A horse-drawn carriage draped in yellow curtains entered the Wudi City of the Eastern Sea. Upon entering the city, it drew countless curious gazes. Not only was the carriage itself eye-catching, but the driver was also a renowned swordsman from the Tai’an City—Qi Jiajie, who had held the title of the capital’s top swordsman for over a decade. Clad in white robes and shoes, with a white scabbard sword, Qi Jiajie still appeared as handsome as ever, exuding an extraordinary grace despite his middle age. His sword, the “White Frost,” had an unusually long scabbard, though the blade itself was short—only slightly longer than a dagger. No one knew why he chose a long scabbard for such a short blade. Over the years, he had engaged in very few duels, and his swordplay was rarely seen, making it a rare spectacle indeed.
Qi Jiajie had no formal martial arts lineage; he was self-taught and yet had risen to become one of the foremost swordsmen in the realm, following in the footsteps of Li Chungan and Deng Tai’a. Several princes who had already taken up their fiefs, as well as Zhang Gaoxia—the daughter of Chancellor Zhang—were among his disciples, each achieving varying levels of mastery, but all of them formidable. Thus, the identity of the person Qi Jiajie personally escorted naturally piqued the curiosity of Wudi City. Moreover, it was an unspoken rule that the imperial court did not interfere in Tai’an City affairs, making the sudden arrival of this carriage all the more unsettling. After all, the city harbored many fugitives wanted for grave crimes. If Tai’an City ever lost its protective charm, ten of them might be executed, with only one or two possibly being innocent.
Some of the top martial artists who had previously suffered at the hands of the infamous Han Diaosi were especially alarmed, already preparing to become fugitives once again.
Qi Jiajie halted the carriage beneath the city wall, which was studded with famous weapons. A eunuch in a bright red robe lifted the curtain and stepped out. Some distant martial artists had not even seen his face before turning to flee, mistaking him for the dreaded Han Diaosi—only the highest-ranking eunuchs were permitted to wear such crimson robes in the Tai’an Palace. In truth, this eunuch was quite young—Song Tanglu—who held the prestigious position of Chief Eunuch of the Grand Secretariat, succeeding Han Shengxuan as the most powerful eunuch in the realm. He gazed up at the wall with a faint trace of bitterness. Wasn’t the city’s master essentially a king of independent territory? Even with a carefully worded imperial edict in hand, Song Tanglu had little confidence in reasoning with him.
Qi Jiajie, a reclusive swordsman of the highest caliber, was free from such worries. He was a hermit who had gained imperial favor and did not need to flatter anyone. He leisurely recounted the legends behind the weapons embedded in the wall to the young eunuch beside him. Though Song Tanglu listened with a polite smile, his mind was elsewhere, preoccupied with the weight of his duty.
Before long, someone descended from the city wall to greet them. Qi Jiajie’s eyes lit up—it was Lou Huang, a direct disciple of the eccentric Master Wang, wielding the sword “Bodhisattva Man.” Though he had forsaken the Dao for martial techniques, his sword cultivation was unbalanced, earning him the nickname “Little Deng Tai’a.” The three of them ascended the steps together. Several figures were already waiting atop the wall. Qi Jiajie recognized most of them based on rumors. The man carrying a green-robed girl on his shoulders was Yu Xinlang, the eldest disciple of Wang Xianzhi. The tall, imposing beauty beside him, already thrice listed among the “Ladies of the Vermilion Lip,” was the martial artist Lin Ya, a master of boxing techniques. She was playfully teasing the girl perched on Yu Xinlang’s shoulders. However, Qi Jiajie did not spot Gong Banque, the Daoist with a shaved head but wearing Daoist robes. Instead, there was a gaunt young man with sunken cheeks and a worn ivory fan hanging at his waist, standing apart from the others, gazing blankly toward the Eastern Sea.
Song Tanglu’s gaze lingered briefly on the young man’s profile before he turned to Yu Xinlang and asked softly, “Master Yu, I am Song Tanglu of the Grand Secretariat. May I ask where the City Lord is?”
Yu Xinlang, his hands still supporting the girl’s legs, replied apologetically, “My master has already left the city with Senior Brother Gong. However, he specifically instructed me to deliver a message to the Tai’an court.”
Song Tanglu nodded, his expression calm. “Please proceed.”
Yu Xinlang smiled. “My master said that his previous message to Tai’an was not a request for permission, but merely a courtesy to the emperor of the Zhao dynasty. This time, he will make his final public appearance. If anyone wishes to stand in his way…”
At this, the green-robed girl whispered something into Yu Xinlang’s ear, prompting him to gently pat her head and ask her to wait while he finished speaking. Once the little girl quieted down, Yu Xinlang continued, “They might as well try sending ten thousand cavalry first.”
Qi Jiajie furrowed his brow, while Lin Ya fixed him with a piercing gaze.
Song Tanglu, seemingly impervious to provocation, merely took careful note of these treasonous words, his expression remaining as placid as a clay statue. Where was the fiery temper of a Grand Secretariat Chief?
Yu Xinlang continued calmly, “I understand the court’s perspective. The Northern Liang King should not die now—he should perish after a devastating battle with the Bei Man. But my master refuses to wait, so we, his disciples, dare not object. Still, there is some good news: from the day my master left the city, the court may now freely hunt down outlaws in Wudi City. The East Sea will no longer enforce martial restrictions. Having said this, I too must leave with my juniors to travel the martial world.”
Song Tanglu nodded gently, saying, “I look forward to your rise to fame.”
Though Song Tanglu appeared unarmed, all present were top-tier martial artists. Yet, his words and demeanor seemed utterly sincere, leaving no room for doubt. If this was indeed an act, his political acumen was truly extraordinary. Of course, he might simply be a man of gentle disposition, but could such a eunuch truly rise to power and inherit the Grand Secretariat from Han Shengxuan?
Lin Ya continued playing with the green-robed girl, while Lou Huang stole a few extra glances at Song Tanglu. Finally, Song Tanglu turned back and sighed, “It was a rare chance to leave the capital, and I regret not meeting Master Wang in person.”
Then he laughed aloud, “Since they’ve already left the city, I must return to the capital at once. Farewell, heroes! I hope we meet again!”
Yu Xinlang and Lou Huang both bowed in farewell, even Lin Ya giving a slight nod.
The green-robed girl suddenly asked curiously, “Hey, Mr. Song, do you have an imperial edict? Can I touch it?”
Mr. Song?
Song Tanglu blinked in surprise, then laughed heartily, his eyes crinkling into a gentle smile. He no longer used the royal “us,” saying instead, “Of course, I’ll get it for you right away.”
The imperial edict was kept in a box, and Song Tanglu had not planned to bring it out—would he really expect the people of Wudi City to kneel and listen? So he had left it in the carriage. But since the little girl on Yu Xinlang’s shoulder wanted to see it, he would show it to her.
Qi Jiajie glanced at Yu Xinlang, the heir apparent to Wang Xianzhi’s legacy, and rubbed his thumb over the hilt of White Frost, then smiled, “Master Yu, if you ever visit the capital, I shall be honored to host you.”
Yu Xinlang merely hummed in acknowledgment.
Qi Jiajie turned and descended the city wall.
Lin Ya watched the eunuch run down the steps to fetch the edict and chuckled, “Not bad, actually.”
Yu Xinlang nodded, “Indeed rare.”
The girl leapt down from Yu Xinlang’s shoulders and eagerly ran to “receive the edict.” Lin Ya asked, “Senior Brother Yu, Senior Brother Gong was originally headed to Tai’an, but changed his mind and went south instead. I didn’t follow Master’s orders either. What about you and Junior Brother Lou?”
Lou Huang’s eyes gleamed with determination. “I’m going to Northern Liang to see if that Xu fellow can truly challenge Master.”
Yu Xinlang smiled. “Now that someone is staying, someone going south, and someone soon going west, I suppose I’ll have to head north.”
Lin Ya frowned. “To Tai’an?”
Yu Xinlang shook his head. “Further north—Liang Province.”
Lou Huang scanned the surroundings and murmured, “Then I must be off first.”
Lin Ya teased, “Hurry up before the Northern Liang King, the sixth strongest in the world, kicks your butt.”
Lou Huang was about to retort when Lin Ya glared and snapped, “Watch your mouth, or I’ll make you shut it!”
Lou Huang laughed heartily, leaping over the city wall and darting across rooftops, vanishing into the horizon.
Yu Xinlang looked at Lin Ya and said solemnly, “Take care.”
Lin Ya rubbed her temples, “I’m a woman, and even I’m not getting sentimental. You men could at least try to act like warriors.”
Yu Xinlang smiled faintly, turned, and bent down to lift the green-robed girl who had returned to the wall. She sat on his shoulders, unfurling the imperial edict proudly, “Look! The Emperor’s decree!”
Yu Xinlang chuckled softly, “I know.”
The little girl spread the edict wide, holding it high, and squinted at the characters. “Little Yu, where are we going next? I kind of like it here, but old bearded Grandpa Sui went to the Southern Sea to duel the Peach Blossom Sword Saint.”
“To a very cold place far north. So you should keep practicing the secret techniques Master taught you.”
“How far north?”
“Forget it. Lin Sister always says you’re bad with directions. Little Yu, you won’t get us lost, will you?”
“I think not.”
“Hmm? Little Yu, what’s this word?”
“Zhao.”
“And this one?”
“Hold it lower, let me see…”
On the city wall, Lin Ya approached the young man with the worn fan at his waist, her expression unusually gentle. “It took Zhao Gou great effort to rescue you from Northern Liang. Your father, Yuan Benxi, even broke protocol to beg for help to bring you here. Will you remain so despondent?”
The young man remained silent.
Lin Ya sighed, patting his head. “Poor child, there’s no obstacle you can’t overcome.”
He murmured, “I can lose to anyone—Gu Jiantang, the old patriarch of the Wu Clan—but not to Xu Fengnian…”
Lin Ya cut him off, “Nonsense! Jiang Fuding, do you know how many times my master lost to Li Chungan? Six times over six years—only then did he rise from the Diamond to the Celestial Realm!”
Jiang Fuding, the former master of the He River Z Death, smiled bitterly. “What am I compared to Wang Xianzhi, who held the title of strongest in the world for sixty years?”
Lin Ya’s face darkened, ready to speak, but Jiang Fuding interrupted, “Don’t try to cheer me up.”
He turned and asked with a smile, “Got any wine?”
Lin Ya huffed, “Wait here—I’ll get you drunk!”
Jiang Fuding suddenly grabbed her sleeve, saying nothing.
Lin Ya, tall and strong, placed a hand on his head and pulled him toward her shoulder. “You men always want to be number one. Especially you—you give up hope, and you spiral into despair. But why? Xu Fengnian was just clever—he knew you wouldn’t fight to the death. First, he overwhelmed you with pressure, forcing you to abandon He River Z Death. Then he turned you into prey for Northern Liang soldiers, wearing down your spirit bit by bit. And he didn’t even kill you, letting Zhao Gou rescue you instead. My master faced Li Chungan back then. You just had the bad luck to face someone with no honor.”
Lin Ya pushed him away, patted her shoulder, and stretched. “Enough. I’m not going to stay in Wudi City drinking with you every day. A woman can’t handle that—it ages you too fast! No, while I still have some beauty left, I’m going to travel the martial world and charm a few young heroes.”
Jiang Fuding watched her retreating figure, his lips trembling, but he never spoke the words.
The once-prideful youth who had once called the prince Zhao Kai his brother sat dejectedly on the city wall, gazing at the endless tide of the Eastern Sea rolling eastward.
※※※
Longmen Ferry.
Further east lay the former territory of the Western Chu Kingdom. It was here that the Liang forces had crossed the frozen Guangling River, gaining the advantage of a lion hunting a rabbit, forcing the Chu general to surrender without a fight. Yet as the world stabilized, Longmen Ferry no longer bore the martial glory of the Spring and Autumn era. The nearby villagers lived in peace, going about their daily lives undisturbed by the brewing storms to the west.
Recently, a monk and a Daoist had taken up residence in a thatched hut. In the current climate of anti-Buddhist persecution, many monks were displaced, so the presence of these two recluses was not particularly noticeable. The villagers often sought remedies from the clean-robed middle-aged Daoist, who never charged for his services, accepting only food or vegetables. His gentle demeanor made him seem more like a kind old man than a Daoist immortal. Children even borrowed his peachwood sword to play with, though he rarely smiled, his kindness always evident.
The monk, however, was eccentric, often muttering incomprehensible words. When not lost in thought, he would sit by the Guangling River, rod in hand, fishing all day without catching a single fish. Compared to the children who returned with full baskets, his was always empty.
At dusk, the monk sat motionless, still empty-handed, as the fishermen’s children passed by, greeting the Daoist before running off joyfully.
The Daoist stood beside the monk and asked, “Awake?”
The monk nodded.
The impoverished Daoist was none other than Wang Xiaoping, the sword-obsessed elder of the Wudang Sect and junior to the current Abbot Li Yufu. The monk was Liu Songtao, the former ruler of Zhulushan, now known as the useless monk Wu Yong. They had traveled together, fighting and conversing, until they reached Longmen Ferry, where Liu Songtao spent more time “awake” than “asleep,” while Wang Xiaoping’s sword cultivation soared. Though not yet among the top fifteen in the new martial rankings, he felt he was on the verge of a breakthrough—a threshold his master, elder brother, and younger brother had all described differently, yet all agreed on the path.
Once considered the odd one out among the elder disciples for his preference for techniques over philosophy, Wang Xiaoping had once given the Northern Liang prince a cold reception. If the young Wang Xiaoping, wielding the legendary sword Shentu, had been the sharpest blade, the middle-aged Daoist now bore a blade of tempered steel, its edge hidden within.
Wang Xiaoping crouched and tossed a stone into the river. The monk, when “asleep,” often spoke strange words to passersby, like “I know your past and future lives—die or be reborn to a better fate,” scaring them half to death. Or he would ask, “Are we neighbors of trees and birds, or of men?” Or ponder aloud, “Is what I seek predestined? And if I do not seek, is that also fate? If so, how can one truly be free?”
Liu Songtao rarely cast his fishing rod, asking, “Still thinking about the paradox of ice and fire? Even Lüzu could not explain it clearly. Why torment yourself?”
Wang Xiaoping smiled. “Wudang has always focused on small deeds, not grand ambitions. We cultivate ourselves, not seeking immortality, going with the flow. Before that, we traveled the world, helping others. Whether the world is good or bad, spring still follows winter, and harvest follows autumn. You say Lüzu couldn’t explain the roots of the three teachings, but Wudang never stopped trying just because our predecessors failed. Like the Guangling River before us, its mighty flow comes from the water ahead clearing the way for the water behind. Without either, there would be no endless current flowing into the sea.”
Liu Songtao sighed. “Difficult indeed.”
Wang Xiaoping turned and asked, “Have you decided?”
Liu Songtao nodded. “Liu Songtao seeks a person for himself. The old monk of Landuo seeks someone to preserve the Buddhist lineage. Since the one I seek is gone, there is no need to search.”
Wang Xiaoping smiled. “I once promised my younger brother I would likely face the same person you seek. When the time comes, will you come first, or I?”
Liu Songtao replied calmly, “You first. I’ll recite a few sutras for you. Besides, I cannot die yet—if I cannot stop you, I will step aside. But you, Wang Xiaoping, or rather, your sword, cannot afford to do so.”
Wang Xiaoping said, “Fair enough. Blessings and prayers—I’m not as good at them as my brothers.”
Liu Songtao laughed. “Your sword is a fine one. Even a hundred years ago, I would have admired it.”
Wang Xiaoping, usually cold and expressionless, suddenly smiled.
He recalled the young swordsman from Wudang who had once flattered the Purple Bamboo Grove with flowery words about sword mastery—probably just flattery. No wonder his younger brother had always stifled a laugh back then.
※※※
Xu Yanbing rode alone beyond the borders of Northern Liang, pausing at the border of Youzhou and Hezhou.
A young girl, after visiting a grave, left Northern Liang with a half-green sunflower in hand. She walked slowly, not eager to see an old friend.
She wore a fur cap out of season, a gift from someone she cherished deeply.
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