After the great battle, Lü Yunchang reluctantly joined the three in collecting the broken remnants of famous swords. The young boy couldn’t understand why his immortal master, who already possessed such wealth, still haggled over every grain of rice and stick of firewood like a frugal housewife. Wang Sheng, unlike Lü Yunchang who seemed carefree, bore a sorrowful expression while picking up and carrying the broken swords. Lü, who looked down upon swordsmanship and preferred the blade, was different from Wang, who had witnessed firsthand the destruction of dozens of legendary weapons that once shook the Jianghu, and couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow.
As Lü tossed the last handful of broken blades into the carriage, he caught sight of Wang’s distracted expression and teased him, saying he looked like a girl, albeit a tall and sturdy one, not at all delicate. Wang, angered, reached for the sword at his waist, the “Goose Yellow,” and in an instant, sword qi surged forth, not to be underestimated. The audacious Lü showed no fear, grinning widely to reveal a row of gleaming white teeth. He spun his hand over the hilt of his great frost-covered saber, his eyes burning with excitement, and challenged Wang to a duel—winner takes the title of the immortal master’s favored apprentice.
Wang’s face darkened, but he said nothing. For a moment, the two youths stood locked in tension. The old spy, unable to bear watching this childish squabble, was about to reprimand both equally, ready to teach the two brats a lesson. But to his surprise, the young prince instead poured oil on the fire, urging them to make a solemn vow to fight again in three years, with the outcome to be borne by fate alone. Later, in private, the old spy asked why. Xu Fengnian smiled and said he had deliberately set the two children against each other as whetstones for one another. He would not hold back from teaching them the finest sword and saber techniques in the world, and he wanted to see who would ultimately prevail in the contest between sword and saber.
As the carriage approached the border of Youzhou, Lü Yunchang heard a sound of galloping hooves unlike any heard in other provinces—singular yet unusually heavy. The boy quickly let go of the reins, leapt onto the horse’s back, and looked ahead. What he saw was a sight he would never forget: hundreds of elite riders, all mounted on white horses in white armor, bearing cool sabers and crossbows. Their horses moved in perfect unison, rising and falling in rhythm, landing in perfect synchronization. That was why, as they thundered down the road, the sound was like that of a single warhorse running. These were the famed Northern Liang horses and Xu family sabers—treasures coveted by other feudal lords of the Liyang dynasty.
Unlike the ignorant Wang Sheng, Lü Yunchang had heard much in the bustling fish-and-dragon city of Wudi. Curious by nature, he had picked up bits of knowledge about both martial and courtly affairs. As they traveled westward, he had more or less figured out the identity of this immortal young noble. Yet, as a Jianghu youth who had grown up in the back alleys of the Eastern Sea, he had never seen the scenery of the northwestern frontier, nor could he imagine the might of the Xu family cavalry. Now, seeing it with his own eyes, he finally had a vivid impression. He thought to himself that if he had just a few thousand cavalry, even the masters of Wudi city would be crushed beneath his hooves time and again. For a moment, the boy was entranced, thinking that practicing sword techniques behind closed doors was like embroidery—mere show. He would rather enlist at the border and hone a saber of true killing power.
Half of the eight hundred White Horse Righteous Cavalry (White Horse Escorts) had arrived. Upon seeing the Cool King, they dismounted and knelt in unison, hands resting on their sabers. Xu Fengnian casually scanned the ranks—most were unfamiliar faces, which was not surprising. The original personal guards had long been dispersed into various military units as trusted subordinates. Especially those White Horse Righteous Cavalry who had accompanied him to Tiemen Pass to intercept Prince Zhao Kai, many had risen to notable official positions. Though their ranks might not be high, they held real power. Some young men who had distinguished themselves in battle, like the fierce Hong Shuwen, had leapt over the dragon gate like carp, their futures bright and promising.
Xu Fengnian raised his arm slightly, signaling the White steed riding lightly (White Horse Light Cavalry) to mount and follow. They continued onward.
Xu Fengnian did not head directly to the Liangzhou feudal palace, but instead turned southward toward Lingzhou, accompanied only by Wang Sheng and Lü Yunchang. The old spy went ahead with the White Horse Righteous Cavalry into Liangzhou, then proceeded to Chu Lushan’s Fushui House to “report for duty.” Xu Fengnian’s journey was to visit a certain citrus-loving governor—Xu Beizhi—who had been lured away from the Northern Meng.
The seasons in the northwest were spring and autumn joined together, hence the saying “long winters, no summers.” It wasn’t that there was no scorching heat—when the heat came, it was often more intense than elsewhere. The land was high, the sky low, offering no refuge from the merciless sun. But now, nearing the beginning of autumn, there was still no sign of cooling winds. This climate did not agree with Lü Yunchang, who had grown listless from the change, while Wang Sheng, hardened by a life of hardship, fared better and continued his sword practice diligently.
As they traveled southward, they passed through the Huangnan Prefecture, the granary of Northern Liang, where reeds and streams stretched endlessly, and the grass was lush and green. It was both a strategic gateway to the frontier and the vital waist of the Liangxi Corridor. At this time of year, the mid-season rice and corn were ripening, the late rice was beginning to form ears, and cotton was bursting from its bolls, Fluffing (spilling fluff). The scenery was like a Jiangnan beyond the frontier, and the two youths marveled at it. As they traveled further south, the two youths drew more attention than Xu Fengnian himself. One carried a white-sheathed great saber, and the other, besides carrying a sword case on his back, had seven or eight swords strapped all over his body—not like wandering martial heroes, but more like a peddler of inferior blades.
Before entering Lingzhou city, the trio encountered a convoy traveling southward on the same road. All were mounted on tall steeds, and the carriages were especially luxurious, bearing a banner marked with the surname Liu, embroidered with a black-gold fish-dragon. For some reason, the convoy had gotten into a dispute with a group of visiting scholars. Normally, in the current Northern Liang, those who came seeking official posts were highly valued. Anyone with genuine talent was given important roles, and common folk would usually keep their distance. Yet this convoy had not hesitated to beat the well-dressed scholars until they cried out in pain, their faces twisted with hatred afterward.
Lü Yunchang, well-versed in the intricacies of the Jianghu, saw the banner and exclaimed with admiration, “Wang Mutou, open your eyes wide and look—it’s the Fish-Dragon Sect, one of the top ten martial sects in the Jianghu! Sure, it doesn’t have the refined elegance of the Spring God Lake Snowy Villa, nor the lofty prestige of the Missing Moon Pavilion atop Huishan Snowy Peak. But the Fish-Dragon Sect accepts all kinds of martial artists—whether they be ocean bandits or forest outlaws. If you’ve got skill, you can find a profitable position here. That’s why this sect is famous for its numbers and strength, and they don’t fear anyone. If any sects outside Northern Liang provoke them, even if they’re from another province, the Fish-Dragon Sect will send a hundred men under the guise of a caravan, weapons drawn, charging all the way. And even the local officials dare not utter a single word.”
Xu Fengnian remained unmoved.
Later, outside Lingzhou city, at a place called the Jiaye Granary ruins, Xu Fengnian met Governor Xu Beizhi. This granary had once been the greatest in the ancient world, rivaling only the two imperial granaries currently located in Tai’an and Guangling. The Northern Jingfeng and Southern Ganlu granaries were famed together. However, Jiaye Granary had not been used for many dynasties and had long since fallen into disrepair, its grand structure now just an empty shell.
When the current Governor Li Degong served as the Governor of Lingzhou, he had once considered restoring the granary, but no one responded, and he was left to abandon the idea. First, it required a massive sum of silver to repair. Second, transporting grain into the granary required great resolve. Third, once grain entered the official granary, the government would be saddled with a costly burden, spending silver daily to maintain it. Ordinary granaries could profit from replacing old grain with new, but once Jiaye Granary was restored, it would inevitably become a military stronghold under the watchful eye of the young feudal lord himself. Who would dare meddle with such a place? That would be tantamount to seeking death.
In this context, the newly appointed Governor Xu Beizhi insisted on rebuilding Jiaye Granary, even at the cost of draining Lingzhou’s tax revenue. To the seasoned bureaucrats of Lingzhou, the best they could say was that the governor was seeking a lasting solution; the worst was that he was chasing lofty dreams. The old foxes of Lingzhou’s bureaucracy dared not openly refuse, but they secretly placed many obstacles. If Jiaye Granary were truly rebuilt, it would cut off countless sources of illicit profit. A single granary could collect all of Lingzhou’s taxes, pay officials’ salaries and military rations, and regulate grain prices to prepare for famine relief. This would deprive the private granaries of the local gentry, who profited from disasters by manipulating grain prices. From top to bottom, officials, clerks, and servants alike worked half-heartedly, often creating obstacles to slow construction. Governor Xu, mocked as the “Grain Governor,” did not erupt in anger nor make an example of anyone. Instead, he borrowed two thousand soldiers from the Lingzhou General and requisitioned three thousand laborers from the Huangnan and Longqing prefectures under his control, effectively bypassing the traditional Lingzhou bureaucracy. He also dispatched Deputy Governor Song Yan to inspect all official granaries within Lingzhou. Upon discovering any misconduct, he did not make a big show of punishment—merely removing the corrupt officials and replacing them with clean, newly arrived scholars. As a result, the Lingzhou bureaucracy did not suffer unbearable upheaval, but a few sharp-eyed officials eventually realized the truth and began frequently visiting the previously quiet mansion of the Governor.
The Jiaye Granary was heavily guarded, and Xu Fengnian did not reveal his identity. He simply asked a young captain to deliver a message: “From the clerk of Bishan County, Yan Zhi Prefecture, Youzhou, an old acquaintance of the Governor.”
Xu Beizhi, who had been living in the ruins of Jiaye Granary for days, soon arrived. He looked even more travel-worn than the wandering Xu Fengnian. The youngest governor in Northern Liang history appeared tired but spirited. Upon seeing Xu Fengnian, he showed no surprise and simply walked beside him in silence, which startled the young captain.
The Jiaye Granary was bustling with construction activity. Xu Beizhi was seen as the biggest wastrel in Lingzhou. As he walked, he rolled up his sleeves and wiped the dust from his face, saying, “Jiaye Granary was the second-largest granary in the Qin dynasty eight hundred years ago, second only to the Luoyang Granary. Though called a granary, it was essentially a fortified city. The granary city was one and a half miles long east to west, two miles wide north to south, with over three hundred storage houses and no fewer than fifty underground cellars. But that’s not all. During the renovation, we clearly saw inscriptions on the ancient bricks detailing the sources of grain, the years they were stored, and the names and titles of the officials responsible. Every era of the Qin dynasty was recorded, nothing missing. I used to think that venerating the past and criticizing the present was a bad habit, but after coming to Jiaye Granary, I realized that sometimes the ancients simply did things better.”
Xu Fengnian smiled and said, “As people become more enlightened, it’s both good and bad. Otherwise, the ancestors of Daoism wouldn’t have proposed abandoning sages and wisdom. The saying ‘the world’s morals are declining’ will only become more common. Northern Liang has relatively few scholars, yet even they resort to all sorts of cunning tricks in officialdom. If you were in Jiangnan, where aristocratic families are deeply entrenched, you’d truly be unable to act. Here, at least, the military officers keep the civil officials in check, and the civil officials have only recently begun to rise.”
Xu Beizhi sighed deeply and said gravely, “Once Jiaye Granary is completed, and with this year’s autumn harvest across the three prefectures as a grain source, it will be sufficient to support two years of border warfare. But this is only possible if county and district officials do not embezzle grain at every level, and if the private granaries do not interfere. Otherwise, even half a year would be a luxury. Time waits for no one. If I could afford to proceed slowly, I would even allow the local gentry and grain merchants to buy grain at high prices from other provinces to fill Liangzhou’s stores. That amount of silver is nothing. Once war breaks out, not even gold and silver, not even land, would be worth as much as ready grain. But Northern Liang has enjoyed twenty years of peace, which has given these men the false confidence to act shortsightedly. It’s truly laughable. Some of the descendants of military families have even taken their families out of the province, declaring that they would rather let their granaries rot than sell even a single grain to Jiaye Granary at a high price. This reminds me of what my grandfather used to say about petty quarrels between neighbors. If one could earn one coin and the neighbor three, they would rather both earn nothing than let the neighbor gain two more.”
No matter how angry he felt inside, Xu Beizhi always spoke in a calm, indifferent tone.
Xu Fengnian stopped at the entrance of an ancient gray-tiled granary and smiled, “Let Lingzhou enjoy annoying you however they like. But I can promise you this: the autumn grain from Liangzhou and Youzhou will definitely be stored in Jiaye Granary. Those who escaped punishment during my time as Lingzhou General will now have to answer to you. From today onward, let them take their priceless antiques and treasures out of the Beiliang Circuit as much as they can carry. But not a single tael of silver or gold, not a single catty of white rice, will be allowed to leave.”
Xu Beizhi scoffed coldly, “You’re daydreaming. Do you really think you can do that? Water too clear has no fish. Don’t you know how many relatives and connections those border guards and officers have?”
Xu Fengnian shrugged helplessly, “Better than doing nothing at all, right?”
Xu Beizhi’s expression softened slightly, and he nodded. When the young feudal lord had first left Lingzhou, he had not truly touched the nerve of the Lingzhou bureaucracy. With the dual protection of being the Lingzhou General and the Heir Apparent, no one had dared to openly oppose him. But when Xu Beizhi took direct control of the snake-infested Lingzhou, he inevitably crossed the final line of the local military aristocracy. Moreover, unlike Li Degong, who was a veteran of Northern Liang, Xu Beizhi had risen to power suddenly. Even with Song Yan and the Four Wangs offering advice and support, and with the Lingzhou General standing behind him with a sword, the bureaucracy was always complex and treacherous. Laws, human sentiment, clan traditions—these conflicting rules created a tangled mess. The so-called approach of cutting through chaos with a single stroke might work temporarily, but it often left long-term damage. As Xu Beizhi worked within this system, any action he took inevitably made enemies on all sides. The case of Chen Xiliang, who had handled salt and canal affairs, was a clear warning. Chen had good solutions, but despite his strategic insight, he had hit wall after wall. Xu Beizhi thought bitterly to himself: a soft nature, always yielding, how could one stand tall in the fierce customs of Northern Liang? In Liuzhou, the fourth prefecture of the refugee lands, even though Chen Xiliang had successfully defended the city against nearly ten thousand horse bandits, he had still earned the reputation of being indecisive and overly merciful. Even if he had the chance to govern a region in the future, he would never make a mark in local governance.
Xu Fengnian suddenly asked, “Has the Fish-Dragon Sect been violating any border trade regulations?”
Xu Beizhi replied, “We have spies watching them. Since no reports have reached my desk, I assume there have been no violations.”
After a pause, Xu Beizhi frowned and asked, “Have they overstepped their boundaries?”
Xu Fengnian shook his head, “Not yet.”
Xu Beizhi said calmly, “That woman surnamed Liu has not yet visited me, probably to avoid suspicion. But a woman who acts so cautiously is only fit to lead a second-rate sect within a single prefecture. She’ll never hold steady the helm of a top-tier martial sect.”
Xu Fengnian chuckled, “It’s not her fault. She’s been through a lot. She was meant to be an ordinary Jianghu heroine.”
Xu Beizhi suddenly said, “Since you’re back alive, why haven’t you returned to Qingliang Mountain yet? I’ve already prepared the birch rods for you.”
Xu Fengnian grimaced, “Even if I go with birch rods, my second sister won’t forgive me.”
Xu Beizhi showed no attempt to hide his schadenfreude.
Then Xu Beizhi ordered a large portion of food for the Northern Liang King, who had not yet eaten. Jiaye Granary treated everyone equally—pickled vegetables with steamed buns. Xu Beizhi and Xu Fengnian squatted to eat. Lü Yunchang, Heroic spirit soaring to the clouds (with heroic spirit reaching the clouds), sat cross-legged with his saber beside him, and asked for a jar of the famous Northern Liang green-ant wine. He ended up coughing it out, his face red. Wang Sheng, with his sword case strapped to his back and seven or eight swords tied to his body, couldn’t squat, so he stood.
Xu Beizhi smiled and asked, “Are these your apprentices?”
Xu Fengnian nodded.
Lü Yunchang grinned and said, “This official of Lingzhou, my name is Lü Yunchang, from the Wudi City of the Eastern Sea. I am the master’s first apprentice. I hope the honorable official will take care of me in the future.”
Xu Beizhi listened to the boy’s refined speech and simply smiled.
Wang Sheng snorted.
Xu Fengnian smiled, “They’re the second and third apprentices. The eldest is a shepherd boy, currently still with Xu Yanbing.”
Lü Yunchang’s eyes widened, “What? Wang Sheng isn’t even the eldest apprentice? Master immortal, then what’s the point of me and Wang fighting in three years? We’re just competing to be second best. That’s boring.”
Xu Fengnian said calmly, “Drink your wine.”
The boy obediently drank, showing proper respect for his master.
Xu Beizhi asked softly, “What’s the word from Guangling Circuit?”
Xu Fengnian replied calmly, “It’ll be soon.”
Xu Beizhi sighed, “Once the smoke rises, does that mean the last ray of light for someone in the Liyang imperial court has arrived?”
Xu Fengnian’s expression remained blank as he nodded, “The old must go before the new can come.”
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