Perhaps it had been too long since he last heard a younger generation speaking boldly in front of him, and Wang Xianzhi was momentarily lost in a harmless reverie. He remembered when Cao Changqing first ascended the tower, he had said, “I seek a few measures of romantic wind with an elder.” Deng Tai’a had been even more forthright: “I have a sword that must question you.” As for others, most had been far more respectful and restrained. Occasionally, there were arrogant youths who had boasted loudly before ascending the tower, but by the time they reached the summit of Wudi City and saw him, their sharp edges had already been worn smooth. Wang Xianzhi’s deep thoughts drifted from the distant past to the present in an instant. He glanced at Xu Fengnian, who stood nearby, then gazed toward the direction of Wudang, understanding fully. It was impossible to tell whether the old man felt regret or mockery.
Wang Xianzhi’s journey to Beiliang was not rushed, for he feared that Xu Fengnian might not even be able to harness the physical and spiritual might of Gaoshulu properly. What meaning would there be in slaying an ordinary Grade One expert?
Yet he did not walk slowly either, unwilling for Xu Fengnian to absorb all the martial world’s vitality beyond Beiliang, swallowing the entire realm’s qi like a whale. In Wang Xianzhi’s eyes, that would be overstepping.
Wang Xianzhi nodded slightly toward Xu Fengnian, perhaps indicating that the young prince-regent could now arrange his final affairs.
A centenarian who had suppressed the martial world for a full sixty years certainly possessed such a small measure of patience.
Xu Fengnian scooped up Xie Xie in his arms and leapt past the boundary stone. Without him needing to act, the hairpin, the mink-trimmed hat, and the sunflower all stirred without wind, following the pair from afar. Xu Fengnian originally intended to send Jia Jiajia far away from the battlefield, as far as possible, because he could not be certain whether Wang Xianzhi would exert nine-tenths or full strength. If Wang Xianzhi unleashed his full might, the collateral damage could be immense. Xu Fengnian suddenly halted, spotting an unexpected yet understandable old man in the distance. He exhaled in relief, catching the drifting hairpin and its companions. When the old man rushed forward, Xu Fengnian handed everything over to him. He did not immediately turn away but instead hooked his fingers like claws, pressing them against his chest. He forcibly extracted a wisp of purplish-gold qi, slowly pressing it into the girl’s forehead. Softly, he said, “This was the calamity that Zhao Xuanru once wished to impose upon me, but she took it upon herself instead. Now, Wang Xianzhi has shattered it, scattering it into the air. I gathered a bit while Wang was distracted. Don’t worry—I’ve done my best to ‘cleanse’ it. It will temporarily prolong her life.”
Huang Longshi’s face darkened, unyielding in his anger. “What good is solving an immediate crisis? If you die at Wang Xianzhi’s hands, my daughter will still follow you to the grave!”
Xu Fengnian lowered his head, gazing at the pale, trembling girl, and smiled calmly. “If I truly lose to Wang Xianzhi, I will definitely leave behind some cultivation before my death to help prolong her life.”
Huang Longshi refused to relent, pressing furiously, “Tell me first—how many years can you extend her life?”
Xu Fengnian’s expression turned bitter. “Ten years, at most. That’s already my limit.”
Huang Longshi let out a heavy snort, clearly very dissatisfied with the answer.
Xu Fengnian turned his back on Huang Longshi and the unconscious Xie Xie, pausing briefly, as though he wished to say something, but ultimately, he remained silent.
He began to walk forward, not with any startling display at first, one step at a time, his initial pace slow. From slow to fast, his steps followed a rhythm, a gradual, highly structured progression.
It was the method Liu Haoshi had used to enter and breach a city, nearly succeeding in severely injuring the White Fox Luoyang when combined with Song Nianqing’s sword strike from the realm of Immortal Scholars.
As Xu Fengnian quickened his pace, moving faster and farther, Huang Longshi sat down, cradling his daughter, gently brushing aside the bangs that had fallen across her forehead. The old man’s anger gradually faded, and he raised his head to gaze in that direction, his face showing a mixture of emotion and surprise, tinged with regret.
Wang Xianzhi had expected to see Xu Fengnian later, but since Xu had appeared ahead of schedule, Wang had no intention of avoiding battle out of boredom.
Wang Xianzhi let his hands hang naturally at his sides, but the originally loose sleeves of his coarse robe slowly constricted, clinging tightly to his arms.
Of the Thirteen Armors of the Spring and Autumn Periods, Wang Xianzhi had claimed none, not even the self-proclaimed second strongest or the universally acknowledged strongest. He had never touched the Armor of the Sword, and although the world praised Gu Jiantang as the greatest swordsman, Wang had never publicly disputed this. But that did not mean Wang Xianzhi, who had fused all martial arts into his own path, was not a master of sword and blade techniques. In fact, the opposite was true—Wang was a true master of any weapon he wielded. Otherwise, he could not have taught someone like Yu Xinlang, a prodigy swordsman. However, the older Wang became, the less he touched external objects.
Wang Xianzhi raised his hands and gently clenched his fists, breaking into a rare smile.
This time, perhaps the fight would be a little more exhilarating?
Xu Fengnian borrowed Liu Haoshi’s method of entering a city, but he did not stop there. He also used Liu’s staggering sword strike.
This made his figure appear somewhat absurd—moving swiftly, yet like a drunkard reeling from intoxication.
I have no sword in hand, for I am the sword itself.
Along Xu Fengnian’s path of advance, the yellow sands on both sides began to rise from the ground, surging upward and crashing together. They rapidly covered his footsteps.
Wang Xianzhi also began walking forward, facing him directly, taking large steps.
You come, I go. You die, I live.
That was all.
※※※
Not only the martial world, but the entire world began to hear an increasingly widespread rumor.
Wang Xianzhi had left the city—he was going to kill the new King of Liang, Xu Fengnian.
Most people thought it was cause for celebration.
After all, many places that had banned alcohol began turning a blind eye.
Tai’an City.
After returning to the palace from the flourishing Jiangnan region, Crown Prince Zhao Zhuan presented a new trinket to his consort, Yan Dongwu, every day. Today, he finally finished giving her the last one. Standing beneath a parrot cage, she watched her husband making faces at her. He extended his hands, empty, and she smiled sweetly.
The Crown Prince then spent some time chatting with his beloved wife about trivial and amusing anecdotes. Even the fact that he had been denied entry by a purple-robed woman from Huishan Mountain, and his small male pique about it, Zhao Zhuan kept nothing hidden. Yan Dongwu neither concealed her thoughts nor feigned anger. Instead, she gave him a flirtatious glance. The refined and handsome man laughed heartily, gently taking her wrist. After a moment, he released it and said he needed to go out to meet Yu Xinlang, the senior apprentice of the old freak Wang. This swordsman from the Eastern Sea was only passing through the capital and would continue northward. If he missed this chance, he might never get another opportunity to see such a famous figure.
Zhao Zhuan hurried out of the house, gradually slowing his pace. He plucked a leaf from a tree, twirling it between his fingers. Only the eunuchs in power within the palace knew that the Crown Prince enjoyed using leaves to create paintings. Walking between two towering palace walls, he raised the leaf to his eye, blocking the blinding sunlight. He smiled and said, “You died so quickly.”
In the South Sea.
After returning from his journey to seek immortals and splitting the sea with a single sword strike, the Peach Blossom Sword God stood on a cliffside of the lonely island belonging to the Guanyin Sect, gazing toward the northern continent.
The old sword-eater, Sui Xiegu, who had once exchanged an arm with Li Chungan, stood beside this unremarkable-looking sword immortal after their duel with Deng Tai’a. Curious, he asked, “Among the top experts, you and that young man are relatively close. Why didn’t you go to help him?”
Deng Tai’a shook his head. “Wang Xianzhi was not wrong.”
The one-armed old man nodded. “A martial world where a mere Fingerspell Realm cultivator might be the strongest person alive is indeed pitiful.”
A woman who looked eternally youthful and was particularly tall and imposing approached the two and countered, “Is a world like that really so bad?”
Deng Tai’a, never one to argue with women, smiled faintly. “The answer lies in those two. Whoever remains standing will determine the course of the martial world for the next thousand years.”
At Longhu Mountain.
After Zhao Ningshen became the most influential figure in the Celestial Master’s Mansion, Bai Lian, the scholar who had ruined his eyesight from excessive reading, often accompanied this young Zhao, whose life had seen few ups and downs but of extreme magnitude, on mountain hikes.
The two wandered aimlessly to the foot of the mountain before turning back. Bai Lian’s poor eyesight made him walk slowly, and he spoke in a gentle, unhurried manner. “After going through countless hardships, I finally gained control of the Taoist affairs nationwide. Now, half the empire is lost. North of the Guangling River has been assigned to the Qingcheng King. But perhaps this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. A mountain with sharp peaks cannot be high—Longhu Mountain should calm down and take a look back at the scenery. In the past, everyone in the Celestial Master’s Mansion said my words made sense, but truly meaningful words often hurt people. I’ve spent many years here on this mountain studying and cultivating Taoism, filled with complaints I had nowhere to vent. Now, it’s better.”
Frequently lost in thought, Zhao Ningshen merely hummed in agreement.
Bai Lian continued, “Allowing the Daoists on the mountain to freely learn the martial arts of Wudang Mountain was the magnanimity a true Celestial Master should have. Old wheat flour tastes better when it’s aged, while cornmeal is best fresh. We should change our palate—we can’t live on fine grains alone; coarse grains are also good for the stomach.”
Zhao Ningshen nodded with a smile. “Fine grains please the mouth, coarse grains nourish the stomach. That’s a saying from beyond the mountains.”
Bai Lian gazed toward the summit, speaking earnestly. “Longhu Mountain isn’t tall. Look—it doesn’t even surpass the neighboring Guuniu Ridge. People say, ‘It’s not the height of the mountain that matters, but whether there are immortals upon it.’ That’s true, but if we all chase after immortality single-mindedly, that’s also wrong.”
Zhao Ningshen said, “If you wish to become an immortal, first become a good person.”
Bai Lian laughed heartily. “You’re not bad at reasoning either.”
Zhao Ningshen stopped walking. “I’ve let go.”
Bai Lian, habitually squinting, turned to look at the young Daoist, increasingly pleased. “Then I can rest easy.”
Bai Lian extended a hand, indicating it was time to continue climbing.
Zhao Ningshen hesitated slightly, then resumed his ascent.
Bai Lian, on the other hand, descended alone.
In Xishu, where bamboo seas reign supreme.
The summer bamboo sea is cool, as refreshing as late autumn elsewhere.
After Xie Lingzhen’s death at Kuai Xue Mountain Villa, the Spring Paste Cottage had gone through a period of turbulence without a leader. But when the new King of Xishu arrived and personally supported an obscure descendant of the Xie family to become the master of the cottage, the Spring Paste Cottage rose to the forefront of the latest ten greatest martial sects in Liang, ranking only behind the Daxueping of Huishan Mountain and the Crescent Moon Pavilion.
Two men and a woman sat together, drinking tea and listening to the wind, their mouths filled with fragrance, their sleeves with cool breezes.
The woman, nearing thirty in reality, appeared youthful and extraordinarily beautiful, her aura filled with a strange contradiction.
She was the fourth most beautiful woman on the Rouge Ranking, with an ordinary yet peculiar name—Xie Xie. It was said that after she turned fourteen, five successive governors and military commissioners of Xishu had fought fiercely over her, yet for over a decade, none had managed to claim her. Outsiders attributed this to the Spring Paste Cottage’s lofty and impartial status.
At this moment, she was pouring tea for a white-robed man.
Not only did the people of Shu marvel, even the Spring Paste Cottage found it puzzling—this outsider surnamed Chen had somehow transformed from an obscure vase into the owner of two thousand mu of bamboo sea.
That was because he was Chen Zhibao, the former Minister of War before Lu Baijie took office, now the King of Shu.
Seated opposite Chen Zhibao was a middle-aged man, Wujia Jianzhu’s sword cultivator, Wu Qi, who had once commanded the cavalry under the Xu family in the old days.
Wu Qi, who had recognized Xu Fengnian atop a city wall in the Northern Desert but had not acknowledged him, smirked and asked mockingly, “If the Liang Emperor offers you his favorite daughter in marriage, will you accept?”
Chen Zhibao did not answer, nor did he acknowledge the woman’s sidelong glances. He simply remained silent.
Wu Qi asked again, “He’s dead. Do you have nothing to say?”
Chen Zhibao raised his teacup, drinking it like wine, finishing it in one gulp.
In the imperial palace of the Great Chu.
Cao Changqing, amidst his many duties, found time to walk to a pavilion he often visited. He saw the Princess sitting alone inside, her lap holding the sandalwood sword case that concealed the Great Chu Dragon Sparrow sword. A string of coins had been neatly placed atop the case. She absentmindedly tapped it, each time she struck the case, the coins would stand upright, then roll back down, repeating endlessly.
Jiang Ni sensed the arrival of her uncle, the Go master, and with a flick of her hand, quickly gathered the coins.
Cao Changqing sat on the stone bench, hesitated, and was about to speak when Jiang Ni forced a smile and softly said, “It’s okay. He is the King of Beiliang, and I am the Princess of Great Chu. I understand.”
Cao Changqing fell silent.
He slowly closed his eyes, hesitating again.
Jiang Ni clenched the coins tightly, murmuring, “Misfortune lingers for a thousand years.”
Cao Changqing opened his eyes, sighing, “If only it had happened later.”
In the Northern Desert, the grand royal tent of the Great Chu, resembling a fortress city, moved to the southern court. The tradition of drawing plans in ash continued. After the meeting concluded, the Northern Desert Empress retained Dong Zhuo and Hong Jingyan, two rising military stars, and smiled, asking, “Throughout history, who can be considered the pinnacle of martial prowess?”
Hong Jingyan bowed and replied, “Eight hundred years ago, there was the shadowy expert behind the Emperor of the Qin Dynasty, whose background was unknown. From seven hundred to five hundred years ago, Lü Dongxuan was truly invincible. Four hundred years ago, it was Gaoshulu. A hundred years ago, Liu Songtao was only half. Then there’s Wang Xianzhi today. During their lifetimes, there were few who could match them in battle. Even if there were, the immortals of the outside world never intervened. For example, Wang Xianzhi versus Qi Xuanzhen.”
The Northern Desert Empress smiled. “This time, Wang Xianzhi targets Xu Fengnian—is it like using an ox knife to kill a chicken, or is it a grand event unseen in a thousand years?”
Hong Jingyan replied softly, “The odds are nine to one.”
The old woman chuckled, “So it’s nine chances to die, one to live.”
Dong Zhuo, standing beside Hong Jingyan, said nothing. When the tent fell silent, he finally spoke with a smirk, “Better he dies. Without a single soldier, half the northwest gate of Liang collapses. When the news reaches here, Hong Jingyan, shall we race to see whose horse is faster?”
Hong Jingyan completely ignored the fat man.
The Empress waved her hand, and the two exited the tent, one to the left, one to the right.
The old woman laughed, “Father and son—so soon to meet again?”
At the summit of Zhulushan.
White robes faced red.
The white-robed woman sat on the highest stone step, lifting a wine jug to her lips, her brows showing no trace of worry.
For reasons unknown, only one side of the The Crimson Robe of Shadows’s face turned toward the White Fox Luoyang.
Luoyang said calmly, “It’s fine. No one in the world believes in him, but I do.”
Luoyang suddenly stood, raising one arm, smiling with conviction. “Eight hundred years unchanged!”
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