The Jianghu was bustling with activity.
Huishan Mountain suddenly sent out hundreds of invitations to the entire martial world, widely inviting heroes from all over to gather at the Crescent Moon Pavilion on the towering Snowy Terrace. Hardly anyone questioned or mocked this move, for although the fists of Huishan’s newly emerged Purple Robe might not be large, they were undeniably formidable. Legends told that she had once been a guest of honor at the court of the young Prince of Xinliang, only to later part ways with him. Her interception of Wang Xianzhi on the great river was an undisputed feat of bravery—nearly losing her life, she had gained fortune from misfortune and reached the Heaven-Reflecting Realm. After her recent retreat into seclusion, who could say whether she had ascended to the realm of a terrestrial immortal? Further fueling the fire, rumor-mongers claimed that Prince Zhao Zhuang had secretly traveled south and shared a hidden, thrilling tale with this woman clad in purple during his incognito journey.
Huishan, already teeming with visitors, now saw an endless stream of climbers shoulder to shoulder. Seasoned old hands of the Jianghu began counting on their fingers which sects and factions had already arrived. For example, Wu Shizhen, the young Taoist master of Qing Yang Palace on Qingcheng Mountain, had taken residence in one of Huishan’s guesthouses. Meanwhile, Yu Chi Liangfu, the lord of Kuai Xue Manor, had brought his beloved daughter Yu Chi Duquan, who was making her debut in the martial world. The new leader of the knife sect rising in the northern region of Liao Xi had boldly made his way up Gu Niu Peak. The young princess of the Southern Frontier’s Dragon Palace, Lin Hongyuan, had also made a grand entrance. The new mistress of Xichu’s Chun Tie Cao Tang, who was also the reigning beauty on the “Beauty’s List”—the one known as Xie Xie—was seen by many men as a celestial being. Yet, given her rumored ties to the King of Shu, Chen Zhibao, no one dared to provoke trouble.
Even Longhu Mountain, Huishan’s centuries-old neighbor, had sent its new Heavenly Master, Zhao Ningshen, personally out of the Celestial Master’s Mansion to attend the grand gathering on the Snowy Terrace. These elusive, near-mythical figures were usually impossible to encounter by chance, yet now they all appeared in droves, leaving the common spectators—those not privileged enough to be guests at the Crescent Moon Pavilion—exclaiming in delight, convinced that the small fortune they had spent to travel here was well worth it. Besides the major factions like Longhu Mountain, Chun Tie Cao Tang, and Kuai Xue Manor, which were among the newly ranked Top Ten Sects, many older martial sects that had long held sway in their respective provinces also sent their most prominent representatives. Even the famously wealthy but perpetually impoverished-sounding beggars’ and boatmen’s guilds dispatched their most influential figures to Huishan, none absent, some already leisurely climbing the mountain to enjoy its scenery, while others were still on their way.
In addition, countless wandering martial elders and reclusive heroes all considered receiving an invitation a great honor. Take for example the so-called “Central Plains Sword Hero” Fan Qingsong, already ninety years old, with half his body already in the grave, yet still gritting his teeth and risking his life to make the journey to Huishan. As for the young newcomers who had earned their reputations in the Jianghu only in recent years, each was brimming with pride and confidence, dressed in the finest clothes, riding the best horses, and wielding the finest weapons. Those with handsome features tried to appear as elegant and otherworldly as possible, while those less fortunate in looks did their best to stand out regardless. They understood even better than the old masters that appearances mattered greatly when traveling abroad, prompting many senior martial elders to sigh with nostalgia—indeed, the younger generation surges forward like waves, while the older ones can only watch helplessly as they are left behind on the beach.
Interestingly, very few women had received invitations this time. The female heroes and fairies of the martial world were few and far between. However, Huishan’s lack of invitation did not mean they would willingly miss this once-in-a-century gathering. Those with strong connections traveled alongside major sects, while those not yet familiar to the eyes of sect leaders still refused to lose face. They would at least rally their devoted admirers to foot the bill, willingly becoming their fools. These mostly beautiful women, openly or secretly, vied for attention and admiration, adding countless topics of conversation to the tea breaks and idle chats around Huishan.
Coming to Huishan to witness the martial immortals was one thing, but finding a place to sleep was a real challenge. Every habitable spot in the surrounding towns and villages was packed. Inns were full, and even post stations and private homes were being rented out for silver. Now, the neighbors around Huishan were daily arguing over whose guest was the more authentic martial expert. For a time, all sorts of people from the three teachings and nine sects gathered here, and not all were virtuous. Some villains and opportunists tried to take advantage of the chaos, but they were driven away or even killed on the spot by Huishan’s guest masters responsible for patrolling the mountain. Among them, a few “river dragons” with official backing dared to defy the law, only to be personally dealt with by the senior guest master Huang Fangfo, who showed no mercy. Afterward, from the county magistrate to the governor and even the regional inspector, not a single person came to claim the bodies. It was only then that the Jianghu first recognized Huishan’s hidden strength.
Thousands of martial artists pushed their way up Huishan, each trying to reach a higher place. Even being seen at the Sword-Relinquishing Stele was considered a great fortune. After all, the martial world has always been a path of climbing ever upward. Some stopped at the foot of the mountain, others struggled halfway up the slope, only to watch the backs of those who continued climbing. As the lucky few ascended ever higher, the crowd thinned, until those who reached the summit could only smile secretly to themselves while jokingly muttering, “It’s lonely at the top.”
Even though the martial arts convention was still three days away, the mountain was already filled with visitors, and the paths up were packed. Impatient souls began cursing, and the cries of children echoed through the crowd.
Temporary tea stalls and wine stands had been hastily erected at the foot of Huishan to allow travelers to rest. Not far away, a ferry dock saw over a hundred boats of all sizes traveling between Huishan and Longhu Mountain.
Inside the tea and wine pavilions, loud voices filled the air, each boasting and debating the departed heroes of the world. One particularly flamboyantly dressed martial artist toasted each name he mentioned. Among those he named were the two successive abbots of Wudang Mountain, Wang Chonglou and Hong Xixiang; the sword-obsessed Wang Xiaoping, who never laid down his blade even in death; the “Cat Man” Han Shengxuan, who was unbeatable below the level of a terrestrial immortal; the monk Longshu of Liang Chan Temple; Song Nianqing of Dongyue Sword Pond; the ailing “Black Tiger” Yang Tai sui; Tie Ren, the sword-forging master from Xishu; Xie Lingzhen of Chun Tie Cao Tang; and the grandfather-grandson and father-son duo, Xuan Yuan Da Pan and Xuan Yuan Jing Cheng; the two Heavenly Masters of Longhu Mountain who ascended together; and, of course, the old Sword God, Li Chungan, and above all, Wang Xianzhi. Finally, he lamented the fate of Lu Bai Jie, the once-promising “Sword Immortal of Tangxi,” who had become a minister of war and even given away his sword.
At the next table, a clear-eyed and delicate-featured child nestled in the warm embrace of his elegant mother. His father, smiling, sipped his wine slowly. On the table lay an ancient longsword exuding a palpable aura of sword energy. By his demeanor, he was clearly no ordinary martial artist. The child’s voice was crisp and pleasant as he gazed with curiosity at the wine-soaked, heroic man and asked, “Excuse me, Uncle, is it really true that after the death of Wang Xianzhi of Wu Di City, the King of Beiliang has become the number one martial artist in the world? My elders said that after his fight with Wang Xianzhi, his cultivation level surely plummeted. Could he still defeat the Northern Martial God, Tuoba Pusa?”
Children’s words, innocent and unguarded, never bore anyone.
The man, having just finished a cup of wine, wiped his mouth and laughed heartily. As he was about to pour another, he found the jug empty. Just as he was about to ask the innkeeper for more, the child’s father extended a finger and lightly tapped the neck of an unopened wine jar on his own table. The jar spun gracefully and landed precisely in front of the man. The wine-serving technique was not magical, but the unknown swordsman’s mastery of force was peerless—so refined that the jar seemed to root itself to the table upon landing. Clearly, this was a martial artist at least at the level of a minor master of the second rank. The man nodded in thanks, poured himself a bowl of wine, and drank it in one gulp before saying cheerfully, “Young Master, I, Wang Bo Po, am no idle braggart. I only speak of what I know for certain. Whether the young King of Beiliang’s cultivation has risen or fallen, I cannot say. But I do know that after his battle with Wang Xianzhi, the current head of the Wu Clan Sword Tomb personally emerged from seclusion and made a trip to the border of Youzhou, unleashing the Fourteenth Sword, yet still failed to stop the young King of Beiliang. Now, another old sword master, who has never appeared in the Jianghu, has gone to Liangzhou. I suspect there will soon be another earth-shaking, heaven-moving duel.”
The child shook his head, “I’m not a young swordsman—not yet, at least. My father said I can’t travel the Jianghu alone until I come of age. My mother has already given me over ten grand titles, but like my New Year’s red envelopes, I can only save them up. Sigh, why does growing up have to be so hard?”
The entire tavern erupted in laughter, delighted by the child’s innocence. The woman playfully tapped her son’s head, while the swordsman looked on with a mixture of tenderness, affection, and pride—the universal expression of a father watching his child.
The child continued in his childish tone, “I really admire the King of Beiliang. One day, I’m going to become his disciple!”
The man couldn’t help but tease, “Then you’ll have to see if ‘Master’ is willing to take you on.”
The child paused, then pounded his chest, “My father said I’m a prodigy, a once-in-a-century martial genius. If I had been born sixty years earlier, I could have sparred with Old Master Qi of Longhu Mountain! If the King of Beiliang doesn’t take me as a disciple, then he’s truly… truly… Mother, what’s that phrase again?”
The woman gently replied, “A pearl cast into darkness.”
Laughter filled the room again, while the child’s father smiled helplessly.
The tavern was filled with the warm and joyful banter between the man and the child. Suddenly, a commotion outside drew attention, and someone rushed in shouting, “The young Lü Zu, the wandering immortal Qi Xian Xia, has returned from the ferry and is now climbing the mountain!”
Not only this tavern, but nearly seven or eight of the nearby tea stalls emptied as people rushed out. The child merely pouted, not yet impressed enough to leave his seat. He leaned on the table, watching his father sip wine slowly. Taking advantage of the emptiness, he whispered in a dialect incomprehensible to those from Central Plains, “Father, does the King of Beiliang look down on attending such a martial gathering?”
If Xu Fengnian, who had crossed into Northern Yan, had been present, he would have recognized this as authentic Northern dialect.
The middle-aged swordsman smiled, “He’s busy dealing with our million-strong army marching south. He doesn’t have time for this. Otherwise, I think he would come. Deep down, I believe he still longs for the Jianghu.”
The child sighed, holding up one hand, “So many top martial experts have left the Jianghu of Daliang. But we are lucky. Among the Five Great Sects, only the Fifth Yak of the Army Mountain has fallen. The two Princess Grave sisters are still alive, as are Hong Jingyan of the Chess Sword Music Bureau, Sword Qi Near, and the Bronze Man. Not a single one of them has died.”
Then the child giggled, “Father, you’re different from them. You are a sect in yourself, and you’re ranked even higher than the Chess Sword Music Bureau. If only Mother weren’t from Daliang, you could challenge the King of Beiliang and lose to him. Then I could get to know him.”
The man looked at his wife and, speaking in pure Liaodong dialect, said with a smile, “Honey, look at her. She’s already taking their side before she’s even grown up. What will happen when she’s older?”
The man’s face, previously warm and gentle, suddenly radiated an immense aura, while the ancient sword beside him, once brimming with sword energy, suddenly fell silent. The woman chuckled softly, “Who came? Is it worth such a reaction? Surely not your old enemy Tuoba Pusa and that new White Robe devil?”
The man glanced at her, his aura slowly dissipating, a hint of bitterness in his voice, “Unfortunately, they both have.”
The woman said lightly, “You’ve already said you’ve retired from the Northern Yan Jianghu. Surely they can’t drag you back by force?”
The unremarkable-looking man rubbed his chin, “Back then, the Empress—”
The woman glared, pinching him, “Thinking of the past again? She only wanted to make you her son-in-law. Did marrying me, a plain-faced old wife, make you regret it? Then go back!”
The man smiled without answering. At this moment, speaking would only make things worse. Better to keep silent.
In this world, men in love, regardless of status, often feel that loving a woman is a mistake, yet they hope to keep making that mistake for a lifetime.
The child asked, “Father, if you’re not a swordsman, why do you always carry a sword? You never told me before. Tell me now, okay? If Mother scolds you, I’ll defend you. After all, in our family, you’re third, and I’m first. One thing subdues another.”
The man cautiously glanced at his wife, saw no reaction, and quietly said, “Your mother, when she was young, only admired wandering swordsmen in green robes. Though I had boundless skills, she paid no attention to me. So I had to wear a sword just to pretend. Honey, how many years have I worn a sword?”
The woman took his hand gently, “As many years as our child has been alive.”
The man couldn’t help but sigh, “Indeed.”
Outside the tavern, a short, long-armed middle-aged man glanced at the tavern, hesitated, and continued climbing the mountain. In the sea of people, he was utterly unremarkable.
The man surnamed Tuoba had chosen Huishan as his first stop in the Daliang Dynasty because Wang Xianzhi had not waited for him, and Xu Fengnian was already waiting for him at the border of Liang and Mang. Thus, the Snowy Terrace, where heroes gathered, became his first choice.
After this man ascended the mountain, three new guests entered the tavern: one in white robes, one in red, and a tall man carrying a heavy pack.
They sat directly opposite the family of three.
The man, who carried a sword despite not practicing swordsmanship, smiled slightly. He did not look at the imposing figure in white but turned to the pack-carrying man and asked, “Deng Mao, the defeated subordinate of a defeated subordinate, are you here to gang up on me with your allies?”
Deng Mao’s face remained cold, “Aren’t you also three people?”
The man was momentarily stunned by this icy retort, “You really haven’t changed, you shameless bastard.”
Then he ignored Deng Mao, who carried a broken spear in his pack, and turned to the man in white and the strikingly red-robed woman, “Luoyang, you destroyed that divine weapon on the Northern Ice Plains, interrupting the battle between Tuoba Pusa and Wang Xianzhi. Why did he pass you by without seeking revenge?”
The white-robed leader of Zhu Lu Mountain poured himself a cup of wine, his expression calm, saying nothing.
Suddenly, the child broke the silence, smiling, “You’re called Luoyang, right? Of all the men in the world, I only admire the King of Beiliang, my future master. Among women, I only admire you. Why aren’t you two together? In the future, I can call you both Master and Mistress!”
Luoyang burst into laughter, tilting his head back to finish the cup in one gulp.
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