Ning Emei led a hundred light cavalry from the Phoenix Battalion to continue trailing behind the Young Master. As they passed by the white-clad Chen Zhibao, Ning Emei remained silent. Though he was a first-rate warrior renowned for breaking enemy lines, he showed little enthusiasm for climbing the ranks in the Northern Liang army, often giving off an air of sluggishness. Today, the “Little Butcher” had led over three hundred heavily armored cavalry dozens of miles to see the Young Master off, making quite the spectacle. After passing that striking figure in pristine white, Ning Emei couldn’t help but frown. Even someone as slow to react as him noticed the Young Master’s gaze had lost its previous warmth.
Gripping his halberd—second in weight only to the one wielded by Wang Tongshan, the foremost fierce general under the Yan Prince—Ning Emei turned to see most of his hundred Phoenix Battalion guards glancing back repeatedly, admiring Chen Zhibao’s imposing presence. Deep in thought, Ning Emei pondered.
Among the “Four Fangs of Northern Liang,” Dian Xiongchu, who commanded the six thousand elite heavy cavalry known as the Iron Pagodas (the second most formidable in Northern Liang), and Wei Fucheng, who oversaw a third of the “White Crossbow Imperial Guards,” were both trusted generals personally groomed by Chen Zhibao. Now, they stood solemnly behind him, whips in hand. Ning Emei had little camaraderie with these two rising stars of Northern Liang, their interactions limited to battlefield coordination. In terms of military prestige, Ning Emei believed he was their equal, but when it came to actual command, the gap was far wider than the three official ranks separating them.
With a self-deprecating smile, Ning Emei tightened his grip on his halberd, slowed his cavalry, and maintained the half-mile distance requested by the Young Master.
Dian Xiongchu, his mane-like hair bristling, spat on the ground and sneered, “General, has the Young Master lost his nerve? Doesn’t even want us to escort him. Fine by me—I’d rather not grovel to someone who treats us like dirt. Every man in the Iron Pagodas has used a Northern Barbarian’s skull as a piss pot! We’ve got our pride!”
Wei Fucheng, who resembled a scholarly tutor more than a general, chuckled softly. “The Young Master traveled four years ago with just an old coachman. This time, he’s finally making up for it. He’s in high spirits—naturally, he doesn’t want us spoiling the mood. Old Dian, you brute who only knows killing, what do you understand of the Young Master’s refined tastes?”
The six thousand Iron Pagodas ranked second only to the Great Snow Dragon Cavalry personally led by Xu Xiao, the “Human Butcher.” These two forces—one in black, one in white—struck terror into the hearts of the Northern Barbarians’ 350,000 border troops. During the War of the Nine States, Xu Xiao had taught the world a bloody truth: victory wasn’t just about numbers or armor, but about strategy, coordination, and the decisive strike of elite forces. At the Battle of Xilei Wall, the fearless Fish Drum Battalion had carved a bloody path for the three thousand Great Snow Dragon Cavalry to plunge straight into the heart of Ye Baikui’s halberd army. Chen Zhibao commanded from the center, the Princess Consort beat the war drums, and Xu Xiao, helmet discarded, led the charge with his spear. Three thousand white-armored cavalry thundered forward, trampling over the corpses of their fallen comrades. If the scholars of Western Chu boasted that “after Xilei Wall, there would be no more Western Chu,” then Xu Xiao ensured their annihilation.
The War of the Nine States was the golden age of warriors, where legendary generals rose from the flames of battle. Dian Xiongchu and Wei Fucheng were among them, their reputations built on the bones of fallen foes. Naturally, they had little respect for pampered nobles who spent their days hawking and gambling.
Dian Xiongchu spat again and grinned savagely. “To hell with refined tastes! Two years ago, I led six hundred cavalry eight hundred miles into Northern Barbarian territory, kidnapped a governor’s daughter, stripped her bare on horseback, and when I was done, skewered her on my spear. That’s my idea of a good time!”
Wei Fucheng stroked his horse’s mane and teased, “And then the Grand Marshal hung you from the barracks fence overnight. Rumor has it your manhood froze off. Still functional?”
Dian Xiongchu slapped his belly and roared with laughter. “Still works just fine—thick or thin, take your pick! If you don’t believe me, lend me your daughter for a test drive. You’ll be convinced!”
Wei Fucheng scowled. “Dare to lay a hand on my daughter? My White Crossbow Imperial Guards will wipe out your six thousand Iron Pagodas!”
Dian Xiongchu scoffed. “More hot air. Let’s each pick a hundred men and throw them into the arena. See whose boys end up crying for their mothers.”
Throughout this exchange, Chen Zhibao—the “Little Butcher,” whose reputation eclipsed the combined fame of the Four Fangs—remained silent. He neither cautioned his lieutenants nor joined in mocking the unpopular Young Master. His expression was cold and detached. With the Grand Marshal soon departing for the capital, all military affairs would fall to Chen Zhibao. The Northern Liang army was accustomed to this. As the Grand Marshal’s first adopted son and a strategist and warrior of unparalleled skill, Chen Zhibao had once turned down the Emperor’s offer to command an independent southern army. Had he accepted, the southern barbarians wouldn’t dare make trouble now.
Wei Fucheng smiled. “Ning the Halberd got stuck with this thankless task. Bet he’s fuming so hard he can’t sleep.”
Dian Xiongchu gloated. “Ning’s not a bad sort. Never hesitates in a fight, whether on horseback or foot. I don’t mind being compared to him. But you, Wei the Scholar? Honestly, you’re a step behind.”
Wei Fucheng ignored the jab. Dian Xiongchu was always blunt—trying to lecture him on strategy was pointless.
Chen Zhibao glanced at the sky and murmured, “The winds are changing.”
※※※
Yu Youwei fidgeted, insisting on riding alone. Unable to refuse, Xu Fengnian handed her his white horse and climbed into the carriage instead. Inside, the cross-eyed old man had finally put on his boots and was craning his neck to peek at the secret manual Jiang Ni was reading. Jiang Ni, ever stingy, shielded the cover and continued muttering to herself, locked in a battle of wills with the old man.
When Xu Fengnian entered, the old man scowled, clearly displeased.
Seating himself, Xu Fengnian placed the paired sabers Chunlei and Xiudong across his knees—the rugged Chunlei below, the elegant Xiudong above. Even Jiang Ni couldn’t resist stealing a glance. She’d once witnessed the White Fox Girl wield these blades on the frozen lake, stirring up a storm of snowflakes. The sight only deepened her resentment toward Xu Fengnian. Such beauty deserved a true master, not this bumbling pretender!
Ignoring the old man, Xu Fengnian closed his eyes and ordered, “Read *The Thousand Swords Compendium*.”
Jiang Ni rummaged through the chest of manuals at her feet, finally pulling out the ancient tome. Forced to learn nearly a hundred obscure characters to earn her wages (ten coins per word), she now read with exaggerated emphasis, as if each syllable carried the weight of her grudges.
Xu Fengnian listened, far more pleased with her improved delivery. The text’s cadence shifted with its martial philosophy—unlike dry Buddhist or Daoist scriptures, this manual pulsed with vitality. No wonder the White Fox Girl had ranked it among the top three books in the library.
But his immersion was shattered when the old man scoffed, “All nonsense.”
Jiang Ni glared over the book.
The old man, though dismissive of Xu Fengnian, seemed fond of Jiang Ni. He grinned and explained, “This book is full of rubbish, misleading its readers.”
Xu Fengnian opened his eyes. “How so?”
The old man sneered. “Even if I explained sword philosophy word by word, would you understand? Like playing the lute for a cow.”
Xu Fengnian suppressed his frustration. According to Xu Xiao, this old monster was at least as ancient as Wang Xianzhi. Best to endure his arrogance.
Jiang Ni, delighted to see Xu Fengnian humiliated, warmed to the old man despite her usual aloofness. Encouraged, the old man doubled down. “A knife-wielding amateur like you shouldn’t waste time on *The Thousand Swords Compendium*. Even its dross is beyond your grasp. The author, Du Sicong, only grasped the basics of swordplay in his fifties. I once berated him for focusing on flashy techniques, so he wrote this book on deriving sword intent from form. But he was still half-baked—only a few scattered insights are worth anything, and later generations missed even those.”
Xu Fengnian was stunned. “*Du Sicong* sought your guidance?”
The old man held up three fingers. “He stood in the snow for three days and nights before I grudgingly gave him three sentences of advice.”
Jiang Ni, far less impressed than Xu Fengnian, smirked. “If you’re so great, why not write your own manual for the library?”
The old man chuckled. “I’ve always walked alone. My insights aren’t for scribbling down. Besides, only five or six books in that library are worth my time.”
Jiang Ni rolled her eyes. “Still bragging? Give it a rest!”
The old man laughed heartily.
Xu Fengnian, now disinterested in *The Thousand Swords Compendium*, asked Jiang Ni to switch books. But the old man interrupted each new text with scathing critiques. While Xu Fengnian found the comments enlightening, Jiang Ni was ready to explode. Reading for money was hard enough—doing it for her nemesis was torture. The old man’s condescension pushed her over the edge. She slammed the book shut and snapped, “Shut up!”
Xu Fengnian, unfazed, grinned. “How about I go spar with Lü Qiantang? You can give me pointers.”
The old man stretched out lazily. “I might’ve had a word or two for the original owners of those sabers. But you? Your talent’s mediocre—maybe half of what mine was at your age. Too late to start, and that borrowed inner strength won’t take you far.”
Jiang Ni smirked. “Truer words were never spoken.”
Xu Fengnian traced a finger along Xiudong’s scabbard.
*Half his talent?*
Jiang Ni suddenly sneered, “That man earlier—the ‘Little Butcher’ Chen Zhibao? He looked more like a Young Master than you ever will.”
Xu Fengnian smiled. “Looks can be deceiving.”
Jiang Ni, oddly frustrated by her enemy’s lack of ambition, hissed, “Why not crush his arrogance? Running away just makes you a joke!”
Xu Fengnian raised an eyebrow. “Should I have fought him?”
Jiang Ni glowered. “Winning isn’t the point—it’s about standing your ground!”
The old man tugged his sheepskin coat and chuckled. “Little girl, you don’t understand. Our Young Master here may be mediocre with a blade, but his cunning comes straight from Xu Xiao. Problem is, Chen Zhibao’s no fool—he’s seen through it. But those muscle-headed Northern Liang brutes trailing behind? Clueless.”
Xu Fengnian ignored him.
Jiang Ni pondered.
The old man dropped a bombshell. “Little girl, you’ll never out-scheme this one. But if I teach you some real skills, you might still best him. Even if he masters the Great Yellow Court, without crossing the threshold of true martial arts, you could cut him down. Who says a woman can’t stand against armies? His mother was one of only three sword masters I’ve ever acknowledged.”
Xu Fengnian remained silent, gripping Chunlei in his left hand.
The old man glanced sideways at the twin blades and chuckled, “So you’re used to wielding a blade with your left hand. Little girl, see? I told you this lad is a cunning one.”
Xu Fengnian smiled, loosened his grip on the blade, and stood up slowly. “No storytelling for me today,” he said.
As Xu Fengnian stepped out of the carriage, Jiang Ni sat in a daze, visibly irritated.
The old man asked, “Little Jiang, what do you think? Want to learn some real skills from this old man?”
To his surprise, Jiang Ni answered without hesitation, “Learn what? No way!”
The old man frowned in confusion. “Why not? Back in the day, fools begging to be my disciples could line up all the way from Beiliang to the Eastern Sea.”
Jiang Ni replied coldly, “If I followed you, Xu Fengnian would’ve had me killed long ago.”
The old man raised one of his sparse eyebrows. “He wouldn’t dare?!”
Jiang Ni placed the book back into the chest and sighed. “Besides, you’re all talk. Learning from you wouldn’t get me anywhere.”
The old man burst into laughter, nearly rolling around in the carriage.
Jiang Ni snapped, “What’s so funny?!”
The old man straightened up, lowering his voice mysteriously. “Do you know who I am?”
Jiang Ni replied impassively, “I couldn’t care less who you are.”
The old man rubbed his chin, reclining in the carriage with his legs crossed, muttering to himself, “Fair enough. Even I’ve nearly forgotten who I am. Who else would remember Muma Niu?”
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