Chapter 660: Waiting for the Python Robe

This was undoubtedly a breathtaking spectacle, a scene destined to be passed down through the ages of Jianghu.

In the blink of an eye, Sui Xiegu was overwhelmed by tens of thousands of flying swords. One moment, the onlookers outside Danzhong Plain felt as though dark clouds had blotted out the sky; the next, those “dark clouds” had descended into the mortal world, embedding themselves across the entire plaza. The sheer number of swords piercing the air was so immense that they layered upon each other, tightly packed together. In no time at all, Sui Xiegu vanished from sight—nothing remained but swords. The young Prince of Beiliang seemed like an immortal wielding divine arts, conjuring up a towering, magnificent mountain of swords from thin air.

At first, the sword mountain trembled visibly, but the shaking gradually lessened. With each additional sword, the mountain grew taller and more stable, until finally the entire “peak” stood utterly unmoving.

Outside Danzhong Plain, everyone stood agape. They had seen fights before, but never one like this.

Those who had doubted Xu Fengnian’s sudden rise to the title of the world’s strongest man were finally convinced. Even the pessimists who had lost faith in Beiliang’s chances in the impending war with Meng were beginning to think—perhaps they should place their trust in Xu Fengnian after all.

Shudao, the last of the famed swords, fell last, as if carelessly tossed onto the summit of the sword mountain.

The sword mountain, which had shown signs of shifting once more, now lost all “vitality” completely. Occasionally, a sword or two would slide from its tilt and fall to the ground outside Danzhong Plain.

A tall woman standing far down the street beneath a distant eave curled her lips into a smirk. Glancing at the towering sword peak—over thirty zhang high—she sneered, “I told you to scram. Now look what you’ve done—ruined a hundred years of reputation in a single moment.”

Xu Fengnian did not stand at the foot of the mountain, nor had he returned to his carriage. Instead, he appeared silently beneath the same eaves. The woman, taller even than him, turned to look at him. Xu Fengnian’s face was pale, yet his eyes shone with vitality. Though seemingly contradictory, it was not. Tan Tai Jingping saw it as perfectly natural—her own master had been the same. His frame was not imposing, more like a frail scholar, but his eyes—just like the young man before her now—were always startlingly clear. So clear, in fact, that the first time her master had pointed at a crossing river dragon, she had completely forgotten to admire the hundred-zhang white dragon in its prime transformation. All she could see was her thin master’s gaze.

Even after decades, her master’s catchphrase still echoed in her ears:

“Silly giant.”

Staring at Xu Fengnian, Tan Tai Jingping smiled, like a young girl who had finally found the treasure she had long sought.

Xu Fengnian, puzzled, felt a chill run down his spine.

Even for someone as composed as Xu Fengnian, it was difficult to bear the sight of a woman—over a century old—suddenly acting so childishly.

He had intended to exchange a few words, but quickly swallowed his words before they could escape his lips. Tan Tai Jingping’s momentary lapse soon passed, and she resumed her usual composed demeanor, the grandmaster of the southern cultivators. She shifted her gaze and asked calmly, “What is the name of that sword strike? Does it have one?”

Xu Fengnian chuckled. “Giving flashy names to techniques—surely that’s something only ordinary people do, isn’t it? Does Senior Tan Tai have such a common habit?”

She replied, “I eat, drink, defecate, urinate, and sleep just like anyone else. I even burp and fart. So how can I not be common?”

Years ago, Xu Fengnian had once told Wen Hua not to be too infatuated with those seemingly unattainable female martial artists, because even they had to defecate. Could they possibly defecate flowers?

Tan Tai Jingping’s self-deprecation now echoed that sentiment.

But those words had once been born from the bitterness of Xu Fengnian’s days as a beggar in hardship. Now, he found it hard to find joy in such bitterness.

His lips twitched slightly, and he awkwardly smiled. “It’s different. When others say it, it sounds vulgar, but when Senior Tan Tai says it, it still carries a whiff of immortality.”

Tan Tai Jingping’s gaze passed over the still-unwilling crowd, looking toward the mountain of tens of thousands of swords. She sighed, “Congratulations, Prince of Beiliang, on returning to the realm of Heaven and Earth.”

Xu Fengnian lowered his voice. “If there comes a day…”

She interrupted him, giving the answer directly: “You may borrow it.”

Xu Fengnian smirked. Talking to a clever person was efficient, yes—but also dull.

He folded his sleeves and stood beside Tan Tai Jingping, gazing at the magnificent sword mountain that should only be possible for the sovereign of all swords under heaven to summon. He thought of old memories.

A long, long time ago, he had loved to carry swords and blades, yet was nothing but a showpiece. She had once hidden a divine talisman, but wasn’t much better.

Xu Fengnian couldn’t help but sigh.

Tan Tai Jingping asked, “When will you head to the border of Liangzhou to oversee the war?”

Xu Fengnian replied slowly, “It’ll be in a few days. First, I must wait for the new royal dragon robe from the Jinlu Weaving Bureau.”

※※※

Liangzhou City was packed to the brim, with Danzhong Plain at its center. Because the battle had ended so swiftly, many outside had only seen the rain of swords falling like locusts from the sky, unaware that the fight was already over. They continued rushing toward Danzhong Plain, making it impossible for those at the center to escape. In truth, half the city’s population had either already arrived or were on their way. The entire city was in an uproar, livelier than even the New Year celebrations. Beiliang was not usually one for mass gatherings like the capital city of Taian, but this spectacle was a once-in-a-century event. The martial artists of Beiliang had been suppressed by the military for so long that, finally, the Prince of Beiliang had personally taken to the stage to fight. With the title of the world’s strongest man atop his head, even the most composed citizens of Liangzhou couldn’t help but be stirred.

Amidst the sea of people, about half a mile from Danzhong Plain, stood two women of completely opposite temperaments but both of noble birth. They were Song Huangmei, the only daughter of the vice-governor of Lingzhou, Song Yan, and Li Fuzhen, daughter of the strategist Li Degong. The latter had originally not wanted to join the crowd, but had finally relented under Song Huangmei’s relentless pestering. Unfortunately, their carriage was stuck halfway, and with Song Huangmei’s usual liveliness, she had leapt atop the carriage roof, while Li Fuzhen stood behind the driver, barely catching sight of the falling swords.

Song Huangmei waited atop the carriage for a long time, expecting the tens of thousands of swords atop the mountain to scatter outward, but her awe was tinged with disappointment. She jumped down beside Li Fuzhen, her face still alight with excitement. She grinned, “What do you think? Wasn’t it worth coming? Heart-stirring, wasn’t it? If you hadn’t come, you’d have regretted it forever!”

Li Fuzhen’s expression remained indifferent.

Song Huangmei was used to this. She clenched her fist and struck her palm, muttering to herself, “No way. I must apprentice under that guy! Even if I have to serve him tea and water every day, it’s worth it. Such a supreme expert—if you don’t make him your master, you’re wasting a treasure!”

Li Fuzhen hesitated, and Song Huangmei looked at her with pleading eyes. “Fuzhen Sister, my dear sister, I know you and that guy grew up together. You have more influence than me. Can’t you help me plead with him?”

Li Fuzhen glared, “Forget it!”

She turned her head slightly, her voice cold. “We’ve never seen eye to eye…”

Song Huangmei grinned, “Opposites should be reconciled. Besides, if a man and woman become rivals, it means they were fated to meet.”

Li Fuzhen snorted, “Then it’s a cursed fate.”

Song Huangmei rolled her eyes, realizing that this path was blocked, and decided to take matters into her own hands. She began plotting how to sneak into Qingliang Mountain and the Prince’s Mansion, determined to learn swordplay from him. Her feminine modesty and noble upbringing could go with the wind for all she cared.

At this moment, Li Fuzhen’s mind wandered far away, absentminded.

The political situation in Beiliang was shifting rapidly. With Song Dongming taking the unofficial post of deputy strategist, it was clear to all officials in Beiliang that this year might be the last for Li Degong as the highest-ranking civilian official. Moreover, during the recent military and political upheaval in Lingzhou, Li Degong had not performed satisfactorily. Although his son had proven capable and remained closely tied to the Xu family, the old adage of “a new emperor, a new court” remained true. And in such uncertain times, a man with mediocre reputation like Li Degong might not be able to retain his position with the Northern Barbarians’ hundred-thousand strong army looming at the border. As a result, the previously bustling Li family estate had grown increasingly quiet, while both new and old officials flocked to the offices of Governor Xu Beizhi and Vice-Governor Song Yan. Li Fuzhen had never cared much for political ups and downs, but as her father aged and had no grandchildren to dote on, he had grown idle at home, tending to flowers and fish. Li Fuzhen couldn’t tell whether her father had simply lost his ambition or had resigned himself to fate. But she was more accustomed to the father who had once greeted officials with smiles and schemes, always knowing exactly whom to meet and what to say the next day, rather than the idle old man he had become.

A sudden impulse stirred within Li Fuzhen.

If I were to beg you—just once—would you let my father remain the strategist of Beiliang for a few more years?

Li Fuzhen smiled bitterly and shook her head. Li Fuzhen, Li Fuzhen—how could you have such an absurd thought?

Song Huangmei knew her sister’s stubbornness well. Once she made up her mind, not even nine oxen and two tigers could change it. She abandoned the idea of asking for an introduction.

Song Huangmei grinned and leaned closer. “Fuzhen Sister, I’ve always been curious—how did your father come up with such an unusual name for you? It’s even more peculiar than mine. What does ‘Fu’ mean, and what does ‘Zhen’ mean?”

Li Fuzhen hesitated. The question truly stumped her. She had never given much thought to her name before. She had always assumed it was something like “bearing a great reputation” for Fu and “innocent and pure” for Zhen. Perhaps her father had simply wished for her to live a carefree life.

Seeing her silence, Song Huangmei gave up on prying and muttered to herself, “Back then, I always heard how he once summoned the True Martial Emperor on the Spring Spirit Lake, and with a single punch, defeated the first ancestor of Longhu Mountain summoned by Xiao Tian Shi Zhao Ningshen. Back then, I thought there were no immortals in this world. Now, I’m not so sure anymore.”

She laughed out loud. “Fuzhen Sister, even the True Martial Emperor has the word ‘Zhen’ in his name.”

True Martial?

Li Fuzhen smiled.

Then, suddenly, she could no longer smile.

There was a word—“ Betrayal.” (Gūfù – to betray or disappoint)