Thirty years on the east bank of the river, thirty years on the west. At the pass of Daoma, a woman with a sable-fringed brow, protected by the Old Dragon King, had once crossed the perilous borders of Beiliang as if strolling through spring, carefree and unbothered. She had seen a young man with striking eyes, but had regarded him merely as a noble scion with a passing familiarity of martial arts, and had playfully reached out to touch his behind without a second thought. Who could have foreseen such a swift reversal of fortune? Today, it was she who was slapped on the rear by that very man. As a princess, the only royal descendant able to coax the Empress of Beiman into the tender pose of doting grandmother, she now lacked even the courage to turn around.
The old man in brocade robes was indeed the progenitor of Beiman’s Spiderweb faction. With a single gentle shove to the shoulder, he sent the Princess Hongyan flying far away, her life hanging by a thread. He spared no restraint in his force, and she crashed into the yellow sands dozens of zhang away.
After pushing her temporarily out of danger, the Old Dragon King let out a soft cry, his voice like thunder blooming in spring. His entire body surged with energy like a breached dam. His luxurious brocade robe, rivaling the finest weavers of Jiangnan, was torn into countless tiny slits by the overflow of his qi. Without even turning his head, the Dragon King raised his arm and smashed it backward. The sleeve on his arm disintegrated into dust in an instant.
Dragon King Helü Tieguan was a renowned master of Beiman, long established in fame. Before the rise of “newcomers” such as Tuoba Pusa, Murong Baoding, and Hong Jingyan, the prodigious Helü Tieguan had been considered a top-tier expert capable of facing Wang Xiu, the Spear Immortal, and his legendary In an instant (Chasha) spear with bare hands alone. Helü Tieguan’s hand-to-hand combat was formidable, especially known for his unyielding bones and sinews. Before Murong Baoding earned his title of “Immovable Vajra,” he had even sought advice from Helü Tieguan on secret techniques for forging his body.
During the Empress of Beiman’s consolidation of martial sects, Helü Tieguan once demonstrated his might. Eight siege engines, each manned by two hundred strong men, hurled eight massive stones weighing 180 jin each toward Helü Tieguan, who stood two hundred zhang away. The old man shattered the stones mid-air with his fists, ensuring not a single one touched the ground intact.
Now, the aged yet vigorous Helü Tieguan swung his arm like a tempest wrapped in thunder and lightning.
Xu Fengnian extended his right hand casually, grasping the Old Dragon King’s wrist with ease, severing his flow of life force with a simple flick of his fingers.
In an instant, Helü Tieguan felt his surging energy cut off, as if a speeding riverboat had suddenly encountered iron chains spanning the river. Worse still, these chains were not singular but multiple—six in all—each wreaking havoc in his six vital acupoints, as though forcibly erecting six barriers within his body.
Snow clogs the Blue Pass, and even the swiftest steed cannot advance. No matter how fast your horse may run, heavy snow on the road leaves you stranded.
Helü Tieguan trembled violently, blood spurting from between his teeth. He fought desperately to break through the chains, striving to restore the flow of energy through his meridians.
The Old Dragon King was decisive, ruthless enough to destroy even himself in the process. But Xu Fengnian, having already made his move, would not hesitate or falter. With his left hand shaped like a blade, he placed it beside Helü Tieguan’s ear and shoulder, then struck leftward. Simultaneously, his right hand, still gripping the old man’s wrist, pulled outward.
Helü Tieguan’s head violently shook, but what was even more terrifying was that his entire right arm had been torn clean from his body by Xu Fengnian!
At the same time, countless red threads emerged from the right side of Helü Tieguan’s head, like countless crimson snakes writhing beneath his skin.
Helü Tieguan’s strength lay in his immense power and his iron-like sinews and bones, making him a master of close combat.
But he certainly never imagined that getting too close to Xu Fengnian would be akin to standing before the infamous “Human Cat” Han Shengxuan, the one who reigned supreme below the “Immortal on Earth.”
And Han Shengxuan, the only one skilled enough to slay a Heaven-Surpassing cultivator with the Finger-Sundering Art, would surely find it no challenge to kill a mere Finger-Sundering cultivator.
Helü Tieguan, now missing an arm, stood rooted in the sand, feet buried deep, eyes wide and staring into the distance.
Xu Fengnian casually discarded the severed arm and turned toward the woman with the sable-fringed brow, who had once seemed so arrogant. Princess Hongyan, now stricken with grief, sat motionless on the ground. She could not understand why the Old Dragon King, whom she had always viewed as nearly invincible, had suddenly gone still. She knew he was gravely wounded, but she could never have guessed that the legendary Helü Tieguan of Beiman had already breathed his last.
Xu Fengnian gazed at the woman, who seemed to have forgotten to flee. Neither spoke.
Suddenly, she cried out, “Old Dragon King, kill him! He is Xu Fengnian, the King of Beiliang. If you kill him, I will personally petition the Emperor for your reward. You can become a general, even a Jieyuan!”
Princess Hongyan was no fool. On the contrary, she was a woman of great intelligence and cunning. Otherwise, she could never have maneuvered so skillfully between the Yelü and Murong clans. Sobbing, she shouted, “Helü Tieguan, strike already!”
With tears streaming down her face, she choked out, “Old Dragon King, even a slight movement would be better…”
Xu Fengnian looked at the woman with the sable-fringed brow, but his left hand had already settled on the hilt of his sword.
Princess Hongyan suddenly calmed. She stood, brushed the sand from her gown, tidied her disheveled hair and slightly askew sable fringe, and asked slowly, “May I at least choose a death that is not ugly?”
Xu Fengnian did not answer. Instead, he smiled and said, “Do you have anything you can trade for your life? For example, the movements of Zhuo Zhuo and Liu Gui’s armies, or perhaps news of the remnants of the Yelü royal line? Or perhaps details about the two elite cavalry units of Beiman?”
She tugged at the corner of her lips, her scorn unmistakable.
Xu Fengnian’s thumb gently nudged the sword from its sheath.
At that moment, a rider galloped toward them, a young soldier covered in blood, leading an extra horse. His attire was a bizarre mix—armor and sword stripped from a hundred-man commander of the Liu army, the unique short blade of the Black Fox Scouts, and a massive eagle-feather bow slung across his back. Clearly, he had profited greatly from the corpses of the fallen. Princess Hongyan turned to look at this survivor, her eyes filled with contempt and hatred. There was no need to guess—he was clearly a traitor. Among the steppes of Beiman, men like him were the most despicable, their bones as light as feathers.
This young man, already a member of General Liu’s personal cavalry due to his skill in riding and archery, halted his horse without hesitation, panting heavily. He glanced at the woman with the sable fringe. Before, in the camp, he had only seen her from afar a few times. At that time, a ten-thousand-man commander had respectfully escorted her and her retinue to the general’s tent. A woman of such nobility, he had never dared to dream of speaking to her in his lifetime. Now, the disdain in her eyes made the young traitor instinctively lower his gaze, but he quickly lifted it again, avoiding her gaze, and instead fixed his eyes on the tall back of the swordsman.
His body began to tremble involuntarily.
The scene replayed in his mind.
When the three hundred riders began to retreat, the swordsman, about his own age, had conjured a storm of flying swords from the yellow sands. He had looked back and seen his comrades pierced through the back by those blades. Occasionally, a rider managed to chop a sword in two with his saber, but could not stop the second blade from piercing his chest.
One comrade had been skewered through the shoulder, thrown from his horse, and pinned to the ground. As the swordsman chased after him, he casually reached down and pressed his hand, and the wounded man sank into the earth, swallowed by a cloud of sand, never to rise again.
Another Black Fox Scout fell from his horse, his chest shredded by the flying blades. He staggered toward the swordsman, only to be brushed aside. His feet left the ground, his head snapped back as if struck by a hammer, and he crashed heavily to the ground.
A hundred-man commander of the Liu army lay dying.
The swordsman merely tapped his head with the un-drawn blade in his hand, and the man’s skull exploded.
As the swordsman drew closer, the young soldier, without thinking, stopped his horse and turned to face him—not to die, but to await death. He didn’t know why he did it, only watching as the swordsman continued to kill with his flying blades, and whenever someone beside him still breathed, he would deliver a final, emotionless strike with either his sheathed sword or a new blade.
At that moment, to the young soldier trapped in death’s grip, the entire sky seemed filled with a swarm of flying swords, weaving a vast net.
Six or seven Black Fox Scouts, like cornered beasts, charged past him, howling toward the swordsman. But they, along with their horses, were pierced by the blades and carried into the sky before crashing down together.
In his eyes, there were moments when he seemed to see the swordsman breathing.
One exhale, delicate as a water droplet trembling on a lotus leaf.
One inhale, vast as a whale swallowing the heavens.
For reasons unknown, the swordsman passed him by without striking.
When only he remained alive among the three hundred riders, the swordsman appeared beside him, speaking fluent Beiman, and told him to take whatever armor, swords, and arrows he wished. Then, with an extra horse, he followed the swordsman away.
Perhaps because he felt he had already died once, the young soldier had forgotten fear. Returning from the gates of hell, he even took the time to collect the treasures he had long coveted—donning a fine steed, armor, sword, bow, and even a new pair of sturdy leather boots.
The wind rose, carrying yellow sand. The living were only three, with two horses.
Princess Hongyan stared at Xu Fengnian, pointing a trembling finger at the young rider, her teeth clenched. “Kill him!”
Xu Fengnian looked at her as though she were a madwoman, his gaze narrowing with amusement. “He’s worth far more than you.”
He continued, “He won’t die. But I’ll give you one last chance. If you can offer something valuable enough to buy your life, I’ll spare you.”
Princess Hongyan shrieked, “Kill him! This man is not worthy to be called a son of Beiman!”
Xu Fengnian raised his arm and made a cold, decisive chopping motion toward the young rider.
The rider steadied his breath and, without hesitation, drew his sword and charged.
Princess Hongyan was stunned.
She could accept dying by the hand of the King of Beiliang.
But she would never allow herself, a princess of Beiman, the only daughter of the Jieyuan of Yuchan Prefecture, and a woman deeply cherished by the Empress, to die at the hands of a grassland traitor!
And this nameless coward was so despicably low!
With a bitter laugh, filled with hatred, she looked at Xu Fengnian one last time, then swiftly drew a dagger and plunged it into her own heart.
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