A streak of purple, like a celestial thunderbolt descending from the heavens, suddenly plunged from the peak of Daxue Slope into the ferry crossing, startling countless hikers and tourists.
Xuan Yuan Qingfeng, who had just ended her retreat from cultivation, stood at the crossing, gazing toward a yellow dragon warship belonging to the Qingzhou naval forces. Atop the towering multi-decked ship stood a general clad in armor. The decks bristled with swords and halberds, exuding a different aura than the local Qingzhou soldiers. As the ship drew closer, those with keen eyesight on the riverbank could see a banner emblazoned with an unexpected character: Xu! Upon recognizing this royal flag, which had long flown in the northwestern reaches of the empire, seasoned martial artists on shore immediately identified the curved swords at the soldiers’ waists—distinctive blades foreign to central lands: Liang blades! Xuan Yuan Qingfeng narrowed her long, slender eyes, her mood far more complex than her composed expression revealed. She paid no heed to the officer standing at the bow—Hong Biao—who had once been the second-ranking guest master at Huishan Mountain, second only to Huang Fangfo. Though a martial artist by trade, Hong Biao was renowned for his strategic acumen and expertise in cavalry warfare. Later, he followed a certain individual to the Beiliang region, willingly enduring the disgrace of being branded a servant to two masters, hoping to achieve glory on the battlefield. Yet after joining the Beiliang army, he remained largely unknown. Xuan Yuan Qingfeng had assumed Hong Biao would fade into obscurity, but instead, a secret letter arrived at Daxue Slope, stating that before the martial arts convention commenced, Hong Biao—now the newly appointed commander of Youzhou’s elite cavalry—would escort ninety ornate chests of gifts to Queyue Tower, congratulating her on becoming the newly crowned leader of the martial world. The letter even included the teasing phrase, “unifying the martial world.”
Xuan Yuan Qingfeng muttered with a cold smile, “Even as your end nears, you still don’t speak kindly.”
Within the chests aboard the ship were rare martial arts manuals from Tingchao Pavilion on Qingliang Mountain, all first-rate, one-of-a-kind treasures.
Gazing at the surging river before her, the endless eastward flow of the great river, Xuan Yuan Qingfeng murmured, “Are you truly willing to spend all your treasures without regret? Back in the days of great peril, when facing the fearsome Han Shengxuan—’the Cat Man’—I abandoned you for the sake of Huishan’s legacy and my late father’s wishes. At that time, you were but an ant beneath the feet of the top ten martial artists, yet you neither fled nor retreated. Now, having become the number one martial artist in the world, commanding thirty thousand iron cavalry, you begin arranging your affairs before your time has even come?”
Xuan Yuan Qingfeng, having recently emerged from secluded cultivation and attained great enlightenment in heavenly Dao, inexplicably felt a surge of anger.
Deep within her heart, she had always viewed him as her ultimate rival. The two of them were unlike any other martial artists in the Liyang or Beiman factions—both had trained for only a short time, neither possessing extraordinary talent. Instead, they had climbed the ranks through sheer will and life-or-death struggles, seizing every opportunity along the way. After nearly all the masters of Daxue Slope perished, Xuan Yuan Qingfeng willingly descended into the path of darkness, nearly sacrificing her life, in order to save her clan. Through a deal with Beiliang, she absorbed the fortune of an imperial seal, stabilizing her cultivation. After battling Wang Xianzhi, she used Wang’s divine power to sever her worldly emotions and break free from all karmic ties, barely surviving the perilous trial of “self-cultivation,” returning to a state of purity and simplicity, surpassing even the most sacred disciples of Buddhism and Daoism, or the nascent sword spirits. Later, when his soul projection ventured afar to slay celestial beings, the dying Zhao Huangchao—deeply entangled with the Zhao imperial house of Liyang—escaped in the form of a broken black rainbow, entering Guniujiang Daxue Slope. He transferred all his knowledge and skills to her, enabling Xuan Yuan Qingfeng to ascend even further, confident she could rival even Toba Pusa or Deng Tai’e, though victory remained uncertain. Yet she was not yet thirty, and her cultivation was rising like wildfire, advancing by leaps and bounds each day. What were the so-called Beiman Martial God or the Peach Blossom Sword Sage compared to her? One day, she would trample them beneath her feet, making them mere stepping stones on the path to becoming the terrestrial celestial being—Xuan Yuan Qingfeng.
She firmly believed that the next hundred years of the martial world would revolve solely around her and him.
Yet now, he had emptied his martial library, leaving behind only a northern-facing back.
I blocked the river to settle our debts. Did you send these books to settle yours?
For reasons unknown, only on Huishan Mountain did a sudden downpour begin, turning the mountain paths into muddy sludge.
And for reasons unknown, Xuan Yuan Qingfeng made no attempt to use her aura to shield herself from the unexpected storm. Yet the moment the rain touched her, her figure vanished in a flash. In the next instant, she was already walking along a mountain path, allowing the rain to drench her body.
Her purple robe soaked, trailing mud and water.
※※※
The yellow dragon ship was about to dock. Hong Biao lifted his gaze toward the massive rock of Guniujiang, smirking. Could this be considered returning home in glory? In the Liyang Empire, even commanders and officers were as numerous as cow hairs. Yet who would dare underestimate a Beiliang commander—especially one bearing the title of one of the sixteen elite veteran commanders? This title had once been held by the legendary cavalry general Xu Pu, later by the current cavalry commander Yuan Zuo’zong, and even by the Shu King Chen Zhi’bao for a time. Hong Biao was a sturdy, thickset man, his appearance resembling that of a middle-aged farmer who toiled under the sun and soil. At Huishan, Huang Fangfo had always overshadowed him, and Hong Biao himself had never considered Daxue Slope a place to settle down. In Beiliang, he had his eyes fixed on one man—Huangfu Cheng, the Youzhou General who had risen to power through betrayal and flattery. That very path was one Hong Biao could easily follow. Back at Huishan, aside from Xuan Yuan Qingfeng, Huang Fangfo was no longer a threat worth considering. Hong Biao couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. Yet even so, he still had to tread carefully around a young woman by his side—Liu Ni’erong, the leader of the Yulong Gang. Her martial skills and family background were nothing special, but Hong Biao naturally knew of her deep ties to the Beiliang King. Truth be told, along the journey, he had struggled to understand why Xu Fengnian, known for his discerning eye, would choose such an ordinary-looking martial artist. Even Chen Zhi’bao, after entering Shu, had at least taken under his wing Xie Xie, a beauty ranked among the “Lipstick Beauties.” Keeping such a beauty by one’s side, at the very least, brought visual pleasure. So what was the Beiliang King after? Hong Biao couldn’t figure it out. Could it be, as some in the Beiliang martial world whispered, that he was merely toying with the martial world?
Hong Biao, the bystander, didn’t understand. Liu Ni’erong, the participant, understood even less. The status of her and the Yulong Gang felt like an autumn dream—untimely and out of place.
Liu Ni’erong gazed toward Huishan. At the mountaintop, she could see only the elegant eaves of a grand tower. Earlier, that purple-robed woman had descended like a thunderclap from the heavens, exuding a powerful presence. Liu Ni’erong admired her deeply. In her heart, she believed that Xuan Yuan Qingfeng, who had risen to become the leader of the martial world through her own efforts, would be the perfect companion to travel alongside that man.
Liu Ni’erong suddenly recalled the journey beyond the pass from years ago. In the quiet of midnight dreams, she had long forgotten the tumultuous battles, yet vividly remembered the well water in a small fortress town, and that man squatting by the well, haggling with a water vendor in a comically exaggerated manner.
Liu Ni’erong turned her gaze back, watching the muddy river flow eastward. Occasionally, a fish leaped from the water, flashed briefly, then vanished back into the current—whether returning home or leaving it behind, no one could tell.
As the ship neared the dock, the vessel gently swayed. Liu Ni’erong murmured softly, “If only you would leave the court, abandon the title of Beiliang King, and simply become a wandering martial artist. How carefree that would be.”
※※※
In those years of the Spring and Autumn Wars, even the fiercest flames had not reached this unremarkable town. It was neither a strategic military location nor particularly fertile farmland, despite lying in the south of the Yangtze River. According to traveling merchants, the northern regions beyond the Guangling River had suffered yet another disaster. Yet to the townsfolk living in quiet isolation, life as a frog at the bottom of a well was just fine. The sky was no larger than the mouth of a well—peace was a blessing, and contentment brought joy.
On this autumn day, drizzle fell steadily. From the entrance of a tavern, hurried figures passed beneath umbrellas across a small bridge of bluish stone. With few customers, the tavern waiter sat idly by the door, waiting for the girl of his heart to arrive. She had said she would come today with a friend to browse the cosmetics shop next door, for her friend was soon to marry—a scholar with official rank.
The waiter sighed, a bitter taste in his heart. She, of course, cared little for wealth and honor. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have looked twice at a penniless, crippled man like him. Yet a man still bearing some sense of duty couldn’t help but wish to provide a better life for the woman he loved. Though not a noble daughter of the town, she was a well-known beauty—her family was prosperous, her nature gentle, and her needlework unmatched for miles. It was said that whoever married her would be blessed for generations. Yet she had chosen him, and for that, several of her childhood friends had nearly severed ties with her, scolding her with sharp words—calling her foolish, blinded by infatuation. At those moments, she would look at him, her small hands nervously twisting the hem of her robe, her eyes brimming with apology. He, with his thick skin, managed a forced smile, though his heart ached with guilt.
Someone patted his shoulder. He turned to see a familiar face plopping down beside him, grinning foolishly. “Big Brother Wen, what are you thinking about?”
They were kindred spirits in hardship, though this boy’s plight was worse. He had moved to town with his mother just last year, unable to recognize ten characters in a book, and even in fights, he was helpless. The local bullies treated him as their plaything, crushing his newly bought boots underfoot until they were ruined. Fortunately, his mother still had some savings, and they managed to open a cloth shop. Life was bearable, though not comfortable. Living close by, he was the only local who never added to the boy’s misery, and over time, they had become friends. He knew only that the boy’s surname was Wang, and that his father had gone on a long journey and not yet returned.
He smiled, watching the rain drip from the eaves in strings. “Little Bamboo, have you ever heard this saying? Though the sky’s rain is wide, it does not nourish rootless grass.”
The boy blinked, then laughed. “Big Brother Wen, didn’t know you were such a scholar! What does it mean?”
The tavern waiter chuckled. “I heard it from someone else too. I didn’t understand it then, and I was too embarrassed to ask. I just pretended I did. I wish I had asked him back then.”
The young man nicknamed Bamboo scratched his head in confusion. “Big Brother Wen, do you even have any scholarly friends?”
The waiter rubbed his chin, smiling. “He wasn’t any scholar either. He just liked showing off because he couldn’t beat me in a fight.”
Bamboo laughed. “Then this guy must be pretty useless. If he can’t even beat you, and he’s not even a scholar, he must be just like me.”
The waiter shot him a look but said nothing.
Bamboo was a talkative young man, afraid of the roughness and martial aura of Rivers and Lakes folk, yet fascinated by the Rivers and Lakes itself. He loved frequenting teahouses and taverns, listening to self-proclaimed martial artists boast. Now, he was telling Big Brother Wen about a truly once-in-a-century martial gathering, saying he had just learned of a woman from Huishan who wore purple robes. She was not only a celestial beauty but also a peerless martial artist, commanding the respect of heroes and inviting all the best martial artists in the land to her grand assembly. Bamboo spoke with great enthusiasm, not noticing that his companion was either rolling his eyes or smiling absentmindedly.
After exhausting himself with talking, Bamboo, not one to stand on ceremony, cupped his hands and drank from a puddle of rainwater. “Great wine!”
The waiter teased, “Tastes like Rivers and Lakes to you, huh?”
Bamboo turned to him seriously. “Big Brother Wen, how did you manage to win over Miss Liu? Teach me, so I can find a wife too.”
The waiter gave a mysterious smile. “With my looks.”
Bamboo spat. “Yeah, right.”
Seeing Bamboo’s disbelief, the waiter laughed. “You really shouldn’t doubt it. Back when my brother and I were broke and wandering, he made a living off his looks. I was better than him in every way—except my face. We even had a contest to decide who would be the older brother and who the younger. We compared age, martial skills, and wealth. If it weren’t for losing that round on looks, I would’ve been the older brother.”
Bamboo’s lips twitched, but he chose not to mock Big Brother Wen and his so-called brother.
The two sat in silence, listening to the rain pattering on the stone path.
Suddenly, Bamboo whispered, “Big Brother Wen, I’ve got something to tell you. Don’t tell anyone.”
The waiter teased, “Fine, whatever.”
Bamboo hesitated. “When I first moved to town at the start of the year, I overheard a martial expert talking about the top martial artists in the world. One of them shared the same name as my father.”
The waiter chuckled. “Bamboo, you’re something else. Is your dad Wang Xianzhi, the old monster from Wudi City?”
Bamboo snapped, “Nonsense! I’m talking about the legendary Number Eleven under Heaven!”
The waiter fell silent for a long while before murmuring, “So it was Wang Mingyin.”
Bamboo’s expression darkened. “But I know the truth. My father is just an ordinary farmer with only a little strength. That’s fine. It’s better that he isn’t that Number Eleven who died outside Xiangfan. My mother and I can wait for him to come home one day.”
The waiter sighed, unsure how to comfort him, and simply patted his shoulder.
Suddenly, Bamboo stood up, pointing at the bridge. “Big Brother Wen, I won’t keep you. I’ll go first.”
Following Bamboo’s finger, the waiter saw a woman walking slowly across the bridge, holding an umbrella.
He stood, his face lighting up with a bright smile.
The first time he saw her, she had been at the town market, returning home. Her friends mocked him, a crippled man, calling him a lecherous rogue. Only she had been different.
Before, Xiaonian used to tease him, saying he fell for every girl he saw, smitten at first sight. He had thought that the girl he met before returning home would be the last one he ever loved at first sight. And indeed, after that, he had never fallen for anyone else. But meeting her in this town made him realize that living a simple life by her side was better than anything else in the world.
He ran out to meet her as she stepped off the bridge.
Small towns had their charms—less rigid in etiquette regarding men and women, and she didn’t mind. Tilting her paper umbrella slightly, her face flushed red as she shielded him from the rain.
With her, he never spoke flippantly. In fact, since returning home, he had stopped being reckless and outspoken, becoming quiet, honest, and ordinary. Perhaps that was why she loved him.
In the past, the moment he saw a girl, he would dare to tease her, saying, “Miss, let me help you cook rice.” If she ignored him, he’d say, “Meeting me is a blessing from three lifetimes. Not marrying me must be a curse from eight.” If she grew angry, he had countless comebacks ready.
But now, he was different. Once, his mind was filled with thoughts of pretty girls and beds. Now, standing beside her, he didn’t even dare to take her hand.
In the Rivers and Lakes, there was him.
Outside the Rivers and Lakes, there was her.
The heavens owed him nothing more.
She lowered her head, gathering her courage. “My father arranged a marriage for me. I didn’t accept.”
He scratched his head, saying nothing.
She bit her lip.
Suddenly, he smiled. “How about we have a son together?”
Her mouth opened slightly in shock.
He exhaled deeply, not joking. “I once made a child bet with a brother of mine. Whoever had a daughter would be at a disadvantage. Of course, if we have a daughter, that’s fine too.”
She turned her head away, her face flushed red, but seemed to nod slightly.
He glanced down and saw her free hand instinctively twisting the hem of her robe again. He gritted his teeth, finally summoning the courage to take her hand.
She tugged lightly, then let him hold it.
Wen Hua grinned.
No longer holding a sword.
Holding her hand—this was a better Rivers and Lakes than anything else.
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage