The gentle demeanor of Zhong Tan unknowingly became a talisman for Lu Chen. This left Lu Chen, who had braced for the worst, feeling as if she had been awaiting a blade at her throat, only to be met instead with the tickle of a feather. Surprised and flustered, she found herself in a lakeside pavilion at Zhong family’s secondary residence, enjoying a rare moment of tranquility. Zhong Shen Tong and his younger brother Zhong Wei, one a powerful general of the Northern Liang, the other a notorious dark sect leader, were unlikely to quarrel with a mere woman of the Lu family. However, the Zhong family’s temporary restraint did not mean the Lu family could remain indifferent. After all, Zhong Gui, though insignificant compared to his elder brothers, was still an outstanding young man among southern aristocrats. His sudden and unexplained death in a foreign land demanded explanation from the Lu family.
Lu Gui, the head of the Lu family, stood by the window of the pavilion, silently listening to his daughter recount a harrowing experience. He did not interrupt, question, or comfort her. Lu Chen, her face filled with sorrow and restrained bitterness, tried to maintain a calm tone while recounting her grief. She believed she had made no mistakes, though some women were indeed born actresses. As the head of the prestigious Lu family, Lu Gui was tall and graceful, deserving of the term “graceful as jade.” Though his temples were slightly gray, he remained a man capable of stirring the hearts of women, especially those who had experienced the depths of love and passion. After Lu Chen finished speaking, Lu Gui waited a moment to ensure she had nothing more to say. Then, slowly turning around, he fixed his gaze on his daughter’s eyes. Lu Chen instinctively flinched, attempting to recover, but it was futile before her father, a man steeped in politics for half a lifetime. Moreover, no one knew his daughter better than he did, so how could she possibly hide everything? Yet, with a knowing but sorrowful smile, Lu Gui approached Lu Chen, gently removing the veil she had not yet taken off. He gazed at her scarred face, his hands resting gently on her tense shoulders, shaking his head as he said, “If your father didn’t care for you, how could there be only you as my only daughter? Whether your story is true or false, I know in my heart. As for whether it can deceive the Zhong brothers, it’s up to fate.”
Lu Chen’s eyes reddened, almost spilling the truth, but in that moment, she instinctively clenched her fists, her fingertips digging into her palm, slightly sobering herself. She unconsciously bit her lip and rested her head on Lu Gui’s shoulder. Lu Gui gently patted her back, saying, “Zhong Gui’s body has not yet been found. It will likely be a symbolic tomb. Are you truly willing to enter a ghost marriage?”
Lu Chen sobbed, “It is the duty of this disobedient daughter.”
Lu Gui remained silent, his expression dark.
After Lu Gui left, the pavilion returned to silence. Lu Chen sat before a dressing table, lowering her gaze to a bronze mirror. With a flick of her sleeve, she hurled it against the wall.
Generals fear new armor as their hair turns white; aging beauties fear the mirror. Yet she was still young, unwed.
After entering Wuhou City, Xu Fengnian naturally chose a high vantage point to observe the geography of the Huanxi Spring architecture. However, having long experience with assassination and concealment, he knew well the forbidden zones. The Northern Liang Prince’s Mansion, ruling from its mountain stronghold, centered around Qingliang Mountain, with the residences of generals and nobles radiating outward according to rank. There were also several tall teahouses and inns, ideal for observation. However, these valuable high points were all tightly controlled by the Prince’s Mansion’s secret agents. Newcomers to the city who first chose these spots for observation would often find themselves secretly killed—nine out of ten. The tenth might survive a little longer, but only because the Prince’s Mansion wished to let them run before catching a bigger fish. Diving into these forbidden zones, thinking oneself clever, was essentially suicide.
Xu Fengnian later learned that before his coming-of-age, every time servants or attendants of the Prince’s Mansion ventured out, they were followed by assassins. Chu Lushan personally oversaw every detail, capturing and executing no fewer than sixty assassins. The ripple effect was severe—several high-ranking Northern Liang officials found their homes emptied overnight.
Thus, Xu Fengnian chose a modest inn far from Huanxi Spring, asking the innkeeper casually about several scenic spots in Wuhou City. From the innkeeper, he learned that two days later was the fifteenth day of the month, when Leimeng Temple would be bustling with worshippers. Aristocrats and wealthy merchants from afar liked to visit Leimeng Temple on the first and fifteenth days of each lunar month to offer incense to a Bodhisattva or light a long-life lotus lamp. Even a single lamp required a minimum offering of a hundred taels of silver. Devout Buddhists often gave dozens of taels of gold, making it an endless financial drain. Some wealthy families in Wuhou City even lit three hundred lamps for their entire clan, a true display of extravagant generosity.
Perhaps looking down on Xu Fengnian’s plain attire, the innkeeper spoke with bravado, warning that without hundreds of taels of silver, one shouldn’t go to Leimeng Temple to pretend to be rich. Xu Fengnian simply smiled, saying he would consider making an offering, and praised Wuhou City’s wealth, saying it was an eye-opening experience for a visitor from afar. This improved the innkeeper’s attitude, and his tone became warmer. Xu Fengnian accepted the copper key, not forgetting to give the innkeeper a few pieces of silver to place a watermelon in a basket and lower it into a well in the backyard. The innkeeper cheerfully took the two melons, finding the scholar increasingly likable. Xu Fengnian placed his book chest and the Spring and Autumn Sword on the table, then, before leaving, carefully placed threads at the window and door gaps, nearly invisible, breaking upon opening. He then drove the sword Chaolu, already a fully matured flying sword, into the ceiling beam. After entering the city, Xu Fengnian had concealed most of his aura, but within a hundred paces, he could still sense Chaolu. Confident, he went downstairs for lunch. The inn’s business was poor, with few diners, cold and quiet. Xu Fengnian ordered a pot of rice wine, drinking alone with a relaxed demeanor, exuding the air of a refined scholar.
Wuhou City was in the heart of the Northern Liang, but it was inclusive and open-minded, treating immigrants from the Central Plains relatively kindly. Compared to the strictly hierarchical Juzhou, it was much more lenient. Merchants, seeking profit, left Juzhou and came to Xihézhou. Thus, there was much trade, not only in tea and porcelain, but also in numerous relics from the Spring and Autumn period, including antiques and scriptures, flowing into major cities like Wuhou City. Before heading north, Xu Fengnian had studied the Eight Regional Commanders and the Twelve Generals. Among them, Helian Wuwei of Xihézhou was relatively unknown, only known to be from a noble background, young, romantic, and affectionate. However, after his family’s decline, instead of giving up, he turned his life around, serving in the military for twenty years, achieving remarkable feats, and restoring his family’s honor. His wife died early, and he never remarried, leaving him without children, in stark contrast to Murong Baoding, who was known for both martial prowess and brutality. Helian Wuwei, besides his military skill, was mediocre in court politics, often seen as a mediator. Rarely appearing in the Empress’s spring and winter hunting expeditions, he was the most unassuming of the eight Regional Commanders.
Returning to his room, Xu Fengnian found the threads undisturbed. Besides eating and drinking, he spent his time alone, studying secret manuals and sword techniques. Perhaps most people who obtained Wang Xianzhi’s martial arts insights would be overjoyed, quickly flipping through them, hoping to reach the first rank overnight. Fortunately, Xu Fengnian had the patience to proceed methodically. He focused on mastering each move before moving to the next, currently stuck at the “Green Silk Knot” technique, without resorting to shortcuts. Remembering the battle at the Dunhuang city gate, where Deng Tai’a, about to sail overseas to seek immortality, and Luo Yang, a prodigy unmatched in martial talent, fought fiercely, their duel shaking the heavens and earth. Xu Fengnian closed his eyes, recalling the experience, later touching the countless sword marks, feeling a surge of spiritual intent in his chest, though he couldn’t grasp its essence. He remained calm, reminding himself to proceed step by step.
The next day, he wandered through Wuhou City with his books and sword, eating as he walked. The city’s military discipline was evident. Li Yishan always said that the foundation of military governance lay in minute details. On the map of Northern Liang military deployments hanging in the Tingchao Pavilion, Xu Fengnian noticed a key point: along the western border where Liang and Mang met, the Northern Liang’s elite forces had all moved to the southern border, clearly preparing for a decisive battle with the Northern Liang cavalry. On the eastern border of both empires, the forces were even stronger, gradually increasing in strength as they moved northward. The eastern border of the Northern Liang, including the provinces of Dongjin and Juzhou, was clearly not as strong as Xihézhou, which had the foundation of the Kongbi Army. Xu Fengnian, regarding such deployments whose merits were hard to judge, was unsure whether they were deliberate strategies or merely due to the personalities and capabilities of the Regional Commanders.
On the fifteenth day of the first lunar month, Xu Fengnian did not follow the crowd to Leimeng Temple at dawn. Instead, he left the inn at noon, when the sun was scorching, neither carrying the Spring and Autumn Sword nor his book chest. Leimeng Temple was located at the confluence of the northern and southern Huanxi Springs, built against the mountains. The main structure was a nine-story pavilion with a massive Buddha statue inside, even larger than the Dunhuang caves. It was a typical Western architectural style with a hard mountain slope. The number of worshippers was sparse, and Xu Fengnian, his aura concealed, entered the temple drenched in sweat. The temple had towering ancient trees, providing deep shade, instantly bringing a sense of coolness. He burned three sticks of incense, stepped over the threshold of the main building, and looked up. The nine-story pavilion had eighty-one windows, none of which were open, all tightly shut. However, on the lower four floors, thousands of green lotus lamps burned brightly, their light as radiant as Buddha’s grace, giving the building a warm glow rather than a gloomy impression. Xu Fengnian looked up to see a Maitreya Buddha seated, his eyes half-closed, gazing down at the world. The statue was the third largest in the world, said to have used hundreds of pounds of gold dust in its creation eight hundred years ago, during the third great Buddhist persecution. The Buddha’s face was kind and gentle, his features soft, one hand resting on his knee, the other in a mudra with the index finger raised. This hand gesture was not recorded in any Buddhist scriptures, causing endless debate among monks throughout history. Later dynasties did not alter the statue itself, only repainting and gilding it. After ascending the throne, the Empress had the Buddha’s robe richly painted with vibrant colors.
Before entering the temple, Xu Fengnian had learned that to light a long-life lamp, one had to inform the temple monks of one’s name and ancestral home, so he reluctantly gave up. The interior was vast and empty, occasionally a breeze entering the building, causing the thousands of green lotus lamps on the fourth floor to sway gently from bottom to top, creating a scene that seemed otherworldly, as if one were in the Pure Land.
Worshippers were not allowed to ascend the stairs to view the Buddha, and even the monks were restricted to the fourth floor. Over eight hundred years of Leimeng Temple’s history, most enlightened monks had remained on the sixth and seventh floors. Only emperors could ascend to the eighth floor, symbolizing the emperor’s status as the “supreme ruler,” yet even he would descend one level in the presence of the Buddha. Thus, no one had ever reached the ninth floor, not even the Northern Liang Empress, who aspired to unify the world.
After paying homage to the Buddha, Xu Fengnian was about to turn and leave for the nearby sutra pavilion when a sudden intuition made him look up.
He saw a head emerge from the palm of the Buddha, its gaze fixed on him, cold and indifferent.
At that moment, Xu Fengnian felt absurd, his emotions indescribable.
This woman truly had boundless audacity.
Bai Luo, dressed in white, sat on the Buddha’s palm, leaning forward to meet Xu Fengnian’s gaze.
Xu Fengnian thought to himself, “Is this the line between demon and Buddha?”
He recalled the magnificent sight of the sky pressing down to the horizon outside Wuhou City, a fleeting realization slipping away before he could grasp it.
For some reason, Bai Luo did not leave the Buddha’s hand, and Xu Fengnian could not ascend to meet her. They simply stared at each other.
Then, Xu Fengnian nearly choked with frustration. Bai Luo, dressed in white, seemed annoyed by Xu Fengnian’s timidity. As she floated down, her aura surged like rivers flowing eastward to the sea, and the thousands of long-life lamps instantly extinguished.
Xu Fengnian’s head throbbed, and he muttered in his heart, “What a disaster!”
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