Xu Fengnian had no intention of pretending to be deaf all the way to Kuaxue Manor. He smiled and said, “I haven’t heard the Dragon Palace Patriarch’s wise words, but I did hear about a precious artifact in the Dragon Palace called the Black Flower Cloud Dragon Pattern Incense Burner. It symbolizes the eternal stability of the Southern Tang dynasty. Its black-purple speckled outer wall, once infused with incense cakes, releases a thick mist upon burning, within which the image of nine dragons emerging from the sea appears.”
Upon hearing this, the woman smiled. Her appearance was unremarkable, yet her classical elegance stood out even more. Softly, she replied, “Master Xu truly comes from a noble family. Ordinary aristocrats wouldn’t know of such a Southern Tang treasure.”
Xu Fengnian smiled it off and asked, “Is the Dragon Palace here to vie for the title of Martial Alliance Leader?”
The woman countered, “Does Master Xu believe the Dragon Palace worthy of contending for supremacy in the Jianghu?”
Xu Fengnian waved his hand in self-deprecation, “How dare I offer opinions.”
As the woman bent down with a copper incense stick to pick up the incense cake, she paused slightly upon hearing his words. She glanced at him, then placed the cake into the burner. The conversation seemed to trail off, and when Xu Fengnian swayed and collapsed onto the floor, the woman, who had been holding her breath all this time, subtly waved away some of the fragrance. She shifted from kneeling to squatting, placing two fingers near Xu Fengnian’s nose, muttering to herself, “He even knows that the Black Flower Incense Burner secretly entered the Dragon Palace from the Southern Tang palace. How could he not know our sect specializes in turning suitable men into human puppets? Remember, one of the Four Grand Masters, Fu Jiang Hong Jia, was born from the Dragon Palace.”
Gazing at Xu Fengnian’s face, she sneered coldly, “Truly composed.”
As she spoke, her fingers moved like sword tips, sharply aiming at Xu Fengnian’s eye. Her fingertip hovered just a fraction from his eyelid, yet the man remained utterly still. The woman let out a surprised “Hmm?” and muttered, “He’s really unconscious?”
Her eyes flashed with a murderous gleam, and just as she was about to strike, Xu Fengnian, still lying down, suddenly grabbed her fingers with one hand and clamped the other around her throat. The woman’s expression turned to shock. Her previous two probes, real and feigned, were merely preludes. The third time was when she truly meant to kill. To the Dragon Palace, a fine body was worth a thousand gold—whether the man was truly unconscious or faking it, it made no difference; she would strike without hesitation. Yet in this game of cat and mouse, the roles had shifted too abruptly. Xu Fengnian opened his eyes and stared at the Dragon Palace woman, a fairy on the outside but a serpent within, and softly chuckled, “So you really intended to kill me. I even gave you a chance to be a compassionate Guanyin. We met by chance—why not love and cherish each other?”
The woman couldn’t speak, her eyes wide with terror. A few small red snakes slithered down the arm of the white-haired man and suddenly burrowed into her arm like gluttons feasting. The once moist and gentle woman, like one soaked in Jiangnan mist, quickly withered away. When Xu Fengnian released her, she was already lifeless. He gently supported her leaning body and tapped lightly near her temples with his fingers, slowly peeling off a delicate mask. Beneath it was the face of a green-robed official walking ahead of the Eight-Bar Palanquin. Having long since learned the tricks of disguise through frequent use during his journey in the Northern Wilderness, Xu Fengnian was no novice in the art of impersonation. He discarded the mask, equivalent to Shu Xiu’s level of craftsmanship, and laid the corpse flat. Then, taking the incense shovel himself, he skillfully scooped away some ashes. When it came to cultivated pretensions, what was there that this Beiliang heir didn’t master?
Xu Fengnian turned his head and casually glanced at the “official” with a Southern Tang-style silk pouch at her waist. The latter showed no reaction to the corpse, her smile unchanged, her eyes filled with amusement.
Xu Fengnian asked, “Who was she, and who are you?”
The green-clad woman ran a finger along her temple, smiling with narrowed eyes, “She? She’s me now. My real face is even uglier than the one you peeled off—I dare not show it to anyone.”
Xu Fengnian returned the incense shovel, and the mysterious woman spoke plainly, “Originally, I just thought the journey to Kuaxue Manor would be dull, so I wanted to make a new puppet for fun. But now I think that would be a waste. How about you become a cauldron for the Dragon Palace? Countless men in the Jianghu dream of such a fate. Though you may only last two or three years before being discarded when your Yang essence dries up, it’s still far better than being turned into a human puppet. The women of the Dragon Palace are all as beautiful as flowers, and you would enjoy nightly revels. For a few years of bliss, even if you’re just a silver-tipped spear, you could pleasure twenty or thirty fairies. Isn’t that better than spending a lifetime with one or two aging wives?”
Xu Fengnian helplessly replied, “Miss, where exactly do you get this confidence?”
The woman, whose true face remained unknown, tilted her head and asked, “Are you the Emperor of Liyang?”
Xu Fengnian shook his head.
She asked again, “Have you reached the Diamond Body of the First Rank, or even grasped the profound secrets of the Finger Mystery Technique?”
Xu Fengnian shook his head again.
She pressed on, “Then are you the son-in-law of Prime Minister Zhang Julu or Gu Jiantang?”
Xu Fengnian chuckled, “Finished?”
The Eight-Bar Palanquin suddenly sank several feet, and the eight muscular attendants almost simultaneously knelt. Xu Fengnian’s left hand hooked like a claw, gripping the green woman’s entire face. Blood seeped from her face as his right hand slowly rotated, sending several flying swords into her most vital points. If she dared to resist with her inner energy, she would be pinned to death on the spot. Xu Fengnian slightly increased the pressure of his five fingers. Perhaps the woman, who was high-ranking in the Dragon Palace, was now bleeding heavily and gasping for breath. Without even looking, one could imagine the hatred burning in her eyes. Xu Fengnian smiled, “Relying on the Dragon Palace’s fake Diamond technique of snake coiling turtle, do you really think you’re an indestructible Buddha? The reason the Dragon Palace remains standing is not only because of the snake coiling turtle derived from Fu Jiang Hong Jia, but also because of a few shortcuts in the Finger Mystery techniques. In the end, you’re neither fish nor fowl, a laughingstock. How many genuine First-Rank experts would even take your sect seriously? Wanting to become a master like Wang Xianzhi, do you think your sect’s underhanded methods can achieve that? Long ago, your sect leader tried to offer herself to Wang Xianzhi for the Yin-Yang cultivation, but before she could even take off her clothes, Wang the Old Freak struck her with one palm, turning her into mud. To be honest, if you’re too ugly, you shouldn’t even enter the Jianghu.”
The woman gritted her teeth, “Who exactly are you?! Why do you know so much about the Dragon Palace’s secrets!”
Xu Fengnian released his grip and smiled without speaking. The woman, clearly ruthless, shouted toward the tent’s exit, “Continue forward!”
The woman, who had been planning to strike Xu Fengnian with a secret Finger Mystery technique, suddenly spewed a mouthful of blood—actually pierced by a flying sword. The green sword returned to its master’s finger like a proud pet. Xu Fengnian mocked, “Still not giving up?”
The woman extended her tongue to lick away the blood, swallowing it with saliva. Her eyes were cold, yet her tone was seductive, “A fine display of the Wujia Sword Grave’s sword control.”
Xu Fengnian pointed to his white hair and laughed, “With this, and the chaos in Tai’an City, you’ve probably guessed my identity—but you’re too afraid to say it out loud? Worried I’ll kill you to silence you?”
The woman remained silent.
Xu Fengnian asked directly, “Is the Dragon Palace going to Kuaxue Manor at the behest of Prince Zhao Bing of Yanche or Nalan Youci?”
The woman’s expression was blank, seemingly resigned to her fate.
The two were only a few feet apart when Xu Fengnian’s expression changed faster than turning a page. With a slap to her forehead, the woman’s body froze in place, her head swaying for a long time, blood flowing from her seven orifices. The hidden energy she had painstakingly gathered burst like a dam. She clutched her mouth, crimson blood seeping between her fingers, dripping onto the carpet.
Xu Fengnian then slapped her cheek with his right hand. Her head jerked left, and she struggled to turn right, for she clearly sensed a sword hovering near her right ear, radiating cold killing intent. She didn’t want to be pierced through the skull for no reason. But Xu Fengnian, ever the opportunist, after the slap, pressed his warm palm against her swollen cheek and pushed it toward the sword’s tip. In that moment, even a woman of strong will felt her heart die, teetering between life and death, an unbearable sensation. She closed her eyes, the man’s palm warm, the sword beside her ear icy cold, its tip resting against her temple, a single drop of blood slowly trickling down her pretty face. When she opened her eyes, she sneered, “What’s wrong? Worried that if I crush my pearl, I’ll take you with me?”
Xu Fengnian flicked her cheek with his finger, and the sword returned to his sleeve. He said casually, “The women of the Dragon Palace cultivate pearls within their bodies. The size varies with their cultivation level—some as small as grains of rice, drifting with their energy, others nearly the size of a Lingnan longan, forming Daoist Aura and settling in the dantian.”
The woman spat out some blood, and Xu Fengnian easily blocked it with his palm. He glanced at the black-purple smear on his hand, which seeped into his skin and vanished in an instant, frowning slightly.
The woman laughed maniacally.
Xu Fengnian joined in the laughter, “Some techniques are too famous to be advantageous, like classic Go patterns from master players. They may initially shock the world, but eventually, countermeasures emerge. South of the Tang, the air is dense and oppressive, with excessive Yang energy, and the plants and springs all harbor malevolent qi. Human energy connects with the heavens and earth, thus naturally generating more miasma. The Dragon Palace, rooted in the Southern Frontier, uses poison to counter poison, harvesting the green grass miasma of March, the yellow plum miasma of May, and the osmanthus miasma of September. Neither smoke nor mist, it enters the blood and is expelled in a breath—this is known as the Dragon’s Saliva. Especially potent is the essence of blood, which can rot even a top expert’s body within an incense stick’s time if they lack a Diamond Body.”
The woman’s laughter faded. She lifted her sleeve to wipe the blood from her lips, still managing a coy, blushing charm as she gazed at this nobleman who knew so many of the Dragon Palace’s secrets, “If you insist on killing me, it’ll be mutual destruction. But if we talk, perhaps we can both be satisfied.”
Xu Fengnian raised his hand, and the Dragon’s Saliva and blood were expelled from his palm. The woman did not panic but fell into thought. Sitting near the incense burner, Xu Fengnian sighed, “You truly have a clever mind. If I were an ordinary person, even if I could suppress the Dragon’s Saliva, which ranks among the top five poisons of the Southern Frontier, combined with the incense cakes in the burner requiring specific reagents, I’d be dead before I could even bargain with you. Moreover, the bearded man outside the Eight-Bar Palanquin is just a decoy, not even reaching the First Rank. At best, he’s a seasoned Second-Rank expert. Earlier, when the eight bearers knelt, one of them could have refused but hesitated slightly before hiding it. Dealing with you lot is truly exhausting.”
Every trap set, every move countered, ambushed from behind—no matter how strong her will, the woman finally showed signs of breaking.
All she heard was the young devil’s cryptic remark, leaving her baffled, “Would you like to experience the feeling of being skinned alive like the Fu Jiang Hong Jia once was? My technique is still crude, but I’m learning. Would you mind being my test subject?”
Xu Fengnian reached through the gauze curtain, pulling out several floating white threads.
She trembled, “I surrender!”
Xu Fengnian smiled, his expression so sinister that she felt like a compassionate Guanyin in comparison.
A white thread tore her face mask clean off.
She lowered her head, cradling her bloodied face, her voice hoarse and choked, “Yang Maoliang, Zhao Weiping, withdraw.”
In the Jianghu, there are both blessings and curses. Sometimes you may stumble upon a secret manual, or be taken in by a hidden master. Other times, you might be gravely injured by an eccentric hermit or suffer a tragic downfall despite a lifetime of honor. This is the allure of the Jianghu—you never know what twists and turns tomorrow may bring. Generally speaking, the higher one’s cultivation, the fewer surprises life holds, but when they do arise, they are often difficult to resolve. Even among the rare First-Rank experts, like finding a needle in the sea, or the few Second-Rank experts scattered across the provinces, they rarely cross paths and usually avoid conflict. But once a deadly feud begins, one side often meets a tragic end.
Xu Fengnian stretched a white thread between his hands, gazing at it without looking at the now-defeated woman, calmly saying, “I hope you’ll speak freely and truthfully.”
※※※
Approaching Kuaxue Manor, the Eight-Bar Palanquin turned from the main road onto the manor’s private path, which was even wider. The snow had been mostly cleared, indicating a long stretch of preparation. Nearly a hundred clean-faced boys and girls, holding silk-handled brooms, lined the road. The manor’s stewards stood at the roadside to welcome the guests. Whenever someone of note presented their invitation, the manor’s attendants would loudly announce their arrival.
The Eight-Bar Palanquin and a cow cart entered simultaneously. The cow cart driver was a haughty young boy, barely old enough to read, yet carrying a sword brimming with killing intent. Behind him sat an elderly Confucian scholar in plain clothes, exuding an air of refined elegance. He held a whisk, an essential item for scholarly debates, inspiring awe in ordinary folk. As the oxen’s hooves clopped along, many martial artists rushing to the manor’s private road quickly made way. Some bold martial heroes approached to greet the scholar, but he remained in deep meditation, ignoring them all. The martial heroes, far from offended, considered it only natural.
Kuaxue Manor had taken on the responsibility of hosting this grand martial event, but in truth, it had to bow to two other sects: one was the Dongyue Sword Pond, once powerful enough to rival the Wujia Sword Grave for supremacy in the sword world; the other was the secluded Shu Spring Post Grass Hall. The former had sent Li Yibai, a potential successor to the Sword Pond, along with eighteen sword servants. The latter sent only two, but their presence was weightier. The elderly scholar holding the whisk was Xie Lingzhen, the current head of the Spring Post Grass Hall. His cultivation was profound and unfathomable. Though he had never engaged in martial combat, it was said he could discuss sword techniques with the Sword Emperor of Shu. Was he truly only a scholar?
A commotion arose. As the Dragon Palace palanquin and the Grass Hall cart entered view, another striking group appeared. Eighteen female swordswomen, clad in identical fox fur cloaks, rode white horses. Their white sleeves fluttered like snow, and their sword scabbards were also snow-white, a sight to behold. The Dongyue Sword Pond had long selected young girls with innate sword talent, raising them as sword slaves. These women must remain virgins for life, devoting themselves to the sword and the Sword Pond. Yet despite Kuaxue Manor’s eager anticipation, they had yet to see Li Yibai, the so-called sword genius of the Dongyue Sword Pond.
Three riders approached side by side. The central figure was a young man of refined grace and striking presence. To his left rode a black-clad swordsman with a curved saber at his waist, his expression cold, tall and muscular, with curly hair and a bold demeanor. To his right rode a less impressive companion, a short, dark-skinned man with an unremarkable face and a short sword. As the central figure appeared on the private road of Kuaxue Manor, a group of waiting women erupted into screams, shouting “Qing” and “Bai,” their eyes filled with madness.
The black-clad swordsman chuckled, “Brother Qian, still so popular. Let me see, wow, there are actually a few beauties. How about giving a few to us brothers?”
The handsome young man blushed, but the black-clad swordsman laughed heartily, reaching out to rub his face, “Brother Qian, Brother Qian, your skin is even thinner than a woman’s.”
The women watching the scene became even more frenzied.
Qian Laifu, as he was called, forced himself to ignore them, brushing past the adoring women on the roadside. He bore the surname Qian and the name Laifu, both common and unrefined. Yet this refined young man hailed from a noble family in the Huai region. Two centuries ago, his family was so prestigious that even imperial princesses longed to marry into it. Now, though not as powerful, his family was still influential. Qian Laifu was especially skilled in crafting Qingbai scholar’s paper, surpassing even the famed Luoye Hall of Shu. His work outshone the artisans of the Imperial As You WishHall and even rivaled the famed silk workshops of Suzhou and Wuzhou. Originally used for writing spring couplets in the palace halls, it later became the official paper for imperial decrees. He was also a master of refined poetry, known for his emotional depth. Among the scholars of the realm, he was ranked alongside the now-fallen Song family’s prodigy, Wang Chudong of the Spring God Lake who wrote “The First Snowfall,” and Xu Weixiong of Beiliang, known as the Four Young Literary Masters, with Xu Weixiong leading the pack. Not only did countless noble daughters in the empire admire Qian Laifu, known as “Qingbai,” but even female martial heroes often declared they would marry no one else.
Inside the Eight-Bar Palanquin, Xu Fengnian was piecing things together. The woman beside him, Lin Hongyuan, was actually the next leader of the Dragon Palace. She admitted that the trip to Kuaxue Manor had been arranged by Prince Yanche Zhao Bing, primarily to support Li Yibai of the Dongyue Sword Pond in his bid for the title of Martial Alliance Leader. In return, the Dongyue Sword Pond had secretly gifted the Dragon Palace six ancient swords, with more rewards promised upon success. Xu Fengnian did not fully believe her, but Lin Hongyuan’s words were about ninety percent true—enough for now.
This competition for the title of Martial Alliance Leader, destined to be backed by the imperial court, had Xie Lingzhen of the Spring Post Grass Hall as the top contender. Among the first-tier sects, Kuaxue Manor favored its longtime ally, the Shu Grass Hall. The southern martial sects of Liyang also supported this alliance. However, it seemed the young master of the Yan Fortress in Ji Prefecture had also joined the fray. This young officer held a position too prestigious to be underestimated. Rumors said he was highly favored in the capital, on good terms with the sons of the former Minister of War, Gu Jiantang, and even often hunting along the borders with the eldest prince, Zhao Wu.
There were also scattered individuals, but compared to these three factions, they were insignificant. However, the title of Martial Alliance Leader today was not like before—it could not remain independent from the imperial court. Once obtained, it practically meant a connection to the throne, granting the authority to govern the Jianghu on behalf of the emperor. Was this not the ultimate safeguard?
The cultural heritage of the Central Plains still lingered, but the martial spirit of the Jianghu had been shattered.
Xu Fengnian softly said, “The Spring Post Grass Hall, Dongyue Sword Pond, Yan Fortress of Ji Prefecture… all are like widows who can’t remain chaste—already secretly entangled with others.”
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