Xu Fengnian originally planned to part ways with Yu Luandao and the Youqi Butui camp at the border between Liang and You provinces, then proceed to the Beiliang Protectorate where Chu Lushan was stationed. However, an urgent intelligence report arrived, stating that Yan Wenluan was already en route and wished to discuss military affairs in person. Thus, Xu Fengnian chose a more central location and asked the general, who commanded over a hundred thousand Beiliang border troops, to wait for him in Yan Zhi Prefecture. Upon hearing they were heading to Yan Zhi, Yudi Long, who had been gloomy throughout the journey, finally showed a hint of a smile. However, his joy was short-lived when he learned that Xu Fengnian had arranged to meet Yan Wenluan in the prefectural capital rather than in Bishan County, where his master had once served as a minor official. Yudi Long fell silent again, feeling the sorrow of passing by a familiar place without stopping.
Late at night, Xu Fengnian settled into an elegant residence carefully arranged by the Fushui Bureau. As soon as the group stepped through the threshold, the sound of heavy rain began to pelt the roof and courtyard walls.
Xu Fengnian had no desire to sleep. After entering the study, which was filled with a vast collection of books, he stood by the window watching the rain fall in the courtyard. Perhaps as the ancients said, in the deep of night, one is most likely to recall youthful memories. Xu Fengnian found himself reminiscing about many reckless acts from his youth, such as stamping the words “forgery” on over a hundred genuine masterpieces he had handled, or lavishly spending large sums of money on wandering martial artists passing through Beiliang. He particularly remembered an elderly scholar from Jiangnan who had spent half his life criticizing Beiliang as a shortcut to political success. Xu Fengnian had been angered by the man’s hypocrisy—how he had written countless poems about wealth and luxury while occupying a high office. He had even sent the man a letter through the postal relay, roughly stating that the so-called “graceful demeanor” praised by others was all pretense. Xu Fengnian argued that true wealth didn’t need to boast of fine wine, rare delicacies, gold, or jade. All that talk of “lazily resting on a cool jade pillow” was just the affectation of the poor. Xu Fengnian ended the letter with the lines: “When rain comes, I listen to a thousand Banana sounds; when rain departs, I sit and watch ten thousand brocade reflections on the lake.”
It was said that the elderly scholar was greatly angered upon reading the letter and quickly submitted a memorial to the throne, accusing Xu Fengnian of fabricating evidence. He claimed that Banana plants could not withstand the cold, and their leaves would tear easily in the wind, making them rare in the northwest borderlands. Yet Xu Fengnian spoke of “a thousand Banana sounds,” implying a thousand Banana plants, which the scholar interpreted as proof that Xu Fengnian’s father, Xu Xiao, had embezzled military funds for personal gain, neglecting border defense and betraying the emperor’s trust. Naturally, such “righteous” memorials were common in the Liyang court during that time, and Emperor Xianzong Zhao Dun paid them little heed, though he also made no effort to stop them. Xu Fengnian clearly remembered the uproar his letter had caused in the literary circles of Jiangnan. Scholars and officials alike condemned him, his father, and all of Beiliang. However, his second sister, Xu Wei Xiong, who had just begun studying at the Shangyin Academy, sent a letter home criticizing Xu Fengnian’s writing as utter nonsense. Yet she later wrote a personal letter to the scholar herself, and from then on, the Jiangnan elites kept their heads down.
Later, Xu Xiao somehow managed to obtain that letter and showed it to his son during a drinking session at the Wutong Courtyard. He praised his son endlessly, saying it had taken him half a day of consultation with Li Yishan to finally understand the meaning behind “a thousand Banana sounds.” When he got drunk, he kept repeating the same phrases, saying how proud he was that his son was better educated than he was, how he could even write poetry now, and how he would surely become a more capable and respected vassal king than himself.
Even though Xu Fengnian’s memory far surpassed that of ordinary men, he could no longer clearly recall his father’s words or expressions from that time, as he had been somewhat careless and indifferent back then. However, there was one gesture of Xu Xiao’s that remained vivid in his mind, growing clearer with time. Before leaving the Wutong Courtyard, still unsteady on his feet from drunkenness, Xu Xiao had carefully folded the letter he had received from Jiangnan and tucked it into his sleeve. At the time, Xu Fengnian had been puzzled—throughout his illustrious career, Xu Xiao had never treated imperial edicts or honors with such care. Why, then, did he treat this letter, which was merely a response to an insult, with such reverence?
Xu Fengnian stood by the window the entire night, sleepless, and it seemed as though he had only blinked before morning arrived. The rain had fallen three times during the night, and now, at dawn, the view was hazy. As he looked up, the last storm had just passed, the sky still heavy with clouds, but as time passed, shafts of sunlight pierced through the gaps, casting beams of light upon the earth. A dull thud came from the neighboring courtyard—Yudi Long and Lü Yunchang, who had temporarily remained behind while the Snow Dragon Cavalry headed to the northern front, were sparring. Both apprentices fought bare-handed, striking each other with full force, and the loser was the one who first retreated three steps. Soon, the older apprentice, Lü Yunchang, who was the junior despite his age, shouted for his frost-striking longsword, but the younger one, Yudi Long, the eldest and thus the senior apprentice, ignored him, and the courtyard fell silent again. Xu Fengnian felt a slight regret—not because he was like a bureaucrat clinging to his position, nor because he was addicted to the feeling of being unmatched in martial prowess, but because if his cultivation had still been at its peak, he would not have hesitated so much when he learned that the Northern Wei Emperor’s advisor had Hong Jingyan, Zhong Liang, and Murong Baoding as his backup. Yet, on the other hand, if he had still been the undisputed Martial Emperor, men like Taiping Ling and Tuoba Qiyun would not have appeared.
Xu Fengnian estimated that even now, in a one-on-one fight, his cultivation was still superior to most—only slightly inferior to the six men he considered the strongest: Tuoba Pusa, Deng Tai’a, Cao Changqing, Xu Yanbing, Huyan Daguan, and Chen Zhibao. However, if it were a life-or-death battle, Xu Fengnian would place one man, whose reputation had recently declined, among the top three—Gu Jiantang.
Xu Fengnian stepped out of the study and stood on the veranda. An elderly general, short and thin compared to the sturdy men of Liang, strode alone into the courtyard. Xu Fengnian did not go out to greet him formally. When the old man, whose armor still bore traces of rain, reached the steps, Xu Fengnian walked with him into the study, where a pot of hot tea had already been placed on the table, though there were no teacups—only two large bowls. Yan Wenluan, the old general with a single eye, poured himself a bowl and drank it in one go.
Then, leaning forward with his fists on his knees, Yan Wenluan looked at Xu Fengnian across the table, as though he were about to accuse him of something. Xu Fengnian remained silent, waiting. This old general was the most powerful figure in the Beiliang army. After the fall of the former cavalry commander Zhong Hongwu, and with Yuan Zuozong’s tenure still short, Yan Wenluan had remained the dominant force in the infantry. Yet few soldiers or civilians in Beiliang knew a secret—that the Beiliang army, or more precisely, the Xu family army, had always been divided into two factions. One was led by the moderate strategist Li Yishan, who had advocated for Xu Xiao to return north immediately after the Xilei Wall battle. The other was centered around the more aggressive Zhao Changling, who urged Xu Xiao to seize half the empire and establish a self-governed regime south of the river, sharing the realm with the Zhao family of Liyang, and eventually deciding the fate of the world in another great battle like Xilei Wall. This hidden division had continued even after Xu Xiao was granted his fief. Xu Fengnian’s uncle, Wu Qi, had been so disillusioned at the time that he left the army, and later Xu Pu had gone into hiding in the Dunhuang City of Northern Wei under an assumed name. Many other generals and officers had also left Xu Xiao’s side due to their convictions. In many ways, Li Yishan’s faction had won, but it was a bitter victory. To many old soldiers still serving in Beiliang, it meant that Li Yishan had shaped Xu Xiao into a ruler of Beiliang while the Zhao family ruled the empire—a compromise that was not necessarily wrong but was overly cautious. The death of Zhao Changling from illness, which deprived his faction of its leader, and the reluctance of many officers, including Yan Wenluan, to involve themselves in the Xu family’s internal affairs, had led to Chen Zhibao’s abrupt departure to Xishu.
Suddenly, Yan Wenluan sighed. He poured himself another bowl of tea, hesitated, then poured one for Xu Fengnian as well. Holding the large bowl, he murmured, “All these years, I’ve had a knot in my heart. I’ve visited Qingliang Mountain so many times, yet I always avoided visiting Master Li at Tingchao Pavilion. The Great General once tried to persuade me once, but I gave him a flimsy excuse, and after that, he never brought it up again.”
Xu Fengnian did not offer vague reassurances but spoke plainly, “My master never regretted his decision. He always believed that if Xu Xiao had tried to seize the throne, neither he nor the Xu family cavalry would have had the momentum to succeed. Those who wished to become founding ministers of a new dynasty were merely indulging in fantasies. It’s not that Xu Fengnian disrespects Master Zhao, nor that I speak without understanding the stakes or profit from the situation. Within Tingchao Pavilion, my master, Master Wang, and my second sister repeatedly analyzed the situation at the time, and all their conclusions were the same.”
Yan Wenluan’s expression was complex. He took a sip of tea, swirled the large white bowl, and gave a self-deprecating smile. “At the time of the Prince’s succession, I suspected you would make an example of someone to assert your authority. I considered two possibilities—the most likely being that I, an old and inconvenient man, would be forced to retire. The least likely was the downfall of General Zhong Hongwu, for regardless of his personal conduct, he had always been seen in the capital as a key figure used by the Great General to balance me and Chen Zhibao.”
Xu Fengnian replied calmly, “If it had still been a time of peace, I would have certainly chosen Zhong Hongwu. I might have even allowed him to recommend a trusted subordinate as the next Beiliang Protector after his retirement, while gradually stripping you, Yan Wenluan, of your influence, removing the remnants of Master Zhao’s legacy, and ensuring Chen Zhibao remained powerful in name but isolated in reality, his influence in the Beiliang army fading naturally over time.”
Yan Wenluan sneered, “The Prince is truly the worthy disciple of Master Li, skilled in strategy, and especially adept at ruthless measures.”
Xu Fengnian was unfazed. He raised his hand slightly and smiled lightly. “Harsh words may wound, but warm tea can heal. Let’s drink, let’s drink.”
Surprisingly, the old general, known for his fiery temper, did not immediately overturn the table or break the tension. Instead, he scowled and took another sip of hot tea.
The atmosphere in the room grew tense.
Xu Fengnian was the first to break the silence, but with an unrelated remark: “I heard that Nalan Youci has announced he will collaborate with Xie Feiyu to compile new rankings for martial artists, beauties, and statesmen.”
Yan Wenluan scoffed, “That nonsense is just the idle chatter of overfed scholars.”
Xu Fengnian drank his tea, set down the bowl, and his expression grew serious. “Then today, I will speak to the old general about a serious matter—one that four scholars have worked on together. Yes, four men.”
Yan Wenluan frowned slightly.
Xu Fengnian spoke four names.
Huang Longshi.
Li Yishan of Tingchao Pavilion.
Nalan Youci of the Southern Frontier.
Yuan Benxi, the Imperial Preceptor of Liyang.
Yan Wenluan instinctively straightened his posture.
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