Lv Qiantang was certainly no deaf man. When he heard the unidentified elder swordsman known as a sword immortal wanting him to spar with the young prince, though the main task would be to offer slow, measured strikes for sword practice, he inwardly groaned. Lv practiced the Tide Observing Heavy Sword style, which was powerful but lacked precision and delicacy. What if he accidently injured the young prince? Complaining to the formidable Gu Chongguo, known for fiercely protecting his own subordinates, was not an option—it would be tantamount to suicide. Should he try lecturing the prince about the dangers of blade work? The prince didn’t seem like someone who would listen; perhaps the result would be enduring petty harassments for the entire journey. Lv Qiantang inwardly sighed, Well, come what may—when the time comes, if death awaits, I’ll face it head on. At worst, I can stand still and let him hack at me a few times.
Shu Xiu, who once was rebuked by Xu Fengnian during the battle with the Crimson Armored Spirit as one of the three who had been told to “get lost,” had a glint of amusement in her eyes. Hah, now it’s your turn to eat humble pie, Master Lv. You just had to learn swordplay, and now I’ll watch you flounder. She softly spat at herself. “Old hag? Please. I’m still young! How many women remain this fair past thirty? Pinching her cheek, the supple skin felt like it would exude moisture.
Having left behind her Miko ways a long time ago, Shu indulged in self-appreciation, while Xu Fengnian had already risen from his seat. Qingniao paid the bill, adding a few more taels of silver, which made the wine stall owner ecstatic.
As the horse caravan slowly departed, the wine shop owner sat on a bench at an empty table, weighing the silver in his hand with a secret delight. He even poured himself a small bowl of fermented apricot wine, which his apprentice had scooped from the bottom of the barrel. While it fetched little copper coin at the market, it could ease fatigue, as every old herbalist had confirmed—capable of soothing summer heat or winter frostbite, and villagers bitten by insects often used it for relief. Glancing at the dusty banner on the sign above, he mused on perhaps cleaning it someday.
As he pondered small matters, the ground suddenly vibrated fiercely. Looking up, he saw a general leading over a hundred armored cavalry thundering past, the leader wielding an unfamiliar massive weapon. Rubbing his eyes in disbelief, the shopkeeper recognized the leader as the same heavily armored officer who had earlier knelt respectfully before the elegant young man. He had seen the army of Yung Prefecture before, and they were impressive, yet this cavalry looked even more formidable. Each soldier rode a swift horse clad in light armor, with standard Northern Liang sabers slung at their waists and crossbows strapped to their backs. The shopkeeper faintly recalled the fearsome reputation of these blades—renowned across the land for their lethal prowess during the Spring and Autumn Wars. Once, owning such a Northern Liang war saber was a mark of great pride throughout the empire. However, imperial decree later restricted possession of such weapons to soldiers of Northern Liang alone, punishing unauthorized ownership harshly. Thus, this wave of enthusiasm eventually subsided.
Goodness, which of Yung Prefecture’s wealthy young nobles could command a hundred elite riders in such a spectacular procession?
Could they be descendants of high-ranking generals from Northern Liang here for leisure in Yung Prefecture? Yet in recent years, Yung Prefecture was known to rival Qian Prefecture in opposition to Liang Prefecture—a fact even commoners such as he were well aware of. How could a spoiled noble from Northern Liang dare summon military forces to traverse the territory of Yung Prefecture? Wouldn’t such a demonstration be a slap to the face of Governor Tian himself? The shopkeeper carefully stowed away the silver, one hand shielding the unfinished bowl of wine, the other waving away dust as he pondered. Still, he couldn’t comprehend the identity of that eloquent, refined young nobleman—truly a rare and impressive figure. Once the dust settled, the owner lifted the bowl to sip his fermented wine and sighed, “What a gentleman! What grand stature he carries! I must share this with my wife when I get home. She’s never seen a person like him. Alas, it’s a shame he isn’t from our Yung Prefecture. It would be an honor to boast about him!”
Yuan Meng, commander of the Fengzi Cavalry who once fought bravely against the Crimson Armored warrior alongside Ning Emei in the rain, hailed from a medium-ranking scholarly family of Northern Liang. He had struggled with a bureaucratic career and thus chose the military path, training since youth under a reclusive martial arts instructor who had withdrawn from the martial world. Yuan mastered his teacher’s spear techniques thoroughly—though not quite reaching the level of the Little Butcher who had learned from the northern spear immortal, Wang Xiu, Yuan stood as a formidable general equally adept at leading charges and organizing formations. The truth was bitter: a mere day after departing Northern Liang, they lost dozens of comrades-in-arms. Yuan Meng grieved to the point of spitting blood over the loss, and his anger only grew with a sense of helplessness in suppressing this injustice. He would not dare voice complaints to the young prince.
Interestingly, Yuan Meng and the general with the large halberd, Ning Emei, shared the exact same rank—sixth grade junior position—neither particularly high nor low. Yet Yuan Meng deeply respected Ning Emei. Although the Four Tigers of Northern Liang ranked below the six adopted sons of Da Zhuguo, each commanding their respective divisions and wielding formidable power, these “Four Tigers” were more accessible, often seen on the battlefield and at celebratory feasts. To Yuan Meng, the most popular among them was General Ning, who led by example in charges, mirroring Da Zhuguo’s style, while being amiable and down-to-earth in camp life, unlike hot-headed commanders like Dian Xiongxu who were prone to punish subordinates with whips. At a certain county in Heyang, General Ning had dramatically unhorsed the clueless Eastern Escort Deputy Commander with a single thrust of his halberd bearing the mark of “Bu” (not), pinning the man down with its tip to his chest. The man dared not even fart while under the halberd’s threat! It was exhilarating—true to the might of Northern Liang.
Ning Emei suddenly pulled his horse to a stop, raised his halberd and laughed aloud to the light cavalry, “The Young Prince said while we were drinking just now—if he were at the gates of Yingchuan back then, he would have stripped that Eastern Escort deputy commander naked and hung him from the city gates!”
Yuan Meng was taken aback.
The Fengzi Cavalry, about a hundred strong, bore expressions similar to their commander—an internal stir, though skepticism remained.
After delivering the message, Ning Emei spurred his horse forward once more, the massive halberd trailing closely behind him.
Originally scheduled to enter a city for rest at dusk, Xu Fengnian instead bypassed the city at Lü Qiantang’s suggestion, choosing a mountain trail into the Qingcheng Range. This meant the group would all sleep in the wild unless a monastery or temple could be found atop the mountains. Comprising sixty-four peaks, Qingcheng Mountain was named for its perpetual emerald beauty, with trees and lush greenery encircling like an ancient fortress.
Yung Prefecture boasted three scenic jewels: the most easterly the “Westward Sword Pavilion,” said to have been hewn open by a single sword stroke from an eastbound sword immortal—the most perilous of them all. Then there was the Kuimen Pass in the south, renowned as the most majestic pass where a legendary sage once rode by on an ox. Lastly, the famous Daoist holy mountain that once nurtured the Qingcheng King. Formerly a sacred retreat of the Nine Rice Daoism sect, the Qingcheng King who was granted that title by the old emperor was originally a Daoist from the Longhu Zhengyi sect—an intruder who ousted the original Nine Rice sect, leaving only the solitary Qingyang Temple as the new dominant force. Consequently, Qingcheng Mountain, despite its renowned name, had become relatively quiet and less visited, a stark contrast to other famed mountains. Worse still, with fewer visitors, bands of rogue bandits had multiplied within the mountains. Wandering soldiers and scattered fugitives roamed freely, each declaring themselves kings alongside the Qingcheng King, making it difficult for government forces to eliminate them. Although the government offered generous rewards for local hunters to guide their troops, they often came back empty-handed. After repeated failures, the local magistrate gave up trying to engage Qingyang Temple’s leader, who showed no gratitude for the efforts. In fact, the Temple leader audaciously accused the magistrate of causing trouble and disturbing the tranquil sanctuary. In exasperation, the magistrate became even more unwilling to expend resources and energy. Only when noble travelers seeking the mountain’s beauty suffered misfortune would he reluctantly dispatch troops; the plight of ordinary citizens was largely ignored.
The authorities hoped Qingcheng Mountain would eventually turn into a barren, lifeless city, leaving the Qingcheng King with nothing but an empty title, unable to maintain the temple’s former prosperity.
The young prince’s decision to change course stirred old Taoist priest Wei Shuyang’s thoughts. In his youth, he had once lived in a thatched hut on one of the rear peaks, although he hadn’t sought the Dao out of youthful idealism. Only after various disappointments did he become a Daoist. While he held some affection for Qingcheng Mountain, it was not deep. He remained deeply angered by Qingcheng King’s expulsion of the Nine Rice Daoism sect. Were it not for his responsibility to guard the young prince, he would have confronted the Qingyang Temple and that Longhu sect priest who had come to Qingcheng Mountain to claim kingship.
Qingcheng Mountain was famed for its frequent fogs—thick and heavy. After half an hour’s journey inside the mountain, dusk settled rapidly. Xu Fengnian did not rush Lü Qiantang to find a camp for the night, riding leisurely on his white horse. All the while, Yu Youwei listened attentively to Priest Wei’s tales about Qingcheng’s breathtaking scenery, unfazed by the possibility of roughing it outdoors. After all, during the exodus of more than a hundred thousand people from the ruined Western Chu imperial city, she and her father had been swept along in the tide, enduring countless hardships.
Xu Fengnian had visited this mountain before, drawn by the tales of Daoist sanctuaries ranked among the most sacred of lands. Yet, in broad daylight, he had met a band of highwaymen. The ensuing chase was chaotic and exhausting. Xu couldn’t help but smirk at the memory. If he hadn’t learned later that Lao Huang was the legendary sword hero Huang Jiu, he might have taken much longer to realize the old man, with his missing tooth and fondness for yellow rice wine, was truly a formidable master. At the time, Xu was riding astride while Lao Huang ran tirelessly beside, his frail body somehow capable of matching the horse’s pace across half the mountain. How had he not considered that at the time?
Snapping back to the present, Xu Fengnian glanced at familiar scenery and chuckled, “Lv Qiantang, go up another mile. There should be an abandoned temple nearby. Check it out for us.”
With that, Lv Qiantang set off.
The mountain air was damp and chilly, making Yu Youwei shiver slightly as she held Wu Meiniang close. Xu Fengnian caught sight of this and gently said, “Tonight, you can sleep in the carriage with Jiang Ni.”
Yu Youwei’s expression grew complex as she looked down, meeting Wu Meiniang’s gaze upward.
Soon, Lv Qiantang returned, reporting respectfully, “Your Highness, there is indeed an empty temple, no strangers about.”
Xu Fengnian nodded and turned to Yang Qingfeng, ordering, “Go hunt us something.”
Yang Qingfeng leaped into the woods, while the horse calmly continued onward.
The temple was the same as ever though in worse condition than before. Lv Qiantang gathered firewood and lit a blazing hearth in the courtyard. This night, they would keep watch in turns. Should Shu Xiu refuse to take her shift, he wouldn’t fuss about such minor matters. Within the three retainers of the Prince’s household, Da Zhuguo had never specified their rankings, nor had the young Prince offered clarification. It seemed the three were to determine superiority among themselves, through whatever means they could manage. Lv Qiantang was confident in his Red Rosy Clouds Sword, while not blindly arrogant. He acknowledged that Shu Xiu’s inner strength was formidable against the Crimson Armored Spirit, and that Yang Qingfeng’s strange techniques were difficult to predict. Yet even if he did prevail, how would it compare with Qingniao, whose one action had astonished him?
Yang Qingfeng returned with several pheasants and wild hares, even dragging a wild deer, yet the Young Prince’s eyes landed solely on the pheasants, grinning, “These are Qingcheng’s specialty—White Nut Pheasants, fattened on white nuts. Their meat is more delicious than that of the deer. You’ll all see when you taste it—assuming I can resist the temptation to devour them all myself!”
Behind the temple, there was a spring of clear water where Qingniao and Jiang Ni, sent reluctantly by Xu Fengnian’s glare, began to pluck and wash the game. Considering the future, Xu Fengnian had Qingniao personally teaching Jiang Ni—who tended to burn even roasted goose—the intricacies of controlling fire and timing. Xu Fengnian leaned on the steps, resting the paired short and long Dao blades, Xiudong and Chunlei, across his lap. Yu Youwei, who brought few personal effects and disliked soiling her clothes on the ground, stood beside him cradling Wu Meiniang. The old sword sage lay sprawled on his back on the topmost step, using a randomly picked green stone as a pillow. Yang Qingfeng fed the horses outside the courtyard, while Shu Xiu and Lv Qiantang stood like stone guardian statues at the gate.
Xu Fengnian eagerly awaited the feast. Pointing toward a majestic mountain peak in the distance, he whispered, “That’s where Qingyang Temple sits. On a night after the rain when the sky clears, one can see thousands of lanterns rising to the heavens. I’ve only heard this from Lao Huang—I’ve never seen it with my own eyes. Back then, I was ambushed as I set out from the foot of the mountain. I ran to the brink of exhaustion, panicked and confused. Riding into a forest path, I was struck by a low-hanging branch and thrown from my horse, only to be hauled away bound with Lao Huang. Fortunately, the incident ended without harm and I even ended up tasting a half-cooked White Nut Pheasant—an unfortunate situation turned fortunate. Seems I was kind enough to share half a chicken leg—or was it half a bird? Anyway, Lao Huang was so touched he wept, snotty-nosed and teary-eyed. I nearly died laughing.”
Yet as Yu Youwei listened to his words, she noticed that the prince, though speaking of laughter and death, did not smile at all.
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