Xu Fengnian gazed at Shu Dama, whose forced shyness failed to conceal the murderous intent and disgust roiling beneath her composure. A woman of about thirty, calling her “Dama” wasn’t an injustice. Xu Fengnian made no move to oblige her silent wish for slaughter, instead keeping his arm around Yu Youwei’s supple waist. Her waist was delicate, smooth under his touch. True, Jiang Ni was no less slender in the waist than Yu Youwei in his arms, but Xu Fengnian had witnessed with his own eyes Yu Youwei’s ample charms in the intimacy of their bedchamber. By comparison, her waist seemed even more exquisitely narrow.
He only gestured toward Shu Xiu with a playful tone, saying, “Friends, if I hand this beauty over for your pleasure, would you spare us in return?”
A figure clad in a tiger hide cloak, wielding twin Xu Hua Pattern Axes, cast a glance at Shu Xiu. Normally, a young maiden of such rare beauty would be hard to resist, but human greed knows no bounds. The other two women in the courtyard were even more tempting. Even the most beautiful proud nuns from Qingyang Palace paled beside them. For the past two months, the leader had been coiled in frustration on the mountain, his lust pent up until it nearly drove him mad. He was at the brink of seeking solace in a female monkey. The governor’s relentless hunts in the mountains always ended in failure, but his men had pasted wanted posters all over the county, featuring every major bandit from Qingcheng. He, too, was among them. Forced to disguise himself as a peasant now and then just to sneak into town for relief, he rarely went without inviting five or six girls into one bed, indulging until dawn.
So, the thought of tearing off the clothes of those young beauties and feasting his eyes on their jade-like skin nearly drove the leader mad. He spat out a mouthful of phlegm and glared fiercely at the woman cradling a white cat—his favorite. Though the maid roasting meat had a slightly prettier face, women, in his opinion, should be plump enough to endure the “battlefield” beneath his mighty axe. Lifting one of his axes, he pointed at Yu Youwei and laughed, “This one is mine. Hands off, everyone else can do as they please—but make sure they don’t die, and clean them up before bringing them to my quarters.”
San Dangjia was a destitute scholar, a man of wicked cunning. Once, he had tricked a young girl into heading into Qingcheng Mountain under the pretense of visiting a temple so he could assault her in a secluded place. Alas, even the best plans can go awry. His attempt was discovered by the bandits, but instead of resisting, he immediately handed over the girl and offered her to them. He then threw in his lot with the thieves, quickly proving useful with his scheming and strategy. Later, when the girl, unable to bear the repeated assaults, hanged herself, the furious scholar, not yet sated, violated her lifeless body while it was still warm, continuing for an entire incense stick’s time. Even Da Dangjia and Er Dangjia were impressed. Delighted, they granted him the position of third-in-command, reasoning that a scholar was of little consequence, and certainly no threat to their leadership.
San Dangjia fixed a sinister grin on Jiang Ni, saying, “That sweet little thing is all mine. I’ll take her back and mold her into my perfect mate. Don’t be afraid, little sister, I’m a scholar, a cultured man—I know just how to treat a lady.”
The thin, monkey-like Er Dangjia, given to Shu Xiu, sneered, “The girl you tricked up here, you let her corpse rot on the mountaintop after she died.”
Xu Fengnian snapped his fingers and asked, “I remember this place used to belong to Old Meng. How did you lot take it over?”
The leader sneered, “That useless old man who couldn’t even kill someone got run out. No more chatter—come out and die. Just a single swing from my axe, and you’ll be done for!”
Xu Fengnian released Yu Youwei, stood up, and drew his sword. The leader hesitated a moment, then roared with laughter, “You dare to wield a blade in front of me, kid?!”
Xu Fengnian lightly hopped down the steps, graceful as a bird, clearly a master of inner energy. Noticing the leader’s momentary confusion, he kindly offered: “Check behind you.”
The leader dared not fully turn around, afraid of an ambush, but glanced over his shoulder quickly. What in the world? Except for Er Dangjia and San Dangjia, where were the rest of the gang? Only a strange young woman in a blue robe remained standing. She was holding one of his strongest men by the neck, lifting him like a ragdoll. What had happened? Had all his men been crushed like insects in her grip?
Before he could think, the expressionless woman released the man, letting him collapse silently to the ground. At that moment, Shu Xiu launched herself forward with a powerful kick. Before the force touched the monkey-like Er Dangjia’s body, he was hurled backward as if struck by an invisible whirlwind, his body bent like a bow, and with a sudden *bang*, he smashed into the wall, leaving a perfect bloodstain that spread like a smashed mosquito. Shu Xiu casually brushed her hair back and coldly said, “Hitting you feels like filth.”
The leader’s twin axes trembled in his grip. He dared neither retreat nor advance. The blue-robed woman was a death-dealing Yan Luo, the one who had slain his men without touching them—a terrifying force. And the old Taoist priest seemed less like a fool and more like an immortal from Qingcheng Mountain. As for the charming young man who now stood so calmly by his sword, was he another formidable foe? Was today to be their end?
With a thud, San Dangjia dropped to his knees, wailing and begging for mercy.
Xu Fengnian then asked an odd question: “Did Old Meng and his men die?”
The leader, fearing for his life, bowed low: “No, Your Honor! Me and Old Meng are old friends—we just swapped territories.”
Xu Fengnian nodded in relief and said, “Lü Qiantang, take these two out, and do it quietly. And Yang Qingfeng, you know the dark arts—clean up the bodies, bury them far away, or someone might toss and turn all night from fear and not feel like studying or earning money tomorrow.”
Jiang Ni, already hiding behind the swordsman Li Chungan at the sight of corpses, turned pale and dared not argue. Yu Youwei, once known as Yu Xuanji, remained calm, having long since grown indifferent to life and death.
Without glancing at Lü Qiantang dragging two men away, Xu Fengnian only asked Qingniao: “Bring ink and brush. I need to do some sketches. Old Taoist Wei, I hope you’ll accompany me to the open-view Pavilion Yin and Yang.”
Old Taoist Wei chuckled, stroking his beard: “Your Highness is too kind. As a matter of fact, I miss that pavilion. I once rested there when I came to Qingcheng as a young apprentice seeking the Tao.”
With Qingniao and the old Taoist each holding a torch, they led the way as Xu Fengnian carried a full ream of premium Xuan paper taken from Jin Sanlang. Qingniao’s brush was a small, hard-tipped Liaowei from Guandong. Watching the three disappear into the night, Jiang Ni turned to see Yang Qingfeng dragging the corpse from the wall, and soon, the two bandits hauled outside by swordsman Lü Qiantang would surely meet the same fate. Clutching behind Master Li, she stood lost in thought. Master Li, having seen much of the world, smiled knowingly.
“Miss Jiang,” he chuckled, “allow me to say a kind word for young Xu. You may resent his wild ways in Beiliang, but don’t misunderstand him. Outside Beiliang, he was merely protecting the innocent. Those thirty-odd villains—had they lived or died, it rested entirely on his whim. He killed them not out of cruelty, I suspect, but perhaps because of Old Meng, the old fox who’s still hiding.”
Jiang Ni only grunted coolly.
The old swordsman smiled again: “Miss Jiang, want to know what young Xu is sketching tonight? If you roast me another chicken, I might tell you.”
“I’m not interested,” Jiang Ni muttered.
Li, who never kept secrets long, swallowed his words and said, “Fine. Best you not know, to keep your heart steady for sword practice.”
—
Yin Yang Pavilion.
This pavilion marked the boundary—what lay below was the living world, what lay above was the realm of the dead. Truly fitting, for those bandits who invaded the courtyard were now ghosts in the underworld.
Xu Fengnian took the wooden board Qingniao prepared, sat cross-legged, and laid the Xuan paper atop it. Qingniao ground the ink while Taoist Wei held torches beside him, both gazing toward Qingcheng under the moonlight. Qingcheng, home to the Fifth Cave Heaven in Daoist lore, was far more ancient than Longhu and Wudang. Hidden in verdant hills, its temples embodied the harmony between man and nature. A celestial poet once wrote: *“Only the mountains love the aged peaks, the red paths near the hush of night.”* The main peak, Qingyang, and the secondary, Tianzun, stood in proud opposition with a hanging iron chain bridge where cranes soared above a sea of clouds.
Taoist Wei, who once braved the bridge on foot, recalled shivering for half an hour before reaching the other side, soaked in sweat.
Looking down now, he murmured in awe: “Your Highness, your memory astounds me!”
Xu Fengnian focused intently, sketching every peak and valley of Beiliang with unmatched precision, more detailed than any cartographer. Even Wei, seasoned by decades in Qingcheng, stood awestruck. The young prince worked for an hour, through a dozen sheets, finally reaching Qingcheng. Though he had only passed through on horseback, his brushwork captured every contour with clarity beyond an old master like Wei. The fine Liaowei brush was perfect for capturing the subtleties.
Wei had watched Xu grow up, better than most. As a child, he’d soaked in the stench of secrets while sitting on Wei’s shoulders, even using secret scrolls as toilet paper. Yet when that boy became serious, there was a stubborn intensity behind his eyes. Once, when lectured by Master Li Yishan for a misdeed, he refused to admit fault, yet still copied scriptures until he’d transcribed nearly three hundred thousand words—eventually winning over even the exasperated Li.
Xu finally set his brush aside, waited for the ink to dry, and smiled at Qingniao: “Carry those papers back to the carriage. Otherwise, *that girl* won’t sleep all night.”
As the paper absorbed the ink, Qingniao gathered the scrolls and left quietly.
Torchlight changed several times.
Xu stretched his wrist and softly chuckled: “Wei Grandpa, don’t let anyone see this.”
The old Taoist nodded: “Not a word. Your Highness’s mind is full of wonders—no need to hide it.”
Xu turned to the summit of Qingcheng and smirked bitterly: “A hollow prince, all gilded shell.”
Wei laughed: “Too humble, my prince.”
Xu closed his eyes, facing the mountains, blade resting on his lap, fingers forming the Huang Ting seal, slipping into trance.
Wei sat silently through the night, watching the prince hover between wakefulness and sleep.
A faint purple glow shimmered between Xu’s eyebrows.
As dawn approached, the morning sun rising, the red mark on his brow shifted from crimson to a soft lavender.
When the first golden light touched his face, Xu slowly opened his eyes, turned to Wei, and smiled apologetically.
Wei gently stroked his beard and said, “I’m growing more eager to see you at Longhu.”
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