Although three hundred thousand armored cavalry were stationed at the border, their iron-clad presence did little to bring peace to the Northern Liang frontier. Year after year, the reports from powerful vassal kings like the Prince of Yanla and the Prince of Jiaodong were monotonously identical—all proclaiming peace and stability. Only the outsider king, Xu Xiao, would annually lament to the imperial court about the unrest. The Northern Mang tribes, ever cooperative, would frequently raid the borders—small skirmishes every year, major battles every three years, with victories and losses on both sides. Over time, the righteous officials at court began to loudly accuse Xu Xiao of harboring sinister ambitions, unsatisfied even with his vast fiefdom.
Most of these self-proclaimed pillars of the dynasty and guardians of its conscience were merely reprimanded by the emperor in court, while the more severe cases were “demoted” out of the capital. Yet, after accumulating enough experience in the provinces, they would often return to the central court within five or six years, entrusted with important positions. Gradually, even the most oblivious scholars realized this was a shortcut to power. Over the years, “Xu the Cripple” had become an unavoidable hurdle in the minds of scholars across the realm—if one didn’t curse him a few times, they could hardly call themselves loyal subjects.
At the year-end court assembly, the newly appointed Grand Scholar of the Wuying Hall, Wen Shouxin, had his servants carry a coffin all the way to the imperial palace gates. This high-ranking official, not yet fifty, presented a blood-written plea for death, demanding the emperor “purge the court of evil influences.” The scholars of the capital all applauded in approval.
In Northern Liang, the banner bearing the character “Xu” fluttered fiercely in the wind.
Beneath it, the Grand Pillar of the State, Xu Xiao, rode slowly on horseback, accompanied only by a strikingly handsome man—scholarly in demeanor yet clad in military attire. He carried no weapons, only an exquisite jade belt at his waist, setting him apart from the rest. The other renowned generals of Northern Liang trailed far behind.
Xu Xiao received a secret report from the capital and chuckled, “Purge the court of evil influences? I’m thousands of miles away from His Majesty. These old scholars should save their energy for their concubines at home.”
The elegant man in his thirties smiled faintly but remained silent, riding beside the “Butcher of Men” Xu Xiao with unshaken composure, his presence nearly matching the latter’s. Common folk whispered that the hunchbacked Northern Liang King bore the weight of hundreds of thousands of restless souls, and his limp was the work of vengeful spirits from the fallen Nine Kingdoms. But the self-righteous scholars scoffed at such tales—Xu the Cripple was no demon, just a cunning warlord who had seized power. Besides, how many years had it been since he last set foot in the capital? Most officials, aside from the elderly ministers, had never even met the Grand Pillar of the State.
Xu Xiao gripped the reins and gazed northeast, pointing with his whip. “It’s been too long since I’ve been there. The old foes who opposed me for decades—some aged, others dead—seem to have forgotten my ruthlessness. These young scholars’ death petitions are lively but lack sincerity. If this continues, their empty talk will ruin the kingdom. Look at what happened to Western Chu—beloved by the people and scholars alike, yet it fell. Now the Northern Mang are fierce as wolves, eyeing us greedily. If the Northern Liang cavalry withdraw, the weaklings of Yanla and Jiaodong would crumble in a single charge. The southern barbarians are unruly, rebelling the moment we retreat. Who knows if traitors lurk behind them? The western tribes are united under their religion, impenetrable as iron. I don’t meddle there—live and let live. But now, even the Red Sect of Tantric Buddhism dares to covet my son! Dual cultivation with her? That’d make him a live-in son-in-law! That woman must have a death wish. Does she think I won’t drag her from Mount Lantuo to Northern Liang to serve as my son’s slave?”
The handsome man’s smile deepened, not doubting for a moment that the Grand Pillar of the State could march a thousand miles into the western territories. Moving east with the cavalry was difficult and unwise, but heading west? The court would gladly watch.
The man spoke little, one hand on the reins, the other resting on his jade belt buckle—a masterpiece carved with twin chimeras fighting over a lingzhi mushroom. It once belonged to Ye Baikui, the foremost of the Four Great Generals of old, stripped from him only in death. Xu Xiao had personally gifted it to this man.
This trusted confidant was Chen Zhibao, the “Little Butcher of Men,” second only to Xu Xiao in prestige among Northern Liang’s three hundred thousand cavalry. It was he who had forced both himself and Ye Baikui into a deadly duel. Before the decisive battle, Chen Zhibao rode forth alone, dragging two peerless beauties behind him, and personally stabbed to death the wife and daughter of the legendary general.
After this battle, which sealed Northern Liang’s dominance, Chen Zhibao’s infamy soared even higher.
Xu Xiao grinned and asked, “Zhibao, how long has it been since you last saw my Wei Xiong?”
The Little Butcher’s stern face softened imperceptibly, though his tone remained respectful. “Reporting to Father, it has been nearly four years.”
Xu Xiao spurred his horse into a gallop, laughing heartily. “Then you’d better be careful. She’s rushing back to Northern Liang in a foul mood.”
Chen Zhibao flicked the reins and followed.
Northern Liang boasted countless fierce generals and fearless soldiers, but only Chen Zhibao—always clad in white when unarmored—could ride shoulder-to-shoulder with the Grand Pillar of the State!
—
A single rider raced across the land.
The horse was the legendary “Red Serpent,” depicted in the ancient painting *Nine Steeds*. Even expert horse trainers doubted such a divine steed existed. Legends claimed it was the mount of a dragon king in human form, with a forehead nine feet high and fur coiled like scales. Most mysteriously, a pair of crimson serpents lay dormant in its nostrils, emerging only upon its death to seek a new master.
A plain-looking woman in a blue robe sat astride the Red Serpent, an ancient sword at her waist, unadorned yet formidable.
The horse’s speed was thunderous, kicking up a trail of dust like a drawn line.
She could already see the city walls in the distance.
Within the city, chaos reigned. Over three hundred Northern Liang cavalry, armed with sabers and crossbows, surged through the streets in two divisions, surrounding two inconspicuous inns.
When the Northern Liang King Xu Xiao once trampled the martial world, his cavalry’s equipment differed from standard wartime gear—light armor for mobility, standard-issue Liang sabers, and crossbowmen carrying two quivers of forty arrows each.
In one-on-one combat, few could match the seasoned Northern Liang generals or the elite warriors from the martial sects. But when the cavalry gathered in numbers exceeding a hundred, their battlefield-honed coordination became devastating. An entire battalion advancing in formation was nearly unstoppable. Moreover, Xu Xiao’s ranks were never short of ruthless mercenaries—men who killed their own kin with chilling efficiency. For them, a single head could fetch ten taels of gold, or even a thousand for a sect leader, along with secret manuals and official titles.
Xu Xiao excelled at dangling carrots to drive men to kill.
The havoc he wreaked upon the martial world was a calamity unseen in three centuries!
No wonder Xu Fengnian had so many enemies. Perhaps the martial artists found Xu Xiao too formidable to kill, his daughters too dishonorable to target, and his simple-minded son Xu Longxiang beneath their dignity. So they turned their blades on the “pitiable” young master.
Not all vengeance-driven warriors were foolish enough to throw themselves at the Northern Liang residence. Over the years, wave after wave had tried—and none returned. Revenge was noble, but what use was it if you were dead? Those capable of challenging Xu Xiao were no fools. Rumors now whispered that the young master was a venomous schemer, having concocted the cruel tactic of “opening the gates before releasing the hounds” while lounging on a courtesan’s lap. Though he knew nothing of governance, he had learned well from his father in the art of cruelty—truly deserving of death.
At that moment, the “deserving-to-die” young master and a little girl stood far from one of the targeted inns. Xu Fengnian bought two sticks of sugar-coated hawthorns from a street vendor—though “bought” was a stretch, as the penniless young master never paid. The girl watched in awe as he took the treats without consequence. Even after witnessing the grandeur of the Northern Liang residence, she still couldn’t reconcile the beggar-like Xu Fengnian with the young master. To her, the gaunt, playful boy who sat with her by the river, weaving willow crowns and trading barbs with village women, was far more likable. What use was a young master? A penniless Xu Fengnian was enough.
She licked a hawthorn berry pensively.
Xu Fengnian had once said, “A maiden’s heart is always poetic.” At her age, any melancholy was charming. But once she became a married woman, it’d be over. He’d joked that “a married woman’s heart is always wet”—wet? She didn’t understand, but knew it couldn’t be good. Every time he smirked, someone suffered.
Where was Old Huang, the one who suffered most? She thought about asking but held her tongue.
Xu Fengnian crunched on the hawthorn, listening to the distant twang of crossbows and the ensuing screams, thoroughly pleased.
He wasn’t worried about scaring the girl who’d insisted on tagging along. Once, when he and Old Huang had painstakingly trapped a wild boar, his initial clumsy strikes failed to kill it. She’d snatched the knife and finished the job with ruthless efficiency.
No wonder she dreamed of being a heroine, not some demure noble lady.
Xu Fengnian liked her—like a little sister.
That made her different from everyone else in the residence.
Old Huang, in life, had probably only ever had her as a true friend.
Xu Fengnian, with the embroidered “Winter” sabre at his waist, paused mid-bite and locked onto a young couple at a street corner.
The girl tugged his sleeve but stayed silent, wise to his schemes.
Xu Fengnian winked at her, shook his head, and strode forward alone.
The young woman clutched the man’s hand desperately. “Senior Brother He, don’t go! The plan’s exposed. Going now is suicide! A hundred Northern Liang cavalry—we can’t fight them!”
He, eyes bloodshot and face pale, choked out, “Junior Sister, but your parents are there! If not for Master and Mistress, I’d have starved on the streets. A teacher for a day is a father for life. Even if I die, I must go!”
Despite her parents’ impending doom, the woman remained eerily calm. “Senior Brother He, if you die without even seeing Xu Fengnian or Xu Wei Xiong, what kind of filial piety is that?!”
The man, driven by rage, still marched toward death.
The woman released his hand and slapped him. “Then go die!”
As he walked away, she spat, “I’ll live! Xu Fengnian is weak but lustful. I’ll sell myself to him in a brothel if I must, let him play with me until he’s complacent—then stab him to death in his moment of pleasure! He boasts he never harms women? I’ll make him die in a woman’s arms!”
The man’s heart ached, but he strode on.
Martial grudges were settled in the martial world. Martial men died martial deaths.
It might be foolish, but the martial world wasn’t the scheming court. Fools abounded, knowing only one virtue: filial piety, even to the point of stupidity.
Once he was gone, the woman sneered. “Worthless. My parents wasted twenty years on him.”
“Well said,” a voice chimed in. “No sense of the bigger picture. Dying for nothing. But you—you’re willing to endure humiliation. Admirable. If I were the young master, I couldn’t bear to kill a beauty like you.”
The woman whirled to see a lavishly dressed young man leaning against a wall, smirking, a stick of hawthorns in hand.
She’d seen his portrait a thousand times.
She’d recognize him even if he were ashes. But the portrait showed a frivolous, weakling. This Xu Fengnian radiated intimidation.
Before she could speak, the Winter sabre flashed.
The wall behind her split open with a deep gash.
Her head hit the ground.
Xu Fengnian tossed the hawthorn stick aside and gazed at the lifeless head. “Who said I don’t kill women?”
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