The common folk of Beiliang only knew that a group of people called the “Mountain Dwellers” lived north of Qingliang Mountain, but they had no idea what these people did or who they truly were. The northern side of Qingliang Mountain, also known as Beiyin Mountain, had always been forbidden territory. A wheelchair slowly descended the mountain path. Xu Wei Xiong wore a thick black fur coat, her fingers gently clasping the collar. At the foot of the mountain stood a modest cluster of deep-blue buildings, but she naturally knew the true location of the Beiliang Mechanized Bureau lay hidden underground, illuminated constantly as if in daylight. During the early years after Liyang conquered the Spring and Autumn Periods, the Mohist craftsmen had given their utmost support to the Zhao imperial family, saving countless lives. After achieving their goals, they had hoped to retire into seclusion and pursue scholarly studies. However, given the Zhao family’s nature and the old chief minister of Liyang’s disdainful view of the Mohists as the “tenth rogue state of the Spring and Autumn Periods,” thousands of Mohists throughout the imperial court were slaughtered. Especially among the ranks of Gu Jiantang and several great generals, nearly all Mohists vanished overnight, leaving not even a trace of their bodies. Less than a hundred survived, finding refuge under the Xu family’s protection. Among them, the two most revered elders were Song Chang Sui and Yang Guang Dou. Song was a master of weapon forging, while Yang specialized in offensive and defensive strategies. Both had been favored disciples of the old Mohist master Zuo Qilian.
During his mourning period, Xu Feng Nian frequently visited the Mechanized Bureau—not just to relentlessly pressure Song Chang Sui and his apprentices to accelerate the crafting of talisman armor, but also to seek Yang Guang Dou’s insights on western front military simulations. Xu Feng Nian was no stranger to the Mechanized Bureau; it was far from being a last-minute effort. As a young prince, he often sneaked into the underground workshops to admire the bustling scenes of activity. Once, he and Cao Wei, Song Chang Sui’s apprentice, had jointly drawn a misleading map of Qingliang Mountain, which was later intentionally leaked to lure enemies into the mountain. Though the map could guide someone into Qingliang Mountain and near the Wutong Courtyard, finding the exact location was impossible. In short, both Xu Feng Nian and Cao Wei were notorious pranksters, equally mischievous. In their youth, Xu Feng Nian was often beaten black and blue by Cao Wei, who was physically superior. When Xu Xiao wanted to intervene on behalf of his son, the two elders, Song and Yang, would simply pretend not to know anything—Song picking his nose and Yang cleaning his ears. Finding Cao Wei in that labyrinth would have required Xu Xiao to deploy two or three thousand armored soldiers to dig up the entire place. Eventually, Xu Feng Nian grew wiser, bribing many of the Mechanized Bureau’s youths to gang up on Cao Wei, ambushing him and stuffing him into sacks, finally evening the score. In short, the relationship between Xu Feng Nian and Cao Wei, who was a few years older, was far from harmonious, almost as if they were fated rivals. However, each had their own weaknesses. Whenever Xu Feng Nian wanted to scheme against someone or create some bizarre contraption, Cao Wei, though grumbling all the while, always worked with surprising efficiency.
When Xu Wei Xiong arrived at the entrance of the Mechanized Bureau, she did not enter, instead allowing Xu Feng Nian to go in alone while she took a different route. The wheelchair rolled quietly along a stone path, returning to the sunny southern slope of Qingliang Mountain.
Xu Feng Nian entered the Mechanized Bureau with practiced ease, encountering no obstacles. The torch-lit tunnels extended endlessly downward, as if the Mechanized Bureau could swallow an entire inverted Qingliang Mountain whole. After winding through the corridors for nearly half an hour, passing through seven hidden chambers and twelve secret passages, he finally reached the bottom level. The space opened up into a vast chamber, dominated by a towering furnace two stories high. Around it stood several ladders, and a dozen feet away, a desk was piled with hastily scribbled blueprints, with more scattered beneath it. Several elderly men, their faces flushed with argument, gestured wildly toward the furnace, locked in heated debate. Xu Feng Nian did not interrupt their quarrel but walked up to the furnace, his face illuminated by the flickering flames. This furnace, named “Dingqi,” had an extraordinary origin. Even the now-defunct Tangxi Sword Furnace and the still-operating Dongyue Sword Furnace’s Fengxue Furnace paled in comparison. It was said that when the Qin dynasty unified the world, they melted down all weapons to forge the Nine Tripods, used to suppress two cities, three rivers, and four mountains. Such a furnace was crafted by the ancient Mohist masters.
As Xu Feng Nian was lost in thought, someone suddenly leapt up and slapped him on the head. Without bothering to turn, Xu Feng Nian casually swatted the impudent assailant away. Immediately, a stream of curses followed. Ever since Xu Feng Nian began training with a saber, the culprit had become much more obedient, though his nature remained unchanged. That Cao fellow couldn’t resist the urge to provoke, and thus met his usual fate. Rubbing his cheek, Cao Wei stood beside Xu Feng Nian. The young man was short and unimpressive in stature, yet he carried himself proudly. When dealing with Xu Feng Nian, he often stood on tiptoe, though even then, he remained half a head shorter.
Xu Feng Nian chuckled, “Heard you’ve finally finished the ‘Great-Grandson’?”
Cao Wei beamed proudly, “It’s only a hair less sharp than the sharpest ‘Great-Grandfather,’ a touch less durable than the sturdiest ‘Grandson,’ and just a tad heavier than the lightest ‘Father.’ Now do you see my skill?”
Xu Feng Nian smirked mockingly, “So it’s always just a little worse—nothing is the absolute best among all generations of Beiliang sabers?”
The nicknames “Great-Grandfather,” “Grandson,” and so on were all given by Xu Feng Nian and Cao Wei to the various generations of Beiliang sabers. The “Great-Grandfather” was the first generation of true, standardized Xu family sabers, used in the early Spring and Autumn wars. With these sharp blades, the Xu family’s armies conquered all before them. In the middle to late Spring and Autumn period, such as during the campaigns in Xishu and the final stages of the Xiangfan siege, they switched to the second generation, slightly less sharp than the original “Great-Grandfather,” but lighter and more durable. When the Xu family took control of Beiliang, the third generation, “Father,” was introduced, making new trade-offs. Today, many young nobles in neighboring provinces of Beiliang wear the fourth generation, “Son,” known for its elegant curvature. By the time of the “Grandson” generation, Beiliang sabers had already gone through five iterations. Now, with Cao Wei’s creation, the sixth generation, “Great-Grandson,” had arrived. Unless one was a seasoned veteran accustomed to handling weapons, it was nearly impossible to distinguish the subtle differences between these six generations. Even the fifth generation, nicknamed “Grandson” by Xu and Cao, had already been recognized by military strategists from both Liyang and Beiman as the finest all-around battlefield saber, excelling equally in infantry and cavalry combat. Several Beiman generals and Liyang’s famous martial lords, such as the Prince of Yanxi Zhao Bing and the Prince of Guangling Zhao Yi, had attempted to mass-produce these sabers, but the process involved numerous complex factors—iron ore quality, extraction efficiency, furnace temperature, forging techniques, mold design, and even the physical proportions and strength of the soldiers wielding them. Beiliang’s advantages included superior iron ore and skilled craftsmanship, but most importantly, its cavalry had guarded the border for twenty years. A saber’s essence—its spirit—was shaped by how much blood it had tasted.
Though Xu Feng Nian outwardly mocked Cao Wei’s “Great-Grandson,” he already knew from a few words alone that this new saber was a deadly masterpiece. It might not be the sharpest or the strongest, but it was certainly the most effective at delivering sustained, lethal strikes.
Predictably, Cao Wei, feeling insulted, jumped up and shouted, “You layman! Just you try never touching the ‘Great-Grandson’ again!”
Xu Feng Nian ignored him, extending his hand. Soon, one of Cao Wei’s apprentices hurried over, respectfully presenting three new sabers. Though all belonged to the “Great-Grandson” generation, each was subtly tailored for cavalry, infantry, or the rear-guard forces of Lanzhou. Generally, the Beiliang Iron Cavalry, especially its elite heavy cavalry, always received the newest and finest sabers, whereas the regular garrison troops in Lanzhou, especially those stationed away from key strongholds like Tongguan, were much slower to receive upgrades.
Xu Feng Nian took one of the cavalry sabers, holding it across his chest with his left hand, his right finger gliding over the blade. A thin line of blood trickled from his fingertip, unnoticed. He narrowed his eyes, tapping the blade a dozen times with his fingers, listening intently to the faint resonance inaudible to most. A satisfied smile slowly spread across his refined face. The young Mohists who had been regarded as traitors by Cao Wei visibly relaxed, exchanging relieved glances.
Before Xu Feng Nian could speak, a thunderous roar echoed, calling him by his surname. He handed the saber back to the Mohist apprentice and walked toward the desk. Song Chang Sui, the Mohist master, stood with his hands behind his back, reeking of alcohol. He gave a slight nod, signaling Xu Feng Nian to follow. The old man, his beard wild and unkempt, strode directly into a newly carved secret chamber. Unlike Song, Yang Guang Dou was neatly dressed in a clean green robe, walking beside Xu Feng Nian as he spoke softly, “Master Song followed the Prince’s instructions and spent twenty days finishing this. He drank six or seven jugs of wine daily just to stay awake. I’ve reviewed it and think it’s quite good. Oh, and Prince, how did the talisman armor hold up against Mu Rong Baoding’s attacks? Did it withstand more than the initial estimate of sixteen thousand jin? How much resilience did the armor develop on its own? What parts need improvement? And regarding the Heavenly Thunder, if measured in eights or nines, how heavy should it be? Prince, you really should give us a precise figure so the Mechanized Bureau can work with clear targets. We can’t afford to waste our efforts building illusions. You know how Master Song is—he’s always been the type to dig for answers.”
Song Chang Sui snorted loudly ahead.
Xu Feng Nian pulled out a sealed letter from his robe and smiled, “I’ve written all this in the secret memorandum. Master Yang, you can proceed accordingly.”
Yang Guang Dou accepted the letter with a nod and a smile.
Song Chang Sui pushed open the secret chamber door, revealing a breathtaking sight.
Beneath their feet lay a miniature world of mountains and rivers!
This was likely the most grand and detailed sand table ever created, encompassing all of Beiliang’s three provinces, the refugee lands, the Western Regions, Xishu, Nanzhao, and the entire Beiman Empire’s thirteen provinces. In short, it was a complete representation of the entire western front!
Song Chang Sui showed no pride, his gaze heavy as he stared at the vast terrain. “Twenty major rivers, sixty-seven mountains, and one hundred and forty cities and military strongholds—all are here. Based on intelligence reports, each military unit is represented by a piece standing for a thousand soldiers, making the battlefield situation clearly visible. The reason I’ve worked day and night to build this is twofold: first, our Mohist sect has been living under the Xu family’s protection for over twenty years, and we owe them tenfold in return. Second, your strategic vision aligns with my own. To me, Song Chang Sui, nothing in this world—be it a family’s wealth or a nation’s strength, even the cultivation realm of a land immortal—cannot be calculated. Xu Feng Nian, tell me straight—will Beiman truly strike the western front first?”
Xu Feng Nian nodded calmly, “It was the Beiman Empress herself who said so. Now it’s just a matter of when and where. We can no longer hope that Beiman will first send both feet into the eastern quagmire of Liyang. Master Yang and the great scholar Wang Da of the Shangyin Academy’s previous predictions—that Beiman would strike both east and west—must now be completely revised.”
Yang Guang Dou sighed, filled with guilt, “It was my failure to plan properly that misled the General and the Prince. The Second Princess had warned me before to prepare for the worst, but after several simulations, I still didn’t believe that Beiman’s Taiping Decree had any chance of success in the eastern front…”
Xu Feng Nian waved him off, “No need to blame yourself, Master Yang. In the end, the outcomes of these desk-bound strategies must yield to the results of actual battles.”
Song Chang Sui sneered, “Listen to him, Master Yang. This kid deep down looks down on all you paper-pushing strategists. Just like his lame father—doesn’t trust a thing, only trusts the sword in his own hand!”
Both Xu Feng Nian and Yang Guang Dou merely smiled.
At some point, Cao Wei had sneaked into the sand table chamber, tracing a curved path and crouching in a corner, muttering to himself.
Xu Feng Nian watched his back. The two had always been natural enemies. Xu Feng Nian knew Cao Wei better than anyone. The little man was despicable, the kind who would never stand when he could sit, or lie down when he could sit. He was shameless. Those unfamiliar with him would find him irritating after just a few words, while those who knew him well would soon wish to beat him senseless. Though Cao Wei feared death and blood, he dreamed of leading troops into battle, longing to hear the clash of arms. While others sought titles and power, Cao Wei only wanted to have fun. Before Xu Feng Nian inherited the Beiliang throne, Cao Wei had been relatively subdued, their meetings filled only with squabbles. But now that Xu Feng Nian had become the Beiliang King, Cao Wei was like a cat in heat, constantly begging for a few thousand light cavalry to hide in the Western Regions and launch a secret long-range raid. In his words, he wanted to stab a blade straight into Beiman’s backside. At first, Xu Feng Nian ignored him, but Cao Wei threatened to trade the sixth-generation Xu saber for command of several thousand cavalry. In the end, he truly did complete the “Great-Grandson” saber.
Cao Wei’s military strategies were unconventional. Xu Feng Nian couldn’t gauge their depth, but Cao’s style could be illustrated with an analogy: like playing chess, Cao Wei had no patience to sit down and play. He found the opening moves and mid-game pondering too tiring. Instead, he would watch silently from the sidelines, only intervening when the game was nearly over. Then, he would suddenly place an unexpected piece on the board, claiming that with just one or two stones, he could resolve a situation involving two hundred. What a scoundrel—wouldn’t anyone want to beat him to a pulp? Yet, despite his carefree attitude, there was one person Cao Wei truly feared—Xu Wei Xiong. Whether in combat, chess, military strategy, or arguments, Cao Wei had no chance of winning against her and had no choice but to submit. In the past, when Cao Wei was short, his catchphrase was, “Once I become a great general who stabilizes the nation, I’ll cut off your head if you dare look down on me, and then we’ll see who’s taller.” But Xu Wei Xiong had coldly retorted that with his height, cutting off heads wouldn’t help—he’d have to be waist-high to surpass others. Since then, Cao Wei had never uttered that phrase again.
Before leaving, Xu Feng Nian was scolded by the impulsive old man Song, who ranted at him like a storm of abuse. Song accused him of being a reckless heir who had failed to secure the grain transport routes, of accepting the second imperial decree from the court, of taking the title of Shangzhu Guo and agreeing to the court’s refusal to recall him from mourning. He berated him for lacking backbone, for prioritizing scholars over warriors, and for neglecting his core duties. The old man ranted about anything and everything, clearly dissatisfied with everything. The young Beiliang King endured a shower of spittle, his smile unwavering, not uttering a word in reply, merely wiping his face with his sleeve several times. If not for Yang Guang Dou holding him back, the enraged Song Chang Sui would have rolled up his sleeves and pointed his finger at the new feudal lord’s nose.
Once the old man had exhausted his rage, Xu Feng Nian finally turned and left with a helpless expression.
Yang Guang Dou stood at the door, helplessly saying, “Old Song, you’ve gone too far. After all, Xu Feng Nian is now the Beiliang King.”
Song Chang Sui glared, “So what? Just because he’s a feudal lord now, he can’t be scolded?”
Yang Guang Dou glanced at the young man’s retreating figure and murmured, “At least leave him some dignity. You and I both know this young man carries a heavy burden. If someone else had been scolded like this, they’d have turned their back on you long ago.”
Song Chang Sui snorted, “He dares?!”
Yang Guang Dou smiled, “You really think he doesn’t dare?”
Song Chang Sui paused, then chuckled, “That kid? No, he won’t.”
Yang Guang Dou nodded slowly, “That’s right.”
Song Chang Sui murmured, “I don’t want to scold others anymore. These old men who could scold him in Beiliang are almost all gone. If I don’t scold him, the kid will truly be lonely.”
Cao Wei sneaked up behind the two masters, his face full of hope, “I’ve forged the sword. That guy won’t refuse to give me even a single soldier, right?”
Song Chang Sui slapped Cao Wei’s head without looking, “Look at your pathetic ambition. Go play with your eggs!”
Cao Wei shouted angrily, “That guy is so stingy he won’t give me a single soldier?! Does he have any shame?! No way, give me back my sword!”
Yang Guang Dou blinked, extending his palm and flipping it once, his expression playful, “That number—you’ll get it.”
Cao Wei stood frozen.
Xu Feng Nian returned to the surface, holding a new Xu family saber, walking up the shady mountain path to the summit of Qingliang Mountain. He sat on a stone bench beneath the pavilion, drawing the saber from its sheath, soon to be stained with border blood, and gently tapped its blade with his finger.
A vast and beautiful land, where countless heads await the blade.
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