After dawn, Yu Dilong and Lü Yunchang left the small inn on Gulu Street and arrived at the courtyard gate, squatting on either side like two guardian deities. Waiting was an excruciatingly boring task. Lü Yun yawned, gently patting his mouth as he asked idly, “Yu Worm, do you know what the most important event this spring is?”
Yu Dilong was thinking about whether his junior apprentice sister, Wang Sheng, had adjusted well beside that White Fox-faced companion, if she had found one or two new famous swords in the Northern Desert, and if she had fought anyone. He hadn’t heard a word Lü Yunchang, who often boasted as the gossiping herald of the martial world, had said. Anyway, whatever came out of Lü Yunchang’s dog mouth could never be anything valuable. That was what Wang Sheng had said, and Yu Dilong had never really understood its meaning. Lü Yunchang, already accustomed to Yu Dilong’s absentmindedness, continued on his own, “In the past, the Wen Wu List, the General Chancellor List, and the Rouge List—there were seven lists altogether. The Martial List was always saved for last, serving as the grand finale, while the Rouge List was used to whet people’s appetites first. But this time, the ‘Xiangfu Grand List,’ jointly compiled by Nalan Youci and Xie Guanying, is different. It seems to emphasize the Wen List and the Chancellor List more, placing the Martial List at the very beginning.”
Yu Dilong merely uttered an indifferent “Oh.”
Lü Yunchang curiously asked, “Aren’t you curious where our master ranks on the Martial List?”
Yu Dilong replied carelessly, “Whoever listed it must’ve been up to no good. How could they do this while Master was seriously injured? If Master’s ranking turns out low, once the Northern Liang defeats the Northern Desert barbarians and I’ve mastered martial arts, I’ll go find them for trouble.”
Lü Yunchang rolled his eyes, “This year, the Martial List includes a total of fourteen people. It reintroduces the concept of the Four Grand Masters, plus the Top Ten Swordsmen. Master is honored as one of the Four Grand Masters alongside Tuoba Pusa, Deng Tai’a, and Cao Changqing. Then come the Top Ten Swordsmen, reportedly without any ranking of superiority or inferiority. From the Liyang side, there’s Chen Zhibao, Xu Yanbing, Gu Jiantang, Huangshan’s Xuanyuan Qingfeng, and the head of the Wujia Sword Tomb. From the Northern Desert side, there’s Huyan Daguan, Luoyang, Hong Jingyan, Murong Baoding, and Deng Mao.”
Yu Dilong frowned, “How come that White Fox-faced guy, the tall Grandmaster of the Guanyin Sect, and the old white-bearded sword-loving guy didn’t make the list? I think they’re pretty strong.”
Lü Yunchang joked, “You can go ask Xie Guanying and Nalan Youci yourself later. How should I know why?”
Yu Dilong nodded earnestly.
Lü Yunchang was surprised, “You’re actually going to do it?”
Yu Dilong turned to look at him and asked, “Do you know what Auntie Pei meant by a ‘siheyuan’?”
Lü Yunchang nodded, “There are many such courtyards in Central Plains, divided into several sections. Many wealthy people’s mansions are siheyuans.”
Yu Dilong asked softly, “That must cost a lot of money, right?”
Lü Yunchang snorted, “In this small county where the only street is Gulu Street, how much could it cost? At most, forty or fifty taels would be enough.”
Yu Dilong angrily exclaimed, “Forty-five taels isn’t much?!”
Lü Yunchang, his large frost blade slung across his back, dug in his ear, “Only someone with such shallow vision like you would think so. As the apprentice of our Master, don’t you know that getting a courtyard in Qingliang Mountain Mansion is just a matter of a single word from Master? That place is worth more than gold and silver—it’s priceless! Just look at how many officials and generals there are in Northern Liang, yet only Deputy Governor Song Dongming has a residence in Qingliang Mountain.”
Yu Dilong sneered, “You don’t know anything!”
Lü Yunchang retorted, “You don’t even know what a fart is!”
Yu Dilong reached for the hilt of his cool blade, and Lü Yunchang also abruptly stood up, “Yu Dilong, don’t you think I’m afraid of you! My frost blade has been itching for action for a long time!”
At that moment, Xu Fengnian opened the wooden gate with one hand on his waist, seeing his two apprentices ready for a fight. He grumbled, “If you want to fight, go somewhere else.”
Yu Dilong looked at his master’s complexion, filled with guilt and alarm, “Master, what happened again? Was there a Northern Desert assassin last night?”
Xu Fengnian’s expression was strange, and Lü Yunchang’s smile was even more peculiar. He eagerly flattered, “Master, let me help you mount the horse later—don’t twist your waist again.”
Xu Fengnian kicked him so hard that Lü Yunchang flew off the doorstep, “Go get the horses. We’re heading to Liangzhou Protectorate.”
Yu Dilong carefully asked, “Master, are you really okay?”
Xu Fengnian’s face turned serious, “Some defeats, once suffered, can never be avenged. The older a man gets, the more this is true.”
Yu Dilong thought hard, “Master is already among the Four Grand Masters. It must’ve been a very powerful enemy. Oh, Master, is Auntie Pei okay?”
Before Xu Fengnian could answer, Lü Yunchang shouted, “Auntie Pei, we’re leaving with Master! His waist is messed up—he can barely mount the horse!”
Lü Yunchang leaped onto his horse and galloped away.
Xu Fengnian and Yu Dilong followed suit, Xu Fengnian smiling coldly, “Yu Dilong, go beat up your junior apprentice brother.”
Yu Dilong clenched his right fist with his left hand, rubbing it fiercely, his face full of “murderous intent.” Then he asked, “Master, what reason should I give?”
Xu Fengnian countered, “Does the senior apprentice brother need a reason to beat the junior apprentice brother?”
Yu Dilong spurred his horse and chased after Lü Yunchang.
Xu Fengnian watched the child’s back disappear, softly chuckling, “Just like how you miss Wang Sheng, no reason is needed.”
Xu Fengnian took a deep breath and glanced back at the courtyard, “Let’s go.”
※※※
The word “emotion”—its beginning, its dwelling, its knot, its resolution, its trace, and its end are all unknown.
※※※
From a family of wealth and luxury, to Qingzhou’s Xiangfan City, then to Northern Liang, where the sky seems higher than in Central Plains, she lived by the Tingchao Lake in Qingliang Mountain and finally settled in a barren little county of Yan Zhi Prefecture.
Like a frail reed drifting rootlessly, from being the Empress of Liyang on the Rouge List, to becoming a poor woman after her “husband” lost his petty official post, she now dealt daily with firewood, rice, oil, salt, sauce, vinegar, and tea, but Pei Nanwei had never felt so at peace.
After lazily getting up, she cooked breakfast as usual. Last New Year’s Eve, she spent the whole afternoon preparing eight or nine dishes, filling the table, and placing two sets of chopsticks and bowls. Sitting at the table, she thought about the vegetable patch at the corner of the wall and the slightly larger garden behind the courtyard—when would they yield harvest? After finishing the meal, she planned to open the chicken coop and see if there would be any surprises. She thought about the twenty taels she had begged from the county office last night, plus the thirty taels she had saved before. According to the prices of masons and carpenters in Bishan County, she could probably build a decent little siheyuan. Unfortunately, the situation in Youzhou was unstable these days. Last year, she could have saved much more money. Pei Nanwei looked around. At the end of last year, she bought many things for the New Year, adding a lot of furniture to the house. At the time, she had secretly regretted being so extravagant, but now those items had increased in price, making her increasingly convinced that she actually… was quite good at managing a household.
As she tidied the dishes, she murmured to herself, “It’s okay if you don’t visit often. As long as you come, that’s enough. So, don’t die.”
Suddenly, her pretty face flushed slightly, and she muttered playfully, “What ‘Number One Under Heaven’? He still walked out holding his waist…”
※※※
In the heart of the Northern Desert’s Baoping Province, the snow and ice melted, and greenery flourished. A rider galloped swiftly along the hilltop ridge, followed closely by a running girl. Besides carrying a massive sword case on her back, she had many swords tied to her with thick ropes, looking like a wandering huckster selling swords.
The rider on the horse was an extremely beautiful “woman”—Nangong Puya, the top name on the previous Rouge List. The second place, Chen Yu, was only given the comment “not inferior to Nangong.” In the new Xiangfu Year List, while the Martial List had as many as fourteen names, the Rouge List only had four. This person, once nicknamed “White Fox-faced” by the young prince, remained on the list. The other three were Chen Yu, who was about to be married off as a concubine to Zhao Wu, the new feudal lord in Liaodong; Jiang Ni from the fallen Chu Kingdom; and a mysterious maiden named Huyan Guanyin, supposedly a Northern Desert girl who had been captured and taken back by Xu Fengnian, the Northern Liang King, to be kept hidden away like a treasure.
After entering the Northern Desert, Wang Sheng had been running behind Master Nangong the entire time. Often, even when she stopped to rest, she was required to keep circulating her martial energy. The girl had fainted seven or eight times along the way. It was like a bright child encountering the strictest tutor, who expected the child to memorize classics even in dreams, regardless of whether it might be overbearing. Wang Sheng carried the Purple Sandalwood Sword Case, which had all its sword energy concealed, but the other famous swords could only slightly hide their energy within their scabbards. Whenever the girl became exhausted and her energy flow became chaotic, those proud and unruly ancient swords would flare up, adding to the chaos. The thin sword “Duyu,” the three-inch blade “Zuyu” forged by the Confucian Sage of the old Han Kingdom, the Daoist talisman sword “Huanghe,” the sword “Xianzhu,” which once pierced the abdomen of the Eastern Yue Emperor, the sword “Xiaoyun,” whose tip emitted thunder-like sparks, the sword “Shaonian You,” which clashed with other swords’ energy, and the playful sword “E’erhuang,” which was as lively as a girl in love. Together with the sword case, these seven swords made Wang Sheng look like a ridiculous hedgehog.
All the way north, many knowledgeable Northern Desert martial artists tried to rob her, but Master Nangong never intervened, always watching from the sidelines unless Wang Sheng was injured by the surging sword energy during battle. Then he would rescue her and follow the unfortunate Northern Desert martial artists from a distance. Each time Wang Sheng woke up, Nangong would throw her back into the battlefield, repeating this cycle until she successfully killed her enemies. Earlier, in Jinzhou, they even encountered a Northern Desert cavalry unit of over a thousand soldiers. Nangong still threw her directly into the fray. Wang Sheng, who usually only wielded three or four swords at most, eventually went berserk, drawing all seven swords and slaying over three hundred soldiers. When she was on the brink of death and about to unleash the swords from the case as well, Nangong entered the battlefield, knocked her unconscious, and when she awoke, she found all the Northern Desert soldiers dead, with Nangong standing amidst the corpses, his clothes still spotlessly clean.
Atop the mountain, White Fox-faced held the horse’s reins, gazing into the distance, and asked, “Do you know why swords are always superior to blades in the martial world?”
Wang Sheng shook her head. Her master told her to practice swordsmanship, so she practiced. Her master had once said she was the finest “sword prodigy,” and it would be a shame not to practice. In truth, Wang Sheng had a small regret—although her master often used swords, his martial path originally began with the blade, so she sometimes envied that smooth-talking Lü Yunchang. Especially when she heard that Nangong, who carried the twin swords Chunlei and Xiu Dong, had once lent them to her master during his two journeys across the martial world, she couldn’t help but harbor some unspoken thoughts.
Nangong gently patted Wang Sheng’s head and softly said, “People fear sincerity, and matters fear scrutiny. Wang Sheng, if you don’t want to be just an insignificant apprentice to him forever, then think carefully about this question.”
Though she didn’t understand, Wang Sheng still instinctively nodded hard.
Nangong smiled, “There is a supreme ruler among the million swords of the world. If you can defeat her one day, your master will see you in a new light. No woman has ever become the number one martial artist in the world.”
Wang Sheng gasped in surprise, timidly asking, “Master Nangong, do you mean Princess Jiang Ni of the fallen Chu Kingdom? But she could already fly on a sword at a young age. I probably can’t beat her. And… and I’ve heard she’s really beautiful…”
Nangong sighed, “You silly girl.”
Wang Sheng slightly rose on her toes, tightened the loosened swords on her back, and smiled at Master Nangong, “Master, even if my Master isn’t number one anymore, you can be instead.”
Nangong gently patted the girl’s head, helplessly saying, “You, truly are a fool.”
Wang Sheng hesitated for a moment, then bravely asked, “Master, may I ask a question?”
Nangong softly replied, “You want to ask why we came to the Northern Desert?”
Wang Sheng gently nodded.
The most beautiful woman in the world slightly lifted her head, her laughter bright and clear, “Wang Sheng, do you know what realm I’ve reached? I’m still stuck at the Finger Mystery stage. When I left Tingchao Pavilion back then, it wasn’t that I couldn’t reach the Heaven’s Will stage, nor that I couldn’t enter the next Martial List. But for me, anything less than being the number one under heaven holds no meaning at all!”
Nangong released the reins, gently placing her hands on the hilts of Chunlei and Xiu Dong, taking one step forward, “Just one step away.”
It was the first time Wang Sheng saw Nangong’s unrestrained brilliance and passion.
How beautiful it was.
※※※
In the Eastern Yue Sword Pond, countless cliff inscriptions have been passed down through generations. Among them, the most renowned are the ancient Qin Dynasty seal script inscription of “Sword Pond” and the flowing cursive calligraphy of the “Water Deep, Mountains High, Sword Qi Long,” written by the drunken calligraphy sage of the Da Feng Dynasty.
The Sword Pond is surrounded by layered rocks and green mountains, with deep green pond water that fluctuates with the seasons. Throughout the year, the water level varies, but the peculiar feature of the Sword Pond is that during spring and summer, when rainfall is abundant, the water level actually recedes. At such times, the cursive script of “Water Deep, Mountains High, Sword Qi Long” reveals the character for “sword” from top to bottom. Conversely, during autumn and winter, when rainfall is scarce, the water level rises, submerging the character for “deep,” leaving only the solitary character for “water” visible.
The Song family of the Sword Pond has existed for over six hundred years, far outlasting the Eastern Yue Dynasty itself. However, since the emergence of the Wujia Sword Tomb, the Sword Pond, once revered as the sacred land of swordsmanship, has often evoked the lament, “Why have both Song and Wu existed together?” Unlike the Wujia Sword Tomb, which upholds the traditions of ancient swords and swordsmen, the Song family, especially under the leadership of the late Grand Master Song Nianqing, has always adhered to the principle that “people may not remain the same, but swords must be new.” Every Song swordsman who achieves mastery must cast their old sword into the Sword Pond before forging a brand-new sword in the sword furnace before leaving for the martial world. Outsiders have long puzzled over this tradition, believing it to symbolize the wish for “a new swordsman with a new sword, bringing forth a grand new era.”
After Song Nianqing’s death, Chai Qing Shan, once a guest scholar under Guangling King Zhao Yi, returned to this Sword Pond after having been expelled years ago. This great sword master, who had never taken any disciples, finally took in two apprentices, a young boy of extraordinary talent from the Song family, and a young girl, a gem yet to be polished, from an outside clan. The master and his two apprentices stood upon a massive stone from the Spring God Lake, inscribed with the three regular script characters “Wan Ren Di” (Enemy of Ten Thousand Men). The stone, as large as a small hill, stood square and solemn, exuding immense authority. The old man, who bore no sword, gazed down at the ancient, deep waters of the pond and, with a hoarse voice, spoke: “My senior brother was not killed by his own hand after losing to Li Chungan. He died of wounds sustained in battle. And last year, when our clan leader Song Nianqing perished outside the Sword Pond, it was not from old age. He unleashed a final strike at the peak of the earthly immortal realm, sacrificing his life in the process, and still he was slain openly and honorably by another. I tell you these things so that you understand one truth: aside from the Wu Clan Sword Tomb, whose teachings alone encompass all sword arts in the world, there are many others who hold the Sword Pond in no regard—far more than you might imagine.”
Chai Qing Shan, perhaps sensing the harshness of these truths for two young hearts, chuckled and added with self-deprecation: “Apart from me, this old and decrepit fellow holding the fort here at the Sword Pond, there’s Li Yi Bai, the one you should call senior apprentice-brother. He will never reach the pinnacle of sword cultivation. Compared to contemporaries like Wu Clan’s Wu Liu Ding, sword servant Cui Hua, and Longhu Mountain’s Qi Xian Xia, his gap lies not only in sword techniques, but also in vision and breadth of mind. So you two are the last seeds of the Sword Pond. Tell me, when you train in swordsmanship, is there anyone you must surpass?”
The young boy, whose face was as refined as jade, was of a lively nature. With a brilliant smile, he replied: “First, Senior Li Yi Bai, then Master you, then a visit to the Wu Clan Sword Tomb, and then I’ll go find Deng Tai A. If I can’t find him, I’ll head to Beiliang…”
At this, the boy pointed at the girl beside him and, in mock accusation, said: “Master, master! My little sister here is just like many of the other girls in the Sword Pond—secretly infatuated with the Beiliang King Xu Feng Nian. Whenever they gather and talk about that fellow, oh my, their eyes shine green like the waters beneath our feet! Master, this is simply unacceptable! That Xu fellow is our mortal enemy. Not a single man in the Sword Pond wouldn’t love to run him through with a blade.”
The girl’s delicate face flushed crimson with embarrassment and indignation. She snapped: “Song Ting Lu! Shut your foul mouth, or no one will think you mute!”
Then, she nervously glanced at her master, fearing she might have displeased him.
Chai Qing Shan merely smiled and mused: “It’s not a bad thing for young hearts to entwine with sword qi. Has Xu Feng Nian become the Li Chungan of your generation?”
At that moment, an elderly woman with white hair approached slowly and with faltering steps.
Chai Qing Shan and the two apprentices descended from the great stone “Wan Ren Di.” The boy ran forward to support the aged woman, grinning as he said: “Great-Grandmother, come to enjoy the scenery while the sun’s still shining?”
The old woman lovingly patted the boy’s head. “Ting Lu, remember to study swordsmanship diligently under your master. Focus on your training, and as for whether you succeed or not, just take it as it comes. And above all, when you travel the martial world, always return home safely.”
Chai Qing Shan nodded respectfully, and the old woman smiled in return.
After the master and apprentices departed, the old woman sat by the pond, serene and smiling. “Nian Qing, it was always I who waited for you. For many years, many times. No matter how long, I always waited for you to come home.”
She folded her withered hands upon her knees. Red makeup from long ago had now turned to white. All her life, she had been used to watching his back. Between husband and wife, perhaps fewer words were spoken than between master and disciple in sword teachings.
Each time he left the Sword Pond, and each time he returned.
She stood at the entrance.
He never once looked at her.
And she never regretted it.
The old woman closed her eyes and murmured: “Nian Qing, now it’s your turn to wait for me.”
※※※
In the southern water towns of Jiangnan, bridges and rivers crisscrossed homes and villages.
A young man nicknamed “Bamboo” idled away the entire day strolling the town streets, and finally returned home as dusk fell. His mother had already closed the cloth shop and prepared dinner. The young man devoured his meal, while the woman—his mother, who had moved to the town with him two years prior—softly said: “Eat slowly. No one’s going to take your food.”
The young man just kept wolfing it down.
She smiled: “Even your older brother Wen has married now. I don’t expect you to find a girl as fine as Miss Liu, but if you could just charm someone back home, that would be enough.”
With his mouth full, the young man mumbled: “I know, I know.”
She sighed: “And don’t spend all day idling about. I don’t expect you to earn money, but a man who does nothing at all—it’s not right. When a woman marries, she prefers a man who has some trade or skill. Even if he’s poor at first, she feels secure, has something to hope for, and life becomes easier…”
Suddenly, the young man slammed his bowl onto the table, his face flushed with anger: “Right! I’m no good for anything! But what good did it do me to be like my father? My dad was known as the most honest man in ten villages! Everyone praised him for his farming! And what did it get him? He left us and disappeared for years—maybe even dead, for all we know! If he ever comes back, I won’t call him father! Bastard!”
Her eyes brimming with tears, the woman—who had always been gentle—spoke with a trembling but firm voice: “You must not speak of your father like that!”
The young man stood up from the stool and crouched by the doorway, sulking.
The woman turned her head, quietly wiping her tears with her sleeve, then gathered the dishes and brought out a small wooden stool to sit beside the door. Softly, she said: “I’ll keep your food warm in the pot. Let me know whenever you want to eat again.”
The young man, head bowed, choked up: “Mom, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just angry with Dad. He wronged you…”
She smiled: “How did your father wrong me? From the day we met, he never raised his voice or lost his temper. For all those years, he worked the fields alone, never letting me touch a hoe. Every time he went to the market town, he brought back little trinkets—hairpins, rouge. I used to scold him for wasting money, and he’d always say, ‘I know, I know.’ And yet, every next time, he still bought them. I may complain, but deep down, I loved that about him. Who among the village women didn’t envy me for marrying such a good man?”
The young man grumbled: “It was his good fortune to marry you. He should have cherished you like that.”
She smiled and gently patted her son’s head: “When you find a wife, you must treat her the same way.”
Still sulking, the young man muttered: “I’ll never be like Dad, leaving for years without a word, not even a letter.”
The woman smiled gently and said nothing.
Suddenly, the young man said: “Mom, Wen Hua said I shouldn’t chase the martial world. He said once he saves enough money—maybe by this autumn, and if he can borrow a little more from the shop owner—he’ll buy the tavern from him. Then he wants me to help out. I agreed.”
Delighted, the woman said: “That’s good news. Of all your friends, only Wen Hua truly wants the best for you. When you help him, work hard. Don’t focus too much on money. Your father once said: ‘Once a man falls into the pit of gold, he’ll never climb out. He may seem free from worry, but he’ll never find peace.'”
The young man grinned: “Heh, my dad actually said something like that?”
The woman raised a mock hand to scold him.
The young man suddenly asked: “Mom, my dad’s name is Wang Ming Yin?”
The woman, who had only meant to pretend to hit him, actually tapped his forehead this time, half-angry, half-laughing: “How dare you call your father by his given name like that!”
The young man laughed: “Mom, listen! There was a Wang Ming Yin in the martial world too. He was amazing! His older brother was Wang Ming Yang, the man who defended Xiang Fan City for ten years. He was the only official who even made the Beiliang King hesitate. And he himself was no slouch—he was the eleventh greatest martial artist in the world. Their family, the Wangs, was even more fearsome. I heard a fancy saying once: ‘Generations of noble families.’ It means their family has served as high officials for many generations. Mom, do you want to hear stories about this fellow who shares Dad’s name?”
The woman shook her head, smiling: “No.”
The young man glanced at the sky and stood up: “Wen Hua said yesterday he wanted me to come have a drink with him. He must have some good news. I’ll go now.”
The woman quickly stood: “Take some cloth with you.”
The young man rolled his eyes: “Wen Hua doesn’t care about that.”
The woman glared: “Even if he doesn’t, we should still be considerate.”
The young man made a face: “That’s what Dad said, right?”
The woman went inside and fetched two bolts of cloth, handing them to her son: “After you finish drinking, walk slowly on your way home.”
The young man took the cloth, shouting “I know!” as he darted off like the wind.
The woman watched her son forget to close the courtyard gate, sighed helplessly, walked over, and gently shut it. She hesitated for a moment before deciding not to lock it fully. Turning toward the house, she softly smiled: “Ming Yin, our son has grown up. Just like you.”
※※※
On the Great Snow Terrace of Huishan Mountain, the Xuan Yuan family, which could not even reach the pinnacle of the martial world during the reign of the tyrannical genius Xuan Yuan Da Pan, now stood not only above the Longhu Mountain Celestial Sect, but even looked down upon the Eastern Yue Sword Pond. Across the entire world, perhaps only the Wu Clan Sword Tomb could rival them.
All of this was due to the presence of a certain purple-robed woman who presided over the Queyue Pavilion. Countless martial heroes bowed before her in admiration, and when she earned a place in the martial rankings, the Great Snow Terrace became a bustling new holy ground. So many visitors climbed the mountain that it became nearly impossible to descend. When the Beauty Rankings omitted her name, countless young martial artists who adored her purple robes cried foul, loudly vowing to teach Nalan You Ci and Xie Guan Ying a lesson.
Once, the current emperor—formerly the Fourth Prince—had visited the mountain but was turned away. Then the Beiliang King had the Fish Dragon Sect escort the Long Lake Pavilion’s martial library to Huishan. To the gossip-loving martial world, these two events were explosive. Many speculated that the emperor’s cold treatment of Xu Feng Nian of Beiliang was not only due to old grudges from the previous generation of princes, but also because of new jealousy over a woman. Though dismissed as nonsense in the Liyang court, this theory began to gain traction after the emperor personally sent a calligraphy plaque reading “Unrivaled Under Heaven” to the Queyue Pavilion. The entire martial world’s perception of this new emperor, who had become famous for his civil governance since ascending the throne, also improved. After all, the previous two Liyang emperors had been iron-fisted rulers who loved to “display the heads of martial rebels.” At the very least, this emperor harbored no deep hatred for the martial world, which was reason enough for celebration—even without the need for firecrackers.
Xuan Yuan Qing Feng stood beneath an old osmanthus tree. With Huang Fang Fo, the chief guest scholar of Huishan, having descended the mountain after Hong Biao’s departure, and with the Purple Robed Lady—both the ruler of Huishan and the martial world’s Alliance Leader—becoming increasingly immersed in martial cultivation, Huang Fang Fo, now at the peak of the Fingers Pointing to the Heavens realm, held even greater power.
Yet, despite being second only to the supreme leader of Huishan, Huang Fang Fo treaded more carefully than ever, never daring to step beyond the bounds. In her pursuit of higher cultivation, she had absorbed the inner energies of countless martial experts. Her ruthless methods surpassed even those of the so-called martial villains. While the latter at least observed the rule of not preying on their own kind, she had begun by slaying the martial artists nurtured within Huishan itself, only turning her gaze outward once none within the mountain met her standards. After her battle with Wang Xian Zhi by the river, her martial cultivation soared, and the secret manuals delivered from the Long Lake Pavilion further empowered her like a tiger gaining wings.
Xuan Yuan Qing Feng calmly asked: “How many permanent second-tier small grandmasters are stationed here now?”
Huang Fang Fo respectfully replied: “Six are willing to serve Huishan. Eleven are only interested in adding glory to success.”
Xuan Yuan Qing Feng sneered: “Glory to success.”
Huang Fang Fo felt a chill run through her.
Xuan Yuan Qing Feng kept her hands behind her back, gazing upward at the osmanthus branches. Her tone softened: “Glory to success, charcoal in snow, frost on snow, oil on fire, fluff in the wind, and a dagger to the heart.”
Then she added with self-mockery: “Of all the women in the world, which kind do you think I am?”
Huang Fang Fo, knowing better than to think this was truly a question for her, quietly withdrew.
Only after Huang Fang Fo had left did Xuan Yuan Qing Feng speak again: “Back then, you used the Mandate of Heaven to help stabilize my cultivation. I did not accompany you to Shenwu City to confront Han Sheng Xuan. Later, when Wang Xian Zhi came after you… we were even. Now I possess the martial insights of Zhao Huang Chao and the Useless Monk. I have no need for your boxes of secret manuals! Are you trying to strike another grand bargain with me?”
Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng fell silent for a moment. “Or are you also thinking that we are now even?”
※※※
Dunhuang City.
In a secluded mansion that seemed utterly “neglected,” a plump woman bent down to protect the toddler who had just learned to walk. The unsteady child reached out his little hand toward the pearl curtain hanging at the doorway.
As the child’s mother, tenderness, affection, guilt, and regret all flickered within her eyes at this moment.
She squatted down and embraced the child tightly.
Her cheek pressed gently against his.
In a soft voice, she whispered, “Xu Nianliang, my little Sweet Potato, when you grow up, you must go find your father, okay?”
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