Xu Fengnian applied another facial mask, one that met the exacting standards of the sharp-tongued Auntie Shu, making him appear as scholarly as could be. The Spring and Autumn Sword had already accepted him as its master, its surging, river-like sword intent now reined in and slung diagonally across his back. His tall, slender frame made him appear even more refined and elegant, like a jade tree in the wind. All that was missing was an ancient temple standing in a desolate wasteland. If such a place had appeared, and Xu Fengnian had taken lodging there, lighting a lamp to study by night, it would not have been surprising if a fox spirit had come to tempt him.
The terrain of Ju Zhi State (Orange State) was quite similar to that of the Central Plains, with its share of towering mountains and deep ravines. However, compared to the more picturesque southern landscapes, it carried a rougher, more rugged quality, one that could not be fully appreciated with a mere casual glance. Along this journey, aside from nurturing his sword, Xu Fengnian had devoted much of his energy to deciphering the seventh page of the knife manual—the technique known as “Tie Green Silk.” He had learned that “stones from other mountains can be used to polish jade.” The battle in that narrow alleyway, where the blind lute player had played the childish and whimsical “Eighteen Laments of the Hu Jia,” had been chaotic at the time, but in hindsight, it had brought him great benefit.
Now that he had fulfilled one of his wishes—successfully persuading the old scholar to travel south to Nanzhao—there was no need for him to rush. At this moment, he arrived at a fork at the foot of a mountain and spotted a shabby tavern, its flag tattered and drooping no matter how fiercely the wind blew. Standing at the entrance was a young woman with a seductive figure, lazily stretching her arms above her head. With a twist of her waist, her mature charm swayed like a blooming flower in the breeze.
Spotting Xu Fengnian, the handsome scholar, she lit up with delight. She hurried over, took his arm, and pulled him toward the tavern. As she pressed close to him, she couldn’t help but lift her eyes with a flirtatious gaze, brimming with allure. Seeing his expression—piously upright, as if untouched by worldly desires—she cooed with a sly smile, “Young master, don’t pretend. I know you’re a sly old fox.”
Xu Fengnian no longer feigned seriousness and dropped his act, instantly becoming the kind of roguish cad who would strike up a conversation with a seductress. He chuckled, “Auntie, you’ve got sharp eyes.”
Auntie!
Now it was the young woman’s turn to struggle to keep her composure. She pouted playfully, “Master, you’re so naughty. I’m only eighteen!”
Xu Fengnian feigned innocence, “You mean your daughter is eighteen?”
“You little devil, go die!”
The woman, still smiling with seductive charm, whispered sweet nothings while slipping a dagger from her sleeve and aiming straight for Xu Fengnian’s waist.
Xu Fengnian, slightly weary from carrying his book-filled satchel, remained unfazed. He caught the dagger between two fingers and sighed, “Auntie, please, I just came here for a drink. I’ll pay, I promise.”
The woman, still smiling, narrowed her eyes. “Money won’t do. I want your body—every one hundred and twenty jin of it—to make meat buns for me!”
She tugged the dagger a few times, but it wouldn’t budge. A flicker of surprise crossed her face. She called out toward the tavern, “Come out quickly! Mama’s met someone dangerous!”
Xu Fengnian watched as more than a dozen burly men rushed out, and he couldn’t help but shake his head with a wry smile.
What an extraordinary martial world—Wenhua would surely love it.
※※※
It should have been the prime season for selling pre-rain Mingqian tea, but the small teahouse in Liuxia City remained nearly empty. The shopkeeper, naturally unsuited for business, didn’t care. The new girl, with her odd temper, didn’t care either. But Wenhua was anxious. Eating nothing but scallion egg noodles day after day was driving him mad. At least some meat now and then would be nice, wouldn’t it? He stood on the street, trying to attract customers, his throat dry from shouting, but not a single soul entered the teahouse. He glanced at the old parrot in the cage hanging by the door, still squawking away in a eunuch’s voice. Annoyed, he took his wooden sword and gave the cage a few hard knocks. But the bird, though its mimicry was muddled, had clearly inherited its master Old Huang’s calm demeanor, continuing to curse as usual. Wenhua crouched low, checking that Old Huang had his back turned, then reached out with two fingers to pluck a feather. Just as he was about to succeed, a sunflower struck his hand.
He tried to dodge, but it was too late. He glared and saw the young girl standing tall and graceful. Her complexion was pale, but watching her eat was quite appetizing. Unfortunately, Wenhua had vowed to reform himself as a wandering rogue, finally opening his eyes after his umpteenth case of love at first sight, determined to remain faithful to that one woman for life. He shouted, “Jia Jia Jia Jia Jia, if you hit me again, I’ll really have to fight back!”
When she had first arrived at the teahouse, looking utterly broken, Old Huang—who was normally unshakable even in the face of heaven collapsing—had felt deep pain. Later, when she introduced her name, she didn’t bother to speak clearly, only confirming the surname Jia, the rest being homophonic. Wenhua didn’t care and had always disliked her on sight, so he always called her with a long string of names. Last month, a scene had nearly scared him into wetting himself. A customer had deliberately mocked her tea-making skills, criticizing it even after she had brewed two new pots. Wenhua had been watching with amusement, secretly hoping she’d make a fool of herself. Then he saw the girl standing beside the customer suddenly smile with a chilling “hehe,” and with a single palm strike, she nearly severed the man’s head. If Wenhua hadn’t been quick to throw a tea saucer to block the blow and then thrown himself between them, the man’s head would have been sliced off like a watermelon. Since then, Wenhua had been walking on eggshells, following her everywhere, even to the bathroom, and had been more than willing to take on all the chores himself, refusing to let the fiery young lady serve any customers. Instead, he preferred her sitting cross-legged on the long chair by the window, holding a sunflower she had plucked from somewhere, lost in thought.
The girl smiled coldly with a “hehe.”
Wenhua had no way to deal with her and sheepishly walked into the teahouse, plopping down opposite Old Huang. Seeing the girl hadn’t followed, he whispered, “Is she your granddaughter? Do you really spoil her like this? I mean, last time, she almost killed someone. Isn’t that illegal?”
The old man with frost in his hair sipped his tea calmly. “My daughter killing a few people—illegal? Whose law? Which country’s law? Twenty years ago, you little brat, ask those kings and emperors who would dare to say yes.”
Wenhua’s mouth twitched. “Old Huang, you’re blowing smoke again. If you’re right, then you’re saying you’re on par with the Zhao Emperor himself?”
The old man gave the wooden sword-wielding wanderer a sidelong glance but said nothing. Wenhua felt a chill crawl up his spine. “Fine, fine, you’re the great one. Since you’re so confident, tonight I’ll make you three big bowls of scallion noodles, or else you’ll go to bed hungry.”
The refined old man waved a hand. “Just make one.”
Wenhua shouted, “No way! You think I’m just your flunky? Besides, Master Xiao Nian said, ‘A true man cannot be swayed by wealth or power!’ Only riches can tempt me to indulge! So, pay up first!”
The old man lifted his teacup slightly, and Wenhua immediately put on a fawning smile. He draped a towel over his shoulder and hurried off, muttering, “Just wait. I’ll see if I even put a few scallions in your noodles!”
The old man turned slightly and called out with a smile, “Little girl, come come come, sit closer and have tea with me.”
The girl sat at the next table, cross-legged, plucking petals from the sunflower one by one. They sat back to back.
The old man didn’t mind. Sipping his coarse tea one mouthful at a time, he waited. Wenhua, nimble on his feet, didn’t take long to prepare the noodles. After eating the bowl—where the scallions were so sparse they could be counted on one hand—he didn’t bother arguing with the young man and, after setting down his chopsticks, sighed, “Wen kid, among all the martial experts on the rankings, who do you think is the real master?”
At this topic, Wenhua’s eyes lit up. He laughed loudly, “That’s easy! It’s definitely the immortal Wang of Wudi City! As for Tuoba Boshi, he’s just a northern barbarian—I don’t care about him. But the Peach BlossomSword God Deng Ta’a, now there’s a true number one swordsman! I admire him with all my heart. If I could just exchange one sword strike with Master Deng before I die, I’d die content. The others—Cao Guanzi, the demon king Luo Yang—they’re nothing special. They’re not even my kind of dish!”
Old Huang snorted, “With that kind of understanding, you think you can master swordsmanship? If all you learn is from Deng Ta’a, and you don’t even know Li Chungan, then within a hundred years, swordsmanship will no longer hold half the glory of the martial world.”
Wenhua blinked. “Li Chungan? I only know that our dynasty has a martial ranking with a lot of exaggeration, and this old man is only eighth. And the northern martial rankings don’t even mention him anymore—didn’t he get pushed out?”
The old man raised his teacup as if to splash Wenhua with tea. The young man quickly covered his face with his sleeve, thinking it was coming. But the old man merely took a sip and said slowly, “In the past five hundred years, Li Chungan was the only swordsman whose skill rivaled the immortal Lu Dongxuan. Five hundred years, not one hundred. Among the Thirteen Heroes of the Spring and Autumn, Li Chungan’s position as the top swordsman was the most undisputed.”
Wenhua murmured, “Oh…” and asked humbly, “Old Huang, don’t speak in riddles. Tell me something real, or I won’t understand.”
The old man smiled. “Do you know how many armored warriors Li Chungan once cut down with a single sword strike by the Guangling River?”
Wenhua thought for a moment and guessed, “Eight hundred?”
Seeing the old man smile without answering, Wenhua took a gamble, “One thousand six hundred!”
The old man sneered, “Add another thousand.”
Wenhua slapped his thigh and roared, “Damn, that’s incredible! From now on, I won’t admire Deng Ta’a, who’s said to challenge Tuoba Boshi. I’ll follow Li Chungan instead!”
The old man sighed, “Unfortunately, he’s probably already dead.”
Wenhua was stunned.
Old Huang twirled the white porcelain teacup between his fingers, watching the ripples in the tea. He whispered, “Human strength has its limits. A single sword strike that shattered 2,600 armors left him with an irreversible injury. That feat, awe-inspiring as it was, surpassed even the legendary feat of the Wu Clan two hundred years ago, when nine swords cut down ten thousand cavalry. I wish I could have seen it with my own eyes. It’s all your fault I missed it. But even though Li Chungan was gravely injured, he should have lived a few more years. However, with his pride, how could he bear the slow decline of old age, to the point where he could no longer even lift a sword? Once he had fallen into the Fingers of the Sage for the sake of the girl from Fengdu, and after returning as a sword immortal, he refused to ascend or reincarnate. He died as he lived—boldly, fearlessly, and with unyielding sword intent. That’s why, recently, he sent his sword ten thousand miles to help Deng Ta’a. The sword was secondary; the true gift was the sword insight he left behind. With one slash across ten thousand miles to the west, he finally helped the younger swordsman Deng Ta’a fight Tuoba Boshi to a draw.”
The old man seemed to forget his tea, sighing again, “Clad in green robes, wielding a sword across the land, making the entire martial world look up in awe. Even in his final moments, his last sword strike still gave birth to a new sword immortal. That was a death worthy of admiration. But I wonder—did Li Chungan truly die without regrets?”
He chuckled bitterly, pointing at the tea. “When a man is gone, his tea grows cold. Before long, the world will only remember how glorious Deng Ta’a became, forgetting how Li Chungan elevated swordsmanship time and again. In my opinion, the world can do without a man like Wang Xianzhi, but it cannot do without a true romantic like Li Chungan.”
“Prince Jing’an Zhao Heng is dead. That man, who was weaker than any woman his whole life, finally did one manly thing.”
“Li Yishan, who schemed and plotted until he died of illness. Among all the strategists in the world, I rate only nine as top-tier. Poisonous Scholar Li Yishan was third. Now that he’s gone, only four remain. Whether the younger generation can replace them remains to be seen.”
“The Xichu dynasty’s pillar of fortune, which never truly collapsed, has once again reached the heavens. That old man from the Astronomical Bureau, who often played Go with me and got cheated, must be furious. I wonder if he’s finished compiling his calendar. If not, and if Li Dangxin beats him to it, then the Confucian school will be in grave danger.”
“Xichu’s old Prime Minister Sun Xiji has only a few years left.”
“Among the four remaining top strategists of the Liyang Dynasty, the one serving as a strategist to Prince Yan, Nalan Youci, has at most four years left. The other two, hiding in the capital like turtles, are finished. Yang Taishui, the sick tiger, has already crippled half his martial arts. As for the last one, the least famous but most influential, he controls the fate of the court for the next thirty years. He was the mastermind behind the White Robe Incident. Half of Xu Xiao’s twelve elite assassins died on their way to kill him. One of them was even his beloved concubine. What goes around comes around. Isn’t that ironic?”
“They’re all dying, or about to die. Counting them one by one, they vanish one by one. Whether it’s the martial world or the empire, in the end, it’s the young who will inherit it. I like this kind of world—it’s not lifeless. In Liyang, there’s Zhang Julu and Gu Jiantang. In the Northern Desert, there’s Tuoba Boshi, middle-aged, and even younger men like Dong Zhuo. In the future, new faces will rise like bamboo shoots after rain. That’s what makes it fun.”
“But the Taiping Ling of the Chess and Sword Bureau still hasn’t given up. He’s helping the Northern Desert’s empress play a grand game. I’m watching with interest.”
Wenhua listened, dazed. “Old Huang, have you gone mad? What are you babbling about?”
The old man raised his teacup and drank it all. “You don’t need to concern yourself with this chessboard. Just focus on your sword training. That’s all you’ll ever be good for. Scholars have their own tasks, brutes have theirs, and merchants have their trades. As long as everyone follows the rules, the world will be at peace.”
Wenhua patted the wooden sword at his waist and snorted, “Just you wait!”
The old man mocked, “Don’t make me wait decades. I can’t afford it.”
Wenhua slammed the table, “You just ate my scallion noodles, and now you’re betraying me?!”
As the old man was about to speak, something tapped his head. He turned and saw his daughter tapping him with a sunflower. With his sharp mind, he immediately understood and laughed, “Alright, alright, I know. As long as I don’t want to die, I won’t. I’ll live long enough to see you get married.”
Then he was hit by the sunflower and sent flying.
Feeling vindicated, Wenhua couldn’t help but give a thumbs-up, exclaiming, “More of a heroine than any heroine! Daring to hit Old Huang! Besides Li Chungan and Deng Ta’a, I only admire you!”
Wenhua suddenly had a thought and muttered to himself, “You’re such a unique girl. I bet Xu Fengnian, that lecher, would fall for you. If you become my sister-in-law, what should I call Old Huang then?”
Then he too was hit and sent flying.
Sitting on the ground, Old Huang asked himself, “Since Li Yishan left instructions before his death, maybe I should go take another look at Xiangfan?”
He heard a cold snort from above.
The old man sighed, “Girls grow up and leave. Well, the Northern Liang is already in enough chaos. Whether that boy survives is uncertain. Why should I be the villain? It’s better to focus on that Taiping Ling who refuses to let the world be at peace. If you want to buy Tai’an, you’ll have to ask me first.”
He stood up, dusted himself off, and smiled, “Daughter, wait. I’ll go make you some scallion noodles.”
Wenhua, who had been hit for no reason, quickly shouted, “Me too!”
Old Huang didn’t even acknowledge him, leaving Wenhua feeling gloomy once more, missing Xiao Nian again.
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