Chapter 727: Ancient Ballad

To the north of She Liu Prefecture in You Zhou, after hundreds or perhaps thousands of years of water erosion, the land had become fragmented and ravined, with isolated plateaus of varying sizes rising abruptly from the ground. A young swordsman with dark skin and a stocky build stood on a flat-topped, elongated plateau with an expansive view. He was wiping his long sword with his arm; a sword that had never had a scabbard since it was forged. The sword was simply called Wu She (No Scabbard).

In Bei Man, there were fine swords without names; there were no swordsmen in the martial world of Bei Man. These were commonly accepted truths in the martial world of Li Yang. Although Jian Qi Jin (Sword Qi Proximity) was one of the few sword grandmasters in the world, and his sword, Ding Feng Bo (Stabilizing the Tempest), was listed among the great weapons in the Sword Catalogue, the martial world of Li Yang still insisted that Bei Man had no swordsmanship. They even claimed that even if Bei Man had another hundred years, they still wouldn’t produce a true swordsman.

He, however, was far more indifferent to such matters than Jian Qi Jin, who had even changed his name to symbolize the continuation of sword traditions in Bei Man. To him, mastering his own sword was more important than anything else. To him, sword cultivation was simply sword cultivation; what did it matter whether one became a land-immortal or the strongest in the world? Did such thoughts even need to be entertained? Thus, he never wasted energy pondering anything beyond the sword. His Wu She was a new sword, with no history or lineage. Its forging materials and the blacksmith’s skill were not too poor, but compared to the legendary swords listed in the catalogues—swords with names as intriguing as their reputations—it was undoubtedly far inferior. It might have lacked not ten thousand, but at least eight thousand miles of refinement.

Yet, the man who had first guided him onto the path of sword cultivation—the man who had never admitted to being his master—had paid for the sword before parting ways, and had spoken many long-winded, nagging “final words” to him. It was as if a dying man stubbornly clung to his last breath, refusing to pass on for several days and nights. Even the most filial of descendants at the deathbed would have found it unbearable.

“A sword, as long as it fits your hand, is good enough. Once it fits your hand, it will satisfy your heart. Swordsmen who keep changing swords will never master a good sword technique. Of course, you might ask, ‘What if the sword breaks? Don’t you have to change swords then?’ Wrong! Don’t believe me? Look at Li Chun Gang from Li Yang—he only ever used Mu Ma Niu (Wooden Horse Ox). He even managed to slash open the heavenly gates with it. If you follow his example, can you go wrong? No way!”

“I may not cultivate sword techniques myself, but I think choosing a sword is like a man choosing a wife—first sight is the most important. Once you fall in love at first sight, you must remain faithful. So, look at your sword a few more times. I spent dozens of taels of silver on it! You poor kid, how dare you not fall in love at first sight? Go ahead, try shaking your head—I’ll break your arms and legs if you do!”

“Are you looking at me like you’re sad I’m leaving? Hmm? Are you nodding or shaking your head? Damn it, if you don’t want me to leave, couldn’t you at least stuff a few coins into my pocket? Even a few copper coins would do! Oh, are you trying to ask me for some secret sword manuals? Don’t be shy—sorry, I don’t have any! Listen well, my final words: don’t think I’m not charging you means I don’t care. Martial cultivation—whether sword or sword—is all explained in two words: Li Pu (Absurd)! Don’t understand it? Those two words alone should keep you pondering for ten years. Who asked you to be so dull-witted? You’re worse than I was in my youth. Otherwise, I would’ve taken you as my apprentice already. Since you’re not gifted, don’t blame me for being stingy. Blame your parents instead!”

“That’s all I have to say. Since I can’t find a wife in Bei Man, I’ll go to Li Yang. Let’s try not to meet again. I’m afraid I’ll regret helping you pay for the sword if I see you again.”

At the time, the swordsmith beside them was furious, his face turning green with anger. He muttered, “Fine, the poor kid is one thing, but you, the bigger pauper, are the real problem. You turned eleven taels into dozens, and even tried to round it down to ten taels? You come into my shop and talk such nonsense, misleading the youth with your ‘absurdity’? You yourself are the biggest absurdity!”

Finally, the hot-tempered swordsmith could no longer hold back and shouted, “It’s a miracle you even found a wife in Bei Man. Go to Li Yang and corrupt their women instead—that would be a blessing from heaven!”

The young swordsman stopped wiping his blade and gazed into the distance, a faint smile on his lips. If the unknown swordsmith had known the identity of that man back then, he probably wouldn’t have dared to speak so boldly.

Now, Tuo Ba Bo Sa, after becoming the strongest in Bei Man, was still considered inferior to Wang Xian Zhi. No matter how steadily Tuo Ba’s cultivation had advanced over the years, this fact remained unchanged.

But before Tuo Ba Bo Sa, the previous strongest swordsman in Bei Man, who vanished mysteriously, was believed by all in Bei Man to be fully capable of engaging Wang Xian Zhi of Li Yang in a fierce, decisive battle.

This genius, hailed as a once-in-a-millennium phenomenon on the great grasslands, was Hu Yan Da Guan. He was a sect unto himself.

And the swordsman who failed to become Hu Yan Da Guan’s disciple was Tie Mu Die Er. His ancestors had once been the mightiest eagle soaring high over the grasslands, even soaring freely across the skies of Central Plains.

Tie Mu Die Er was not the kind of person to dwell on memories or nostalgia. Yet, he had an instinctive feeling that this time, he would not return to the grasslands.

He had no particular feelings for the Bei Man “empire”—most grassland warriors felt the same. A single tent was a home, and a surname was a tribe. He had entered this mess only because the Bei Man imperial court had threatened his tribe.

At that time, ten people had joined forces to ambush the Northern Liang general surnamed Yan. Tie Mu Die Er and Kou Ke Er were the first to fall. The general from Ti Bing Mountain, Wo Yi La, was the first to be abandoned by the “Little Thought” and died at a certain pass. Later, when the seven were again cornered, Ah He Ma, who always complained about not having wine, laughed as he met his end. Later, they had almost managed to escape under the leadership of Da Le Fu, but were unfortunately discovered by a group of so-called Qi Cultivators. Two seasoned experts in the Bei Man martial world also perished. Tie Mu Die Er still didn’t know their names to this day, only remembering that both wielded blades, and one had even taken a spear strike meant for him.

Now, only Tie Mu Die Er, Da Le Fu, the half-faced girl from the Princess Tomb known as “Little Thought,” and the grim old woman with her hairpins long lost remained.

This was supposed to be a perfect ambush—a group of people against one. So why had they lost so badly? Da Le Fu had explained many things while fleeing, but Tie Mu Die Er had forgotten them all. He only remembered that they had tried countless methods: first scattering in all directions, then desperately attacking, and later setting up ambushes in every imaginable way. In the end, none of it worked. From beginning to end, that terrifyingly powerful Northern Liang man had used only one method to hunt them down: whoever stood at the northernmost point, he would target and kill without haste. He always struck with just one spear. Before that, opponents were free to unleash their full skills. If someone stood further north, he would immediately shift his focus.

Generally speaking, martial artists of their caliber had extraordinary stamina and footwork. If they were determined to escape, even opponents of equal skill would find it difficult to kill them without prolonged, relentless battles. But the problem was that the man with the ordinary iron spear killed with just one strike each time, which was more deadly than anything else. Before striking, he simply relied on his unmatched physical strength to wear them down, either dodging or clashing head-on.

Having personally experienced the man’s terrifying power, Tie Mu Die Er finally understood why people often said that the world’s martial artists could be divided into two categories: one was Wang Xian Zhi, and the other was everyone else, led by Tuo Ba Bo Sa.

Tie Mu Die Er grinned. That man who had said he would go to Li Yang to find a wife—perhaps only he, Tuo Ba Bo Sa, and the Northern Liang King could be considered of the same kind. As for everyone else, including Tie Mu Die Er, they were of the other kind.

A middle-aged man with bloodstained robes squatted beside the young swordsman, scooped up a handful of soil, and slowly chewed it, smiling as he said, “Thinking of something happy? Among our four stray dogs, only you can still smile so naturally.”

Tie Mu Die Er smiled, “Thinking of a man.”

The scholarly man eating dirt teased, “Tie Mu Die Er, you speak with such deep meaning. I never noticed this side of you before.”

Tie Mu Die Er chuckled.

The ragged-looking man seemed to have a poetic mood, reciting in an affected tone, “In spring, the earth awakens, and the soil stirs. The loess in my mouth is like a child, still young. The soil I tasted a few days ago was already old.”

Though uninterested, Tie Mu Die Er listened attentively.

The man looked around, smiling warmly, and whispered mysteriously, “Since you’re standing here, you still have a chance to live. As for us three, it’s not so easy.”

An old woman with a hunched figure sneered, “Da Le Fu, you’re in a good mood, chatting and joking with Tie Mu Die Er. Our ‘Little Thought’ risked her life to buy us this precious moment to breathe.”

The man known as Da Le Fu, the Grand Master of Qi Jian Le Fu, smiled and said, “An inch of time is worth an inch of gold. Time is always valuable. But now, it’s even more precious. The four of us together are probably worth about ten thousand cavalry. Roughly calculated, based on the battlefield lifespan of ten thousand riders over ten years, that’s…”

He suddenly stood up, his expression turning serious, “He’s coming.”

Tie Mu Die Er tightened his grip on Wu She and said solemnly, “This strike of mine will definitely be faster than the last pass.”

The old woman sneered coldly, “What good is it to have the grace of a sword immortal? As long as we can’t kill Xu Yan Bing, we’ll definitely lose another life today.”

Da Le Fu patted the young swordsman’s shoulder, “The sword is getting faster and faster. Even if each strike is only a little faster than the last, even by the slightest margin, it’s still a great thing. Tie Mu Die Er, believe in yourself and your sword!”

The young man nodded.

The dark face, the blazing sun.

It lightened Da Le Fu’s heavy heart a little. He turned to the eldest and most cowardly of the four, the old woman, and said calmly, “This time, I’ll stay behind.”

The old woman did not show gratitude but instead spat bitterly, “It’s finally your turn, isn’t it?”

Da Le Fu simply smiled.

About half a mile away, two figures kept crossing paths, slowly making their way toward Tie Mu Die Er’s plateau.

The old woman narrowed her eyes, her expression grim.

But Da Le Fu did not look toward the battle. He flicked his sleeve and sat cross-legged.

A white-robed woman danced like a white butterfly on the yellow sand dunes, ethereal and graceful.

This woman, nicknamed Ban Mian Zhuang (Half-Face Makeup), was locked in a deadly duel with Xu Yan Bing.

She tapped her toes, spun her body, and her fingers curved like hooks, aiming for Xu Yan Bing’s head. The latter leaned back just in time, narrowly avoiding the delicate hand by inches.

The end of the iron spear lightly flicked upward, aiming for Ban Mian Zhuang’s neck.

This seemingly effortless strike, devoid of any martial aura, had been experienced countless times by all eight of them. Since it carried no overwhelming energy, even if struck, it wouldn’t cause serious injury. But at Feng Qi Pass, Wo Yi La had been provoked precisely by this casual move. After enduring eight such strikes, the furious leader of Ti Bing Mountain, known for his temper, had finally lost his patience and abandoned his escape plan to unleash his peak power in a final, unrestrained, and fearless punch. But of course, Xu Yan Bing seized the opportunity, piercing through Wo Yi La’s fist, arm, and shoulder with a single spear strike.

Ban Mian Zhuang tilted her body, swiftly stepping forward to dodge the spear. From the side, it looked as if she were carrying the spear on her shoulder. In an instant, she reached Xu Yan Bing, who had just straightened up, and stabbed her fingers like a blade toward his chest!

Xu Yan Bing gently flicked his wrist, lightly tapping her shoulder with the spear, sending her flying sideways.

The white-clad woman slid backward across the sand, a trail of crimson blood trickling from the corner of her mouth.

Xu Yan Bing held his iron spear, his expression unchanged. He paid no heed to Ban Mian Zhuang’s sharp gaze and instead turned his eyes toward the distant plateau separated by two deep ravines.

The performance had lasted long enough—it was time for the grand entrance.

Indeed, Ban Mian Zhuang leaped forward and plunged into the ravine.

Before Ban Mian Zhuang jumped off the cliff, Da Le Fu, sitting on the ground like a scholar preparing to teach, softly said with a smile, “Heaven and earth are silent, but the great wind sings.”

The desert was full of wind and sand, but if there was only wind and no sand, it would defy all reason.

Around the plateau where Xu Yan Bing stood, only the howling wind could be heard, but no sand stirred.

Da Le Fu sat cross-legged, closed his eyes, and in an instant, blood flowed from his seven orifices. Yet his expression remained serene as he loudly chanted, “Fighting in the south of the city, dying in the north of the wall. The dead lie unburied, fit only for the crows. Speak to the crows for me: mourn for the guest!”

At the end of his words, a figure slowly rose. Another Da Le Fu stood up, as if formed from countless rays of light converging.

“He” took a step forward, passing straight through his seated self.

His wide sleeves fluttered as his steps grew larger, nearing the edge of the plateau, like a rainbow rushing straight toward Xu Yan Bing.

The seated Da Le Fu, his face covered in blood, his green robe soaked, rasped, “A lifetime for a man, a season for grass. In the end, all return to the mud.”

Another Da Le Fu rose, though less graceful than the previous one. He staggered but moved swiftly, also rushing toward Xu Yan Bing.

The sword immortal soared through the sky upon his blade, journeying from the northern lands at dawn to the verdant Cangwu by dusk, illustrating the swiftness of his flight. Yet even this pales in comparison to an immortal’s astral projection.

Two great Yuefu masters simultaneously projected their souls, one stopping behind Xu Yanbing, the other appearing before him.

At some unknown moment, Tiemudier had stood before the lifeless body of the Yuefu master whose soul had wandered far, roaring in fury: “Great Wind!”

Before them now stood five figures aligned in a straight line: the corpse of the Yuefu master, Tiumudier brandishing his sword, one Yuefu soul, Xu Yanbing, and another Yuefu soul.

The aged woman from the Spiderweb sect could barely discern how Tiumudier had drawn his sword or when he had left the great plateau for the high ridge opposite.

Only when she finally focused her gaze did she realize the situation was so bizarre that she doubted her own eyes.

At the cost of his very life, the Yuefu master had “pulled” Tiumudier into delivering that fatal strike of a celestial swordsman.

It ended with Xu Yanbing’s spear piercing through Tiumudier’s shoulder from four chi away.

The tip of the unsheathed sword still remained a foot from Xu Yanbing’s heart.

Although the sword’s aura had already reached him, causing a crimson wound upon his chest, it was certainly not fatal.

That one foot of distance, in the confrontation between supreme martial artists, was enough to separate life from death.

Yet between Xu Yanbing and Tiumudier stood a man who seized the iron spear, preventing Xu Yanbing from casually pulling it downward to tear apart Tiumudier’s insides.

Xu Yanbing yanked the spear free, its body emitting a series of ear-splitting screeches from the friction.

The uninvited guest held Tiumudier up with one hand, shaking his other wrist, which bore streaks of blood.

The old woman swallowed hard.

As a senior ancestor of the Spiderweb sect, she recognized the man.

Huyan Daguang!

None other than Tuoba Pusa could have caused Xu Yanbing’s spear to rebound without landing a decisive blow, and even then, it was unrealistic to expect otherwise.

Huyan Daguang chuckled, “Rushed over just in time. Xu Yanbing, if you spare Tiumudier, I won’t go after Xu Fengnian. How about that?”

Xu Yanbing’s expression remained cold as he lifted the spear slightly and took a step back.

His opponent was worthy of being met at the distance most suitable for his iron spear to unleash its full power.

Huyan Daguang feigned helplessness and said, “To be honest, the war between Liang and Mang has nothing to do with me. I never intended to go against Xu Fengnian.”

Tiumudier struggled slightly, but Huyan’s grip on his shoulder tightened, making even breathing difficult.

Huyan’s expression hardened. “But if you insist on killing Tiumudier today, I won’t mind taking on Xu Fengnian myself. Whether I succeed or not is of no concern to me.”

The old woman knew Huyan had not deliberately released any aura, yet she still felt suffocated.

Then a surge of grief and fury welled up inside her, no matter how hard she tried to suppress it.

Because the man who had pursued them relentlessly for nearly ten days without uttering a single word had finally spoken!

Xu Yanbing said flatly, “Ask my spear first.”

Huyan Daguang, whose official Liyang dialect was even more fluent than that of the common Liyang folk, spat out a curse with a bitter smile, “Enough, enough, I give up! Xu Yanbing, since you’re determined to fight, fine. That iron spear of yours is already beyond repair. Go back and fetch a new one—something that can at least withstand three of your strikes. Otherwise, we won’t be able to enjoy the fight properly! I’ll be right here waiting for you. And you, Tiumudier, and that old hag who refuses to grow old and always wears a red flower—I’ll make sure you all stay right here. Whoever wins gets to have their say. How about that?”

Xu Yanbing nodded and turned away without hesitation.

The sight nearly caused the old woman from the Spiderweb sect to pop her eyes out of their sockets.

Once Xu Yanbing had vanished from sight, Huyan let go of Tiumudier, who turned tearfully toward the high ridge where the great Yuefu master sat lifeless.

The unsheathed sword slipped quietly from his grasp.

Huyan said calmly, “Pick it up.”

Tiumudier, dazed and lost, seemed not to hear Huyan’s words at all.

Huyan, unwilling to waste words, slapped him hard, sending Tiumudier flying several zhang to land near the Yuefu master’s corpse. With a flick of his foot, he sent the discarded sword flying after him.

Xiaonian, her face half-covered in white gauze, approached Huyan Daguang, her expression complex.

Huyan sighed, “Eight hundred years ago, who we were—does it even matter anymore? It’s no surprise that Luoyang couldn’t let go—she was the Empress of Great Qin. Even I, the shadow of the Qin Emperor, let go long ago. What are you? Just a royal woman from a kingdom destroyed by the Qin army. Such grudges—eight hundred years have passed, and countless emperors and empresses have come and gone across the Central Plains. Not to mention all those little princesses. It’s meaningless.”

Huyan gazed up at the sky. “Besides, he’s gone now. Xu Fengnian is just Xu Fengnian. Who are you going to hate? You once incited those two women into bitter enemies. In fact, it was largely because of you that the Great Qin dynasty fell after only one generation. Are you still not satisfied?”

Xiaonian tore off her veil in one swift motion.

Half her face was exquisitely beautiful, but the other half shifted through countless unfamiliar female visages.

Finally, it settled.

And what appeared was half of a man’s face.

Huyan turned his head away, refusing to meet her gaze, and whispered softly, “Leave.”

She gazed at the floating white veil in the distance, raised one hand, and gently covered that half of her face, murmuring, “So you really are gone. Then tell me, where else can I go? You always do this—you won’t even look at me. I’ve never hated you. I just wanted you to look at me once. Just once…”

Huyan asked, “You really won’t leave?”

Xiaonian lifted her other hand, her fingers like hooks, slowly and deliberately carving both sides of her face into a bloody mess.

She showed no sign of pain, closing her eyes.

In a tone no one could understand anymore, she softly hummed a tune.

When the melody ended, Huyan struck her forehead with one palm.

She plummeted into the canyon below.

Huyan stood alone, hands clasped behind his back, murmuring softly, “This life is finally over.”

The white-robed figure, like a fragile white butterfly unwilling to break free from its cocoon, timidly watched the world from within.

From that day forth, the world no longer had that woman who, in solitude, would remove her veil, year after year, life after life, gazing at her reflection while thinking of him.

※※※

Under the eaves of a private school in Beiliang, an elderly man in his seventies lay in a rattan chair, basking in the warm sunlight. Around him sat rows of young children, their faces full of innocence. As the old man sang each line, the children echoed after him. It was an ancient ballad that had spread not long after the fall of the Great Qin dynasty.

The melody drifted gently through the air.

“There once was a maiden of the Yang family, raised in seclusion, unknown to the world. Her natural beauty could not be hidden, and soon she was chosen to stand beside the emperor. With a single glance, she cast a hundred enchantments. No other beauty in the palace could rival her…”