A few riders galloped out of the Taian City, all were the most elite messengers of Liyang, mounted on the emperor’s beloved blood-sweating horses. The riders thundered down the imperial avenue, no one dared to obstruct their path.
The leading rider carried an imperial edict marked as an urgent eight-hundred-mile dispatch.
The edict violated all protocol; besides bearing the imperial seal of the Liyang emperor, the golden silk bore only four words: fight or retreat.
As the rider dashed out of the city, a lone figure happened to be entering through the southern gate. The blood-sweating horse passed directly through the man’s body. There was no scene of man and horse falling, no blood or gore. The rider continued southward, delivering the secret decree, while the visitor to Taian City remained unharmed, entering the city. Not even the city guards attempted to apprehend him, as all the soldiers and citizens near the southern gate ignored him completely. After entering the city, he made his way to the Xiama Wei inn. Under a dragon-claw locust tree, he paused and saw fourteen men with swords exiting the inn, a place reserved for Xu family warriors stationed in the capital. They mounted their horses and rode toward the imperial palace. The young man beneath the locust tree followed behind them like a celestial being riding the wind, yet from start to finish, not a single person glanced at him.
But he recognized them—or at least could guess their identities. The old man leading the group was Feng Ling, a former outlaw from Liaodong, a fierce infantry general under Xu Xiao, and now in his sixties. Two years ago, through sheer merit, he had become a high-ranking third-grade official in the capital. It was worth noting that even after Xu Xiao’s recent feat of conquering a nation, he had only been promoted to second-grade status.
The next rider was Zhu Changfu, originally a horse bandit from western Liaoning, founder of the Fish Drum Camp, who was still recovering from serious injuries and could not accompany the Xu cavalry south.
Following him was Zhang Dujian, a defected general who had retired as a standard-bearer in the Lotus Camp.
Qin Yun, an old soldier from the Vanguard Camp, had spent his entire life as nothing more than a squad leader, a “high-ranking” official.
Zhao Fengyang, a native of Jizhou, was the most senior scout in the Xu army. He had once been struck by a poisoned arrow in the back, and during rainy weather, the pain would flare up, unbearable, forcing him to retire.
Song Kaijuan, nicknamed “Head-Shaking Scholar,” had studied for a few days and liked to speak in a refined manner, constantly nodding and shaking his head while talking. Once a strategist for a bandit gang in western Liaoning, he had run afoul of Xu Xiao, who was then a junior officer, and was completely defeated. Song Kaijuan, however, turned his misfortune into fortune, transforming from a bandit into a soldier. As he grew older, he could no longer ride well and opened a tavern in Taian City. He provided free food and drink to any fellow Xu cavalrymen, so he had been running at a loss for years. Yet the old sour scholar never seemed to care, constantly lecturing his wife and children.
And so on—fourteen men in total, all old soldiers who had narrowly escaped death in countless battles and should have been peacefully retired in the capital.
At this point in history, as later historians would describe, the two northern regimes known as the Han and the Yue had successively fallen. Xu Xiao first forced the death of General Fan, the “Divine Tree of the Great Han,” and swept forward, capturing the imperial palace and riding straight into the throne hall. Meanwhile, the southern campaign led by Lu Shengxiang, with a thousand riders braving a snowy night to capture Luzhou, opened the gateway to Yue. Gu Jiantang nearly seized half the country without a fight. Now, no foreign powers slumbered beside the Zhao family’s bed in Liyang. Then, the Liyang emperor stood firmly beside the two young and vigorous generals, Xu and Gu, and against all opposition, insisted on engaging in a decisive battle with the powerful Chu Kingdom, whose military might rivaled that of Liyang.
However, after the Battle of Jinghe and the fierce fighting at Consorts’ Graves, the Liyang forces, who had previously held the upper hand, began to suffer repeated setbacks. By the time the two armies faced each other at Xilei Wall, neither side dared to claim victory. Moreover, Chu had the legendary undefeated military sage, General Ye Baikui, personally commanding the troops, causing unrest in the Liyang court. As Xu Xiao remained inactive for an extended period, rumors flooded the capital. Several highly credible intelligence reports reached the emperor, claiming that an imperial secret letter from the Chu emperor, bearing his personal seal, had been placed on Xu Xiao’s desk, offering to divide the empire and rule together with Xu Xiao, who had long suffered under the court’s injustice.
The pro-war faction in the Liyang court, advocating for defeating Chu before turning to conquer the rest of the world, was already small in number. With the two armies locked in a stalemate at Xilei Wall, the outcome uncertain, a defeat would mean losing the entire northern territory painstakingly conquered. Even Gu Jiantang, the general the court had pinned its hopes on, began to keep silent and slowed his southern advance. Consequently, no one in the Liyang court dared to speak in defense of Xu Xiao. His past transgressions were now listed one by one. Officials and ministers alike urged the emperor to recall the thirty thousand troops stationed at Xilei Wall by Xu Xiao without delay. Otherwise, if Xu Xiao harbored rebellious intentions, not only would the battle for the empire against Chu be lost, but even the very foundation of Liyang itself might be overturned.
Old Feng Ling sat high on his horse, the towering gates of the imperial palace rising in his vision. His riding skills were still sharp; though he had been retired in Taian City for years, he had never let them lapse. He spat fiercely onto the imperial avenue, then instinctively wiped his lips with his thumb, muttering, “You bastards, all of you were crying and wailing before the emperor, wearing mourning clothes or having people carry coffins, even pretending to bash your heads against pillars in the throne hall. But in the end, not a single one of you died! I’ll show you soft-hearted cowards how the Xu cavalry lives—and dies!”
The fourteen riders arrived at the gates of the imperial palace. Feng Ling halted his horse in the center, while the other thirteen lined up in a row. Then, all fourteen dismounted simultaneously, letting go of their reins and stroking their horses’ necks.
Zhang Dujian grinned, turning to Song Kaijuan. “Head-Shaking Scholar, we rough men can’t speak well. You’ve got the education. Why don’t you do the honors?”
Song Kaijuan rolled his eyes. “Find someone with a louder voice.”
Qin Yun, founder of the Vanguard Camp, softly said, “Damn it. I wish I could lead the boys up there one day, plant our Xu flag on the gate.”
Zhao Fengyang laughed and cursed, “You fool, if you did that, you’d only confirm those rumors that we’re planning a rebellion. Shut that crooked mouth of yours!”
Feng Ling touched the hilt of his sword and murmured, “It doesn’t matter how loud you are. Those officials wouldn’t hear us even if we shouted.”
Even if Song Kaijuan agreed with others, he instinctively shook his head and smiled, “Old Song here has only ever come up with bad ideas in his life. I’ve never fought on the battlefield, let alone led a charge. Why don’t I go first today?”
Jiang Sheng, the old soldier who had always looked down on Song Kaijuan, extended his thumb and chuckled, “Song Scholar, you’ve been a coward all your life, but this time, you’re a real man. I’ve cursed you many times before, but today I’ll admit it—Song, you’re a good man. Let me apologize!”
Zhu Changfu chuckled softly, “Too late, too late. Once we’re underground, old Song won’t have his tavern to treat us to drinks anymore.”
The old scholar exhaled heavily, looking left and right at his old comrades, and said solemnly, “Song Kaijuan, I’ll go first.”
At the same time, Feng Ling roared, “Draw swords!”
Fourteen Xu swords, fourteen lives.
They faced death bravely.
The young man stood like a wandering soul, neither in the world of the living nor the dead, watching helplessly as they simultaneously drew their swords, slit their throats, and fell backward almost in unison.
He walked to Feng Ling’s side, squatted down, and slowly reached out, as if trying to help the old man, who had died with his eyes wide open, to close them.
※※※
At Dantong Pass, every ten paces were guarded posts, visible and hidden, while outside the pass, nearly a thousand elite Liyang riders patrolled ceaselessly.
It seemed as though they were protecting the noble families inside the pass, but both inside and outside, everyone knew the truth—even the young children and teenagers understood they were pitiful hostages, their lives and deaths dependent on whether their elders gained the trust of the old man seated on the dragon throne in Taian City. These individuals, whose names would never appear in the annals of history, were many future figures who would shape the dynasty’s fate—princes and princesses, including Lady Wu Su, the Northern Liang Queen, and her son Xu Fengnian, the second Northern Liang King; the only son of Prince Zhao Ying of Huainan; the future Crown Prince Zhao Zhu of the Yan Chi Kingdom; the eldest son and daughter of General Gu Jiantang, and so on. They all shared one commonality: their relatives outside the pass were all staunch advocates of war, capable of determining the fate of a region, or even an entire dynasty.
But among them, the most crucial was undoubtedly the female sword immortal, Lady Wu Su, the current Sword Crown of the Wu Sword Tomb! Without her presence, Dantong Pass would not require such a massive military presence.
On this night, a small beggar boy ran skillfully through the dark alleys, always sticking closely to the shadows of the walls. When he reached a courtyard wall, he quietly pried open a pile of already loosened bricks, revealing a hole the size of a dog’s den. The boy crawled inside, then picked up three small stones, crept to a window, and tossed two onto the paper window. Before he could throw the third, he heard a muffled sound of pain, and a figure leapt out of the window. The boy sighed, “Xiaonian, we agreed—three stones before opening the window!”
The companion who had been hit by the stone was even younger than the beggar boy, with delicate features and an uncommon northern appearance with southern charm. He glared at the beggar boy and whispered, “You’re such a stickler. How do you expect to learn swordsmanship from my mother?”
The beggar boy grinned sheepishly, grabbing his companion’s sleeve, his face full of anxiety. “My master is taking me away tonight. Are you coming or not? If you are, let’s run together!”
The child, already showing signs of scholarly grace, shook his head. “My mother said it’s not that we can’t leave, but that we mustn’t.”
The beggar boy scratched his head in frustration. “What are you talking about now? You always have to speak in riddles! Just say it straight—will you come or not? I begged my master all night just to get this chance. If we miss this, we might never see each other again!”
At this, the beggar boy’s eyes reddened.
The other child grinned. “I really won’t go. The books say there’s no feast that doesn’t end, but they also say that we’ll meet again somewhere in life.”
The beggar boy scratched his head in confusion, completely baffled by Xiaonian.
“Xiaonian,” the child chuckled. “You have a teacher? Is it an old beggar?”
The beggar boy quickly shook his head. “Of course not! He’s a very learned scholar.”
Xiaonian grinned slyly. “How learned? As learned as the older sister Yanzi’s bosom on the street next door?”
The beggar boy sighed. “Xiaonian, are you really not coming? I’m leaving, okay? If I don’t go back soon, my master will be frantic!”
The child nodded and told the beggar boy to wait. He climbed back through the window and soon returned, skillfully handing the beggar a small bag and patting his head, speaking with an old-fashioned tone. “We were supposed to fight together in the future, you with your strength leading the charge, and me helping with strategies. But now it seems impossible. Take this bag of money. Out in the world, even a hero can be stopped by a single coin. Hey, remember to buy two chicken legs when you reach safety. That way, I’ll feel like I’ve had some too.”
The beggar boy carefully stowed the bag, wiped his eyes with his sleeve, and was about to speak the secret his father had told him to never reveal to anyone within the pass, when Xiaonian gave him a shove. “Hurry up! What are you waiting for? After you leave, I’ll call my mother to the courtyard to practice swordplay. That might help you a little.”
The beggar boy choked back sobs. “Xiaonian, promise me you won’t die! I’ll find you again one day. You’re the only brother I’ll ever have!”
Though the child was several years younger than the beggar boy, he seemed far more mature and even comforted him. “You’re still so young, talking about a lifetime. Go! The great men in the history books could even abandon their wives and children without hesitation. Why are you so sentimental?”
The beggar boy nodded firmly, then crouched and slipped away, waving at Xiaonian from the shadows near the dog hole.
Xiaonian waved back.
After the beggar boy left, the child, who had seemed so carefree and optimistic, squatted in the corner, hugging his knees, and secretly wiped his nose.
Suddenly, a gentle hand patted his head.
Startled, the child turned around and saw his mother’s warm smile. He quickly wiped away his tears and whispered, “Mom, don’t tell Dad I cried.”
The incomparably graceful woman lifted her son onto the windowsill and softly said, “Xiaonian, remember, a man doesn’t easily shed tears, only because he hasn’t reached the point of sorrow. When you’re truly heartbroken, cry if you want to. Don’t keep it inside.”
The child murmured, “Okay.”
The woman smiled. “Go, bring the sword case.”
The child jumped with joy. “Mom agreed! I’ll go right away!”
He jumped down from the windowsill and ran to fetch the sandalwood sword case, which was almost as tall as he was.
The woman stepped into the courtyard, turned back with a smile, and saw her son struggling to carry the sword case.
She took the case from him. The child turned around, sat on the steps, rested his chin on his hands, and stared intently at his mother. After all, his father had said that his mother could knock down a hundred of him.
The woman stood the sandalwood sword case upright, placing one hand on its top.
She did not immediately summon the legendary sword, the Da Liang Long Que, from its case, but even while hidden, the sword’s aura surged into the sky.
A series of sharp whistles suddenly rang out within Dantong Pass.
The woman stood with her hands behind her back. The sword case trembled slightly, and wisps of purple sword qi seeped out, filling the courtyard with a purple glow.
The Da Liang Long Que, which had caused the entire Dantong Pass to go into high alert, remained in its case for a full quarter of an hour. Yet the soldiers and martial experts of Dantong Pass were already in chaos, filled with anxiety.
Fortunately, the female sword immortal seemed to have changed her mind about breaking out of the pass, bringing a sense of relief to Dantong Pass. Truthfully, they held a mixture of vigilance, fear, and respect for this woman from the Wu Sword Tomb, and none wished to face her in battle.
In the courtyard, mother and son exchanged a knowing smile. The child carried the sword case back and placed it properly, then went outside to sit on the steps with his mother, gazing at the starry sky.
A young man, seemingly nearby yet impossibly distant, sat nearby, keeping them company.
The child rested his head on his mother’s knee, curiously asking, “Mom, my older sister said when people die, they become stars in the sky. My second sister says they don’t. So which is it?”
The woman gently stroked her child’s head and smiled. “I don’t know.”
The child sighed. “I wish I could grow up faster.”
The woman shook her head and smiled. “It’s better not to grow up.”
The child stood up, placing his hand higher than his head, and laughed. “Mom, you’ll see—tomorrow when I wake up, I’ll be this tall!”
The woman smiled without speaking.
The child jumped a few times with his hand raised. “The day after tomorrow, I’ll be this tall!”
The woman stood up, standing in front of her child, raising her hand higher than her own head, then leaning down and softly saying, “Xiaonian, grow slowly. Don’t rush. One day, you’ll be this tall.”
Then she looked up at that height and smiled.
Behind Xiaonian.
Exactly at the height the woman had indicated.
Xu Fengnian, his soul wandering through the Spring and Autumn of his memories, wept bitterly, gazing at her and softly calling, “Mom.”
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