Xu Xiaoxiong headed south back to Qingliang Mountain the day after Xu Fengnian arrived at Huaiyang Pass. Left behind, Xu Fengnian began living a quiet life, not interfering with the affairs of the Dudu Mansion. Qi Dangguo, stationed at Qingyuan frontline, occasionally rode over to keep Xu Fengnian company. The two often rode out beyond the pass under the pretense of hunting, bringing several hundred elite riders close to Hǔtóuchéng (Tiger Head City), watching the distant smoke of battle. If they encountered small groups of Northern Meng horse scouts, they treated them as a feast for the Baiyu Guard, the most skilled archers in the Beiliang army. The Dudu Mansion dared not object openly, but secretly dispatched many white-horse reconnaissance units beyond the pass to prevent any mishap.
On this particular day, the Spring Equinox, thunder rumbled in the sky, and wheat began to grow vigorously. Ancient sayings claimed that yang energy rises forty-two thousand miles. At dawn, Xu Fengnian rode out alone. To avoid burdening the Dudu Mansion and the reconnaissance riders, he did not head north toward Hǔtóuchéng, but instead meandered eastward toward Fuling City. A unit of over fifty reconnaissance riders, tasked with guarding him, dared not disturb the Beiliang King’s leisure. However, perhaps eager to catch a glimpse of Xu Fengnian, one of the realm’s Four Grand Masters, the unit commander made a small arrangement. He allowed his men to ride as close as two hundred paces to Xu Fengnian, though they had to retreat swiftly afterward or face military punishment. This left Xu Fengnian, now unwittingly the center of attention, both amused and exasperated, though he pretended not to notice.
Xu Fengnian looked up at the clear sky and suddenly smiled. As a child, he never understood why a sky without a single cloud was considered good weather. He always thought the sky looked prettier with drifting clouds, especially the brilliant red clouds at sunset. Back then, in the prison-like Dantong Pass, every time he saw such clouds, he would be happy for days. He would watch them with a little beggar boy, later known as Zhao Zhu. They could spend an hour or more staring at the sky without growing bored. Since their parting, Xu Fengnian always worried that the little beggar might starve or freeze to death on the streets. But many years later, they met again at the Spring God Lake. The boy had grown into the heir of a powerful southern feudal lord.
Suddenly, Xu Fengnian halted his horse and turned his gaze southward. In the distance, four riders were heading north. Upon spotting him, they spurred their horses toward him. Before they arrived, the commander of the white-horse reconnaissance unit rode up to Xu Fengnian, dismounted, and bowed respectfully.
“Your Highness, those four riders are likely martial artists who passed through Yulong Gang’s screening and are heading to the border to join the army. Should I intercept them?”
Xu Fengnian shook his head. “No. You may return to Huaiyang Pass.”
Without hesitation, the commander obeyed. Though officially under the Dudu Mansion, everyone in Beiliang knew who truly commanded the thirty thousand border troops. After all, who was their prince? Did he truly need these reconnaissance riders to protect him? Still, as the burly commander mounted his horse, he hesitated for a rare moment and said, “Your Highness, if I may be so bold—everyone’s heard about what happened outside the Hulukou in Youzhou. If the chance ever comes, we all hope to fight side by side with you!”
Xu Fengnian nodded with a smile. The commander rode off, heart pounding with excitement. He had spoken to the Beiliang King himself! When he returned to tell the captain and the others, they’d be green with envy. After riding several hundred paces, he glanced back at the lone rider and thought, *Our Prince truly is a paragon of the world—so approachable, so noble. If he were in the Central Plains, how many young maidens would pine for him?* The commander felt a surge of indignation. Even though he’d heard that Qingliang Mountain already had two unofficial consorts—both virtuous and well-spoken of—it still seemed too few.
Once the reconnaissance commander had ridden far enough, the four newcomers soon arrived. Seeing Xu Fengnian, the leader—a tall, white-haired old man with a sharp gaze—dismounted and asked with a smile, “Young sir, do you know where Huaiyang Pass is?”
Xu Fengnian succinctly pointed the way. The old man bowed in thanks and introduced himself with the swagger of a seasoned martial artist, “I am from Qing Song County in Jiangnan. My fellow martial artists call me ‘Ming Tian Gu’ (Drumming the Sky). Might I ask if you, too, are here to join the Beiliang border army?”
Xu Fengnian shook his head. “I am already part of the border army. My ancestors have lived in Beiliang for generations.”
The old man nodded. “Ah, I see. My apologies for the assumption.”
He chuckled wryly. “Forgive an old man’s chatter. We four are strangers in this land. When we heard that the Northern Meng had a million troops marching south, I couldn’t bear it. In my youth, I followed my father and master to the Jibei border to fight the Meng barbarians. Now, hearing that one of the Ten Great Martial Sects—the Yulong Gang—can recommend outsiders to the Beiliang army, we came here with three apprentices. Yulong Gang gave us four temporary travel permits, but the journey north has been full of hardship…”
One of the younger men, with a sword at his waist, muttered angrily, “Master, those Beiliang soldiers look at us like we’re Meng barbarians!”
Xu Fengnian had traveled the jianghu three times and instantly recognized the underlying tension. These men must have clashed with the Beiliang soldiers, relying on their martial prowess. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have prefixed their complaint with “they think too highly of their combat skills,” but would have gone straight to the accusation. Yet Xu Fengnian was curious—Yulong Gang opening its doors to martial artists was part of an arrangement orchestrated by the Wutong Courtyard and Fushui Bureau. But most of those who came were opportunists, second-rate martial artists who couldn’t make a living in the Liyang jianghu and now sought refuge in Beiliang. Those who actually came to the border to fight and had real skill were few—only sixteen had been officially recorded by the Dudu Mansion. Yet this “Ming Tian Gu,” an old swordsman of near Grand Master rank, was the real deal. Such a master could easily establish his own sect in the Liyang jianghu or command a county’s martial world. Even in the capital, he could earn a carp bag to hang at his waist. Xu Fengnian casually observed the four riders. The old master, a second-tier expert, had a calm gaze, but the other three each had their own expressions. The young swordsman with a long embroidered tassel on his sword hilt was arrogant. Xu Fengnian had long heard that Beiliang was full of military scions. This young man, appearing at the border without armor or a saber, was likely one of them. The middle-aged swordsman was probably the old master’s eldest apprentice, more mature and reserved. He was subtly studying the way Xu Fengnian held the reins, trying to find traces of martial training. His jianghu experience told him that during the siege of Hǔtóuchéng by hundreds of thousands of Northern Meng troops, no ordinary person would be riding alone in this area. As for the last figure—a woman in tight black clothes, her face hidden under a veil—she was also curiously sizing up this young man who looked more like a Jiangnan scholar than a Beiliang warrior.
Xu Fengnian smiled and said, “What others think doesn’t matter. Just be yourself. If we were to judge by looks alone, for twenty years, the entire Liyang court has seen us Beiliang people as nothing more than barbarians.”
The young swordsman, who had barely tolerated the Beiliang soldiers’ arrogance, could not stand this Beiliang noble’s condescension. He snapped, “We came all the way to this godforsaken Beiliang to fight, not to be mocked by the likes of you! If it weren’t for my master’s friendship with Hong Biao, the second-in-command of Mount Hui…”
The old man’s face darkened, and he cut off his apprentice, “Chonghe!”
Chonghe turned his head, sulking. In Jiangnan, he had always been a courteous swordsman, but here in the barren north, where days of riding brought no sight of people, the harsh conditions had frayed his temper. Back home in the Central Plains, this would have been the season of misty rain and blooming apricot flowers. There would be narrow alleys selling plum blossoms, boats drifting on lakes, and night-long songs in the pleasure houses. Even doing nothing at home, sparring with his senior and junior apprentices in the deep courtyard would have been enjoyable—far better than enduring the wind and sand of this northwestern border and the constant insults.
Xu Fengnian smiled and asked, “Shall I guide you the rest of the way?”
Chonghe muttered, “Offering help out of nowhere? He’s up to no good, no doubt trying to flirt with my junior sister.”
The old man shot his apprentice a sharp look, then turned to Xu Fengnian with a candid laugh, “That would be excellent. Once we reach the pass and hand in our travel permits, I insist on treating you to several jin of Lüyi wine. I’ve heard of this wine before, but when I first tried it, the taste was… less than appealing. Yet now, after coming to Beiliang, I’ve grown fond of it. I even bought two jin at the Longkou Pass in Liangzhou, but it was gone in just a few days. My wine-loving gut is rebelling fiercely!”
The five rode together. The old man chatted with Xu Fengnian about Beiliang’s customs, both carefully avoiding questions about each other’s identities. It was a rule of the jianghu—never pry too deeply into someone’s background when you’ve just met. But soon, the young swordsman couldn’t hold back and spoke just loudly enough for Xu Fengnian to hear, “Junior Sister, the founding emperor of the Da Feng Dynasty once wrote a letter to the Grassland nomadic leader, saying, ‘North and west of Jizhou, the land of archers obeys you. South and east of Jizhou, the land of crowned men is ruled by me. The people till and weave, and rulers and subjects live in peace, free from tyranny.’”
The young woman’s voice was soft, “Senior Brother, didn’t you just say that when we first entered Beiliang?”
Xu Fengnian, riding ahead, laughed, “He’s saying it for this Beiliang ‘barbarian’ west of Jizhou.”
The old man, riding beside him, smiled knowingly. “Young sir, you have a broad heart.”
Xu Fengnian joked, “It’s been slowly built up, or I’d have died of internal injuries long ago.”
Chonghe, clearly, had already suffered internal wounds.
Xu Fengnian suddenly asked, “Is the Hong Biao you know the same one who recently became the deputy commander of the Yan Zhi Heavy Cavalry?”
The old man hesitated, then nodded. “Indeed.”
Xu Fengnian smiled. “Then after you hand in your travel permits at the Dudu Mansion, you’ll need to ride south a bit to find General Hong at Chong Zhu. I’ll arrange for someone to guide you, or you might not even see that heavy cavalry unit. It’s not that we Beiliang are petty, but General Hong’s position is very special. Not only you, but even many high-ranking Beiliang officers can’t easily see that cavalry unit.”
The two exchanged knowing smiles.
They then spoke of jianghu tales from the Central Plains. The old man, well-traveled and talkative, recounted the current glory of Mount Hui, and the recent rankings in the *Yan Zhi Ping* (Beauty List), *Wu Ping* (Martial List), and *Jiang Xiang Ping* (General and Chancellor List), his eyes sparkling with excitement. “You, young sir, must know the meaning of placing the *Jiang Xiang Ping* at the end. The *Wu Ping* includes Liyang, Northern Meng, and Beiliang, while the *Jiang Xiang Ping* only covers Liyang. This might be the most significant ranking since the fall of the Da Feng Dynasty. The *Wu Ping* lists ten people without ranking—Liyang has four: Chen Zhibao, Cao Changqing, Gu Jiantang, and Lu Shengxiang. Northern Meng has three: Dong Zhuo, Liu Gui, and Yang Yuanzan. Beiliang has Yan Wenluan, Chu Luxiang, and Gu Dazu. At the end of the *Wu Ping*, additional mentions include Xie Xichui, Kou Jianghuai, Tuoba Qiyun, Zhong Tan, and Song Li.”
Xu Fengnian teased, “Yuan Zuozong didn’t make the list. I’m a bit upset about that.”
The young swordsman, seemingly at odds with Xu Fengnian by nature, couldn’t help but retort, “You Beiliang people aren’t satisfied yet? The *Wu Ping* has three of you. If you count Chen Zhibao, who rode alone into Shu, that’s four—nearly half the list! The *Wu Ping* also includes the young feudal lord who joined the Four Grand Masters, and the sudden emergence of Xu Yanbing. The *Jiang Xiang Ping* includes Beiliang’s Shao Bao Chen Wang and Sun Yin, listed alongside famous ministers like Yin Maochun. What more could Beiliang want?”
Xu Fengnian smiled calmly. “That’s why I say Beiliang’s soil is good—not just for producing barbarians, but also for nurturing wise statesmen.”
The young man was clearly wounded again.
The woman in the veil quietly covered her mouth and smiled.
The old man sighed, “For years, I’ve wondered how Beiliang, with its limited manpower and resources, could support thirty thousand elite border cavalry, the strongest in both nations.”
Xu Fengnian said softly, “To counter Northern Meng, Liyang claims to have eighty thousand troops, even more than the Da Feng Dynasty at its peak. Half are in Liang, half in Beiliang.”
For some reason, the four apprentices, upon hearing this, looked at the The monotonous and desolate scenery of the northwest (monotonous, desolate northwestern scenery) and felt an indescribable complexity.
As they approached Huaiyang Pass, Xu Fengnian asked, “Senior, if you didn’t know General Hong Biao in Beiliang, would you still have come here?”
The old man paused, then answered honestly, “Certainly not.”
Xu Fengnian nodded slightly, his expression unchanged.
But the old man quickly added with a smile, “However, since Xu Xiao’s death, that messy chapter of the ‘Unjust Spring and Autumn’ has ended. I believe many old men like me, with half our bodies already in the grave, feel the same way. Ever since that young Xu spoke those words in Tai’an City, those without direct ties to the blood feuds have gradually let go of their grudges. Since entering Beiliang, I’ve heard many stories and realized that many things are not as I imagined. I plan to write to my old friends back home and tell them a different Beiliang—one where there are also sounds of study, the barking of dogs, and…”
He suddenly burst into laughter, “Also a wine-seller girl who made me regret not coming here thirty or forty years earlier.”
Xu Fengnian said solemnly, “The women of Liang are like the Lüyi wine—fiery at first sip, but once you’re hooked, you’ll never want to drink anything else again.”
The young man sneered, “Then why did the Beiliang King marry two women from outside?”
Xu Fengnian was momentarily speechless. After a pause, he turned and said helplessly, “This time… you’ve truly struck like a sword, piercing the heart. I concede.”
The young man first looked smug, then tried to look cool, but soon his lips curled into a smile. Looking at this annoying Beiliang noble again, he no longer found him so unbearable.
In the distance, Huaiyang Pass came into view. Unlike Hǔtóuchéng or Liuya Fuling, it was truly a “pass”—a place where one man could hold the gate against a thousand. Once the smoke of war rose, it would become a battlefield of death. According to military texts, such passes, regardless of size, were crucial choke points. To move quickly, one had to seize them, ensuring no danger from behind. Conversely, many grand cities, though impressive, could be bypassed during war. Liyang’s defenses in the Two Liaos had many such cities. Though they couldn’t stop enemy armies, their mere existence was a deterrent. Attacking them would cause heavy losses; bypassing them would threaten supply lines. Yet cities were static, while generals and strategies were fluid. In the end, it would depend on who had the greater wisdom and who the greater cunning.
Beiliang’s greatest tragedy lay in its shallow depth—every inch of its land was a place where blood would be spilled.
The Northern Meng, with its full national strength attacking Beiliang, meant it was determined to seize every inch of land, no matter the cost.
At this moment, Xu Fengnian, outside Huaiyang Pass, felt an untimely worry—not for the mighty Northern Meng army, but for the old saying: *At Spring Equinox, wheat rises—every moment is worth a thousand gold pieces*. He thought of the many Beiliang peasants who would have little grain left this year, and of the children he had seen studying in private schools when he passed through Daoma Pass, who would surely long for steamed buns with thin skins and rich fillings.
At this moment, the veiled woman, suppressing her shyness, secretly gazed at the unknown Beiliang man. In her heart, she had only one thought that made her blush: *If he were the young Grand Master I’ve longed for, the Beiliang King loved by so many girls back home, how wonderful that would be.*
When she had said she was coming to Beiliang, many young ladies who only knew embroidery and gentle manners had almost secretly followed her to this cold, distant land.
Her master had joked that such a scene, where men would beat their chests in despair, had only happened once before—when Li Chungan, in his youth, had wandered the jianghu with his sword and green robe.
Now, in Jiangnan, how many fair maidens did not long for Xu?
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