Traveling northward, Xu Fengnian encountered common folk from the Xihé Prefecture along the way. He listened to many high-pitched work songs, their rhythms vastly different from the musical styles of the Central Plains. These songs, simple and heartfelt, spoke of a wife’s parting words, a maiden’s longing for marriage, stonecutters’ labor, and descendants mourning at funerals. Whenever he heard such unrefined, rustic tunes—songs never meant for grand stages—he would halt his journey and listen from afar until the final notes faded, then resume his journey northward at a leisurely pace. He had no need to hurry, for he only needed to arrive at Dayan City in Baoping Prefecture at the appointed time. Arriving too early might mean encountering the demonic Luo Yang ahead of schedule, which could bring unforeseen troubles.
On this journey, Xu Fengnian followed a rough, dusty road. Half a month later, he once again encountered a pair of young travelers on horseback—the same couple he had met before. After leaving the ruins of the Wu family estate, they had changed into more practical travel attire. The man, now wielding a saber, appeared even more dashing, while the woman, carrying a sword, exuded a newfound martial vigor. Since entering Northern Wei, Xu Fengnian had transcended the boundary of the “One Line” and entered the initial stage of the Jīngāng (Diamond) cultivation level, a realm longed for by martial cultivators. From this vantage point, he could easily sense the young man’s energy flow, estimating him to be on the threshold of the second or third martial tiers. For someone of his age, such prowess was truly impressive. Even against a band of fifty hardened horse bandits, he could likely defend himself. This confidence must have been the reason he dared to travel with a woman across the Loess Plateau. Though the Northern Wei was chaotic, it wasn’t so lawless that every traveler would end up as a corpse in the wilderness.
To Xu Fengnian, the Northern Wei increasingly resembled the Spring and Autumn Period, where scholar-officials were rising to power. As more rules emerged, not everyone could act recklessly anymore. While traveling north, he often practiced techniques like the Spring-Autumn Sword Qi Rolling Dragon Wall or the Immortal’s Palm Pressing the Crown, so he didn’t feel particularly lonely.
Daoist scriptures say that humans possess three treasures: essence, energy, and spirit. Essence and energy are tangible, while the wandering spirit transforms. Thus, one can understand the nature of ghosts and deities. Without delving into such seemingly mystical concepts, it’s simple to say that among these three treasures, spirit is the most valuable. Hence, the saying of earthly immortals whose spirits wander beyond their physical forms. Sword cultivation is similarly complex, broadly divided into technique-based swordsmanship and intent-based swordsmanship. The former focuses on perfecting sword techniques—Wu family’s Sword Grave being the prime example—while the latter emphasizes sword intent, which is also widely practiced. Sword intent is essentially about spirit, and martial arts follow the same principle. A technique’s power lies not in its outward form—mere 50–60% resemblance—but in its spiritual essence—30–40% resemblance. According to Xu Fengnian’s own understanding, cultivating spirit and forging intent is akin to the geomantic art of gathering wind and pooling water. This newly comprehended technique, the Immortal’s Palm Pressing the Crown, was a sudden flash of insight, a fortunate discovery.
Awe and longing stirred in his heart.
Four simple words, yet for a martial cultivator, how incredibly difficult they are.
One must possess innate talent, seize opportunities, and work diligently—any missing element makes it impossible.
One sweltering noon, Xu Fengnian couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of two familiar figures who had fallen from grace. Whether it was sheer bad luck or not, the young couple had encountered a powerful force—whether horse bandits or soldiers under a general’s command was unclear. About a hundred riders, all clad in leather armor and wielding standardized weapons. Perhaps the sheltered young nobleman, unfamiliar with the ways of the world, was provoked by a heavily armored leader and, without hesitation, drew his blade in anger. He not only knocked the armored soldier from his horse but also ruthlessly delivered a second strike. Had the fish-scale armor not been superior to ordinary soft leather, the soldier might have been killed outright. This enraged the entire band, and in the brutal pragmatism of grassland warfare, they surged forward all at once—arrows raining down, blades slashing, spears thrusting. The young aristocrat, relying on his martial skills, was subjected to wave after wave of attacks. If he had reached the second-tier Minor Sage level, he could have easily escaped. Unfortunately, he had to protect both himself and the woman, making him vulnerable. He was gradually worn down, his movements becoming sluggish. Yet, his fighting spirit flared again, and he managed to slay over a dozen lightly armored riders before an arrow pierced his shoulder. Before he could pull it out, several horsemen expertly threw lassos, dragging both him and his horse to the ground. The woman wept bitterly, but before she could offer help, she too was struck from her horse by a burly leader with a spear. Fortunately, the attacker still had some mercy in him—otherwise, a spear through the heart might have followed. Of course, her fate afterward would likely be worse than a swift death.
The leader, victorious, laughed heartily, showing off his horsemanship by bending sideways to scoop up the helpless woman, her breath knocked out of her. With one hand gripping the spear and the other clutching her neck to his chest, he tugged the reins and circled the battlefield, taunting the furious young nobleman below. The Xihé Prefecture was full of yellow sands and deep ravines. Xu Fengnian crouched on a slope, chewing on a dried jujube, watching the uneven battle unfold. He felt pity for the refined southern nobleman, clearly inexperienced in true combat. With his martial techniques and solid foundation, he could have easily fled with the woman. Even if escape wasn’t possible, as long as he avoided being fully surrounded, he would have had more room to maneuver. In the martial world, when facing military forces, even so-called “hundred-man killers” or “thousand-man killers” rarely stood their ground like Li Chungan, who could resist armored soldiers without retreating a single step. Most martial artists fought while retreating, engaging only a few enemies at a time, gradually wearing them down. Such battles were still widely accepted in the martial world.
Xu Fengnian guessed that this high-born young man had likely been inspired by too many legendary tales of martial heroes, leading him to act recklessly. The bandits, using no particularly sophisticated tactics, had worn him down until he was exhausted. Xu Fengnian’s current vision was sharp enough to see that the young man’s techniques were exceptional, full of clever variations. If martial arts were likened to Go, it would be like discovering new opening patterns never before recorded. Even with conventional moves, he could adapt them into unexpected variations. Either he had an extraordinary innate talent or a skilled mentor. In a duel at the same level, he would likely emerge victorious. However, real martial life was not like a game of chess—there were no turns, no waiting. It was more like a brawl where the untrained could kill a master with sheer brute force. In the martial world, survival was a bloody business where no one waited politely for your next move; they’d rather smash you in the face before you could even think.
Xu Fengnian crouched like a panther, moving stealthily until he reached a small hill about a hundred paces away. He watched as the fish-scale armor leader threw the woman from her horse, dismounted, and kicked her in the chest. The woman, whose martial arts were merely for health, nearly fainted on the spot. She curled up, gasping for breath like a fish thrown ashore, her face pale. The armored man squatted beside her, grabbing a fistful of her hair and shaking it, then turned his gaze toward the nobleman, who was now bound like a dumpling with ropes, his limbs tied to iron chains held by four separate groups of men, lifting him into the air. Some impatient riders dismounted, spitting on him and slapping his handsome face with sword scabbards. After a hard-fought battle that cost over twenty comrades, everyone was bloodthirsty. In the desert sands of the north, life was cheap—killing and looting were common. Yet, one’s own comrades were invaluable. It wasn’t about brotherhood but about survival—avoiding betrayal and being devoured by stronger forces. These bandits had grown by devouring weaker groups. With dozens of men, they could act like lords. With a hundred, even the imperial army would hesitate. With eight hundred or a thousand, they could abandon banditry altogether and head straight to the royal court for a general’s post. This was the unwritten rule of Xihé Prefecture: the more men you brought, the higher your rank.
These riders were typical Northern Wei men—shaved heads with braids at the back. The fish-scale armor leader gave a slight nod, and the four groups of dismounted riders immediately understood, grinning maliciously as they began a tug-of-war. Several leaders in scale armor gathered together, their eyes not only filled with cruelty but also calculation. They watched the spectacle while murmuring among themselves, likely thinking that since they had already made a deadly enemy, there was no need to worry about appearances or consequences. In the desert, life was as fleeting as weeds—no need for long, flowing sentiments. Regardless of the nobleman’s background, they doubted that any southern aristocratic family would dare to come all the way to Xihé to seek revenge.
Four directions, four iron chains, over twenty men pulling together. The young man, now in a death trap, possessed superior martial arts, but this only made his suffering worse. One bandit leader, unsatisfied with the spectacle, ordered his men to mount their horses again and added another chain around the man’s neck, determined to perform a gruesome five-horse dismemberment.
Five horses pulled with all their might. The doomed nobleman’s eyes turned blood-red, his wrists and ankles bleeding from the friction, and his neck, the most vulnerable part, screamed in agony like a dying beast. His last surge of energy erupted, the chains vibrating like ripples in water, causing the horses to retreat a few steps. Then, with a sudden shift of breath, the chains snapped taut like spears, and the horses were torn apart. No one expected the condemned man to possess such fierce resolve. The fish-scale armor leader, enraged, took it out on the woman, throwing her to the ground and handing her over to his men for guarding. He mounted his horse again, calling on four of his strongest men to deal with this formidable dying beast.
The horses struggled forward, the young man’s limbs and neck bleeding profusely. If nothing changed, his neck would snap first, followed by his arms and legs. The bandits were experts at this. The riders pulling the chains knew how to apply force—first tearing off the hands, then a leg, leaving the neck and one remaining leg for the final act. Only then would their bloody spectacle be complete.
This method was even more cruel than hanging corpses on spears. It originated from the Northern Wei border armies, where countless Liyang captives had met their ends in this manner. The only downside was that the Beiliang army preferred to fight to the death, leaving few survivors after battles. Moreover, many small-scale skirmishes often occurred between the elite scouts of both sides, where the Beiliang forces usually held the upper hand. Thus, a captured Beiliang soldier was more valuable than any exotic beauty in the Northern Wei court, often fetching an exorbitant price. Take, for example, Tao Qianzhi, the city governor of Liuxia City, who killed one Beiliang soldier daily. To the Northern Wei nobility, each death was not a man, but a pile of gold coins.
The Northern Wei even had a law: killing a Beiliang soldier in battle would pardon one major crime upon retirement.
Just as the young man was about to be torn apart, the five riders on horseback suddenly died in an instant. No obvious wounds were visible—only a small, precise hole pierced each of their foreheads, as if struck by a sharp object. The bandit leaders, clad in scale armor, cautiously approached to examine the bodies. They saw the tiny, clean holes in the center of each forehead, a strange and inexplicable phenomenon. Regardless of wealth or poverty, the people of the Northern Wei all believed in fate and the gods. Even the most devout Buddhist would kill without hesitation when necessary. But when calamity struck, even the most ruthless criminals would hesitate, fearing they had angered the solemn, majestic Buddhas. The deaths of these five men were so bizarre that even if it wasn’t the work of immortals, it must have been the doing of a hidden hand. If twenty men had already fallen just to deal with a southern nobleman, the cost was too great. Bandits came and went like the wind. The moment they saw this, they dismounted and fled.
One of the fish-scale armor leaders, with a more cunning mind, attempted to secretly kill the man and woman to eliminate any future threats. But before he could strike, a sharp object flew through the air, slicing across his forehead and leaving a thin trail of blood. Instantly, no bandit dared to raise a hand again. In a flash, they all scattered, their six limbs—four legs and two arms—carrying them away at full speed.
Lu Chen, the southern woman, was dazed for a moment before realizing she had narrowly escaped death. She wept and rushed to the side of her noble companion, struggling to untie the chains, especially around his neck, which was a horrifying mess of blood and torn flesh. Just looking at it made her feel unbearable pain. She suppressed her sobs, sat beside him cross-legged, tore off her sleeve, and bandaged his exposed wounds. She was truly made of water—tears never ceasing as she softly called his name, Zhong Gui, over and over, fearing he would die here. If he died, she wouldn’t have the courage to live on. On the thousands of miles back home, how could a weak woman like her, who held a sword no more skillfully than a sewing needle, ever return? And if he died, what joy would life bring her?
The nobleman, having narrowly escaped death’s door, slowly inhaled, exhaled a thick breath of impure air, and managed a faint smile. With difficulty, he said, “I won’t die.”
Xu Fengnian retracted his flying sword, Chaolu, originally intending to leave. However, noticing a lone rider in the distance still lingering, he decided to stay a little longer to ensure the rescue was complete. He sent the sword flying again, silencing the unfortunate bandit. Pressing his ear to the ground, he confirmed that the remaining bandits had finally given up and fled. Quietly rising, he slung his book-filled satchel and prepared to leave, treating the incident as a chance encounter where he had done a good deed. He didn’t expect the woman to offer herself in gratitude, nor did he expect the nobleman to bow in submission. Such brotherly bonds were often insincere and fragile.
He reached into his pocket, took out the last few jujubes, and tossed them all into his mouth. He watched as the once-handsome swordsman, now leaning on the woman’s support, still sat on the ground, bleeding profusely. The woman, inexperienced in treating wounds, could only weep helplessly. The once-promising young man naturally had no desire to die in a desolate wilderness, but with no one to answer his cries, he sat motionless, his face contorted like a demon—whether from pain or sorrow, no one could tell. The woman, seeing this, wept even more bitterly, filled with guilt and regret. She lamented how she had repeatedly rejected his advances during their journey out of shyness. If she had known it would end this way, what harm would there have been in giving him her innocence?
Xu Fengnian, upon seeing the arrogant man beaten into the dust, noticed that his vitality and spirit were once again beginning to dissipate, displaying signs of imminent death if not treated promptly. Frowning, he reluctantly stepped out from behind the small mound, revealing himself and feigning the appearance of a passerby stirred by injustice. He ran toward the pair with small, hurried steps, his expression a flawless mask of alarm and concern.
The young nobleman’s eyes, already clouded, flickered with a brief glint of alertness at the sight of Xu Fengnian. Finding no suspicion in his demeanor, the man’s expression returned to one of lifeless despair. Yet, one hand subtly rested upon his chain. Xu Fengnian squatted before them, setting down his book chest and turning his back to the pair who had narrowly escaped death. The young noble appeared lost in a storm of thoughts but ultimately chose not to wield the chain as a weapon to kill this seemingly kind stranger.
Unaware of the tension, Xu Fengnian simply reached into the chest and pulled out a porcelain vial from Dunhuang. It contained a black ointment as dark as ink—viscous and sticky, capable of knitting bones and mending flesh. Without a name, the salve flowed slowly when the vial was tilted, like dew rolling off lotus leaves. The young heir of the Zhong family watched with cold indifference as the black paste dripped onto his wounds. A coolness seeped into his bones, bringing an indescribable sense of comfort. Recognizing its value, he felt a deep sense of shock—how could this stranger, who seemed barely able to afford a fake martial arts manual, possess such a priceless salve worth hundreds of gold taels?
Wiping sweat from his brow, Xu Fengnian rolled up his sleeve and smiled with a pained expression, as if he had made a great sacrifice. He handed the vial to the woman named Lu Chen, grinning awkwardly. “This ointment is a family secret. One vial could fetch a small fortune. Apply it three times a day—morning, noon, and night. In less than half a month, this young lord will be healed. Oh, and back at the ruins of the Wu family sword graveyard, I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself. I’m Xu Lang, from Hongye City’s Lion Alley, in the Southern Court.”
Xu Fengnian hesitated slightly before whispering, “And don’t even mention the vial—it’s a handcrafted celestial porcelain bottle. Worth a few taels on its own.”
Lu Chen seemed to hear a great joke, her face softening into a relieved smile. She wiped away her tears and said gently, “Once we return home, I and Prince Zhong will surely visit you in Hongye City.”
At the mention of “Prince Zhong,” a shadow flickered across Zhong Gui’s face, though it was well hidden. His hand, which had loosened on the chain, tightened again. With a calm expression, he lightly brushed his fingers over the wound on his neck and said with a faint smile, “Indeed, we shall be most grateful to Xu Young Master for saving our lives.”
Xu Fengnian continued to play the role of a shrewd but not particularly clever scholar on a journey, bowing with exaggerated humility. “No need to be so formal, no need at all.”
Though born into a prominent Southern Court family, Lu Chen had never been burdened with the responsibilities of the outside world. Her understanding of intrigue and treachery was limited to the gossip exchanged among her elders and brothers within the high walls of her estate. Thus, she remained oblivious to Zhong Gui’s subtle shifts in demeanor and completely failed to see through Xu Fengnian’s flawless disguise. For children of noble houses like herself and Zhong Gui—who were esteemed enough to be honored guests of the Western River Prefecture’s High Lord—there was little need to fear the schemes of common folk. Today’s misfortune, however, had made her especially grateful for the stranger’s aid.
Xu Fengnian asked, “Shall I accompany you two on your journey?”
Lu Chen was about to nod when Zhong Gui shook his head. “No need.”
At that moment, the young aristocrat’s pride was fully on display. Unaware of the deeper reasons, Lu Chen assumed Zhong Gui was simply too proud to accept help. Seeing his firm gaze, she did not press further.
Xu Fengnian gave a bashful smile, casting a lingering glance at the porcelain vial in Lu Chen’s hand before rising to take his leave.
Lu Chen found herself rather fond of this stranger’s simple manner. Compared to the usual Southern Court scholars who feigned virtue while groveling for favors, this man was far more agreeable.
But suddenly, her eyes widened in horror. The young scholar had barely turned when a chain, straightened like a venomous snake, struck him in the back. He flew forward, crashing to the ground and lying still—likely dead. She turned, staring at Zhong Gui, her eyes filled with shock.
Zhong Gui said coldly, “I can allow you to see my disgrace, but he had no such privilege.”
Lu Chen covered her mouth, tears welling up.
Zhong Gui, sensing his tone was too harsh, softened his voice slightly. Ignoring the blood still trickling from his neck after the killing, he said gently, “This Xu Lang—why did he appear only when we were in peril? It’s likely he conspired with the bandits, playing a long game. Lu girl, you’re inexperienced in the ways of the world. These outlaws are cunning, their methods as devious as those of corrupt officials. Better to err on the side of caution.”
Seeing her still shaken, her eyes filled with both fear and suspicion, he added, “If I were to die here, what would become of you? I don’t want to die—not until I’ve seen you safely home.”
Tears streamed down Lu Chen’s face as she threw herself into his arms, the stranger’s death no longer weighing heavily on her heart.
In moments of life and death, bonds are forged. A woman accustomed to a life of ease might not cherish gentle companionship, but who could resist the impact of Zhong Gui’s words and actions in this moment? With just a few sentences, he had surpassed countless sweet nothings spoken in times of peace.
As he held her, Zhong Gui’s lips curled into a faint smirk, his eyes cold and indifferent.
Clearly, this ungrateful descendant of the Zhong family was not only skilled in martial arts but also adept at playing the field.
But this tender scene was interrupted by a cough. For the first time since meeting Xu Fengnian, Zhong Gui showed fear.
Xu Fengnian stood, brushing off his robe, muttering, “Being good is exhausting. No wonder the north breeds so many devils.”
Seeing the sword-bearing, book-laden figure approach with a blank expression, Zhong Gui’s smile faltered. His bravado vanished, replaced by a forced expression of remorse. “Xu Young Master, please don’t take offense. I acted rashly, but my position is sensitive. I cannot afford to be careless.”
Seeing no reaction on the other’s face, not even a sneer, Zhong Gui realized his mistake and scrambled to make amends. “I’m Zhong Gui, a descendant of the Southern Zhong family. I can offer you great wealth. With my family’s support, your talents could rise to great heights!”
As he spoke, his hand once again tightened around the chain.
Still unwilling to concede defeat.
Xu Fengnian finally offered a smile. “Come. Try again to kill me.”
In that moment, Zhong Gui was caught between action and inaction. For the first time in his life, he felt a humiliation and fury second only to the torture he had just endured.
Zhong Gui had narrowly escaped death, while Lu Chen had fallen into a cold abyss of despair. She sat motionless, dazed.
She was simple, not foolish.
Discerning the whole from a small sign was a talent of noble children.
Xu Fengnian drew a circle in the air, and with a single touch to Zhong Gui’s head, the man was driven into the ground, his limbs and skull shattering like a meat patty crushed by a hammer—far worse than being torn apart by five horses.
The “Immortal’s Touch.”
It was good for more than just granting longevity.
Blood splattered across Lu Chen, but she remained still, unfeeling.
Xu Fengnian was about to draw another circle, intending to send both lovers to the underworld together, when she suddenly looked up and asked, “I want to know if you were working with the bandits. Please, don’t lie to me.”
Xu Fengnian shook his head.
At that, she finally gave up all hope, waiting in silence.
Xu Fengnian showed no pity, raising his hand once more for the “Immortal’s Touch.” But again, she cried out in desperation, “I don’t want to die!”
Xu Fengnian approached, and with each step he took, she scooted back in fear. He stopped, crouched, and extended his hand. “Give me the vial.”
She flung it away as if it burned her fingers. Xu Fengnian caught it effortlessly and returned it to his book chest.
Lu Chen, as if all the cunning she had ever possessed suddenly surged forth, spoke with trembling voice. “Xu Young Master, what must I do to live? I am a direct descendant of the Lu family, the highest rank in the Southern Court. I am nothing like Zhong Gui. I have no ambitions—only the wish to live, to marry, and raise a family. If you spare me, if you do not dishonor me, I will serve you as your humble servant for half a year, gladly. And I swear, I will never speak of this day again. I will say Zhong Gui died at the hands of a hundred bandits.”
Seeing the scholar’s lips curl slightly in mockery, she quickly corrected herself. “I will say he died on the journey to the High Lord’s estate in Western River Prefecture, and I knew nothing of it!”
Her eyes gleamed with determination. “If you spare me, I will say I was intimate with Zhong Gui. If the Zhong family doubts me, let them have a matron inspect me—there will be no proof.”
Her meaning was clear—she was willing to sacrifice her honor to live.
Xu Fengnian clicked his tongue, marveling at how high the sky was, yet lower than the human heart.
Seeing no sign of anger, Lu Chen smoothed a strand of hair from her face and continued. “I do not dare to ask you to accompany me home. But now that you hold such a secret, my family’s honor in the Southern Court will ensure they do not oppose you. I will obey you in all things. Just keep me at a distance. I am willing to be your puppet. I believe you, with your extraordinary skills and intelligence, can find a way to control me without endangering yourself.”
Xu Fengnian reached for a dried date, found none, and smiled. “You’re clever. How did you end up being toyed with by a fool like Zhong Gui?”
Lu Chen actually managed a smile, though it was bitter. “Not because of Zhong Gui, but because the Zhong family’s power surpasses the Lu family. Otherwise, how could a bastard son be matched with a direct heir of the Lu family?”
Xu Fengnian nodded, impressed by her insight.
In an instant, Lu Chen’s eyes turned icy. “You still intend to kill me!”
Xu Fengnian, curious, asked, “Woman’s intuition?”
She countered, “Isn’t it?”
Before Xu Fengnian could act, Lu Chen rose and charged at him like a madwoman, fists and feet flying in a desperate, clumsy attack. “You bastard! You devil! I’ll die with you!”
Her curses were as unoriginal as her strikes, but her fury was real.
Xu Fengnian slapped her aside, sending her sprawling. As she clutched her face, he said coldly, “Whether I kill you depends on what you do next. First, bury Zhong Gui. Then come with me to the heart of Western River Prefecture. I have use for you.”
Relieved, Lu Chen’s eyes brightened. Glancing at Zhong Gui’s remains, she sneered, “Better not to bury him at all.”
She was struck again, flipping over and landing heavily in the sand like a dusty sparrow.
Xu Fengnian mocked, “A man can be cold-blooded and still be a hero. But a woman with no heart—how endearing is that?”
Lowering her head, she whispered, “I understand now.”
Xu Fengnian struck the ground with the “Immortal’s Touch,” creating a crater as Zhong Gui’s grave. As she slowly gathered the remains and buried them, he asked questions about the Zhong and Lu families, and she answered truthfully.
At one point, she asked timidly, “Was it you who drove off the bandits?”
Xu Fengnian remained silent, watching as she covered the grave and stamped it flat, making it less noticeable.
After a while, she tilted her head and asked, “Xu Young Master, do you think a cinnamon tree might grow here someday?”
Xu Fengnian scowled, “You’re out of your mind.”
The blood-streaked woman curtsied deeply, her smile strangely alluring. “Please, save me.”
Xu Fengnian tugged at his lips. “You’re beyond saving. You’ve lost your mind.”
Standing alone over the grave, she smiled—a smile both beautiful and tragic.
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