Chapter 600: Wu Wusecond

In the desolate yellow sands where the borders of You and He provinces met, strange figures appeared, oddly out of place. A young child, wearing a tattered fur coat and a white cloth wrapped around his head, was busy herding sheep. The land along the border was barren, but spring grass was relatively lush. Still, the six or seven old goats were thin and dirty, looking like a group of elderly men burdened with age.

The boy had a grass rope tied around his waist, his face dark and gaunt. Under his arm was a heavy wooden staff, and in his hand, an old sheep whip. He walked with the grazing sheep, stopping and starting. When he paused, he would hold the whip in his mouth and swing his staff with both hands, occasionally imitating the movements of grown men in the village. In Beiliang, martial prowess was valued, and the people were fierce and bold. Many villages were known for producing skilled fighters, so that even women and children had some martial ability. In Youzhou, there was a local saying: “Ten shepherds, nine know boxing.” This was the first half of the saying. The second half was: “Nine boxers produce only one master of the long spear,” meaning that boxing was easy to learn, but mastering the spear was difficult. Yet, as the old saying went, the poor studied literature while the rich practiced martial arts. For a child from such poverty, it was unlikely he would ever come close to learning the art of the spear.

Later, the boy saw a terrifying spectacle more than ten miles to the south. The earth shook, yellow sand rose into the air, lightning flashed, thunder roared, and then suddenly the sky cleared. Curious, the boy thought the sheep could find their way back and set off running south, dragging his staff and whip behind him. Though thin, his legs were strong. In the harsh cold of Beiliang, children from poor families who were too weak didn’t survive the winter. Laziness wasn’t an option. Thus, children who grew up in the northwest, even if small and thin, could easily overpower their seemingly taller and stronger peers from the fertile lands of Jiangnan in a fight.

The boy ran southward, crouching low, moving with surprising speed. As he ran and paused to catch his breath, strange explosions erupted around him. Instinct told him to flee, and he did consider turning back. But each time, his stubbornness overcame his fear. He gritted his teeth and kept running south.

Unknowingly, the shepherd boy was approaching the site of a great battle.

Xu Xiaonian’s soul drifted to where Huang Longshi and the girl, Hehe, were waiting.

When Huang Sanjia, who had calculated the rise and fall of eras, saw the scene unfold, even the old man holding Hehe couldn’t help but feel shocked. Could it be that the most powerful prince of Liyang was truly about to die? He had only just become the ruler of the northwest.

His death would be dramatic, a final battle with Wang Xianzhi. But while people admired the phrase “though defeated, still honored,” no one wished to die with honor themselves.

Huang Longshi sat cross-legged, gently cradling his simple-minded daughter. He felt a pang of emotion. In the capital, he had failed to foresee the choice of the wandering swordsman with a wooden sword. This time, he had also failed to predict the fate of another young man. Yet, regardless, the young Xu still came as agreed. Two Xu Xiaonians, both mere souls, each took Jia Jiajia’s hand, transferring the last of their “life force” into her, striving to cleanse the calamity planted by the old Taoist of Longhu Mountain. Gradually, the girl’s complexion improved, her face becoming rosy.

Huang Longshi had traveled a long road in his life, witnessing the ways of emperors, generals, merchants, and commoners. He had secretly entered Beiliang many times, and though he had always favored Chen Zhibao over Xu Xiaonian, he had also held Yuan Zuozong in higher regard than the young prince, who seemed outwardly flawed but inwardly golden. In his eyes, the art of concealing one’s talents and biding one’s time was not a skill worthy of admiration. The boy was born into nobility—bearing insults was nothing. Being constantly assassinated was simply his fate. As for a tragic end, were the people of Xiangfan, who were eaten by their own kin, not also tragic? Were the children sold by desperate parents on their journey of exile not also tragic? Closer to home, the little girl in his arms had a tragic past. All beings suffered, and most could not speak of it.

Even when he saw Xu Xiaonian bravely confront Wang Xianzhi without a complete plan, Huang Longshi felt only slight surprise, viewing it as natural. After all, the boy owed the girl in his arms. Deep down, he thought the boy might be scheming, hoping to manipulate him into helping. But now that the outcome was clear, Huang Longshi was truly moved. He asked softly, “No regrets?”

Xu Xiaonian smiled and shook his head. Though he spoke no words, Huang Longshi understood: “I came not only because of our agreement, but also because I knew I couldn’t defeat that old man even with all my strength. Since I was going to die anyway, I might as well save someone else. There’s no need to overthink it, Master.”

They exchanged words.

“You could have hidden among the border troops, avoiding battle. Even Wang the madman would have to kill many before reaching you.”

“I did think of that. But doing so would shatter the morale of Beiliang’s army, which had finally united. If Wang Xianzhi, angered, chose to assassinate me, I still couldn’t escape. And if I harbored fear, the divine will of Gao Shulu’s body would reject me even more. If Wang caught me then, even if my third soul returned from afar, without a foundation, I would surely die the moment we met. Better to fight honorably. If I survive, that’s best. If I die, Wang’s magnanimity would prevent him from announcing my death. Then, a false Prince of Liang, resembling me, could serve a purpose.”

“You’re about to die, yet you still think of the Xu family guarding the northwest for the court? A dying man speaks truthfully. It seems I once judged you with a petty heart.”

“It’s not for the Zhao emperor’s court, nor even for the people of Zhongyuan. It’s simply the family business my father left me. I promised him I would carry it on. Beyond that, if the south can suffer less and lose fewer lives, that is a good thing.”

“Chen Zhibao and Wang Xianzhi are two great mountains, not much lower than Zhao Jia and Zhang Julu. Do you understand the grudges involved?”

“Reduction of power is inevitable, but the Xu and Zhao families stand on opposite sides. I never deny the emperor in Taian is wise. He could found a dynasty like his ancestors, or revive a declining one. Even at the end of a dynasty, he might still save it. But this doesn’t change the fact that we are enemies. However, his decision to ensure Zhang Julu’s downfall is against the tide. The common people, rising from obscurity, are flooding into the court, replacing the aristocratic families. This is something he cannot stop alone. Master, you spent twenty years overturning the fields of the Spring and Autumn Period. My master, Li Yishan, praised you endlessly. In the final years of the Yonghui era, when you secretly entered Beiliang for the third time and met Chen Zhibao, Xu Xiao once secretly mobilized most of the Fushui Society’s elite and seven hundred light cavalry from Qiushui, led by Lu Qiu’er and Xu Yanbing, determined to stop you. But my master insisted on blocking them, so they didn’t act.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Many people praise me privately, but only Li Yishan’s words—‘lofty aspirations, extraordinary talent’—truly hit the mark. Do you know why?”

“No.”

As they spoke, the two “Xu Xiaonians” absorbed the calamity from Hehe’s body and infused her with divine will.

Huang Longshi smiled: “Not knowing is fine. In another book, an ancient named Kong Zhigui wrote an essay called ‘The Northern Mountain’s Moving Words,’ with eight words that deeply resonate with me: ‘Passion stirs the sun, frost fills the autumn.’ Later, Huang Tingjian expanded this into a line: ‘A youth’s talent rivals the noble, an old man’s loyalty swells with autumn.’”

Both Xu Xiaonians were puzzled but didn’t dwell.

Huang Longshi thought for a moment, smoothed the sand at his feet, and wrote fourteen characters with his finger: “The rich light up homes with fire, the poor gaze at the moon; both see the same Lantern Festival, yet differently.”

He then murmured, “How profound, how revealing of the world.”

Xu Xiaonian, free of worries, nodded.

Huang Longshi continued writing with his finger on the sand, writing the second line: “Few words to share with others, fish know the water’s warmth and cold; misfortune often comes, spring cares not for flowers’ bloom or fall.”

Xu Xiaonian, who had borrowed Wang Xiaoping’s sword, smiled.

Huang Longshi quickly wrote the third line: “Numbers are endless, suffering is not eternal.” Then he looked up at Xu Xiaonian.

Xu Xiaonian nodded, then shook his head.

Huang Longshi looked down at the little girl in his arms, who had returned from the gates of death, and whispered, “I once used Wen Hua to scheme against you. Do you not resent me?”

“How could I not resent? But grudges vary in size, and revenge comes in order. I simply haven’t had the chance.”

“That is indeed the case.”

Huang Longshi nodded and said, “Earlier, we spoke of poetry from a certain book. As for that old man, Wang Xianzhi, he is already old and mighty, spanning the autumn sky. Yet, at a hundred years old, as the greatest martial artist in the world, bullying a young man not yet thirty is not a noble act.”

The Xu Xiaonian who had rushed to the battlefield with the Chana spear gazed tenderly at Hehe. “Everyone has their way of living, but some fundamental truths are shared. However, Wang Xianzhi had one phrase that silenced all others: his fists were strong, so he didn’t need to listen to others’ truths. Since I lost, there’s no way to reason with him.”

By now, Hehe was nearly awake. The two Xu Xiaonians had done all they could and stood up, departing swiftly.

Huang Longshi watched them go, then grew solemn. Glancing at the sky, he gently placed the girl, who was opening her eyes, and stood up, muttering, “I trust no one, always assuming the worst in others. Yet you, Xu Xiaonian, even in a place where there is no retreat, still acted in a way that satisfied me. It seems I truly misjudged you before.”

Huang Longshi smiled, seemingly asking himself, “Xu Xiaonian, you surely don’t know that the last person to wander the Spring and Autumn Period couldn’t leave because I deliberately closed the book, trapping him within that page. Now that things have come to this, I can no longer hide. I will help you, and myself.”

He sighed, “Who wakes from the great dream first? Only one who knows himself.”

Huang Longshi took a deep breath. “I could have achieved the Confucian Sage realm long ago, but I deliberately held back. Otherwise, after the Spring and Autumn Period, there wouldn’t have been only the fleeting appearance of Xuan Yuan Jingcheng. I will give you a true, free journey.”

He raised his arm, tracing and pointing.

He wrote eight characters:

“I write the Spring and Autumn to honor heaven and earth!”

He opened the book like a door.

Behind Huang Longshi, a door truly opened, and a figure stepped through, softly replying, “Heaven and earth naturally honor me.”

※※※

Departing Baidi in the morning mist.

Baidi, in ancient texts, was one of the Five Heavenly Emperors, ruling over all western deities.

Wang Xianzhi gazed at the gathering and dispersing clouds above, gaining a sudden understanding of his origins. No wonder he had always felt at odds with Zhenwu Dadi, the Northern God. When Zhenwu’s form descended at the Spring Spirit Lake, Wang Xianzhi, in Wudi City, had loathed it deeply.

Wang Xianzhi did not stop Xu Xiaonian’s soul from fleeing, nor did he hinder their return.

Feeling the faint breath of Xu Xiaonian lying in a pool of blood, Wang Xianzhi looked toward the northern sky and asked aloud, “Shall we fight again in the heavens?”

The heavens gave no reply.

But a voice answered from the mortal world, “No need.”

A great streak of light crashed into Xu Xiaonian’s blood-soaked body.

Wang Xianzhi frowned and turned to look.

Xu Xiaonian knelt on one knee, his hand on the earth, softly saying, “No need to fight in the heavens again.”

Wang Xianzhi narrowed his eyes, staring at the young man whose divine will was complete, a sight he had never seen before. Was he not yet dead?

He glanced at Huang Longshi’s side and quickly understood. This young prince had taken a different path from Beiman’s Yuan Qingshan, attempting to merge Confucianism, Buddhism, and Taoism. But he had lacked the essential Confucian essence. Wang Xianzhi didn’t believe anyone could grant Xu Xiaonian this understanding. Cao Changqing, if he gave up his cultivation, might have had a chance, but the Green Robe Strategist had his own mission of restoring a kingdom. Even if he favored Xu Xiaonian, he would never abandon his cause to aid another. Yet Wang Xianzhi had never expected Huang Sanjia, known for his cold heart and sharp mind, to act this way—and succeed in granting the last wanderer of the Spring and Autumn Period a great insight. Such a gift wasn’t something easily accepted. Like when Xu Xiaonian first practiced swordsmanship on Wudang Mountain, Wang Chonglou had given him the Great Huangting cultivation, but only six or seven parts were successfully transferred, far from granting the young prince immortality.

Huang Longshi’s actions were like a gamble. If he gave the realm but Xu Xiaonian couldn’t fully accept it, only achieving half the Confucian Sage, it would be a great embarrassment, the greatest joke in the world.

At present, Wang Xianzhi’s injuries were not fatal, but they were severe.

Especially the spear Chana, which had left him in his worst state in sixty years of martial supremacy. The wound itself wasn’t the issue. No matter how he analyzed it, he couldn’t have avoided it.

Xu Fengnian scooped a handful of sand, stood up, and opened his palm. The sand scattered into the wind, tossed high into the air, trailing into the distance, merging into the colorful clouds like grime sprinkled onto a brocade silk, instantly disrupting its elegance.

Xu Fengnian’s three souls and six spirits had fully returned to his body. Though his face, torn apart by Wang Xianzhi’s relentless assault, had not yet healed and remained horrifying to behold, his aura was now mighty and unparalleled.

Wang Xianzhi’s expression remained calm, but inside, his heart stirred with subtle ripples.

Yet his martial intent, his desire for battle, had never been higher than it was at this moment.

It was as if a man had stood alone atop the highest tower for countless years, and finally saw a second figure step onto the rooftop.

Scholars claim no one is first, thus they belittle each other.

Martial artists acknowledge no second, thus they kill each other!

Wang Xianzhi, who had always allowed younger generations to display their dazzling techniques while he stood unmoving, now took a step back, then a step forward, initiating the opening stance for the first time.

Xu Fengnian leapt forward in a flash, and in his hand appeared a short blade—Chunlei, held in reverse grip.

A second leap, longer this time, and another blade appeared, slightly longer—Xiu Dong, held in forward grip.

These two blades, either gifted or lent by the White Fox, had accompanied him through the martial worlds of Liyang and Beimang.

Left Chunlei, right Xiu Dong.

With both blades in hand, Xu Fengnian instantly closed the distance to Wang Xianzhi, bringing down Xiu Dong in a thunderous slash.

Wang Xianzhi raised his hand and grasped the blade of Xiu Dong, which bore no glimmer of sword aura.

His right hand was about to strike, aiming to crush the young man’s chest in one blow.

It was true that the youth’s martial intent had reached its peak, but Gaoshulu’s physical form still trembled on the brink of collapse.

Yet before Wang Xianzhi could strike, the short blade held in reverse—Chunlei—swept sideways, faster even than Wang Xianzhi’s already formidable speed.

Both strikes appeared effortless, as if their only secret was speed itself, yet nothing else seemed to be at play.

But Wang Xianzhi, after blocking the short blade with his forearm, actually retreated backward.

Xu Fengnian followed like a shadow, maintaining a distance of precisely one blade’s length from Wang Xianzhi, and thrust Xiu Dong straight into the wound on Wang’s body, pierced earlier by the Momentary Spear (Shicha Spear).

Unshaken, Wang Xianzhi allowed the deadly strike to land, but countered with a punch aimed at Xu Fengnian’s neck.

Xu Fengnian twisted his body in a whirlwind motion, releasing Xiu Dong just in time to evade Wang’s heavy strike. He drifted past Wang’s side and, emerging behind him, seized the Xiu Dong blade that had pierced through Wang’s body.

Truly a stroll in the garden.

Because he had failed to plant a follow-up energy current into Xiu Dong, the strike, though seemingly grievous, carried more humiliation than harm.

At last, Wang Xianzhi was forced into a position where he had to calculate every move carefully. Instead of turning to pursue, he flicked his foot and used his back to slam into Xu Fengnian.

He had resolved to endure one or even several cuts, so long as he could utterly shatter the youth’s physical form—then the outcome would be decided.

Xu Fengnian, back to Wang, sidestepped a few steps, and as they passed once more, their gazes met. Xu Fengnian slashed at Wang’s neck with one blade.

Wang Xianzhi accelerated suddenly, ducking beneath the clear blade, his steps slightly unsteady as he crashed into Xu’s side and thrust a palm toward his shoulder.

Xu Fengnian twisted his foot, spinning halfway around, using the blade of Chunlei held upside down to block Wang’s strike.

Wang changed his palm into a grip, clamping his tiger-mouth onto the blade’s edge, attempting to snap the short blade.

But unexpectedly, Xu Fengnian casually swept Xiu Dong sideways, letting its tip graze the hilt of Chunlei. The short blade spun rapidly, evading Wang’s attempt to seize and destroy it. It circled swiftly around the old man and returned to Xu Fengnian’s hand.

Wang kicked out a leg. Xu Fengnian leapt high. Wang swung his fist, no longer aiming to strike flesh, but instead unleashing a shockwave of martial intent.

Though Wang appeared cornered, this shockwave was clearly more powerful than any previous technique.

It was evident the old man still held reserves.

Xu Fengnian’s figure suddenly vanished.

He reappeared several zhang away, both blades raised, his sleeves billowing.

And once again, hidden secrets lay beneath.

As Wang Xianzhi charged forward, he laughed aloud, “Is it not clean enough?”

Xu Fengnian said nothing.

As Wang neared, Xu casually tossed Chunlei into the air, shifting both hands onto Xiu Dong, and charged forward with full force.

Wang and Xu both slightly hesitated in their steps at the same moment.

Then, wherever Wang Xianzhi stepped, a shadow of himself appeared.

And all of them surged toward Xu Fengnian!

Yet Xu Fengnian charged forward without hesitation, swinging Xiu Dong at a spot where no Wang Xianzhi stood.

In an instant, one Wang Xianzhi slid backward several zhang, a thin line of blood appearing on his forehead, slowly trickling out.

At the same time, hundreds of Wang Xianzhi’s illusions vanished into nothingness.

No one in the world could imagine that the mighty Wang Xianzhi would ever be overpowered by another.

Xu Fengnian continued his advance, striking Wang with Xiu Dong in a series of precise, measured cuts.

Each strike landed, but only just.

Countless tiny wounds appeared on Wang’s body.

Keeping Wang at bay while marking his flesh with every pass.

The Chunlei blade tossed into the sky reached its apex and began to descend.

Perhaps Wang Xianzhi had finally exhausted his patience against such relentless, precise calculations. In the ensuing clash, both moved at blinding speed. Xiu Dong carved deeper wounds into Wang’s body, but Wang edged closer and closer to Xu.

The most dangerous moment came when Wang’s hand nearly crushed Xu’s neck, and Xu’s Xiu Dong nearly cleaved Wang in half at the waist.

Yet both abandoned the chance to trade their lives for the other’s.

The falling Chunlei blade neared the battlefield below.

The earth beneath their feet cracked and shattered, a ruinous sight.

Yet no matter how fierce their rapid strikes became, beyond a radius of one zhang from their positions, the sand remained utterly still, not a single grain disturbed.

The outcome teetered on the edge of a hair’s breadth.

Wang Xianzhi exerted himself to the fullest.

Still, he remained trapped in the agony of a slow, slicing death.

Unconsciously, the falling Chunlei blade reached a height of one zhang above Xu Fengnian’s head.

Xu, a left-handed swordsman by nature, surged with renewed might.

His space to maneuver had been compressed to the extreme by Wang.

With no new techniques left, death was inevitable.

But if he could just seize that short blade.

There would be a change.

For Wang Xianzhi’s boundless energy, though growing stronger with each passing moment, was nearing its end.

Both men understood this clearly.

Wang’s jest about “not being clean enough” was both a taunt at Xu Fengnian and a self-deprecating remark. Thus, from the beginning, Wang had intended to decide their fates with a single, uninterrupted flow of energy.

At the final moment, Xu Fengnian braced himself to take a punch, determined to catch the falling Chunlei blade.

If only he could grasp the blade.

He could turn the tide.

But astonishingly, Wang Xianzhi halted mid-punch.

His energy, though nearly exhausted, suddenly reversed course, flowing back across a thousand li, forming a new, mighty surge.

In a clash of equals, the flow and transformation of energy determined the advantage. Flow dictated control, but the instantaneous reversal decided life and death.

Wang Xianzhi’s final battle in the mortal world, his ultimate move, lay in this unprecedented reversal. The key was the word “reverse.”

Wang Xianzhi withdrawing his half-finished punch was a deliberate act—he allowed Xu Fengnian to reach for the blade, so he could complete his energy reversal first, then strike first with the next step, and finish with a single, decisive blow!

Suddenly, the old man’s expression shifted to one of strangeness.

Xu Fengnian did not reach for the Chunlei blade within his grasp.

Wang halted to recover his breath, but Xu halted as well, continuing his assault with his blade.

Instead, it was Xu Fengnian who seized the initiative.

Even more unexpectedly for Wang Xianzhi, Xu’s strike with Xiu Dong precisely struck the node between his old and new energy flows—not the heart, not the neck, but a seemingly insignificant acupoint.

Xu Fengnian charged forward with his “blade collision.”

Even his left hand pressed onto the blade’s spine.

Wang Xianzhi was carried backward by the force, sliding dozens of zhang away.

No matter how mighty his old aura, it could not resist the arrival of the new winter.

Wang’s energy unraveled rapidly, his white hair flying wildly.

Xu Fengnian raised the blade diagonally, returning the favor, lifting Wang’s massive body from the ground. Without pulling out Xiu Dong, which had pinned Wang’s energy, Xu released his right hand and seized the Chunlei blade trailing behind him.

Before Wang could pull Xiu Dong from his body, Xu Fengnian’s Chunlei blade pierced cleanly through his skull.

Xiu Dong remained embedded.

So did Chunlei.

The blade that pierced the skull hung motionless.

Thus, Wang Xianzhi was left suspended in midair, impaled by the blade.