Chapter 719: A Cup of Snow, A Head of Skulls

The elderly man, none other than the renowned calligrapher Qi Lianhua of the Western Chu Dynasty, chuckled self-deprecatingly. “Spring and Autumn Blades and Armor? Blade-wielding scribes, blade-wielding scribes—well then, if blades are the topic, so be it.”

For centuries, the world has always taken pride in practicing the sword. Not only wandering swordsmen, but even scholars across the land often carried swords while traveling for study, to show their vigor and spirit. In the contest for supremacy among weapons, the sword has always outshone the blade. Yet in terms of numbers, famous blades are no fewer than famous swords, and many have rich, legendary tales behind them. Take, for example, the great frost long-blade now in the hands of Xu Fengnian’s apprentice; its previous owners’ stories are nothing short of stirring and awe-inspiring. However, since the legendary Lu Zu gained fame across the land by severing heads with flying swords, the sword arts have stood alone at the pinnacle of martial cultivation, while the prestige of blade-wielders has steadily declined. Never has a master of the blade ever reached the summit of martial cultivation. In the past century, there was Li Chungan, the Sword Immortal of the Sword Grove, and Deng Tai’a, the Sword God of the Peach Blossom Sect. Though both lost to Wang Xianzhi, none could deny the grand elegance of each swordsman. In contrast, Gu Jiantang, the greatest blade master, has never ranked highly on the martial rankings, and his reputation in the martial world is unremarkable. No one has ever heard of someone aspiring to emulate General Gu’s martial prowess by taking up the blade. There have been those who took up swords for military glory, but even the demon lord Han Diaosi, in his final moments, once confessed he had dreamed of wearing green robes and wandering the martial world with a sword. What more of other young men? And how many women have heard of Li Chungan, the green-robed swordsman, and been unable to forget his name?

Even Xu Fengnian himself, before he took up the blade, dressed as a young swordsman in Beiliang to deceive women, and wished to hang famous swords all over his body.

That the calligrapher Qi Lianhua was none other than the legendary Spring and Autumn Blade Master, leaving behind only a fleeting glimpse in the martial world, is a truth truly moving. It is enough to make one envy the former glory of the Western Chu. Indeed, it was the orthodox cultural heartland of the Central Plains: Li Chungan once crossed the Guangling River with his sword; literary scholars roamed in boats, drinking and composing a hundred poems; women of such beauty that their looks could topple kingdoms; and the national teachers Li Mi and Cao Jia, master and disciple, playing a game of chess between snowfall and snow-clearing. No wonder some say the fall of the Western Chu was not the fault of the emperor, the scholars, or the people—it was simply fate that favored Liyang and not Jiangchu.

The old man motioned to Xu Fengnian, and then knelt down first, gazing at the tombstone of Lady Wu Su, his expression no longer the proud and spirited one from before, but that of a lonely, desolate elder. He murmured softly, “What is Xu Xiao but a coarse, vulgar martial brute? Marrying a woman of decent looks should have been enough.”

Xu Fengnian’s anger flared, and he sneered, “Master, do you really believe that if we were to fight to the death, I would surely lose?”

Qi Lianhua smiled faintly and asked, “You’ve never returned to your ancestral home in Jinzhou to pay respects to your ancestors, have you?”

Xu Fengnian did not answer.

In fact, not only he, but even Xu Xiao never returned to Jinzhou after being enfeoffed as a king. Xu Fengnian’s grandfather died early, when Xu Xiao had just left Liaodong and was locked in fierce battles with several regional warlords in southern Liyang. Xu Fengnian had never even seen his grandparents. Since Xu Xiao was an only child, there were no further Xu relatives later on. In his early years, some distant relatives from Jinzhou came to Beiliang to seek Xu Xiao’s favor, and the young Xu Xiao, who had suffered much scorn in his youth, repaid them with generous kindness, giving them a life of assured wealth and comfort. As for his mother’s side, Lady Wu Su hardly ever spoke of them. Xu Fengnian occasionally heard his mother mention that his maternal grandmother was a kind-hearted woman who treated others with empathy, but she died young. As for his maternal grandfather, his mother never mentioned a word. Xu Xiao also refused to speak more, except once, after drinking, he angrily muttered that the old man was long dead. Xu Fengnian guessed that Xu Xiao had been rejected when he sought to marry Wu Su at the Wu Clan’s Sword Tomb, where he was chased away and beaten with swords, thus creating an enmity that lasted until death. As for his maternal grandfather, Xu Fengnian also bore resentment. Later, his maternal aunt, who lived in Qingcheng Mountain, always wore armor to cover her face. It was the Wu Clan’s harsh treatment of his mother that led to her sword Knight’s face being slashed and disfigured by fierce sword qi. Though not the grandfather’s own doing, Xu Fengnian believed that if the old man had spoken a few fair words, the Wu Clan might not have treated his mother so cruelly upon her elopement. Especially after learning that his maternal uncle, Wu Qi, deliberately avoided him in the Northern Desert and later went to serve Chen Zhibao in Xishu, Xu Fengnian had little goodwill left for the Wu elders. Even the current head of the Wu Clan, who should have been addressed as Great Grandfather, once made a gesture of reconciliation at the Beiliang border, but Xu Fengnian still bore a grudge.

The old man exhaled deeply and sighed, “I once compiled the history of the previous dynasty for the Great Chu, reading through countless books. At that time, though I bore no title of a sword master, I had the strength of one. Yet while compiling the history, I often shivered in fear during the night. Why? Because in those pages, the words ‘people eating people’ appeared again and again!”

“The rise and fall of dynasties may be natural, but with every upheaval, the suffering of the common people is unbearable. Outside the city gates, by the roadside, people are bound and driven like sheep, morning and evening. They are devoured, the strong choosing the fattest cuts, the sharp knives falling in fierce competition. What a tragic sight! The dead fill the roads, the living dwell among ghosts. This is no idle lament of a poet in troubled times! I have seen it myself—toward the end of the Spring and Autumn period, boys were sold for just a few coins, and girls no more than a handful of grain. Later, some parents, unable to bear it, even exchanged children to eat. In the end, people ceased to be human, and were worse than ghosts! How could I not hate Liyang? How could I not hate Xu Xiao, who marched south, slaughtering cities and destroying nations?”

“In the past, the homes of kings and nobles became places where foxes and hares roamed. But was it only the houses of kings and nobles that met such a fate?”

Xu Fengnian scooped up a handful of snow from the ground and clenched it in his palm, unable to help interrupting the old man’s words. “Xu Xiao once said that a man must know his place. The highest kind of scholar cultivates himself, regulates his family, governs the country, and brings peace to the world. The lesser kind can at least speak for the suffering of the people. As for him, a martial man with a sword, his duty was to fight, and he could do nothing else. Give him a few thousand men, and he would take a city. Give him tens of thousands, and he would conquer a country. When he had hundreds of thousands of cavalry, what else was there to do but conquer the world? That’s why so many people cursed him later, but he never replied, nor did he think he was right. In the Beiliang army, the older generation—Yan Wenluan, Zhong Hongwu, He Zhonghu—and the younger ones—Chu Lushan, Li Mofan, Cao Xiao Jiao—were all seen as notorious old soldiers by the world.”

Xu Fengnian’s expression was firm as he said solemnly, “But we cannot deny that if someone had to become the butcher who unified the world for Liyang, then having Xu Xiao do it was undoubtedly the best possible outcome.”

Qi Lianhua sighed, “To be honest, I’ve never thought of it that way.”

The old man, lost in thought, suddenly laughed out loud. “The poet Huang Longshi once wrote a famous line: ‘The country is broken, but the mountains and rivers remain; in spring, the city is deep with grass and trees.’ A certain old scholar from the Liyang court, Master Song, once commented that the word ‘deep’ should be replaced with ‘alive.’ With ‘alive,’ the contrast between stillness and motion would better fit the essence of poetry. The literary circles of Liyang praised this change enthusiastically. What do you think?”

Xu Fengnian replied calmly, “My second sister once said at the Shangyin Academy that Master Song’s revision was utter nonsense.”

Qi Lianhua asked, “Then don’t you wonder who Xu Weixiong’s daughter really is?”

Xu Fengnian, touched on a sore spot, could not hide his anger. “What’s it to you?!”

Qi Lianhua smiled with narrowed eyes. “Xu Fengnian, you really are just like your father, Xu Xiao.”

Xu Fengnian took a deep breath. “I respect your loyalty to the Western Chu, and your years of hiding in the Beiliang Prince’s Mansion to protect the exiled princess, Jiang Ni. But don’t think you can do as you please in the Xu household.”

The old man was unimpressed, his expression tinged with mockery. “Oh?”

Unbeknownst to when, their positions had shifted so that Qi Lianhua now faced away from the mausoleum gate, while Xu Fengnian stood with his back to the two tombstones.

Then, almost simultaneously, both took a step forward—and almost simultaneously, the foot they stepped with was stepped on by the other’s foot. Xu Fengnian’s two fingers, like a sword, struck the old man’s forehead, while the old man raised his palm and lightly slapped Xu Fengnian’s chest.

The old man spun like a top, dissipating the finger-strike while his wide sleeve flared, stirring up a whirlwind of snowflakes that formed a dragon-like vortex. Xu Fengnian was pushed backward toward the tombstone, his hand reaching behind to press against it, then lightly pushing off to propel himself forward.

In mid-air, Xu Fengnian’s two fingers remained together. With a slash from above the old man’s head, a mighty sword qi poured down like a waterfall.

The old man sneered. His steps were unlike any ordinary martial artist’s. His feet slightly inward, one hand behind his back and the other clenched into a fist, he took a series of quick, small steps along a straight line, dodging the sword qi. With a powerful punch, he struck Xu Fengnian in the stomach. The blow was like a drumbeat, and as he rebounded, he immediately opened his fingers into a palm strike. Xu Fengnian flew backward, his body exploding through the snowy night like a firecracker. The punches, palm strikes, and footwork of Qi Lianhua, the Spring and Autumn Blade Master, were all simple and direct, reminding one of the self-assured Wang Xianzhi, swift as thunder and powerful as an explosion, unafraid of any divine weapon.

Xu Fengnian was not seriously injured, but the blow sent him reeling, his internal energy, already chaotic, becoming even more turbulent, like boiling water with oil added. This made him reassess the Spring and Autumn Blade Master. He had originally thought Qi Lianhua was at most on par with Sui Xiegu, but now it seemed he was at least a level above.

If this had happened before the dragon-slaying in Liuzhou, Xu Fengnian would have been confident that even if the Blade Master gave his all, he would not have been so easily defeated, even if careless.

After landing, Xu Fengnian had a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth, but he made no move to wipe it away. He had no time, nor did he care.

Xu Fengnian had experienced many life-and-death battles before.

The old man clicked his tongue. “In your current state, you can barely manage three desperate moves. Against ordinary Diamond or Pointing-at-the-Moon experts, three moves might be enough. But against me? Unfortunately, not.”

Xu Fengnian said calmly, “No need for three. Just one move.”

The old man asked, “Even if it means death, you still insist on protecting those two tombstones? The dead are gone. What use are the stones? You, the King of Beiliang, don’t understand when to let go?”

The old man, perhaps truly old, spoke on, “Young man, beautiful women are like spring bamboo shoots, ever-renewing. Even soldiers are like grass, growing back after fire. But two things are hard to replace: elite cavalry, for every loss is hard to recover quickly; and martial experts, for each one requires talent, fortune, and years of cultivation. Especially you, Xu Fengnian—you must value your life. If you die…”

The snow grew heavier.

Xu Fengnian ignored the old man’s prattling and raised his hand.

In his hand appeared a sword of snow.

But the old man suddenly looked sorrowful, hands behind his back, gazing at the sky. “Beiliang, holding out against an entire nation with just one land. If you die…”

The old man muttered to himself, his expression bleak. “Whether Beiliang has a king or not means nothing to me. But whether Xu Fengnian lives or dies—how can Qi Lianhua not care?”

A flicker of confusion passed through Xu Fengnian’s eyes.

After being struck by Qi Lianhua’s punch and palm, his internal energy, initially turbulent, had begun to stabilize, as if turning from bad to good.

The old man looked annoyed, glaring. “Only now do you understand my good intentions?”

Xu Fengnian was puzzled but still gripped the snow-sword, asking, “What exactly do you want?”

The old man, who once said, “On a snowy night, a traveler returns home,” grew even more irritated. “You, a sharp-witted fellow, how come you’re so slow on the uptake now?!”

Xu Fengnian flared with anger, glaring back.

Seeing the stubborn young man, the old man, who had been stubborn against the world all his life, softened a little. His tone gentled, tinged with helplessness. “I feared you wouldn’t guess. Haven’t I taken the alias ‘Wu Jiang’?”

Xu Fengnian smiled wryly. “Didn’t I already guess you were Qi Lianhua, the Spring and Autumn Blade Master?”

The old man, furious, suddenly stomped hard, and the snowflakes above the entire mausoleum froze in place. “Did Xu Xiao never tell you that your maternal grandfather didn’t bear the surname Wu? Even if that bastard Xu Xiao never told you, didn’t your mother mention it? Didn’t she tell you about the blade master named Qi, who once fought furiously at the Wu Clan’s Sword Tomb for a Wu girl, nearly destroying half the sword mountain?”

Xu Fengnian turned his back to him, his expression unreadable, his tone emotionless. “No.”

“No?!” The old man was truly enraged, pointing at Xu Xiao’s tombstone and cursing. “You Jinzhou brute! Back then, to marry my daughter, you said you’d never kneel to heaven or earth, but you’d kneel just once to me, your father-in-law! And yet, you, a mere petty officer with just a few hundred men, dared threaten me that if I didn’t agree, you’d bring your army to destroy the Western Chu! I should have killed you with one palm back then!”

After the old man fell silent, only the wailing of wind and snow remained.

The old man’s eyes softened with affection, yet his face bore guilt. He gazed at the young back before him, so much more likable than Xu Xiao, and murmured, “The first time I secretly saw you was on the journey when the Xu family’s iron cavalry headed to Beiliang. It was also a snowy night like this. In a small temple, your mother scolded you for reading all night. You sat on the knee of the Buddha statue in the main hall, holding your books, reading by the light of the eternal lamp until dawn. Around you were four statues of heavenly kings, some holding swords, some fierce-faced. The dim lamp flickered, and outside the temple, the winter wind howled like weeping ghosts. Even adults would have been frightened, but you, a child, were unafraid. I watched you from the rafters all night, truly fond of you from the bottom of my heart. No wonder you are my grandson, Qi Lianhua’s grandson!”

The old man’s heart swelled with pride for his descendants, a bold and heroic spirit surging within him. “I may not acknowledge Xu Xiao as my son-in-law, but I do like you, my grandson! Even if Su’er no longer recognizes me as her father, I shamelessly came to Liangzhou, waiting until Su’er passed away, then lived in hiding as a lowly servant. Who am I, Qi Lianhua? I have matched wits with the national master Li Mi of the Great Chu Kingdom on the chessboard, shared wine and discussed the fate of nations with Grand Tutor Sun Xiji, ridden side by side with General Ye Baikui on the battlefield, and earned the respectful title of ‘half-master’ from the imperial chess champion Cao Changqing!”

Xu Fengnian, who had kept his back to the old man all along, squatted down and gazed at the two gravestones, asking, “Why didn’t you marry my grandmother openly back then? Why did you let her and my mother endure the scorn of the family together?”

The old man remained silent, his eyes filled with sorrow and regret.

Softly, Xu Fengnian continued, “Jiangshan, beauty—Jiangshan comes first, beauty follows. Was it because you thought the empire was more important? Or did you believe a man could easily find another wife? You, the famed ‘Flower-Adding Gentleman’ of the Spring and Autumn era, regarded women as mere embellishments, mere decorations to a man’s life?”

Xu Fengnian asked again, “Then why didn’t you protect my mother during the tragedy of the White-Robed Incident in the capital?”

Receiving no answer, Xu Fengnian’s voice grew hoarse as he continued on his own, trembling, “So I didn’t know I had a grandfather. I thought he was long dead. Whether he was surnamed Wu or Qi, whether he was a great hero or a common man—it didn’t matter at all.”

After a long silence, the old man sighed deeply, at a loss for words.

Xu Fengnian sat cross-legged before the graves, bending down to brush away the snow from the gravestones.

Qi Lianhua walked up to the stones, looking down at Xu Xiao’s gravestone, and said calmly, “By the time I heard the news and arrived at Tai’an City, it was already too late.”

The old man chuckled bitterly, “It’s fine if you don’t recognize me as your grandfather. Whether you think that man called Qi Lianhua was cold-hearted or not, I still believe that no matter how much I disliked the man my daughter chose, once a daughter is married, she is like water poured out—there’s no taking it back. And at that time, even three fully armored warriors couldn’t kill the emperor Zhao Dun, who was riding the crest of fate. If that was the case, then men like Yuan Benxi, Han Shengxuan, and Liu Haoshi—if Xu Xiao was alive, it was his duty to face them. If Xu Xiao failed, then it would fall to my daughter Wu Su’s children.”

The old man turned to look at Xu Fengnian, who was still brushing snow off the gravestone with his hands, and softly said, “The sages of Taoism say that life and death are like sleep. If one can wake from sleep, that is life. If one cannot wake, that is death. Hence, there is great terror in this world. When a person is born, they do not laugh but cry—that is the truth of it. The Buddhist scriptures also say that only by calming the mind can one attain stillness, and thus understand the great terror of life and death.”

The old man crouched beside him, speaking freely, “Perhaps you are right. Xu Xiao was far greater than the Spring and Autumn swordsmen or the calligraphy sage of Great Chu. But I was unwilling—and afraid—to admit it.”

Looking at Xu Xiao’s gravestone, the old man smiled, “In the end, I never got to drink a cup of wine offered by you.”

Xu Fengnian whispered, “It’s too late.”

His eyes brimming with tears, he murmured, “I used to wonder why there was a pair of handmade cloth shoes in the box under Xu Xiao’s bed that none of the Xu family could wear.”

The old man was momentarily stunned.

Then he burst into laughter, clenching his fists and resting them on his thighs. “A dream of Spring and Autumn, dreaming of Spring and Autumn. A man’s life is but birth and death. We come into the world crying, and we should leave it laughing.”

Then, raising one hand as if holding a cup, he conjured from between his fingers a crystal-clear cup of snow. Snowflakes fell into the cup as he declared aloud, “Father-in-law toasts son-in-law!”

Snow as wine.

Will you not drink with me?

“Xiaonian, old man, I must return to Guangling. I’ve been away too long. No need to see me off.”

After toasting, the old man turned around, patted the snow from his grandson’s shoulder, and took out a yellowed book from his robe, gently placing it beside Xu Fengnian.

With a final soft word, he rose, his sleeves flaring outward as he strode swiftly toward the gate of the mausoleum. Once outside, his figure vanished in a flash.

Xu Fengnian, a step too late, could do nothing to stop him.

Outside Liangzhou City, the old man walked further and further away, his speed surpassing even the finest steeds of Beiliang. In his hand, a white blade of snow was gradually taking shape into a Liang Blade.

All the world knew that the Flower-Adding Gentleman of Great Chu loved calligraphy, especially the characters *Su*, *Nian*, and *Chun*.

His daughter Wu Su was gone, but his grandson Xu Fengnian remained—and had turned out splendidly! There were no more attachments in this life. It was time to shed the nickname “Qi Half-Book,” and perhaps even truly embrace the title “Qi Flower-Adding.” Xiaonian, let this be my final selfish act—to let the entire world know that even after your father’s death, you still have an elder watching over you. I am Qi Lianhua, and no one dares threaten Beiliang without paying the price—not even the Great Pillar Gu Jiantang, nor the new emperor of the Zhao family!

Xiaonian, you just keep guarding the northwest gateway of the Central Plains.

Xu Fengnian leapt swiftly through the air, standing alone atop the city wall, but all he could see was a vast expanse of white.

He stood there all night. At dawn, recalling the old man’s final words, he murmured to himself, “Is it really possible?”

※※※

In the spring of Xiangfu Year Two, a shocking message arrived in the capital from the border of the Two Liao regions.

Gu Jiantang had lost—and lost to a swordsman wielding a blade.

That alone was shocking enough. But more astonishing was that the newly emerged martial arts grandmaster refused to give his name, offering only an unbelievable identity.

At dusk, in a pavilion on the outskirts of Tai’an City, two men of vastly different generations sat facing each other.

The younger one was Song Keli, the rising star of the Song family, who had recently made a comeback in the capital.

Song Keli had not yet taken an official post in the capital, but Jin Lanting, the vice minister of rites, had invited him to banquets multiple times. Many senior figures in the capital, especially those of royal and noble blood, had also shown him favor.

Yet Song Keli, who should have been basking in success, now wore a face of sorrow, watching the elder, Master Yuan, take a sip from his cup.

Even if that man was a Grandmaster who had bested General Gu, hadn’t Tai’an City already managed to deal with that swordsman who had brought his entire family along? How could it not deal with another martial artist?

Master Yuan smiled faintly, glancing at Song Keli but saying nothing.

Song Keli’s hand clenched tightly on the table, his face dark with fury, his lips trembling, “I know it. I know it. After the late emperor’s death, your position was reduced to that of a lonely old eunuch in the Hanlin Academy. The current emperor is desperate to break free from constraints, and the old man’s appearance gave him a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity—to kill with another’s blade and keep his own hands clean! That’s why not a single soldier from the imperial guard was deployed, not a single Taoist from the Astronomical Bureau was summoned, and not a single martial expert loyal to the court with a carp pouch at his waist was mobilized! Master Yuan, is Tai’an City going to discard the bridge again after crossing the river? Does the Zhao family truly care nothing for face?”

Song Keli lowered his head. “Master Yuan once taught me that serving a ruler is like offering incense to a single Buddha. One emperor, one set of ministers—because the incense of the previous reign has burned out.”

Yuan Benxi, his tongue cut in half, spoke calmly, placing his cup down and saying indistinctly, “Right and not right. What I said before was only about the art of being an official. But there is a more fundamental principle of being a human that must not be forgotten. Offering incense to a monarch is technique, not the true path. Your true path, Song Keli, lies in adding oil to the lamp for the people of the world. That was the foundation left behind by Chancellor Zhang Julu for Liyang. As a strategist, I Yuan Benxi do not consider myself inferior to anyone, but as a minister, Zhang Julu was the first to usher in a new thousand-year era. You must learn his path, not my technique. Otherwise, you, Song Keli, will be nothing more than another Yin Maochun or Zhao Youling. What use would I Yuan Benxi have in nurturing you? How would you ever stand out among your peers like Sun Yin?”

Yuan Benxi looked out at the twilight beyond the pavilion and smiled, “The ministers and nobles of Yonghui’s Spring will surely be recorded in history, but you, who began in the Xiangfu era, may leave behind an even brighter legacy in the annals. For while Yonghui had Chancellor Zhang Julu, who left all scholars in the world in the shade, your generation is different—Chen Wang with his skillful balancing of dragons, Sun Yin with his patient, cunning slaying of dragons, and you, Song Keli, the harsh and solitary minister—each of you shines uniquely.”

Song Keli dared not raise his head to look at this Yuan Master who had traveled the land with him the previous year.

Yuan Benxi spoke softly, “Various factions have been testing and courting you, and I have always told you to wait for the right price. So last night, the apprentice of the Chief Eunuch Song Tanglu came to you with an imperial message. You need not feel guilty. If you had rushed to tell me immediately, that would have disappointed me.”

Song Keli suddenly looked up.

Yuan Benxi smiled faintly and said softly, “He’s here.”

A figure approached from afar.

He wore a strange, snow-white long blade at his waist.

Song Keli stood up, blocking the steps of the pavilion. Without any visible movement from the old man, Song Keli, skilled in martial arts, was thrown out of the pavilion.

After the old man sat down, Yuan Benxi placed three cups on the table, then gently pushed a clean one toward him.

Yuan Benxi smiled calmly and said, “Back then, I was curious why Master Qi had forced his way into Tai’an City. Later, when Xie Feiyu presented me with many of your calligraphy works, I saw that in your early years you wrote many *Chun* characters, and later you wrote *Su* and *Nian*. Then I understood. The Zhao Hook had carefully attempted to assassinate the Crown Prince of Beiliang sixteen times within Beiliang’s borders, and three of those attempts were most regrettable—each one thwarted by Master Qi.”

The old man did not raise his cup, but instead placed his snow-white blade on the table. “When I kill, I still let the victim have a farewell drink. Drink slowly.”

Yuan Benxi tilted his head and drained his cup in one go. “Since Master Qi has the will to kill but not the heart, why put on such a show?”

Qi Lianhua sneered, “So Yuan Benxi is no more than this.”

Yuan Benxi shook his head. “In this world, some are greedy for wine, others for life itself. Such is human nature.”

Qi Lianhua said, “Li Yishan and Nalan Youci—each helped Xu Xiao conquer the Spring and Autumn era, and the other helped Zhao Bing seize the world. They were true masters of strategy. As for Huang Longshi, he is beyond even your half-tongue. You, Yuan Benxi, have spent your life merely preserving the empire—and even then, you failed to do so. I do not kill you because not killing you is better than killing you.”

Yuan Benxi smiled bitterly. “Master is deliberately sparing my life to let me fight like a dog?”

Qi Lianhua tapped the snow-white blade made in the style of the earliest Xu Blade, “A fine Xu Blade like this—used to cut off dog heads, how dreary.”

Unmoved, Yuan Benxi smiled, pointing to the wine pot. “All these years, this flower-carved wine pot has held nothing but Beiliang ant-wine. Master, won’t you have a cup?”

Qi Lianhua raised the cup and drank it in one gulp. He stood up to leave the pavilion but left the blade behind, saying only, “The three emperors of Liyang have all wronged Xu Xiao.”

Yuan Benxi watched the old man leave, and only after a long while did he give the faintest nod.

Song Keli, clutching his chest, staggered into the pavilion. Seeing Yuan Benxi unharmed, he felt a great weight lifted.

After Song Keli sat down, Yuan Benxi rose instead, looking at the sky with a hint of sorrow. “The sky is about to rain, mothers want to remarry… but I don’t want some things to just be left to fate.”

A faint smile appeared on Yuan Benxi’s face. “Master, I suppose this is the last kind word of a dying man.”

As Yuan turned toward the stone table and picked up the cold Xu Blade, Song Keli suddenly felt an ominous premonition, his face paling.

Yuan Benxi looked into the distance. “It must be Song Tanglu waiting. Zhao Zhuan doesn’t have the courage.”

He turned back, tossing a silk pouch to Song Keli. “Afterward, tell that Chief Eunuch—if he wants to live longer and better than Han Shengxuan, let him take a good look at this.”

Song Keli felt as though he had received a hot potato, sitting uneasily, his eyes bloodshot.

Yuan Benxi barked fiercely, “Song Keli! Take the pouch! Stand up! Take the blade!”

Song Keli instinctively stood, but his expression was panicked as he took several steps back, all traces of his refined demeanor gone.

Yuan Benxi stepped forward, offering the cold blade.

Song Keli shook his head violently.

The imperial tutor’s face darkened. “If you don’t kill Yuan Benxi, how can you stand at the emperor’s side!”

Song Keli’s face was streaked with tears, lost and muttering, “Master, I won’t kill you. Master, I won’t kill you…”

Yuan Benxi sighed, placing the blade on the table, and turned his back to Song Keli, speaking calmly, “When fate turns, even heroes are not free. If you do not kill me, I, Yuan Benxi, am a useless man. Even if I live a few more years, the world will forget me forever.”

Closing his eyes, he whispered, “Song Keli, you must not disappoint me.”

Huang Longshi, Li Yishan—I came after you. Nalan Youci—you came before me.

Song Keli trembled as he reached for the cold Xu Blade.

In an instant, Yuan Benxi opened his eyes wide, gazing deeply at the lingering glow in the distant sky. The imperial tutor, the half-tongue strategist, opened his mouth, took a deep breath—as if borrowing one last breath from the heavens—and roared, “Take my head!”

Song Keli wore a pained expression as his hand lifted and the blade fell!

Beneath the pavilion steps, the Grand Eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonial, clad in a vivid red Python Robe, his face as cold as ice, arrived leisurely. He saw only the ill-fated young man sitting dazed upon the ground, tears of blood streaming from his eyes, tightly clutching the severed head in his arms.

※※※

Outside the Tai’an City walls, the old man narrowed his eyes, gazing at the towering ramparts, and laughed. “All my life, Qi Lianhua, I’ve been arrogant yet inept, yearning for too much—my calligraphy to surpass the ancients, my family to flourish, the great Chu dynasty to endure, and blessings for all living beings—yet I’ve achieved nothing, leaving my hands empty.”

The old man cupped his hands and blew warmth into them, “My final wish, though, is far smaller: to be a respectable elder who can face his conscience without shame.”

On this very day, an unknown old man entered Tai’an City and immediately stormed into the Astronomical Bureau.

He slaughtered all the spiritual cultivators and eight hundred guards within the Astronomical Bureau.

This mad old man uttered not a single word from beginning to end, only whispering silently to himself at the moment of death, “Xiao Nian, don’t forget what your grandpa told you. Remember to believe in yourself, believe in the Bei Liang where you stand!”

This last saying of the old man happened to be the exact opposite of an offhand remark made by Yuan Benxi.

“When the time comes, heaven and earth unite in support!”