Chapter 614: Lights

Under the cover of night, Xu Fengnian walked alone toward the Yellow Crane Tower atop Qingliang Mountain. The mansion gates still bore the same white couplets, and the lanterns within were all of pure white frames. This grand and solemn estate had long lost its festive spirit since the passing of the old master. It wasn’t until the entire Beiliang Circuit learned of the young prince’s decisive victory over Wang Xianzhi of Wudi City that the atmosphere at Qingliang Mountain took a dramatic turn. Many anxious hearts finally relaxed, shifting from restless anticipation to serene calm, and the gloom that had hung over the Beiliang Prince’s Mansion dissipated like morning mist.

After entering the estate, Xu Fengnian did not head toward the Wutong Courtyard, where he had spent his entire youth. Instead, he spent a long time in the cold, austere chamber of Xu Xiao. Two upright clothing racks still held the old-style Beiliang King’s robe and a battle-worn general’s armor. Outsiders would naturally assume that Xu Xiao valued the armor more, for after all, the “Butcher of Men” had climbed to the peak of power through military exploits. But few knew that the man had not looked down upon the royal robe, as many outsiders mistakenly believed. Xu Fengnian understood this well. Xu Xiao did not care for the robe as a symbol of princely status, but rather for the merit it represented—the merit of “restoring the Zhao dynasty,” which many courtiers now conveniently chose to forget.

In the early days, Liyang had been but a barbarian kingdom in the north, fragmented and embroiled in internal strife while rival warlords vied for dominance. No one, not even the great central kingdoms like Chu, had considered Liyang a serious threat. It was Xu Xiao who, by marching south into the Two Liao regions, forcibly stabilized the dynasty for the late emperor, ending internal conflicts and laying the foundation for the subsequent Spring and Autumn Campaigns. This was why many Zhao aristocrats held such complex feelings toward Xu Xiao—those loyal to the late emperor, though they rarely spoke up for him openly after peace was restored, at least refrained from betraying him. However, most of these old warriors had suffered wounds in countless battles and thus passed away earlier than the more fortunate members of the royal family who had never seen combat. Their descendants, often at odds with the current emperor and the prime minister Biyan’er, were unable to rise in rank. Coupled with deep-seated divisions within the royal clan itself, this faction of so-called “Dragon’s descendants” had been barely surviving. Thus, when the southern campaign against Xichu began, they were completely left out, replaced instead by a new generation of young nobles who followed veteran generals southward to seize glory—just as their fathers and grandfathers had done before them. Such was their family tradition, honed through generations of practice.

Xu Fengnian slowly ascended the mountain path, pausing halfway to gaze at the faint lights of Liangzhou city below. One light would extinguish, only for another to flicker to life elsewhere. All was peaceful and serene.

He turned and continued climbing. During his journey back to Beiliang, the Fushui Bureau had been sending him concise intelligence reports. Among them was news that Lu Shengxiang, the vice minister of war who had failed in his coup attempt and remained in his post, was stationed at Youlu Pass. More importantly, a large force led by veteran generals Yang Shenxing and Yan Zhenchun—heroes of the Spring and Autumn Wars—had joined Youlu Pass to form three sharp prongs aimed directly at Xichu. These forces coordinated with the various Princes of Pacification or heirs like Zhao Zhu, forming a seemingly impenetrable encirclement around Xichu.

Xu Fengnian sneered coldly. Besides the symbolic act of “killing the rooster to scare the chicken,” hadn’t the Zhao emperor also harbored the despicable intention of diverting the crisis onto Prince Yan’s shoulders? In the east, Prince Guangling Zhao Yi held firm. In the west, Prince Huainan Zhao Ying, who sought death, and Prince Jing’an Zhao Xun, whose intentions were murky, ensured that even if these two were eliminated, Xichu could not push westward. To the northwest, the Beiliang cavalry stood watch, while to the west, the former kingdom of Xishu, now ruled by Chen Zhibao, was nearly impenetrable—“Shu roads are harder than ascending the heavens.” To the south, Prince Yan Zhao Bing commanded a vast territory. This was in fact a second, more concealed and tighter encirclement. Yet for now, only the lackadaisical Zhao Zhu guarded the south with a small cavalry force. With such a vast southern frontier, if Xichu could not advance northward, their only hope lay in pushing south.

Among the great princes, Zhao Yi, who actually held military authority, was the emperor’s own brother and stationed in Guangling, so the emperor had little need to scheme against him. Beiliang, flanked by the Beiman to the north and Xishu to the south, was already hemmed in. Thus, only Zhao Bing remained as a target for suppression. In the past, the court’s efforts to reduce the power of the feudal lords had always focused on Beiliang, with Xu Xiao as the scapegoat. Now that Xu Xiao was gone, it was Zhao Bing’s turn to face the emperor’s distant but sharp gaze.

A new secret letter from Taian City reported that Zhang Julu, after his initial proposal was rejected, had offered a revised strategy: using the Xichu campaign to train troops while simultaneously consolidating military control. This plan also dealt a heavy blow to Gu Jiantang, who had reluctantly abandoned the Gu Lu faction. Any local military force showing signs of defiance would be openly reassigned to the Xichu front. Once the war turned into a stalemate, these forces would be thrown into battle—thousands would die, and thousands more would follow. The Gu Lu faction, with its military disciples spread across the land, was naturally the first to suffer. With Zhang Julu still unwilling to relent, the faction was on the brink of collapse.

If Gu Jiantang had remained in the capital, overseeing military affairs in person, perhaps this decree would have faced some resistance. But now, with Gu Jiantang holding the title of Grand Pillar and commanding the northern military, Zhang Julu had subtly maneuvered against the last surviving of the Spring and Autumn Four Great Generals. In the court, Zhang loudly advocated that only Gu Jiantang himself leading the southern campaign could pacify the Xichu rebels, elevating the old minister to a near-mythical status—“a single man equals a nation.”

In such a situation, if Gu Jiantang did not submit a secret memorial to atone for his supposed negligence, he would be considered bold indeed—let alone dare to plead for his disciples?

This was Biyan’er’s usual brand of open manipulation—always for the good of the nation, never a trace of personal interest. Zhang Julu’s mastery of balance was relentless. The endless conflicts between civil and military officials, the earlier struggles between imperial relatives and eunuchs, the resurgence of factional disputes across the land, and even infighting among political factions—all unfolded silently under his watchful gaze. If Wang Xianzhi was the “Unrivaled in Martial,” then Zhang Julu was the more cunning and calculating “Unrivaled in Civil.”

Take, for example, the Ministry of Personnel, the head of the Six Ministries. Time and again, it had shifted between Yu Lian and Zhao Youling, a former disciple of Zhang’s faction. To outsiders, it seemed like childish games, but in truth, it was all decided by Zhang Julu alone. Under his watchful eye, anyone who overstepped their bounds was forced to pack up and leave.

If Zhao Youling was Biyan’er’s student, naturally lacking in confidence, then consider the old patriarch of the Jiangxin Yu clan—Yu Jiankang, father of Yu Lian. He was a fellow disciple of Zhang Julu’s mentor and the former Xichu scholar Sun Xiji. He was the arbiter of the nation’s aristocratic rankings, the one who had initiated the great northern migration during the Hongjia era. With a mere stroke of his brush, a family could rise to prominence or fall into ruin. The entire entrenched Jiangnan scholar-official class, including the Lus, led by Lu Daolin and Lu Baijie, and the Longxiang General Xu Gong of the Gumu Xu clan, all followed his lead. Yet, for all these years, Zhang Julu had never shown the old man the slightest courtesy.

Unconsciously, Xu Fengnian reached the mountaintop. Below the tower stood a stone table and benches—but to his surprise, someone was already there. Bai Huerlian, who had borrowed the Spring Dragon and Autumn Snake swords and never given a proper explanation, was waiting. Xu Fengnian sat across from him. On the table were numerous bottles of Lüyi wine, and two cups—clearly meant for him.

Bai Huerlian said mockingly, “The four realms of the First Rank—you’ve achieved all four false stages. That’s certainly unprecedented, past or future. That impresses me more than your killing Wang Xianzhi.”

Xu Fengnian smiled, “If you’re impressed, then it’s worth it.”

For once, Bai Huerlian poured him a cup of wine, pushed it forward, and asked, “Have you ever considered that Huang Longshi stirred up the martial world, only to use Han Shengxuan and you to finish it? Try counting—how many First Rank experts have died by the hands of the Cat and you? Twenty? In any previous century, how many First Rank experts were there? At most, that many?”

Xu Fengnian raised his cup with a self-deprecating smile, then downed it in one go. Shaking his head, he reached for another bottle, saying, “Never thought of it.”

Bai Huerlian tossed him the bottle. “I promised Master Li to help you once. You also killed Wang Xianzhi, my enemy. That means I, Nan Gong Pusha, now owe you twice. But beforehand, I must go to the last floor of Tingchao Pavilion to read a book. Then I will head north to Beiman. If I survive, then my promise will be fulfilled.”

Xu Fengnian asked, “Looking for Tuoba Pusa’s trouble?”

Bai Huerlian nodded.

Xu Fengnian sighed, “One Wang Xianzhi, one Tuoba Pusa—what kind of grudge could that be? You, a woman…”

Bai Huerlian interrupted coldly, “I am a man!”

Xu Fengnian smiled. Arguing with a woman was never logical. But Bai Huerlian likely believed himself a real man—or perhaps he truly was, though his ambiguous nature was akin to the androgynous Murong Tonghuang who had long fled to Beiman.

Bai Huerlian tilted his head back and drank heartily, teasing, “If you were a woman, I would really marry you.”

Xu Fengnian had no reply.

Suddenly, Bai Huerlian said, “Before, I thought there were endless martial experts to kill and heads to sever. But now that you’ve taken the lead, I find it all meaningless. In the end, is it only a final duel with you that will fulfill my life?”

Xu Fengnian choked on his wine, exasperated, “Have a little conscience, will you?”

Bai Huerlian pressed the bottle against half his face, smirking, “You mean ‘the worst poison is a woman’s heart’?”

Xu Fengnian, recalling his first journey through the martial world—where the only true expert he had met was this very man—still felt a lingering unease, even now when the world was full of fighters.

Glancing at Bai Huerlian’s chest, Xu Fengnian thought to himself: Just a quick peek—surely even a woman who tried to hide her charms couldn’t escape the “Prosperous Peace” view, right?

Bai Huerlian smiled sweetly, “You want to die?”

Xu Fengnian said flatly, “I wasn’t raised to be scared. Even if I’ve lost Gao Shulü’s physique and most of my spiritual energy, killing me still won’t be easy.”

Bai Huerlian raised an eyebrow, “Oh? You’ve really grown up.”

Suddenly, Xu Fengnian leapt backward three or four zhang with the wine bottle, shouting furiously, “Bai Huerlian, you really flip your temper that fast?!”

Bai Huerlian narrowed his eyes, murder glinting within.

Xu Fengnian sighed, then waved toward the mountain path. Wangsheng came running up, face flushed, still carrying the sword case and Bondage famous swords in that ridiculous manner. Bowing his head, he explained, “Master, I couldn’t sleep, so I came here.”

Xu Fengnian nodded, then turned to Bai Huerlian, “When are you leaving for Beiman?”

Bai Huerlian replied calmly, “At least three months, at most half a year.”

Xu Fengnian smiled, “Then take my second disciple, Wangsheng.”

Bai Huerlian nodded without refusal.

After getting his answer, Xu Fengnian said softly, “Go back and sleep early.”

The tall, dark-skinned girl silently turned and left.

Bai Huerlian looked at Xu Fengnian, who had sat back down, frowning, “Such a fine jade—will you really just let her go?”

Xu Fengnian shook his head, “Staying with me won’t help her grow. Martial cultivation without trials is wasted. Without walking through the gates of death a few times, even the greatest talent is wasted.”

Bai Huerlian kept watching him.

Xu Fengnian said awkwardly, “You can probably see it too—this girl either follows your path, becoming a man of unstoppable momentum, or she’ll be out of place in Beiliang, becoming a delicate, gentle girl with only grace, not strength. Ordinary girls might manage that, but it doesn’t fit Wangsheng’s nature. Among my three disciples, I have the highest hopes for her. But I can’t say it out loud. If I did, she, with her sensitivity far exceeding Lü Yunchang’s, might collapse under the pressure. If she travels with you through Beiliang to Beiman, the unique vigor of the borderlands will charge her spirit directly—far more effective than any teaching or secret manual.”

Xu Fengnian rotated his wine cup and smiled, “Of the three, Yudi Long stays with me—I don’t trust him otherwise. Lü Yunchang will be sent to the Yulong Gang for a while, then thrown to the border. As for Wangsheng—she goes with you.”

He turned his gaze northward beyond Beiliang, murmuring, “I’ve been to Beiman. I know its vast skies and open lands. And there, a certain person forged their sword.”

Bai Huerlian looked at this man not yet thirty, who had stumbled through the martial world with a saber, all for revenge. Now, he was riding northward—what for?

Xu Fengnian suddenly slapped his forehead and ran down the mountain.

Bai Huerlian sneered. What else could that guy be in such a hurry for, if not the Wutong Courtyard, full of charming beauties?

Indeed, Xu Fengnian was heading to the Wutong Courtyard, but not for any base reason. The two future concubines of Qingliang Mountain—Wang Chudong, a literary genius second only to his second sister, had gone to lecture at a Liangzhou academy. Meanwhile, Lu Chengyan, burdened by her troublesome family, had to stay behind to accumulate merit for the Lu clan, as if making amends. Even Xu Weinian had once mentioned that Xu Fengnian should visit the courtyard and see the pitiful young bride, now unwelcome in both her husband’s and her mother-in-law’s homes.

Entering the courtyard, where lamps burned all night long, Xu Fengnian felt a pang of sorrow. He thought of the clever maids like Lüyi, trapped in their own cold, heartless martial world of schemes and betrayals. There was no room for passion or righteousness—only cold calculation.

He did not rush into the house. Instead, he looked around the familiar courtyard, its lights like daylight. The laughter of young women lingered in his ears. He wondered if they had truly been happy, year after year, playing and quarreling here.

Tonight, Lu Chengyan and a third-tier maid named Xiangge were on duty reviewing documents. There were three desks, mountains of paperwork. Xiangge, who had grown up in Wutong Courtyard, was deeply focused on a brush pen called Shihuan, known for its even ink flow. She hesitated over a document, her brush hovering, unaware that ink had already stained her face in various shades. Beside her was a new face—Junqiu, a girl carefully selected by his second sister. She handled simpler documents and, upon noticing Xu Fengnian’s presence, nearly jumped up to bow formally. Xiangge also noticed, but Xu Fengnian motioned for silence and quietly approached the innermost desk.

There, a young woman unfamiliar to him slept over her work. Her slender shoulders rose and fell with soft snores. He saw the neatly stacked, fully reviewed documents. She had her arms folded over an untouched report—regarding the secret large-scale personnel changes in Liuzhou, relocating refugees into fertile lands in Lingzhou and placing out-of-province scholars into official posts in Liuzhou.

Xu Fengnian quietly pulled up a chair beside her. He studied this woman he had long kept at arm’s length. She wore a modest floral robe, far simpler than the layered silks of Jiangnan. A light green coat hung on the chair—she had forgotten to wear it while falling asleep. He carefully took it and draped it over her.

He knew this was the daughter of the Lu family, beloved and admired by the former Grand Chancellor Lu Feichi. Lu Chengyan was clever—she understood that from Xu Xiao to Xu Weinian and even himself, the Xu family favored Wang Chudong over her. Yet, this woman, who had never shown a hint of bitterness, had once drawn her sword in front of the Lu clan’s ancestral hall, ready to kill. Not only the Lu elders, but even her own father likely disapproved. After all, a married daughter was like spilled water—but this one had poured herself entirely into the Xu family, giving nothing to her birth clan. Anyone would mutter in disapproval. So why did she marry into the Xu family? Why did the Lu clan endure so much hardship to settle in this barren land, if not to enjoy a little fortune?

Sitting beside Lu Chengyan, Xu Fengnian began personally reviewing documents. At one point, the maid Xiangge tiptoed over and whispered that Lu Chengyan had asked to be woken in half an hour. Xu Fengnian waved her off.

Late into the night, only the sound of brush strokes on rice paper remained.

The new maid Junqiu occasionally turned to steal glances at the young man, the pinnacle of worldly wealth and power.

When the sky outside turned pale with dawn, Xu Fengnian had finished all the documents. Silently, he left the Wutong Courtyard.

Junqiu had not slept all night.

Again and again, she stole glances, unable to understand how this charming young prince could have killed the hundred-year-old monster of Wudi City.

Xiangge, who had been silent all night, threw a wad of paper at the reckless girl, who playfully stuck out her tongue.

When Lu Chengyan finally stirred awake, Xu Fengnian had already left the city for the border.

She only saw that the mountain of paperwork on her desk had vanished.