Old proverbs often advise that matters should not be repeated more than thrice.
Yet this exile from the fallen kingdom of Xichu had already come to the imperial palace for the fourth time.
This time, however, Master Cao Ziqing, stepping into the city of Taian, was accompanied by a young lady.
She hovered midair upon her sword, robes fluttering. The refined scholars among the officials momentarily lost their composure. Could beauty that topples cities and nations appear any more magnificent than this?
After a thousand officials regained their senses, the courtiers instinctively divided themselves, not east and west, but north and south. The generals, led by Vice Ministers Lu Baijie and Lu Shengxiang of the Ministry of War, and many aged commanders still filled with vigor, hurried southward. The civil officials retreated northward. About two hundred others moved either unusually fast or slow. Those who rushed were the younger generation of Xichu exiles, quick to change sides and sever ties, desperately trying to distance themselves from any association. The older generation, in contrast, wept openly, covering their faces with sleeves as they turned to retreat, staggering. Dozens of elderly men wept bitterly on the spot. Some anxious younger kinsmen reached out to support them, only to be angrily rebuffed with a flick of the sleeves. This left the young talents who had finally earned a place in the court feeling ashamed and embarrassed.
Many exiled officials who had been forgiven by the Liyang court and accepted into government service sighed with mixed emotions. Among the eight fallen kingdoms of the Spring and Autumn Period, all had gradually merged into Liyang, except for Xichu, which remained “rebellious remnants,” still yearning for a resurrection from ashes.
The Liyang emperor stepped out of the grand hall first, unexpectedly. The ruler of the Zhao family, repeatedly defied and angered, did not erupt in fury. Instead, he laughed heartily, “Master Cao, what a grand entrance you have made on behalf of Xichu to observe the rites in Taian!”
Dressed in simple green robes, Cao Ziqing’s hair was frost-white. Were it not for his current lofty position atop the palace walls, he would have appeared no different from a destitute old scholar of the Hanlin Academy.
The emperor continued with magnanimity, “My Liyang dynasty has the monk in white hanging the Yellow River on the northern steppes, and now Master Cao passing through eighteen gates to storm the city. This is indeed a blessing for our dynasty!”
Upon hearing these words, the anxious officials in the square felt reassured, their faces lighting up with smiles.
A great emperor should indeed possess such a spirit that swallows the world.
Cao Ziqing said calmly, “I await your return courtesies.”
Instantly, a chorus of curses erupted from below, mostly from civil officials, accusing him of ungratefulness. Many generals were furious, clenching their fists in rage, regretting the lack of weapons at hand. They also feared the reputation of Cao Qingyi as a Confucian Sage, hesitating to act rashly lest they fail and become a laughingstock.
With a sudden rustle, someone turned first, then all turned together, gazing at the tall man in red serpent robe dragging his spear up the steps. The spear tip dripped with plum wine, and upon reaching the emperor’s side, he spun the spear, embedding its handle firmly into the ground.
A single man guarding the pass.
The spear’s aura shifted from green to purple.
With the military sage Chen Zhibao guarding him, the emperor’s magnanimity grew even more. He narrowed his eyes toward the great general Gu Jiantang at the foot of the steps. The supreme martial artist of the Liyang army, his position remained unchallenged. After Chen Zhibao entered the capital, many had eagerly anticipated a contest between the two, old and new, but to everyone’s surprise, the two ministers did not become bitter rivals. Instead, there were rumors of Gu Jiantang personally visiting Chen’s residence with wine for a drinking session. Seeing the prince’s gaze, Gu Jiantang nodded slightly, grips the hilt of his sword, strides forward, and the martial officials retreat accordingly. Gu Jiantang does not immediately draw his sword, Nan Hua, known as the “Sword of the Southern Huas,” originally from the imperial collection of the Eastern Yue palace. It is said to be a talisman sword, blessed by generations of Daoist national masters in Eastern Yue. Though Eastern Yue has long been a renowned land of swords, this blade still claimed the title of “King of Weapons,” rivaling Wang Xiaoping’s Wudang talisman sword, Shen Tu, as the “Twin Talismans.”
To the exact south of the palace walls stood Cao Ziqing, who had arrived empty-handed, and the sword-riding princess of the fallen kingdom, Jiang Si.
On the east side was the “Sage King” of the Wu family sword graveyard, “Su Wang,” who failed to stop them, followed by a giant beehive formed by the Wu family’s unique sword control technique, composed of eight hundred hidden swords.
On the west side, the Daoist prime minister Zhao Danping from Longhu Mountain stood shoulder to shoulder with a robust old man whose identity was unknown to the world. The old man carried a massive sword slung diagonally across his back, nearly twice the length of a typical ancient sword.
Two rows of imperial guards holding colorful ceremonial halberds stood steadfast at the foot of the walls.
“Gu Jiantang, first return the courtesy.”
After speaking, Gu Jiantang extended his arm, and a ceremonial halberd flew from the imperial guards. The greatest swordsman in the world, Gu Jiantang, dashed forward, caught the rapidly flying halberd, and with a loud shout, hurled it like a thunderbolt toward Cao Ziqing atop the wall.
Cao Qingyi stepped forward one pace, hovering in the sky. He joined his index and middle fingers and lightly raised them toward the halberd’s tip, which came roaring with thunderous force.
The ceremonial halberd, over a meter and a half long, did not break into pieces, but rather disintegrated millimeter by millimeter, turning into dust.
Not a single strand of Cao Ziqing’s hair was disturbed.
“Zhao Danping, second return the courtesy.”
Zhao Danping, exuding an immortal aura, wore yellow and purple Daoist robes, appearing ethereal as he raised his wide sleeve and summoned nine peach-wood swords adorned with talismans. The nine flying swords, a rare display of Daoist finger-sword techniques aimed at immortality, were unleashed all at once.
Cao Ziqing sneered, “You chant the ancient words of old sages, yet act for your own. How can you inquire about immortality?”
The great scholar, who claimed eight-tenths of the world’s elegance, extended a single finger and lightly flicked it.
Eight of the nine swords turned on each other, exploding into fragments midair. The last sword, barely reaching Cao Ziqing, was clearly at the end of its strength. Cao’s outstretched finger casually flicked it back toward Zhao Danping, which darted toward him with incredible speed, like the difference between a chicken and a falcon. Zhao Danping furrowed his brows. His sword flew out of his sleeve with grace, but returned in disarray. Though the sword returned to his sleeve, everyone could see the Daoist robe’s wide sleeve continued to flutter and sway for a long time. Though the great Daoist was known for his skill in subduing demons, how easily could he recover from a Confucian Sage’s sword filled with righteous energy?
The two return courtesies were effortlessly neutralized by the man in green robes.
Cao Ziqing had passed through the palace three times before, but never under such public scrutiny. Except for a few top palace experts like Han Diaosi, no one had witnessed it firsthand, let alone experienced it. The second time he stormed the palace, three hundred armored imperial guards blocked his path, yet he shattered their armor and passed through all three hundred. That time, had it not been for Han Diaosi’s unique advantage of using the finger-sword technique against the celestial realm, the emperor might still have been surnamed Zhao, but not the one standing beside Chen Zhibao. Gu Jiantang, who had just begun to return half of his courtesy, was interrupted by the Daoist prime minister. Though his brows hinted at displeasure, he still respected the Dragon-Tiger Mountain grand master and restrained his immense energy. After the second return courtesy ended, he leaped into the air, drawing Nan Hua in a single slash that nearly darkened the heavens and earth.
Cao Ziqing, who had been hovering in midair all along, took three steps forward. With one hand proudly behind his back and the other reaching out to meet Nan Hua.
His hand passed directly through the blade’s glow, gripping the edge of Nan Hua!
“This is meant to cut down sages.”
Gu Jiantang chuckled lightly. The glow of Nan Hua vanished, allowing Cao Ziqing to grasp the blade. With both hands on the hilt, he held it firmly.
Cao Ziqing slightly furrowed his brow, then relaxed. His body spun like a top, finally head down and feet up. His right hand never left Nan Hua. A thunderous boom echoed through the sky.
A continuous rumble of thunder followed.
The sky was clear and cloudless. Truly, a sudden and unexpected winter thunderstorm.
Cao Ziqing gripped Nan Hua and steadied himself. Gu Jiantang did not try to wrest the sword away but instead stepped back twice and landed gracefully.
Cao Ziqing flicked his sleeve.
The sleeve tore.
Five more thunderclaps successively echoed through the sky.
Cao Ziqing smiled slightly, “So this is how you project your essence. No wonder your sword has transcended the mundane, Gu Jiantang.”
He gently tossed Nan Hua back to Gu Jiantang standing in the square.
Gu Jiantang did not argue but carefully sheathed the ancient sword Nan Hua and turned to walk away.
At this moment, everyone noticed the “path” slanting into the heavens behind Cao Ziqing, the air violently vibrating, clearly visible even to ordinary people.
On the steps above, Chen Zhibao whispered something to the emperor, who nodded in sudden realization.
An earthly immortal was already considered a celestial being among men, yet Cao Ziqing, having recently attained the Confucian Sage status, had already astonishingly reached near the peak of the earthly immortal realm. He might be only a level or two below the legendary Lüzu, who passed through the heavenly gate and returned centuries ago.
Cao Ziqing, having endured only two powerful return courtesies with merely a slightly torn sleeve, remained calm.
Many civil officials in the square suddenly recalled the words he had spoken when he attained sainthood at the Xilei Wall, under the clear skies, to all of Xichu.
“I, Cao Ziqing, am willing to die to overturn heaven and earth, willing to die for a pure and tranquil world.”
Cao Ziqing had already become nearly invincible.
Yet, in an instant, everyone felt a sharp and chilling sword intent.
The sword-riding young lady’s gaze swept across a line, and the civil and military officials instinctively shifted sideways to avoid it.
Until one person “surfaced.”
Xu Fengnian of Beiliang.
The year Xichu fell.
The year she had dimples on both cheeks.
The year he had not yet turned white-haired.
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