Outside Danzhong Slope, a carriage arrived late with a slow trot of hooves, parting the sea of spectators. From within, a tall figure lifted the curtain and stepped down, ascending the steps of Danzhong Slope with a weathered ancient sword in hand.
In the path of the sword, for nearly a century, there has been no reverence for antiquity at the expense of modernity. No young swordsman has ever stumbled upon an ancient manual and mastered an invincible sword technique. This is due to the legacy of Li Chungan’s sword intent and Deng Tai’a sword techniques, both surpassing the ancients. Mention must also be made of the sword forging of Dongyue Sword Pool. Every new blade from the Pool is a coveted treasure among martial cultivators. However, within the realm of sword forging, the land of Xishu, surrounded by mountains, remains an anomaly, where the older the blade, the more precious it is. Among the top three swords of Shu, aside from “Difuzi,” which accompanied its master, the Sword Sovereign of Xishu, into retirement, “Shudao” and “Leixia” have never fallen from the ranks of the Ten Greatest Swords under Heaven since their creation.
No one knows who first recognized the ancient sword, but soon all were murmuring its name—Shudao. All knew that after the fall of Xishu, this blade had been sealed away in Tingchao Pavilion for many years, now finally revealed once more.
Some clever spectators, upon seeing the young nobleman, were eager to shout their greetings and kneel in respect. Yet, as they began their cries, they found only cold stares from those around them, and so they sheepishly swallowed their flattery.
The heart of Beiliang pulses with a deep martial spirit. To the common folk and martial cultivators, the new Prince of Liang had come here without grandeur or retinue, not seeking to flaunt his status as the son of the Butcher of Men, but to engage in a straightforward martial contest. This is not the formal, ritual-bound Zhongyuan—here, fists are the only etiquette. That’s why it’s said that even a civil official of Beiliang could wrestle down a general of the Liyuan court with one hand. The people of Beiliang tolerate the numerous military families, enduring nearly two decades of oppression, because of their nature. Though the offspring of generals may indeed commit wrongs, their fathers earned their ranks through blood and corpses. Being born into a good family is a skill in itself. Those less fortunate have no reason to complain—they must ensure their children are born into better circumstances.
Perhaps the wait had been too long, Sui Xiegu yawned, his two snowy eyebrows fluttering even more restlessly.
Xu Fengnian clearly intended to keep the sword-forging ancestor waiting a little longer. Upon entering Danzhong Slope, he did not immediately launch into battle. Instead, he leaned on his sword, planted upright, hand resting on the hilt. To the spectators outside the Slope, this very posture embodied the dignified poise of a true master—calm and immovable like a mountain, deep and unfathomable like an abyss. Though Beiliang people are fierce in internal struggles, their solidarity against outsiders is equally strong. Compared to the unfamiliar old man without a weapon, they naturally felt closer to this prodigal son who had turned his life around—the former “Prince.” Thus, when Xu Fengnian appeared on the Slope, a thunderous cheer erupted from the crowd.
Sui Xiegu, his aura surging like a mighty waterfall, swept his gaze around before finally fixing it on Xu Fengnian.
In the contest between masters, strength, spirit, wisdom, and courage are all tested, but ultimately, it is a battle of the heart.
Sui Xiegu wished to challenge the young world’s strongest to his “final move,” hoping for a battle that would leave his soul ablaze. This puzzled the old man—how could the confines of Tingchao Pavilion restrict their movements, and now, on Danzhong Slope, would there be even less room to fight? Yet, since the boy had chosen this place, Sui Xiegu saw no reason to refuse. In any case, if innocents were caught in the crossfire, they were still his subjects. Having lived nearly a century in solitude, unburdened by attachments, Sui Xiegu had nothing to fear. He was not a forgiving man. He had set his terms—if the boy insisted on playing the fool and pretending strength he did not have, Sui Xiegu would not hesitate to kill him. As for whether Xu Yanbing, the enigmatic master, would pursue him across thousands of miles, or whether the thirty thousand iron riders of Beiliang would hunt him down, would Sui Xiegu even care? If anything, the only concern the sword-eating elder had was whether the old woman from Nanhai Guanyin Sect might hold a grudge against him—but even that was of little consequence.
Xu Fengnian gazed at Sui Xiegu, momentarily lost in thought. He recalled the days following the old man in the sheepskin cloak, wandering the jianghu, hearing tales of sword cultivators whose qi could surge hundreds of miles in an instant—back then, it had seemed like divine legend. As he climbed the ranks of martial cultivation, especially after reaching the peak of Tianren, transcending the four realms of Jindan, Zhixuan, Tianxiang, and Xuanwu, he had gained profound insights into the mysteries of martial cultivation. The sword-eating ancestor before him was different from ordinary martial cultivators—he, like the young Taoist master riding an ox, followed the path of Heaven’s Dao, rooted in the principle that qi gives rise to all things. Though their paths were the same, their routes varied in width. Hong Xixiang’s path was broader, but Sui Xiegu, pursuing the Dao through the sword, had spent eighty years cultivating his art. Whether it was the circulation of blood and qi, the rise and fall of breath within the lungs, or the opening and closing of vital points, all had reached the pinnacle of perfection. It was not that Sui Xiegu sought the Dao through the sword—it was that he had become the Dao through the sword. This was likely the confidence that had allowed him to challenge Wang Xianzhi, the Sword Emperor of Wudi City. Though his physical strength and martial might might not rival the old monster of Wudi City, as long as Wang Xianzhi did not claim superiority over Heaven’s Dao itself, the two would still be evenly matched.
At that moment, a streak of white light, like a comet, arced from countless miles away and struck Danzhong Slope.
Instinctively, the crowd closed their eyes to shield themselves from the blinding radiance. When they slowly opened them again, nothing seemed amiss on the Slope. The old man with the snowy eyebrows remained composed, and Prince Xu Fengnian of Beiliang still stood calm and collected. Yet, the Slope itself was empty.
But Sui Xiegu seemed to bristle with anger, letting out a low grunt.
Xu Fengnian, hand resting on the hilt of his sword, suddenly smiled, as if a long-held knot had finally unraveled.
Back then, when he had wandered in the Dream of Spring and Autumn, on a muddy road, he had met the Northern Yan sovereign Li Qingshan twice. Whether it was before or after that encounter, the same good fortune had followed—Master Qilin had spoken of his imminent ascension. Now, it had truly come to pass. Before ascending, Li Qingshan had flown here as a guest of Beiliang, delivering a message to Xu Fengnian in person. Unfortunately, aside from Sui Xiegu, whose cultivation was deep, no one else could witness this extraordinary scene. To the thousands outside Danzhong Slope, it was merely the blink of an eye, but to Xu Fengnian and Li Qingshan, it felt like the passing of an incense stick. As Li Qingshan entered the Slope, he stumbled slightly, nearly colliding with Xu Fengnian, who gently steadied him with a smile. The old immortal beamed, though with a touch of self-deprecating humor, saying, “It’s my first time ascending, and even among the eighteen ranks of immortality, I’ve reached the upper tier. I had thought at best I’d be among the middle ranks, riding dragons and cranes. Even I couldn’t help but be a little overwhelmed. Much of this is thanks to you. If I hadn’t come here, it would have been a shame both in sentiment and reason.”
Xu Fengnian bowed slightly and said, “Congratulations, Master, on forging your immortal body.”
Li Qingshan pointed upward with one finger and said, “Let’s not dwell on small talk. The heavens are watching. Though I am revered as a living immortal among mortals, in the celestial realm, I am but a newcomer, bound by protocol and appearances. I’ve come here uninvited to leave you with some final words—words of an immortal on the verge of departure. For after this, whether there will be ascension or immortals in the world is uncertain… Let’s not dwell on that. Xu Fengnian, I ask you—search your heart. Once I ask, I must leave. I do not need your answer.”
Xu Fengnian replied respectfully, “Please ask, and I shall ponder deeply.”
Li Qingshan composed himself and asked solemnly, “Do cultivators who seek immortality and ascend to the ranks of immortals challenge Heaven’s Dao? Do martial cultivators who train their bodies, prolong their lives, and defy death struggle against the King of Hell? If both paths defy the natural order of Heaven and Earth, why do immortals still ascend, and why do martial cultivators still reach the pinnacle of the first rank?”
Xu Fengnian couldn’t help but smile and said, “Are you here as a messenger for Heaven and Earth?”
Li Qingshan shook his head and said, “Think again.”
As Xu Fengnian was about to speak, Li Qingshan pointed at his chest and vanished in an instant. Then, an invisible pillar of fate and fortune, unseen by the world, erupted from the earth, piercing the heavens and tearing through the sky.
Xu Fengnian looked up at the fading light and the lingering ripples in the clouds.
Suddenly, he recalled a cultivation method passed down for a thousand years on Wudang Mountain, open to all cultivators. Ascending the mountain to question Heaven and Earth, descending to question others, and in the final moment of enlightenment, questioning oneself.
Cultivation—cultivating truth.
Xu Fengnian began to realize that ever since he had seen the Empress of Northern Yan with his father Xu Xiao in that snowstorm, he had been too busy—too consumed with his own thoughts, perhaps even contrary to what Xu Xiao had intended.
Deep in his heart, Xu Fengnian longed for the jianghu beyond Beiliang, the dream of his childhood. He had once thought it was like a snowman described to Xuan Qingfeng—once melted, it could never be rebuilt.
In that jianghu, many people left him with regrets and guilt. He missed the toothless old man, the wandering swordsman with his wooden sword, the aging old man in sheepskin, the ox-riding Hong Xixiang, his eldest sister who had married far away in Jiangnan, even the demon couple at Youtoulu Inn, and the Northern Yan woman Qingzhuniang, who mourned her dead daughter. There were so many people he cared about in the jianghu, yet he had watched helplessly as fate tore them apart, some alive, some dead.
There were so many things he had failed to do. He couldn’t stop Lao Huang from going to Wudi City. He couldn’t keep Wen Hua from continuing his path. He couldn’t keep his eldest sister in the mortal world. He couldn’t stop his second sister from sitting on the dragon throne. He couldn’t keep Hongshu away from Dunhuang City.
That was why Xu Fengnian often felt that being the hereditary Prince of Beiliang was just a burden he couldn’t escape, not something he truly wanted.
Only now, after being questioned by Li Qingshan, did Xu Fengnian begin to ponder what he truly wanted.
He gazed up at the nine heavens and whispered softly, “The Dao of Heaven is a narrow bridge only for immortals. The Great Dao, however, is a wide road open to all mortals.”
He did not know that these words were strikingly similar to those of Li Yufu, the man who had rolled away countless thunderbolts from Heaven and Earth.
Finally, Xu Fengnian spoke to himself, “What do I want to do? It’s simple—I just want to be Xu Xiao’s son! Xu Xiao gave countless people a way to survive during the Spring and Autumn period. As his son, I just want to protect that path. If anyone disagrees, I will make them agree.”
Sui Xiegu, who had waited impatiently for so long, rolled his eyes and snapped, “Are you going to fight or not?”
Xu Fengnian smiled apologetically, raised his hand, and the ancient sword Shudao slid from its sheath.
But at that moment, a woman’s voice rang out abruptly in everyone’s ears, “Sui Xiegu, get down here!”
Xu Fengnian’s face lit up with mischief as he asked with a grin, “Senior Sui, are you going to fight or not?”
Sui Xiegu’s expression stiffened. He gritted his teeth and said, “Fight? Of course I’ll fight! Tan Tai Jing, this is no place for women to speak!”
Xu Fengnian’s smile faded as he said, “No worries. Li Chungan once said, all matters under Heaven are but the matter of a single sword.”
He glanced at Shudao and whispered, “Go.”
The ancient sword Shudao vanished in an instant.
Sui Xiegu’s head snapped upward.
Xu Fengnian smiled and said, “But my sword… carries a little more.”
At almost the same moment, in Beiliang, the hundred swords of Wu Sword Tomb, Xuan Qingfeng of Huishan, Luoyang, Xu Ying, Tuoba Pusa, Deng Mao, and the man who carried a sword for his wife despite never wielding one himself, several masters from the Chess and Sword Music Bureau of Northern Yan, Qi Xianxia, still wandering beyond Longhu Mountain, the young swordsman Lu Bai Jie of the Capital’s Tangxi Sword Immortal, the young Taoist Li Yufu, who was taking his apprentice Yu Fu to Wudang Mountain, and Jiang Ni, who was lost in thought in the old capital of the Chu Kingdom, all looked up at the same time.
Jiang Ni hesitated, then murmured to herself, “Borrow.”
The three greatest sword repositories—Wu Sword Tomb, Dongyue Sword Pool, and Chess and Sword Music Bureau—were shaken to their cores.
The greatest swords of the world soared through the heavens, converging upon Beiliang.
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