finally confined to this humble mountain hut.
Evidently exhausted, she stirred not at all. Murmuring softly mid-sleep, Xu ignored knowing full well it involved curses aimed at him. Staring briefly, he noted her potential beauty—one day surpassing even White Fox Face, though not quite rivaling Red Sweet Potato or Green Bird just yet. Her previous display of falling sideways while shaking off soil struck him as amusing.
In dreams, Jiang Ni swayed sideways, nearly toppling over. Xu Fengnian twitched his shoulder; Xiudong fell gently, halting her fall with its scabbard. Slowly adjusting her posture, he then withdrew without further disturbance.
Stepping outside, he spotted the cow-riding fellow sensibly cooking porridge. Several small jars containing pickled vegetables lined the room, for recently, unless the junior patriarch grew overly busy with ancient calligraphic scrolls or rare textual annotations, he usually arrived timely to prepare meals for the Crown Prince—willingly laboring with joy.
Hong flipped through《Winter Sacrificial Ritual Records》with moistened fingertips while watching the bubbling pot.
Frankly, Xu couldn’t fathom how this timid fellow could bear the dual burden of martial and celestial Dao, destined to revive the Xuanwu (Black Tortoise) legacy.
Leaving two bowls’ worth of rice porridge for Jiang Ni atop the table, Xu shouldered his sword and ascended Xuanxian Peak. “Record of Sword Cultivation Through Sixty Years” contained sword-training insights, occasionally offering abstract concepts elevating sword technique toward Dao itself—advocating lofty pursuits like star-gazing from high places or sea-watching by shorelines.
Unfortunately, despite prolonged scrutiny, Xu failed to grasp connections linking sword Dao. Meanwhile, the cowherd watched silently nearby, captivated.
Growing resentful, Xu questioned, “After viewing it for twenty years, haven’t you grown tired?”
Junior Patriarch chuckled, replying innocently, “Each day presents fresh scenery; why grow weary?”
Curious, Xu asked, “Do you really know martial arts?”
Hong replied sincerely, “Most likely not.”
Xu kicked him lightly. Hong wobbled left and right but resumed his exact position effortlessly.
Surprised, Xu asked, “What was that?”
This junior elder, who truly never touched a martial manual nor trained in decades atop the mountain, scratched the spot Xu kicked and said innocently, “There’s a great bell in Xuanwu Hall. When others ring it, I watch how it ceases ringing.”
“You mean,” Xu pressed, “you figured something out by watching it stop?”
Hong shook his head: “No particular insight.”
Feeling defeated, Xu asked, “If I told you to take a sword and slash the waterfall, could you sever it?”
Hong shook his head again: “Certainly not.”
That eased Xu’s frustration somewhat.
But immediately afterward, Hong added, “Though the blade won’t break free either.”
Suspicious, Xu ordered, “Then fetch a sword randomly and try. If you fail, prepare yourself for feeding fish.”
Hong looked hesitant: “Might I borrow the sword on your shoulder, Your Highness?”
Before Xu could kick him, Hong had vanished like a breeze.
Descending the peak, Xu waited roughly an hour before Hong returned panting, gripping a peachwood seven-star sword awkwardly. With a nod from Xu, Hong approached the waterfall solemnly. Inhaling deeply, he raised his arm and swung lightly.
A subtle downward arc formed—graceful as a gazelle hanging its horns—parting the roaring cascade decisively.
Returning the wooden sword, Hong turned toward Xu, showing neither pride nor surprise, as if nothing unusual had occurred.
Xu paused momentarily, then smiled, “I understand. This is your Dao.”
Seeming unaware of significance, Hong hurried toward Xu like a sycophant asking, “Explain it to me, please! Senior Chen said I live amidst mountains yet fail to recognize them—I’ll never attain enlightenment.”
Grinning cunningly, Xu replied, “Just descend the mountain and stand afar—you’ll see the entire range clearly.”
Hong sighed dramatically, pretending calculations with finger gestures: “Alas, today proves unfavorable for descending.”
Xu felt tempted to kick this cowardly turtle deeper into its shell forever.
Meanwhile, determined Jiang Ni had dug in at the hut like a bullheaded ox.
From snowy winter until spring blossoms flourished, the Crown Prince trained like a stray dog nearing collapse daily while Jiang enjoyed leisure. Never fulfilling servant duties, she wandered freely across Wudang, exploring half the eighty-one peaks and temples, collecting seeds from Ziyang Temple to plant vegetables along bamboo fences—carving out a tiny paradise garden. Even glancing twice earned warnings from her, fierce as a little white cat whose tail had been stepped on.
Besides sword drills and calligraphy, Xu continuously transported volumes from Tingchao Pavilion up the mountain—book by book, sack by sack—as though shifting mountains themselves.
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage