When a group of white-robed men and women, resembling immortals, advanced fiercely toward Linhu Manor, a young and handsome man stood in the pavilion on Wolong Hill. At his waist hung a renowned sword forged at Longyan Fragrant Furnace, inscribed with the ancient characters “Wu Gen Tian Shui” (Water from the Heavens, Rootless). Happening to witness white butterflies skimming the lake surface, he clenched his fists, exuding a sinister aura, filled with anger and fear. People often spoke of ancient immortals, transcendent beings who lived in seclusion feeding on morning mist and dew, uninvolved in worldly affairs. When they appeared, it was as if clouds and rain gathered at their will, thunder and lightning at their command. The young man standing alone in the pavilion was the young master of Youyan Manor, known for his lofty vision and discernment. He would never mistake those white-clad figures for true immortals—merely cultivators from the northern and southern sects that had split during the Spring and Autumn Periods. The northern sect, led by the Imperial Astronomer’s Bureau in Tai’an City, had become tools of the imperial court, dutifully observing omens and celestial signs for the Zhao dynasty, drawing much criticism. The southern sect was more fragmented and sparse, with the Nanhai Bai Ping Guanyin Sect as its leader, dwelling in solitude on distant islands, behaving like wandering immortals.
These dozen or so cultivators, led by a master of cultivation arts, were undoubtedly emissaries from the high and mighty immortal isles. Their reason for such a grand procession leaving the southern seas was none other than the talisman sword secretly forged in the Longyan Fragrant Furnace. This was a transaction where the southern sea desired and the manor reluctantly complied. Long ago, a white-robed, barefoot woman from the southern seas entered the martial world, immediately hailed as a celestial being. Countless martial heroes and talented men worshipped her. Had she not been driven back in tears by the sword deity of that generation, Li Chungan, perhaps more tales of such celestial encounters would have endured to this day. At that time, Youyan Manor’s elder master was one of her admirers. Now, the current master, Zhang Dongling, inherited his father’s wish, hiring ships to sail the seas in search of immortal cultivators. He encountered a once-in-a-century typhoon but was rescued by a female cultivator from the Guanyin Sect. By fate’s twist, they fell in love and eloped back to the manor. Twenty-five years ago, a powerful cultivator from the Guanyin Sect arrived, demanding the woman’s suicide. In love and desperation, Zhang Dongling sealed the ancestral sword-forging furnace passed down through generations, promising to forge eighty-one talisman swords exclusively for the Guanyin Sect in exchange for his wife’s life. If he failed to complete the forging, he vowed to die alongside his wife. Forging swords was never easy, and crafting talisman swords suitable for cultivators was even more difficult. Twenty-five years later, only thirty-six had been completed. Youyan Manor was now on the brink of collapse, nearly bankrupt. How could the young master, Zhang Chunling, not loathe these debt-collecting southern sea cultivators with deep hatred? Was he truly to watch helplessly as his parents chose death together?
A pair of middle-aged men and women, nearing fifty yet looking youthful, slowly ascended the hill. The man had a rugged appearance, with a leopard-like head and wide eyes, bearing the fierce look of a brave but savage warrior. Yet his expression was calm and serene. Holding hands, they entered the pavilion, occasionally glancing lovingly at each other, revealing a tenderness rare in such a rough figure. The woman bore a striking resemblance to their son, Zhang Chunling, with a simple elegance and dignified beauty. Facing the impending doom, she was unafraid of death, but her silence carried a deep sense of guilt. Entering the pavilion, Zhang Chunling gritted his teeth, eyes red with fury, turning his head away in anger. The woman approached and gently adjusted her son’s fine Liaodong fox fur cloak, softly saying, “It’s my fault, delaying your father and harming the family legacy.”
Zhang Dongling slightly widened his eyes and said, “Why say such things? There is no delay or harm—just nonsense. To have found such a good daughter-in-law, our ancestral graves must have been steaming with good fortune. If you speak another word of complaint, you’ll be struck by lightning.”
Though Zhang Chunling was always courteous and meticulous in his dealings, with his parents, he needed no mask of gentleness. With tearful eyes, he glared at his father, Zhang Dongling, and said, “It’s all your fault! Your sword skills are mediocre, and all you ever did was forge swords. You couldn’t even protect Mother!”
Zhang Dongling had no words to reply and saw no need to pretend to be a mighty hero in front of his son. He simply grunted in response.
The woman’s expression turned colder, and she sternly scolded, “Chunling, don’t speak to your father that way!”
Zhang Chunling lowered his gaze to his own trembling hands, choked with emotion, and said, “No, it’s all my fault. I couldn’t protect you both. I’m a coward. My hands are shaking now—I can’t even hold my sword steady, let alone draw it against those people.”
Zhang Dongling smiled gently, his eyes full of tenderness as he patted his son’s head. “As long as I’m here, I’ll be the first to bear the weight when the sky falls. Chunling, we martial artists, especially swordsmen, can’t all be first-rate masters, let alone dream of being sword immortals. As long as we’ve done nothing to feel guilty about, we needn’t fear ghosts knocking at the door. Heh, these cultivators who roam freely beyond the seas are considered immortals in the martial world. If immortals come knocking to collect debts, your mother and I won’t feel wronged. You’ve come of age some years now, so don’t blame yourself too much. Don’t let revenge consume your heart. These twenty-odd years your mother and I have lived have been a bonus. And having you is a bonus beyond measure. If you let grief consume you after we’re gone, your mother and I won’t rest easy below. I’m just a rough man, all I’ve ever known is blacksmithing and forging swords. I’ve never taught you much about life or how to conduct yourself. I can’t offer you any wise words, but there’s one thing you must remember—there are many things in this world worth doing, but you can’t let them eat away at your heart. If you let them, you’ll suffocate and waste the chance of being born into this world.”
For the first time in his life, Zhang Chunling looked up with tears in his eyes and said, “Father, I just can’t accept this.”
Zhang Dongling, rarely assuming the role of a stern father, calmly replied, “Even if you can’t accept it, you must live on.”
The woman gently wiped her son’s tears with her sleeve and turned her gaze toward the solitary fisherman on the lake, sitting alone in a boat wearing a straw cloak and bamboo hat. Wanting to steer the father and son away from their sorrow, she changed the subject and asked, “Who is that stranger?”
Zhang Dongling grinned and said, “Guests staying at the manor during the snowstorm. Zhang Han said they’re not ordinary. With his discerning eye, he couldn’t even tell their skill level. They must be formidable. In other times, I would have surely befriended them, but you would’ve scolded me for it. I’ve always been stubborn, like a dog that can’t stop eating shit. These years have been hard on you. There’s an old saying—‘Even the cleverest housewife can’t cook without rice.’ That’s you to a T.”
The woman forced a smile, gently shook her head, and then took both his and her son’s hands.
Zhang Dongling exhaled deeply. “Let’s go down the hill. If the guests clash with the Guanyin Sect by accident, I’ll feel guilty. Chunling, don’t show yourself. Let your mother and I welcome our last guests. After that, it’ll be your turn to take charge.”
Zhang Chunling gripped his ancient sword tightly, his eyes resolute. “I’m coming down with you!”
As Zhang Dongling hesitated, his eyes caught movement on the lake, and he let out a surprised “Hmm!” His eyes widened in shock.
The white-robed cultivators skimmed the lake like dragonflies, the swirling snow naturally drifting away from their bodies, falling several feet away. The leading immortal was now less than thirty zhang from Youyan Manor. At the rear, a young female cultivator leapt across the small boat where a man sat motionless. He was cross-legged, wearing a thick straw cloak and a bamboo hat. Two strands of white hair, unusually youthful, hung gently from his temples. When she glimpsed the fisherman’s face, she found him surprisingly young, his appearance exceptionally handsome by worldly standards. So striking was he that even the barefoot woman couldn’t help but turn back for another look after leaping past the boat, wondering if he was either stunned into immobility or so engrossed in fishing that he hadn’t noticed anything at all.
Xu Fengnian, sitting alone on the cold lake, had been holding his breath and focusing his mind, deliberately ignoring the white-cloaked cultivators gliding across the lake. Even when they passed directly over his head, he showed no sign of movement. He even deliberately concealed the eager stirrings of the dark entity within him. First, Xu Fengnian had only stopped at Youyan Manor temporarily and had no desire to cause trouble. If these so-called immortals were honored guests that the manor needed to welcome with utmost respect, he didn’t think it appropriate to let the hungry Xu Ying unleash destruction. Second, his only enmity was with the Imperial Astronomer’s Bureau in the capital. He bore no grudge against the southern cultivators. If fate had brought them together, he would treat it as a rare opportunity to witness immortals in their element.
But when Xu Fengnian sensed a trace of killing intent from this group of white-robed immortals that seemed unworthy of their supposed status, he no longer remained passive. He removed his bamboo hat, and his small boat shot backward like an arrow, leaving a graceful ripple across the lake.
In an instant, the boat halted abruptly twenty zhang from the shore, precisely blocking the landing point of the leading cultivator.
The solemn-faced old woman in white slightly furrowed her brow. Her figure halted abruptly, descending along with the snowflakes onto the lake’s surface. The dozen or so younger cultivators behind her also stopped in succession.
These cultivators stood on the lake’s surface, unmoving, like white butterflies resting on a mirror.
Within the lakeside courtyard of Youyan Manor, someone must have first noticed this mystical scene. After a few exclamations of surprise, people gradually emerged from the courtyard gates, gathering to watch from a distance. Soon, a crowd formed, including servants, guests, and even distant friends who had been entrusted with the manor’s future.
Xu Fengnian spoke calmly, “They are guests of Youyan Manor, and I welcome them wholeheartedly. But if they come seeking trouble, we’ll need to sit down and have a proper conversation. Oh, and since they can stand on the lake and play at being immortals, I assume their cultivation is no small feat. I hope sitting won’t make their bottoms cold?”
The aged woman’s frown deepened, and most of the cultivators around her also showed displeasure. Only the barefoot young woman at the very back let out a soft laugh.
A white-robed immortal, around thirty years old, subtly turned her head and gave the younger woman a look of mild reprimand. The latter quickly straightened her expression, but her eyes, still brimming with laughter, betrayed her amusement.
Each of the sixteen carried one or more talisman swords of varying lengths—some were peachwood swords passed down from ancient immortals recorded in texts, others were bronze swords with a thousand years of history. Even the newer swords were counted in decades.
It was said that cultivators had unique methods of cultivation. They would gather heavenly thunder in sacred mountains and hidden valleys, using secret techniques to create thunder pearls. When thrown, their power was immense, truly like thunder striking the earth. Or they might capture the first rays of dawn reflecting over the Eastern Sea in a talisman mirror. A single flash could reduce evil spirits and impurities to ashes. There were even tales of collecting wandering souls to accompany them to Fengdu, accumulating virtue by entering the underworld while still alive. In short, the mysterious techniques of skilled cultivators were endless, leaving ordinary people in awe and reverence, treating them as divine beings who carried out the will of heaven. In truth, cultivators originated from ancient sorcerers, somewhat similar to Daoist alchemists, but their path was narrower and more extreme.
A young male cultivator coldly said, “Step aside!”
Xu Fengnian, ever the stubborn rogue, smiled and replied, “Ask me first.”
Then he gently patted the Bei Liang Blade at his waist. “And ask my blade too.”
Though the old woman was one of the rare top-tier cultivator experts in the world, she did not act arrogantly. Calmly, she said, “We are going to Youyan Manor to retrieve the sword as agreed. Young man, it is commendable that you wish to help those in distress, but we must also act reasonably.”
Xu Fengnian stood up and brushed the snow off his straw cloak. “I once met an elder who obtained a fine sword from Youyan Manor. You may take the swords, but if you intend to bully others, I’ll say again—ask me, ask my blade.”
The young male cultivator, who had spoken coldly before, now openly showed his anger.
When a common man is enraged, blood stains five paces. When a ruler is enraged, a million corpses fall, and blood flows a thousand miles.
To ordinary eyes, when an immortal is enraged, is it any less fearsome than a ruler’s wrath?
The world knows immortals are mighty, for their lofty status rivals that of emperors and generals.
The cultivator did not hide his anger. As he spoke, fierce winds and swirling snow danced around him.
He laughed bitterly and loudly declared, “Bold lad, do you truly wish to sit and debate cultivation with me? Fine, I shall grant you that seat!”
The white-robed immortal indeed sat down.
As if a mountain had suddenly descended into the river and sea.
Except for the leading old woman, the other cultivators all lifted their feet a few inches above the lake.
The lake surface churned violently, an awe-inspiring sight.
But to his great embarrassment, the lake around him violently shook, yet that small boat remained as steady as if it were on land!
Xu Fengnian did not mock the clumsy cultivator with sharp words. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and gazed at the heavy snowfall, murmuring to himself, “An elder once told me a line that deeply moved me. ‘Three million sword immortals in the heavens, yet even they must bow before me.’ How fitting.”
Xu Fengnian turned his gaze back, removed his straw cloak, and with a mischievous smile, said, “Come, come, come. First, ask me, then you’ll have the honor of asking my Bei Liang Blade at my waist.”
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