The young lord rode out of the city on a white horse, adorned with twin sabers. Behind him followed a burly general leading over a hundred light cavalry, though the lead carriage was unremarkable, its driver a delicate woman. Even the young lord himself rode on horseback, suggesting no one of sufficient status sat inside the carriage.
After traveling more than ten miles beyond the city, the hundred crossbow cavalry of the Feng Battalion deliberately fell back, maintaining a distance. The general, Ning Eméi, rode alone to Xu Fengnian’s side. Despite facing one of the most formidable of the Northern Liang’s Four Fangs in the past decade—a man whose loyalty was beyond question—Lü Qiantang, Shu Xiu, and Yang Qingfeng, the three hounds under the Grand Pillar of State, remained on high alert, ready to strike at any moment. Their fear of the Grand Pillar ran deep, terrified that even the slightest mishap befalling the young lord would force them to atone with their lives.
Xu Fengnian was consulting the elderly Daoist Wei Shuyang on the essence of the *Twofold Concordance Scripture* when he noticed the tension among Lü Qiantang and the others. He said nothing until General Ning, halberd in hand, bent forward on his horse to request instructions. Only then did Xu Fengnian laugh and say, “General Ning, I only had your troops follow at a distance because I didn’t want to eat dust. No other reason. Don’t worry—keep them a mile and a half back. If there’s trouble, a quick charge will suffice. Don’t you trust the Feng Battalion? They’re my personal guard, each one handpicked from the finest warriors across Northern Liang’s armies. With you leading them, nothing can go wrong.”
General Ning, whose poetic name belied his hulking frame, carried a massive halberd. While his Feng Battalion rode light with sabers and crossbows, he alone wore heavy armor and wielded a halberd that drew eyes. A quiver of short halberds hung at his back, marking him as a warrior who could carve through enemy lines.
Xu Fengnian had reviewed Ning Eméi’s military record before leaving the city and couldn’t help but admire him. An orphan of war, Ning had been raised by the late General Wang Jian, inheriting his adoptive father’s legacy. With a halberd in hand, he had repeatedly beheaded enemy commanders amidst thousands, each time saved from punishment only by his merits. This was why, despite being the lowest-ranked of the Four Fangs, Ning cared little—so long as he could fight and kill, he was content.
Throughout history, those who wielded halberds were invariably ruthless warriors.
On the battlefield, Ning was a god of slaughter, yet off it, he was gentle and humble, his booming voice oddly mismatched with his courteous demeanor. Hearing Xu Fengnian’s explanation, he tilted his halberd downward and smiled sheepishly. “For this journey, the Grand Pillar has ordered me to follow your commands without question. Whatever you say, I shall obey.”
Xu Fengnian glanced at the massive halberd and asked curiously, “General Ning, that halberd must weigh seventy or eighty pounds?”
Ning Eméi looked surprised. “You recognize this as a *bu*-style halberd?”
Xu Fengnian chuckled. “I heard my second sister mention it once. I wouldn’t mistake it for one of those ceremonial lances.”
Unaware of the tension around him, Ning replied, “You’re right. It weighs seventy-five pounds. Most men couldn’t even lift it.”
Xu Fengnian, with his twin sabers at his waist, laughed heartily. “I’d love to see you throw those short halberds someday. I’ve heard from Xu Xiao that you can knock a man off his horse with every throw—never missing.”
Ning Eméi merely smiled modestly before excusing himself and riding back to his troops.
Shu Xiu, whose beauty masked her true nature, watched coldly, her lips curling in disdain. This Northern Liang general, for all his battlefield prowess, was utterly clueless in courtly matters. Even if the young lord had merely guessed the halberd’s name by chance, why not flatter him? And to imply the young lord couldn’t lift such a weapon—was that not an insult? Never mind that Xu Fengnian might not be a master swordsman, those twin sabers at his waist were clearly weapons steeped in blood. Could an “ordinary man” wield them?
Lü Qiantang, a towering swordsman no less imposing than Ning, remained silent, his thumb resting on the hilt of the massive Chixia Sword he had chosen from the armory.
Yang Qingfeng, shrouded in a wide black robe, made his pale hands all the more striking.
Xu Fengnian rode on, murmuring, “Back then, Western Chu boasted of its vast lands and a million halberdiers, yet their elite troops still fell to Xu Xiao’s cavalry. It seems the sharpest spear in the world belongs to Northern Liang’s iron riders.”
The elderly Daoist Wei Shuyang stroked his beard and chuckled. “In my youth, I once witnessed thousands of Northern Liang cavalry charging like thunder—like the tidal bore of the Guangling River, capable of toppling mountains. A sight to behold.”
Xu Fengnian blinked. “Elder Wei, I’ve seen that plenty of times.”
The old Daoist was stunned before breaking into a knowing smile. Shu Xiu, left in the dark, was utterly baffled.
Xu Fengnian felt no need to feign courtesy with Shu Xiu and the others. He rode to the carriage and lifted the curtain, finding Yu Youwei playing with Wu Meiniang. Whether as the famed courtesan or the orphaned daughter of Western Chu’s imperial swordmaster, she was still a caged bird—though a larger cage, like the jianghu, might lift her spirits.
Jiang Ni crouched in a corner, frowning as she studied a manual with intense focus.
As for the old man in sheepskin, he sprawled across most of the carriage, barefoot and scratching his toes before sniffing his fingers.
Xu Fengnian sighed and lowered the curtain. “Poor Yu Youwei and Jiang Ni.”
He muttered to himself, “Should I get another carriage? No—if trouble comes, at least the old man might act if we’re together. Otherwise, he wouldn’t lift a finger even if I were in danger, let alone for two women.”
He pulled out a newly drawn map, *Geographical Records of Yu*, and studied it. After unifying the Central Plains, the Liyang Dynasty had expanded from six provinces to nineteen—a testament to its ambition. Northern Liang, encompassing all of Liangzhou and half of Lingzhou, was now their starting point. The city lay at its southern edge, a day’s journey from Yongzhou’s northern border.
Perhaps unable to bear the old man’s antics, Yu Youwei peeked out with her white cat, her eyes pleading.
Xu Fengnian snapped his fingers. Yang Qingfeng whistled, and a riderless chestnut horse trotted over.
Yu Youwei, a decent rider, mounted carefully, soothing Wu Meiniang.
Suddenly, the earth trembled as dust clouds rose behind them—far more than a hundred horses could produce.
Xu Fengnian turned his horse, squinting at the approaching force.
The carriage halted, and Jiang Ni, leaving the palace for the first time, peeked out.
Xu Fengnian grinned and beckoned to Yu Youwei. “Switch horses. Come sit with me.”
Only two men in Northern Liang could muster such a display—and his father, Xu Xiao, wouldn’t steal his thunder.
That left only one.
The man whom Northern Liang’s hundred thousand cavalry obeyed without question—the so-called “Butcher’s Pup.”
Xu Fengnian knew him well.
Yu Youwei hesitated, but under Xu Fengnian’s sharp gaze, she dismounted and joined him.
With Ning Eméi, three of the Four Fangs had gathered.
Xu Fengnian clicked his tongue. “What a grand spectacle.”
Amidst the forest of spears and sabers, a figure in white rode forth.
Years ago, this man had ridden out just like this, piercing through enemy lines to slay the wife and daughter of the legendary General Ye Wusheng before their army.
The elegant man bowed slightly from his saddle and said softly, “Chen Zhibao has come to see the young lord off.”
To the gathered generals and the Three Fangs, the sight was stark: the young lord cradling a beauty who cradled a white cat.
On one side stood the brightest star of Northern Liang’s younger generation, born of a noble military lineage and seasoned in war.
On the other, a pampered noble playing with pets.
The contrast was undeniable.
Xu Fengnian turned his horse again, twirling a lock of Yu Youwei’s hair as he said lazily, “No need.”
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