Chapter 300: A Single Breath, Six Hundred Armor Clad

Xu Fengnian ascended the mountain, yearning only to emulate Li Chungang and slay a thousand troops single-handedly.

Though not carrying Chunlei, his spirit remained nurtured.

Fengnian himself had already sensed the accumulation of too much killing intent and malevolence within him. If this continued, he would inevitably fall into madness sooner or later. Then, the Northern Liang would lose its hereditary king, while the Northern Man would gain a new merciless demon.

After roughly inquiring about the strength of Shen Clan’s Thatched Hall, he learned that aside from two venerables who had long transcended worldly concerns and stood firmly at the Second Pin level, there were four or five other experts like Zhongli Handan. For the state of Ju Zi Zhou, where military garrisons abounded, such strength represented a bold endeavor to survive amidst the cracks. The Northern Man ruled its martial world with an iron fist. Among the five great sects, the Ti Bing Mountain, which functioned much like a military force, ranked third, while the Chess Sword Music Mansion languished at the bottom. Yet even the latter commanded respect due to Hong Jingyan, who had recently joined the martial rankings, and the hidden masters like the Sword Lord of Sword Mansion. With these five beasts voraciously devouring martial resources, a chasm had formed between the super-class and first-class sects. Fengnian found this unsurprising; only with such boldness could the Northern Man swiftly mobilize martial strength during wartime, integrating it into the army to strike a heavy blow against the Li Yang Dynasty. Thus, Xu Xiao’s earlier campaign that trampled the martial world into disarray had both pros and cons. Martial heroes who defied the ban on violence by slaying aristocrats and officials had long been a headache for the court. Yet once their spirit was crushed under iron hooves, the martial world lost its vitality.

Fengnian cast a glance at Han Fang, the hero who wielded a staff and led the Zhongyi Stronghold. Born into a noble family, the Han family had long been the pillar of Ji Zhou, a crucial frontier region, having resisted countless incursions from the Northern Man. The old Han patriarch once led eight hundred elite cavalry to charge into an army of sixty or seventy thousand Northern Man troops, targeting the enemy’s command banner with a straight, deadly advance, earning legendary battle honors. This was no exaggeration from unofficial histories; it was a feat recognized and vividly recorded by the court’s meticulous historians.

With the Han family guarding key passes in Ji Zhou, the Northern Man’s cavalry had suffered heavy losses after repeated attempts to breach their defenses over the past forty years, eventually opting to detour. Consequently, the Han family’s forces were seen by the Northern Man’s imperial court as a thorn in their side, a threat to be eliminated. The Han family was indeed a lineage of loyal warriors. Interestingly, over the past century, regardless of who occupied the throne, the Han family remained steadfast in their loyalty, defending the borders with unwavering dedication. Generation after generation of Han warriors gave their lives on the battlefield, countless direct lineage offspring falling in combat. Yet ten years ago, Zhang Julu and Gu Jiantang initiated a rotation of border garrisons, sparking fierce resistance in the Liaodong region, especially in Jin Zhou, where the Northern Liang army originated. This nearly led to the first military coup after the Spring and Autumn Period. Next came the Han family of Ji Zhou. Though no complaints were ever voiced, and the family even began relocating, Ji Zhou suddenly erupted in rebellion overnight. This gave rise to Zhang Julu’s famous saying, “The emperor isn’t worried, but the eunuchs are.” By calling the emperor, he effectively labeled the Ji Zhou turmoil. The Han family, numbering a hundred, was executed en masse, their heads displayed to warn the border troops. Han Fang was branded a traitor in the Han family records, but the Li Yang Dynasty’s reach was too short to extend into the heart of Ju Zi Zhou to hunt down this fugitive. Back then, during a snowy night when Xu Xiao, Fengnian, and his second sister Xu Weinu gathered around a stove, drinking wine and discussing the world, they spoke of the Han family’s unjust fate. Xu Xiao merely remarked, “In the end, the old Han patriarch just didn’t have enough soldiers.” His second sister added coldly, “The court was certain the Han family would be bound by loyalty and wouldn’t rebel, so they had to be eliminated.”

A single needle pierced the skin; a second struck the bone.

Fengnian once curiously asked Xu Xiao if he had schemed to divert the Northern Liang and Liaodong’s troubles toward Ji Zhou. Xu Xiao replied with a question: “What do you think?” At the time, Fengnian’s temper was as hot as the underfloor heating in the Prince’s Mansion, and he snapped, “Guess your old man’s head!”

Xu Xiao, who was patient only with his children, still smiled and replied, “Well, I am your father, aren’t I? Go ahead and guess.” The young Fengnian had nothing more to say.

At that time, his second sister, who had not yet gone to the Shangyin Academy, broke into laughter for the first time in her life.

Finally approaching Shen Clan’s thatched cottage, the Shen servants were kicked to death and stabbed to death, one each. The survivors no longer dared to show the arrogance they had when descending the mountain to enter the Stronghold. Even as they neared their own territory, they dared not express any emotion, continuing to ride behind the sword-bearing scholar with grim faces.

On Changle Peak, bamboo and wooden structures stood in neat rows, with thousands of bright red lanterns hanging high. The archway bore the inscription “Liuyi Tian Ding,” and the two pillars were made of precious golden-threaded nanmu wood. Nanmu wood was a rare timber reserved for imperial use, employed in palace renovations and tomb constructions. During the Spring and Autumn Period, in the states of Central Plains, Shu, and Nan Tang, scandals involving the embezzlement of nanmu wood transportation often resulted in dozens of executions every few years. The current Zhao emperor was even rumored to have stolen precious nanmu wood under the pretense of repairing the Western Chu imperial tombs, a ridiculous scandal. Golden-threaded nanmu wood itself had a natural beauty resembling clouds and mists, especially in large pieces, which needed no carving to dazzle the eyes. As Fengnian rode through the archway, he turned his gaze to the golden-threaded nanmu pillars and muttered, “Truly a wealthy household.”

Han Fang and Zhang Xiu Cheng were visiting Shen Clan’s thatched cottage for the first time. While awestruck, they were also deeply worried. The wealthier the Shen family, the greater the risk of their own demise. How could they show any joy?

Fengnian watched the two streams of people rushing out from both sides of the main hall and murmured to himself, “Fengnian, remember, don’t underestimate a Second Pin minor master.”

Fengnian turned and extended his hand calmly, saying, “Hand it over.”

A servant from the Thatched Hall quickly threw him a blood-soaked bundle. Riding forward, the sound of the horse’s hooves on the white jade stone plaza was particularly loud. At a distance of a hundred paces, Fengnian casually tossed the bundle containing the two heads of Zhongli Handan, fixing his gaze on an old man with a white beard down to his chest, leaning on a staff.

Not everyone could make the master of Shen Clan’s thatched cottage rise from the warm belly of a concubine in the middle of the night to personally welcome them. However, since the master lived in a high place, there were certainly advantages to his lofty position. The Shen Clan’s night watchmen had already relayed the news, which spread layer by layer, growing in urgency, finally disturbing the old man who had long withdrawn from worldly affairs. Zhongli Handan was his illegitimate son. Once it was confirmed that he had the potential to reach the Second Pin level in his prime, he gradually became a focal point of hope and was increasingly favored by the Thatched Hall. Many resources originally belonging to the The main branch of the family were redirected toward Zhongli Handan. Even when he poisoned to death one of his mother’s rivals, the Thatched Hall turned a blind eye. Later, when he strangled another with a white silk ribbon, he was only punished by being confined to the back mountain’s Zi Jian Zhai for a year of reflection. In truth, this was merely a way to temper his arrogance and encourage him to focus on martial cultivation and study secret techniques. Tonight, just as an important guest had arrived at the estate, Zhongli Handan had left the mountain in a carriage. This was not unusual, but the shock came when he did not return, leaving the Thatched Hall, which had invested heavily in him, deeply anxious.

Confrontation.

A Shen Clan disciple wearing a slender bronze sword received a silent signal and hurried to open the bundle, his eyes widening in horror. It was almost like seeing a ghost, though not quite; it was just the head of a dead man.

The swordsman, facing away from his family, wore a complex expression. When he turned around, the deep joy in his eyes vanished, replaced by profound grief as he trembled, “Master, Zhongli Handan is dead!”

The bearded master, furious, raised his heavy iron staff, weighing over a hundred jin, and slammed it into the jade stone ground, creating an explosion that left a crater. He roared, “Who are you?!”

Fengnian, not pulling the reins, his hands in his sleeves, sat still on the horseback with the Spring and Autumn Sword on his back, his voice calm and steady, “To be honest, I’ve never met this swordman from your Thatched Hall who calls himself Zhongli Handan. We have no grudges or enmity. But he said the words ‘sword comes,’ claiming to imitate the grandeur of Li Sword God at the Snowy Terrace. He said ‘sword comes,’ but I didn’t see a thousand or a hundred swords flying in. Instead, he had a servant toss me a broken sword. I couldn’t stand to listen or watch anymore. Coincidentally, I’ve been itching to kill someone, so I slapped off his head. If your Shen Clan Thatched Hall also can’t stand to listen or watch, feel free to take turns attacking. I, with one sword and one person, will take you all on.”

The old master with the long beard, whose cultivation at the Second Pin level was certainly longer than that of the young swordsman on horseback, tightened his grip on the staff, his eyes filled with killing intent. He narrowed his eyes and asked, “Which sect are you from?”

Fengnian looked surprised and said, “I’ve killed your son, and you’re still asking me about my sect? Am I your father or something?”

Han Fang and Zhang Xiu Cheng exchanged glances.

They were seasoned old hands in the martial world, but they had never seen a master who acted like a common ruffian.

“Good! Good! Good!” The furious master roared with laughter, saying the word “good” three times. He placed both hands on the large night pearl in the dragon’s mouth at the top of the staff.

There were more than sixty people present, including those sheltered by the Thatched Hall and the Shen Clan’s direct lineage. Among them were thirteen crossbowmen on both sides. However, more people kept entering the scene. The estate was so vast that even someone walking in would get lost, causing delays in the spread of information, much like a stone dropped into a lake, where the ripples take time to reach the shore.

Fengnian silently reminded himself, “If you want to kill me, be prepared to face the consequences.”

Fengnian gracefully dismounted, his demeanor refined and otherworldly.

The first volley of crossbow bolts came like a downpour. Fengnian swiftly slid several zhang forward, easily dodging the flying arrows. Poorly, the tall horse was instantly pierced into a hedgehog, collapsing to the ground with a thunderous boom.

A broadsword-wielding Strongman charged forward, not giving him any chance to react. Fengnian suddenly accelerated, brushing past him. With a single sleeve, the massive figure was sent flying sideways, the sound of a shoulder shattering echoing ominously.

The three swordsmen who followed, realizing their peril, quickly formed a common “Three Talents Sword Formation” in the martial world. Their sword tips danced in a dazzling array. Fengnian spread his hands, twisting the tips of two swords. He flipped backward, dodging the middle strike. The two swords in his fingers twisted, and one of the more clever swordsmen rolled with the motion to prevent his sword from being wrenched away. Another, slower, had his palm split, blood gushing. The swordsman who barely saved face was just beginning to feel relieved when a force surged from the sword tip to his wrist, pulling him forward violently. As he tried to drop the sword and retreat, Fengnian seized the sword and moved sideways like a fish in water. He suddenly struck the unsuspecting swordsman’s chest with his hand, sending a spray of crimson mist into the air. As the swordsman staggered backward, Fengnian lifted his foot no higher than his knee, delivering a powerful kick to the swordsman’s calf, sending his body flying forward. Then, with a sharp knee strike to the swordsman’s forehead.

It blossomed.

The swordsman fell onto the white jade stone slab, twitching symbolically twice before taking his final breath, carrying with him the rise and fall of his life.

Fengnian’s sleeves swirled, and the second volley of arrows shot by the crossbowmen fell into two strange vortices, eventually being shot back. Those who dodged quickly survived, but three crossbowmen still met their end.

The Shen Clan’s Thatched Hall was mainly composed of swordsmen. Seven swordsmen instantly attacked, each wielding a sword with an unyielding spirit, as if these martial heroes had been ignited with fierce blood, each strike aiming for Fengnian’s vital points. Fengnian did not rush to kill or break the formation. He glided like a fish, leisurely and unhurried, his slender figure gracefully dodging. Except for a few strikes at his lower body, he barely moved his feet for the dozens of strikes within seven or eight breaths. He merely leaned back and forth, like the tide rising and falling, yet never falling.

Let your thousand swords come; I stand firm on my feet.

A calm, gold-crowned, purple-robed man stood beside the master, observing the battle. Seeing his father nod, he drew his sword, which sang like a dragon, and a faint green sword aura surrounded him. Between the seven swords, he thrust a deadly strike toward Fengnian’s heart.

Fengnian clasped his hands around the long sword, enveloping it, and the emerald sword light, mere inches from his heart, could not advance an inch. He drew a circle with his palm, and the sword followed.

The purple-robed man, who bore a resemblance to Zhongli Handan, frowned slightly. Instead of gripping the sword forcefully, he pushed the hilt with his palm, finally advancing a few inches.

Fengnian floated backward, dodging both the thrust and the seven swords at once.

The crossbowmen, who were constantly watching the battle, immediately unleashed a third volley of arrows. They did not aim to kill but to prevent the swordsman from catching his breath.

Between one breath and another lies the critical moment, akin to the separation of yin and yang.

In such evenly matched life-or-death battles, the key is the skill of breathing and the abundance of qi.

Back then, on the riverbank,

an old man in a lambswool robe, with a single breath spanning eight hundred miles, slaughtered six hundred armored soldiers!

Fengnian, having entered the initial stage of the Great Diamond, retreated instead of advancing, once again dodging the arrow storm. The purple-robed man’s expression changed slightly. He controlled his sword with his qi, turned back, and retreated.

Mirage surged, resisting six swords. His fingers formed hooks, pressing on a head. The immense force from his fingertips caused it to explode.

His sleeves flared, entwining the threads.

The remaining six swords completely lost their accuracy, a chaotic mess of wild strikes, no longer the orderly and fierce formation they had been.

Fengnian, using the half-learned Hu Jia Eighteen Pai, in the blink of an eye, Shootkilled six swordsmen who died with eyes wide open in disbelief.

Standing amidst the corpses, Fengnian raised his hands to the Kunlun Mountains, closed his eyes, and softly said, “Old Li, why don’t you open your eyes and see how many I kill with one breath?”