The heavy snowfall in Jiangnan finally began to ease, and two carriages slowly rolled along the post road. Along the way, many locust and willow trees had succumbed under the weight of the snow. Once they entered Jiangnan, even the normally spirited youth Wu gradually grew quiet. According to the geographical records, the city ahead lay more than eight hundred miles from the capital, a distance whose significance everyone understood.
At dusk, after a day’s journey without a rest, the carriages halted before a newly built grand temple. Despite the bitter cold, a steady stream of pilgrims still arrived. The travelers hoped to beg for a meal of vegetarian fare. Upon stepping out, the middle-aged Daoist, who carried three long swords on his back, suddenly smiled knowingly. The mountains of Longhu and Wudang had long contested for the title of the ancestral seat of Daoism, with the latter clearly in the inferior position. Yet here in Jiangnan, there was a grand temple dedicated to the Great Emperor Zhenwu.
Upon entering the temple, the Daoists there, noticing their Wudang robes and dignified bearing, quickly summoned an elder Daoist of high standing, who personally welcomed them. Upon learning that one of the guests was Wang Xiaoping, a senior figure from Wudang, the old Daoist was overjoyed, repeating many times how honored he was to host such distinguished visitors. Although Longhu Mountain held dominance over all famous mountains and Daoist grottoes, bolstered by its connection to the imperial family and the prestige of several high-ranking Daoist officials, in the eyes of the common people, Wudang Mountain, especially the few reclusive sages atop the Great Lotus Peak, also bore the air of immortal sages. Wang Xiaoping, known as the Sword-Crazed Hermit, had long been celebrated in the martial world for his journey slaying countless malevolent spirits with his divine sword.
As Xu Fengnian and his companions dined, they conversed with the elder Daoist and learned that this Zhenwu Temple had once been destroyed during the Spring and Autumn Wars. It was later rebuilt by local gentry and wealthy merchants at a cost of tens of thousands of taels of silver, covering eight acres—an act that technically violated regulations. However, the local officials, appreciating the temple’s popularity and the devotion of its worshippers, chose to turn a blind eye.
After the meal, the old Daoist personally led the visitors to the main hall of Zhenwu. The main hall, flanked by eastern and western side halls, housed a statue of the Great Emperor Zhenwu standing upon a tortoise and a snake. The walls were adorned with swirling cloud patterns. Before entering the hall, Xu Fengnian had intended to follow local customs and burn a stick of incense, but Wang Xiaoping stopped him. The old Daoist glanced at him but gave it no further thought. Standing before the lotus mat, Xu Fengnian recalled how, years ago, he and his siblings had visited Wudang. His eldest sister had wandered off while his second sister had stealthily led him behind the statue of Zhenwu, where she had carved the words “Exiled Three Thousand Miles” with a dagger from her sleeve. As a child, he had thought it a rebellious act, yet thrilling. Now, gazing up at the statue, Xu Fengnian exhaled deeply.
The old Daoist had never seen a young pilgrim with white hair before. For some reason, all the other pilgrims had gathered outside, and the hall was strangely silent. The young nobleman before him, dressed in white from head to toe, stood in stark contrast to the solemnity of the hall, as if the very statue of Zhenwu had taken on an ethereal, almost divine aura. The old Daoist, who had been more interested in the famed swordsman Wang Xiaoping, could not help but mutter in astonishment.
Xu Fengnian, the purple-robed lady from Huishan, the sword-bearing Wang Xiaoping, Qing Niao, who carried the silent Cha Na spear hidden beneath the carriage, the spirited youth Wu, and Liu Wenbao, who dreamed of making his mark in Beiliang—these six left the bustling Zhenwu Temple and walked toward their carriages. Before climbing in, Xu Fengnian suddenly turned to the purple-robed lady and said, “You’ll stop here. There’s a branch of the Liu family being secretly relocated to the capital by Liu Haoshi from the south. You go intercept them. Kill as many as you can, but don’t push yourself too hard. Try not to reveal your identity, and don’t wear the purple robe anymore—it might draw attention to Huishan in the Guangling region.”
The lady glared at him with cold eyes, her gaze filled with unhidden anger.
Xu Fengnian remained unfazed. “Since you’ve decided not to help me against Han Diaosi, we might as well part ways temporarily. It’s better than having me distracted later.”
She asked coldly, “Are you angry that I didn’t help you stop Han Diaosi? Or are you afraid I’ll turn on you and stab you in the back?”
Xu Fengnian glanced at her indifferently. “Both.”
She stared at him, then said “Fine,” three times, before leaping away.
Xu Fengnian turned to Qing Niao and asked softly, “Everything arranged?”
She nodded slightly.
Xu Fengnian bent down and entered the carriage, sitting cross-legged against the wall. This was his second journey away from home, and each time, Lu Qiuer had followed him like a shadow. The fat man wasn’t just tagging along to kick up dust or mock the young master. Years ago, during the Battle of Tiemen Pass, the brilliance of the Poisonous Strategist Li Yishan had already been revealed. And there were many such hidden strategies spread across the land, not confined to any one place or time. Many former soldiers and generals from the Spring and Autumn era had scattered, but most had chosen to lie low for their own reasons, hiding in the courts and streets of the empire. Now that Beiliang had openly broken with the emperor, and Xu Fengnian was set to become the next Prince of Beiliang, it was time for these hidden pieces to rise and return to the barren land of Beiliang. All of this followed one of Li Yishan’s secret plans, unfolding in a well-ordered manner. But one hidden force had been gathered specifically to deal with Han Diaosi alone.
A light cavalry of six hundred riders.
A heavy cavalry of three hundred riders.
And a band of two hundred outlaws, the smallest in number but the fiercest in strength, bolstered by nearly eighty loyal hounds recruited from the martial world by Beiliang.
Apart from the covert force targeting Han Diaosi, the sudden mobilization of the first two forces, which violated military regulations, caused chaos among local authorities. The officials were stunned and dared not act rashly, sending urgent reports through the relay stations, each one panicking like ants on a hot pan, fearing that such a large force of elite soldiers might rebel and cost them their positions. In contrast, the sudden rise of the eunuch Song Tanglu to the head of the Directorate of Ceremonial, and the mysterious death of Han Diaosi, the most powerful eunuch in the empire, were distant shocks that barely rippled down to the local levels.
Wang Xiaoping, for the first time, entered the same carriage as Xu Fengnian and asked, “Are you really willing to sacrifice hundreds, even thousands of lives to fill that bottomless pit?”
Xu Fengnian replied calmly, “There’s no other way. As long as Han Diaosi lives, I can’t rest easy. Since he dared to confront me openly, I have to make him remember the cost.”
Wang Xiaoping said nothing more, his expression grim.
Xu Fengnian placed the Beiliang saber, which had accompanied his father Xu Xiao throughout his life, on his knees and said softly, “Now that I’ve come this far, there’s no turning back. I won’t spout the nonsense about mercy in leadership, but I don’t have the energy to get entangled elsewhere. I’d rather settle it cleanly, like the snow outside—white and pure. Let those who seek death perish, and let those who shouldn’t die survive.”
He murmured to himself, “Xu Xiao once said that unless absolutely necessary, the thirty thousand iron cavalry of Beiliang would never march into the Central Plains. Otherwise, if Beiliang had allied with the Northern Desert and marched south twenty years ago, life would have been much better than now. But a man must have some Bottom line. As Xu Xiao put it, a family’s quarrels are best settled behind closed doors. If they can’t be resolved, then each goes their own way, building their own small courtyard. But as long as Xu Xiao stands at the door, he’ll never open it to thieves.”
Xu Fengnian smiled faintly. “Back then, I was afraid of death—not just for myself, but for the shame it would bring to my father, who had already borne so many curses. If I died, and my father, already called a traitor, was further disgraced by his useless, unfilial son rebelling against the Central Plains, I wouldn’t even dare face my mother in the afterlife.”
Wang Xiaoping remained silent.
As they neared Shenwu City, the hooves of six hundred riders thundered like rolling drums.
Xu Fengnian stepped out of the carriage. The cavalry commander dismounted and knelt in greeting.
Soon after, the three hundred riders and the two hundred outlaws arrived almost simultaneously.
Xu Fengnian mounted an unclaimed warhorse and rode to the front.
In the snowstorm, a dark figure stood alone, a lone guardian at the pass.
The next moment sent chills down their spines.
It was only at this moment that Wang Xiaoping truly felt the urge to draw his three swords.
The Tenth Strongest Man in the World, Han Diaosi, stood blocking the road.
Seeing the white horse at the head of the charge, he began to run toward it.
Xu Fengnian, alone on his horse, charged forward without hesitation.
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