In the northwestern frontier of Beiliang, there had always been the fastest swords, the strongest crossbows, the finest horses, and the fiercest wines under heaven. Unfortunately, a few years ago, the region had yet to produce the greatest martial expert. Wu Dang’s Hong Xixiang had been a fleeting phenomenon, and Li Chungan, who rose from the East, was not truly a native of Beiliang. At that time, Chen Zhibao and Xu Yanbing had not yet appeared on the martial rankings. It was only with the emergence of the new King of Beiliang, Xu Fengnian, that the situation changed. He first entered the martial rankings, and later beheaded Wang Xianzhi within Beiliang’s territory. The martial world of Liyang firmly believed that the rise of the Yu Long Sect was merely a whimsical stroke by Xu, just like when the young prince once lavishly spent fortunes to court courtesans; now he merely shifted his attention to teasing the martial world.
As Xu Fengnian rose to prominence both in the realm and the martial circles of Liyang, the most dramatic transformation was not within the Beiliang border forces, nor in the imperial court of Liyang, but among the people of Liangzhou who had once personally witnessed the prince’s dissolute behavior. For instance, the brothels where he drank, the shops where he gave silver, even the fortune-tellers who shaved their heads and claimed to be monks or donned Taoist robes and called themselves immortals, all swore they had seen the extraordinary potential of the new King of Beiliang from the start. Especially the madams of the brothels who had once hosted Xu Fengnian and his companion Li Hanlin, they wished to enshrine every room and chair the young prince had touched. The women who had once the honor of accompanying these young lords now saw their value skyrocket.
The only slight regret was that, after Xu Fengnian inherited the title of King of Beiliang, he never again visited any of the pleasure quarters of the city. As for the group of young aristocrats in Liangzhou who had once been beaten by the King, they now walked the streets with their eyes fixed high above, each claiming to have already fought against the strongest in the world, daring anyone to claim they were true martial men. Could any of you ever have faced any of the top ten martial experts?
Though the world had heard how the King of Beiliang had slain Wang Laoguai, who had dominated the martial world for sixty years, these were merely rumors. Few truly understood how the new Martial Emperor had become invincible. Thus, when news spread that two figures would appear at the Dansheng Arena in the northeast corner of Liangzhou, the city emptied as crowds rushed to witness it.
The Dansheng Arena had long served as proof of the prince’s eccentric behavior. Built at great expense, it was specially constructed for martial contests. In the heart of Liangzhou, where mansions stood shoulder to shoulder and land was worth its weight in gold, the arena stretched five hundred zhang in both length and width. From the heights of Qingliang Mountain, one could clearly see this oddly empty space. It was said that the imaginative young prince, after drinking tea at the governor’s mansion for half a month, finally forced the governor to risk his head by diverting 400,000 taels of military funds to construct the arena.
Over the years, Dansheng Arena had been filled with minor martial artists performing flashy displays, with no true top-tier experts gracing its grounds. Even second-tier masters were reluctant to show off there. Eventually, it became a playground for noble children, ideal for flying kites and playing on hobbyhorses. But this time, it seemed serious. With the arrival of a hundred riders from the Wu Clan, the King of Beiliang was to personally duel an unknown swordsman over a hundred years old.
Rumors spread wildly among the crowds heading to the arena. Some claimed the old swordsman with snow-white eyebrows reaching his knees was the head of the Wu Clan’s Sword Tomb. Others insisted he was the one who had once defeated four of Wang Xianzhi’s top disciples, including Lin Ya and Yu Xinlang, with a single sword strike in the Martial Emperor City. Some even said the King agreed to the duel merely to please a beauty, and the change of venue from the palace to Dansheng Arena was due to a certain queen’s wise household management, fearing damage to the Tingchao Pavilion from the fighting. As the old swordsman with a single arm and long eyebrows arrived first at Dansheng Arena, the King of Beiliang did not appear immediately but arrived later in a modest carriage, giving the informed citizens ample time to gather and watch.
Sui Xiegu, the old swordsman, stood at the upper left corner of the arena, his snow-white eyebrows fluttering in the wind. He calmly ran two fingers along one of his eyebrows, showing no sign of tension. He ignored the dense crowd outside the arena, his expression calm, though inwardly he could not help but feel moved. He had thought he could suppress his urge to fight, but seeing that young man again made it hard to remain calm. This would be his final battle, challenging the strongest in the world. Indeed, he was the only one worthy of it. Not that Xu Fengnian was necessarily stronger than Deng Ta’a’s sword or Toba Pusa’s fists, but Sui Xiegu had lived over a hundred years without a name in the martial world. Now, nearing the end of his life, he wished for a grand, world-renowned final battle. Regardless of victory or defeat, he wanted the martial world to know there had once been an old man named Sui, who had exchanged arms with Li Chungan and devoured countless swords.
Just as the two stood poised for battle, a young girl entered their view, unknowingly diffusing the intense killing intent between them. Sui Xiegu took the opportunity to suggest a more visible location for their fight. Xu Fengnian, after a moment’s thought, named Dansheng Arena in Liangzhou, and Sui Xiegu had no objection.
Inside a carriage, eyes wide with anticipation, Xu Fengnian rested the ancient sword Shudao across his lap. Wang Chudong, one of the future consorts of Beiliang and a renowned literary figure, gazed at him with admiration. She studied the man she had fallen for at first sight, her face glowing with emotion.
She hesitated, then softly asked, “Was my appearance inappropriate?”
Xu Fengnian smiled gently, reaching out to ruffle her hair. “You’re always my timely rain.”
Wang Chudong tilted her head, puzzled.
He explained, “A life-or-death duel with Master Sui at Tingchao Lake would have too many constraints, making me hesitate.”
She frowned, waving her fists angrily. “Why do these aged martial elders always want to fight you? They should know better!”
Xu Fengnian chuckled. “It can’t be helped. Even in decades to come, I’ll still be generations behind them. One year more, one less.”
He ran his hand over the ancient hilt of Shudao, sighing. “In the martial world, ultimately, it’s all about seeking freedom. With no second place, there’s always fighting. I’m lucky. Wang Xianzhi had it worse. In that sixty-year span, someone from the capital named Xie wanted to trap him in the Martial Emperor City by the Eastern Sea, and Wang himself didn’t wish to leave. So he stayed, waiting for challenges for over sixty years, nearly 1,400 fights. Just thinking about it makes me tired for him.”
Wang Chudong hesitated, then softly asked, “Why didn’t you bring Lu Cieshang with you?”
Xu Fengnian paused, at a loss for words. He had never even considered it. He always felt she should be in the courtyard of Qingliang Mountain, day after day, year after year, living in mutual respect.
Wang Chudong was simple, but not foolish. Her novel, *The First Snow*, captured the essence of love. Precisely because of her innocent heart could she strike at the heart of others. She lowered her head. “Am I just a crying child who gets candy? Lu Cieshang is more understanding, so you easily forget her. I think that’s not right.”
Xu Fengnian remained silent.
At her words, he recalled many small things. He remembered promising to take her on a tour of Beiliang, to play a few rounds of Go together, to take her to the mountains to ring a hundred and eight bells. These promises had mostly been offhand remarks at the time. After she “married into” Beiliang, handling affairs in the Wutong Courtyard with decisiveness, Xu Fengnian had unconsciously come to see Lu Chengyan as a capable partner in great endeavors, silently treating her as the kind of virtuous wife who never complained. And Lu Chengyan, after coming to Beiliang, had indeed conducted herself with grace and precision. Perhaps, as Wang Chudong had said, Lu Chengyan was a “non-crying” extraordinary woman.
Xu Fengnian felt a bit dazed, suddenly recalling their first meeting on the Spring God Lake. She had been warm, slightly pragmatic and worldly. Perhaps because of that, Xu Fengnian had never felt particularly attached to her, his heart even less drawn to her than to the girl who had chosen to stay at the Shangyin Academy, cradling a cat.
He smiled faintly. “If I can withstand the northern cavalry’s invasion, I will fulfill every promise I made to her.”
Within the private courtyard of the Beiliang Prince’s Mansion on Qingliang Mountain, a dimly lit room housed a young woman whose fate had been foretold by a fortune-teller to be perfectly matched with Xu Fengnian’s.
She quietly lit a green lamp.
This was the second time she had lit the wick.
The first was when Wang Xianzhi entered Beiliang.
This time, it was because Sui Xiegu had issued a challenge.
The lamp was called *Hu Ming*.
To exchange my life for his.
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