Xu Fengnian was unaware of whom the person before the stone tablet referred to with the phrase “returning in the wind and snow of night,” but he instantly recognized the old man’s identity by his excellent memory. This was none other than the aged servant from Qingliang Mountain who had temporarily become a stonecutter, Wu Jiang, who loved ginger. During their first meeting, the old man had stood amidst the group of artisans, hunched over, his face lined with age and hardship, seemingly unremarkable. Had Xu Fengnian not suffered a sudden drop in his martial cultivation, he might have noticed some clues back then. Rather than retreating, Xu Fengnian advanced slowly and realized that the old man, now standing straight without feigned frailty, possessed an extraordinary bearing, exuding the formidable aura of a senior statesman from a grand hall.
In Xu Fengnian’s memory, among the martial cultivators of the Jianghu, the older generation of martial experts, aside from Han Shengxuan and Sui Xiegu, were usually not intimidating at first glance. Old Huang, the old man with the sheepskin cloak, and the venerable Daoist elder from Longhu Mountain, Zhao Xituan, all seemed far removed from the image of a supreme martial arts master when first encountered. This convinced Xu Fengnian of his earlier suspicion: the old man, who had taken the alias Wu Jiang, was either none other than the famed calligrapher of the fallen Xichu Dynasty, Qi Lianhua—renowned as the “Second Master of Seal, Clerical, Cursive, Running, and Regular Scripts”—or at least closely connected to him. It is not difficult for a person to hide their martial prowess, but it is far harder to conceal one’s calligraphic skill. Born into a noble family, Qi Lianhua was universally acknowledged as a calligraphic genius, yet in the Great Chu Dynasty, he only reached the rank of Hanlin Compiler, performing minor duties such as drafting imperial edicts and epitaphs for the Ji emperor, and compiling half of the annals of the previous dynasty before the project was abandoned. Thus, he was mockingly nicknamed “Qi Half-Volume” and “Flower-Adder.” The latter implied that Qi Lianhua was only capable of embellishing success, not aiding in times of hardship. After the fall of Xichu, the Qi family of Guangling fell into decline, and Qi Lianhua vanished without a trace, further reinforcing the belief in the “Flower-Adder” theory.
At that time, there was also a heated debate regarding the Thirteen Masters of the Spring and Autumn Annals. Qi Lianhua had been the Xichu court’s official candidate for the “Calligraphy Master,” especially famed for his running script. His “Warring States Scroll,” containing only fourteen characters, was hailed as the second greatest running script in the realm. Later, Nalan Youci was officially recognized by the Liyang court as the dual Master of Painting and Calligraphy of the Spring and Autumn Annals, with his “Rising View Scroll” competing with Qi’s work as the foremost running script of the age. However, the general populace largely rejected this claim, refusing to acknowledge Nalan Youci’s dual mastery and insisting that Qi Lianhua’s calligraphic prowess rivaled that of ancient sages. Yet when it came to the title of Calligraphy Master of the Spring and Autumn Annals, the honor was still widely believed to belong to Huang Longshi, whose cursive script was considered unmatched and unparalleled.
Later, the Liyang court hurriedly put forward Master Song of the Song family as the Literary Master, but this too was met with ridicule. People scoffed, saying that Master Song could content himself with being the literary leader of the Zhao family of Liyang, serving as their loyal hound. With Qi Yanglong of the Shangyin Academy already setting a high standard, how could Master Song possibly claim the title of Literary Master, a title for which there had never been a definitive standard? The court, unwilling to concede, turned to the idea of martial supremacy instead, attempting to proclaim Wang Xianzhi of Wudi City as the Martial Master. However, the old eccentric, who called himself the “Second Under Heaven,” directly refused the honor. Thus, numerous versions of the Thirteen Masters of the Spring and Autumn Annals emerged, each more confusing than the last, including one proposed by a Daoist of the Zhao clan from Longhu Mountain. Yet the most widely accepted and authoritative version remained the original one. Although many individuals narrowly missed inclusion among the Thirteen Masters, anyone even mentioned in connection with the title was undeniably a person of extraordinary talent. Xu Fengnian’s teacher, Li Yishan, had once greatly admired Qi Lianhua’s calligraphy, declaring his running script to be the finest of all time. As a result, Xu Fengnian was inevitably influenced, and during his youth, he practiced running and regular scripts by copying the rare surviving works of Qi’s calligraphy, the “Qi Scrolls,” cursing Qi Lianhua countless times.
Xu Fengnian was deeply curious—if this old man before him was indeed Qi Lianhua himself—how had he become a hidden loyalist of the fallen Xichu Dynasty, slipping through the net of Qingliang Mountain? To deceive the Beiliang Mansion, where martial experts abounded, mere patience would not suffice; formidable strength must also be at play. Xu Fengnian was not particularly surprised that the old man had infiltrated the Xu family. After all, Jiang Ni, as the sole surviving heir of the Xichu royal house, was naturally worth the devotion of Xichu scholars who believed that “a nation that has nurtured scholars for two centuries deserves their lives in return.” What truly unsettled Xu Fengnian was the fact that the secret of Princess Jiang Si’s return to Beiliang with Xu Xiao was of utmost confidentiality. Otherwise, Cao Changqing would not have spent years searching in vain across the Liyang court and its officials. How, then, had this old man come to know of it?
Xu Fengnian’s decision not to immediately retreat from this mausoleum and instead face off with an old minister of the fallen Chu Dynasty was a significant risk. Although Xu Xiao had taken it upon himself to spare one precious “remnant” of the Jiang lineage from Xichu, he had personally led the charge that breached the Xichu capital, and the emperor and empress had died before his very eyes. Thus, Xu Xiao owed Xichu only personal kindness, not national loyalty. Moreover, with the current unrest in Guangling and the Liyang forces struggling in the war, many in the realm believed that even if the Beiliang cavalry could not withstand the southern invasion of the Northern Barbarians’ hundred thousand troops, they could still easily withdraw from the barren northwest and suppress the Xichu rebels in the Central Plains. Many officials and commoners alike considered this a likely contingency plan for Xu Fengnian, the Prince of Beiliang. Liyang could avoid losing a single soldier, while Beiliang would gain sufficient military merit to secure the future of its generals—a mutually beneficial outcome, with the thirty thousand border troops simply to be disbanded and absorbed elsewhere, such as along the Liaodong border under the command of Grand Pillar Gu Jiantang, which could easily take in over ten thousand troops.
Therefore, the Xichu court was closely monitoring the movements of the Beiliang border forces, especially those of Xu Fengnian, fearing that the young feudal lord might one day impulsively lead his army into the heart of the Central Plains, offering the fallen Xichu as a token of allegiance to the new Liyang emperor.
At this moment, the only high-level experts available to Xu Fengnian were Mi Fengjie and Fan Xiaocha, both stationed outside the mausoleum and forbidden from entering the restricted inner sanctum. The sword-swallowing elder Sui Xiegu and the hundred Wujia swordsmen were stationed along the northern border of Liangzhou to prevent the Northern Barbarians from making desperate attempts to assassinate Chu Luxian at the Beiliang Protectorate. Xu Yanbing was still single-handedly pursuing a group of elite Northern Barbarian martial artists who had infiltrated Youzhou, with Tantai Jing and the disciples of the Guanyin Sect assisting him, determined to leave the two formidable assassins, Xiao Nian and Da Lebu, trapped in Youzhou.
In the past, where in the world could Xu Fengnian not go?
The old man, dressed in simple clothes, scrutinized the young man before him, who seemed momentarily lost in thought, his gaze complex. Perhaps his very presence added a tense, sword-drawn atmosphere to the air, yet for some reason, the aged man seemed to harbor no hostility. Though Xu Fengnian had temporarily lost his peak martial cultivation, his sharp instincts remained. Thus, when Mi Fengjie and Fan Xiaocha sensed trouble within the mausoleum and rushed in urgently, Xu Fengnian merely raised a hand, signaling them to withdraw. Mi Fengjie silently obeyed, but Fan Xiaocha hesitated before remaining in place at a distance. Xu Fengnian did not reprimand the female assassin for her defiance.
With his hands clasped behind his back, the old man smiled and said, “Xu Xiao never did a single thing in his life that I liked, but he did manage to raise a fine son.”
At these boldly disrespectful words, Xu Fengnian couldn’t help but furrow his brow, though he quickly regained his composure. The elder generation of scholars often prided themselves on their integrity and principles, which was the only way they could stand shoulder to shoulder with emperors in governing the realm. Moreover, this man was likely a hidden loyalist of the fallen Xichu, and it was only natural that he bore deep resentment toward Beiliang and Xu Xiao. Xu Fengnian smiled and asked, “May I ask if you are the famed calligrapher of Xichu, Master Qi?”
The old man’s expression turned somewhat strange, neither confirming nor denying the question, simply staring at Xu Fengnian. If Xu Fengnian, who bore a striking resemblance to his mother, Lady Wu Su, was considered a dashing young noble in the eyes of the world, then this old man, whose youthful charm still lingered in his features, could at the very least be described as a “jade tree in old age.” Feeling somewhat uneasy under the old man’s gaze, Xu Fengnian reflected on how people had once looked at him in Beiliang with disdain, as if he were a prince wasting a noble appearance. Later, in Taian City, he had been met with scornful glances reserved for the son of a butcher. But after his duel with Wang Xianzhi, the world’s perception of him had shifted dramatically. Even the proud generals of Beiliang’s border forces, such as Li Mofan and Wang Lingbao, had come to regard him with genuine respect and admiration. Yet none had ever looked at him the way this old man did—his gaze was utterly inexplicable.
The old man spoke softly, “Earlier, I saw the way you inscribed the stone tablet. It’s clear you’ve put in a great deal of effort. Your steady progress in the martial arts, from your training on Wudang Mountain with the saber, owes much to Master Li Yishan. Calligraphy and Go are similar in that, once you reach a certain level, the principles of one apply to all. Though not every calligrapher or Go master becomes a capable statesman or a martial grandmaster like Li Mi’s disciple, these pursuits do shape one’s character. Xu Xiao, once a hot-headed wanderer, underwent a significant transformation after becoming a king and settling in his domain. Much of this change was due to his late-life study of Go.”
Xu Fengnian remained silent. Xu Xiao had been an illiterate rogue in his early days in Liaodong’s Jinzhou, and his ancestors had nothing to do with scholarly families or the tradition of farming and learning. After arriving in Beiliang, Xu Xiao became an avid but poor Go player, often clashing with his second daughter Xu Wei Xiong’s teacher, the Go master Wang Jiujiu, in intense and chaotic matches. This wasn’t without reason. At first, it was his late wife who had wanted Xu Xiao to play Go to temper his impulsive nature and encourage him to take things more calmly as he aged. Initially, Xu Xiao would often skip out on games, but over time, his wife stopped pushing him. Later, Xu Fengnian himself developed a love for Go, and after his mother’s death, the young Xu Fengnian and his father fell into a rift. Perhaps Xu Xiao wanted to spend more time with his son and finally began to take Go seriously. However, he was soon left far behind by his gifted son, who could beat him soundly even when deliberately holding back. Eventually, neither Xu Fengnian nor Li Yishan wanted to play with Xu Xiao anymore, as even with generous handicaps, Xu Xiao would still be utterly defeated. Even if Xu Xiao wanted to keep humiliating himself, he had to consider whether the master and apprentice duo—who were the only ones in the world who didn’t feel the need to flatter him—had the time or inclination to indulge him. Xu Wei Xiong, on the other hand, always had the patience to play with her father. But perhaps in Xu Xiao’s mind, which was never shy about his preference for sons, playing with his son was simply more enjoyable. Even when Xu Fengnian would leave him with only a few scattered pieces on the board, the old Prince of Beiliang, known as the most competitive man in all of Liyang, would still be delighted.
Xu Xiao’s unparalleled achievements in quelling the Spring and Autumn Wars earned him the privilege of standing side by side with the emperor and the late Emperor Zhao Dun’s father. Later, he was even allowed to carry his sword into the imperial court. Yet at Qingliang Mountain, many scenes were absurd, especially to outsiders. Xu Xiao was often chased around the Phoenix Tree Courtyard by his wife, and the young prince would sit at the head of the banquet table in the mansion. This was not only unheard of in noble households but even in common families, fathers were not expected to dote on their sons to such an extent, nor were sons expected to be so disrespectful. Eventually, the Liyang court found a flawless excuse to attack Beiliang: “If the upper beam is crooked, the lower beams will surely be askew.”
Xu Fengnian lightly shook his head, snapping himself back to the present. Although the old man before him showed no sign of hostility, he was undoubtedly a hidden master of the highest caliber. With the imminent war between Beiliang and the Northern Barbarians, if he were to die here, the location might be acceptable, but the timing would be utterly disastrous. At the very least, the Northern Barbarians might avoid the deaths of tens of thousands of soldiers.
The old man smiled and asked, “Do you think I am the famed calligrapher of Xichu, Qi Lianhua?”
Xu Fengnian nodded.
The old man slowly extended one hand. “When lifting the brush, one must concentrate fully, as if seated among the ancient sages of calligraphy—only with a calm and harmonious spirit can one approach the profound and the sublime. This path is like the sacred vessels of the ancestral temple: when empty, they tilt; when full, they overturn. Only when balanced do they remain level.”
His hand shifted slightly. “The ancients said, ‘A ghost lies hidden in the wrist; with the brush, divine inspiration flows.’ Thus, a correct stroke gathers strength from all directions. The fingers must be firm, for firm fingers ensure balanced force. The palm must be hollow, for a hollow palm allows for effortless movement…”
“When drawing a horizontal stroke, it must be restrained—this is exemplified in the character ‘ Knight.’ The Great Chu nurtured its scholars for two hundred years. Though the nation fell twenty years ago, the spirit of the scholars remains unbroken.”
“When forming a loop, it must be coiled; when creating a wave, it must be stretched.”
“When stretching, the brush must tremble outward, revealing its meaning only after careful contemplation.”
As the old man spoke, the entire garden trembled with thunder and lightning!
Outside the mausoleum, Mi Fengjie’s face turned pale, and the sword in his back-mounted case quivered violently, as if struck by lightning, wailing in distress.
Inside the garden, Fan Xiaocha’s face was drained of color, swaying unsteadily, yet she stubbornly refused to retreat a single step.
The old man’s palm slowly turned, seemingly nothing more than a pedantic scholar teaching a young student how to write each stroke with care. Yet to Xu Fengnian’s eyes, it was a storm of power, reminding him of the time in Taian City when Gu Jiantang, wielding the world’s finest blade, Nan Hua, had countered Cao Changqing with a single move of the Fang Cun Lei technique. Both methods, though different in approach, achieved the same miraculous transformation from the mundane to the sublime, reaching the pinnacle of mastery. Amid the swirling wind and snow, Xu Fengnian’s expression grew solemn. Earlier, he and the sword master Mi Fengjie had believed the residual energy on the stone tablet was the result of finger-carved sword qi—but now, he realized, they had been off by a hair’s breadth, leading to a vast misunderstanding.
This old man… wielded a saber.
Without looking at the chaotic wind and snow that seemed to be sliced apart, Xu Fengnian asked, “So, Master Qi, are you the Saber Master among the Thirteen Masters of the Spring and Autumn Annals?”
The old man did not answer. Instead, he slightly curled his fingers into a grasping motion and asked in return, “The stroke that gathers—what character does it form?”
Standing at the center of the circle, surrounded by a few feet of clear space with no snowfall, Xu Fengnian replied helplessly, “The character for ‘year’ ( Year).”
The old man let out a sigh as he lowered his hand. “Indeed, the character for ‘year.’ Xu Fengnian.”
At last, the wind and snow in the entire garden returned to normal, and once more, soft flakes of snow drifted down, landing gently on Xu Fengnian’s head and shoulders.
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