In the vast western regions, a colossal mountain range stretches across the land like a sword cutting through the waist, dividing the west into two halves. The Great Feng Dynasty established its Western Regions Protectorate at a broken mountain pass. After the dynasty’s collapse, the protectorate gradually became an abandoned city. After two centuries of bloody conflicts, the ancient city established its own rules. Here, the connections are the most intricate under the heavens. Perhaps the aging old man in a smoky noodle shop was once a noble of one of the ancient states. Maybe the daily bare-chested, coarse butcher is actually a former general who once commanded tens of thousands of elite troops. Perhaps those elderly women who haggle with vendors for half an hour, when they finally get their way and turn with a gentle brush of their hair, revealing a grace that hints at their youth as a noble lady raised in verdant hills and clear waters.
Besides these forgotten remnants of the past, the city is mostly filled with fugitives and outlaws, each engaged in shady dealings. There are horse bandits who roam the borders and come here to drink in their spare time, unassuming assassins who kill ruthlessly, and merchants who are actually spies or loyalists of various factions. This chaotic western gateway sees deaths every day, but they are all done according to the rules. If someone dies without following the rules, someone will intervene to ensure a proper conclusion.
On a temporarily hired carriage heading into the city, the driver is a middle-aged man with a sallow face but sharp eyes, enthusiastically talking about the city’s “rules.” Beside him sits a young man uncommon in the western regions. Though his scholarly green robe is not rare within the city, his demeanor is unusual. To the native-born man, this guest seems like a character from old tales, a scholar heading to the capital for exams, staying in an ancient temple, and encountering a fox spirit in human form. At dusk, the man looks up at the faint outline of the massive city and then glances at his employer, a foreigner whose spending is not extravagant, with some regret. In the city they are heading to, although most people’s lives and deaths follow the rules, someone must still establish those rules. Unfortunately, if one encounters this small group, whether they follow the rules depends solely on their mood. Some may rise to wealth overnight, being noticed by a major figure in the city and achieving instant fame in this western metropolis of over a hundred thousand people. Others may simply disappear without a trace.
The driver once transported a group into the city a few years back—four people, three men and one woman, armed with swords and knives, looking quite skilled. Yet before they could even rest, they were ambushed by a cavalry unit from the inner city. It was a fierce battle. The four were indeed formidable, leaping from the carriage onto the rooftops, evading a rain of arrows without a scratch. The driver dared not watch, abandoning the carriage and practically crawling away. Later, he learned that the four were hanged at the eastern city gate. They were heroes from the Central Plains seeking revenge, but their enemies had become powerful figures within the inner city. With only forty or fifty casualties, they paid for their revenge with their lives. Such tragedies occur several times a year. Ultimately, anyone can come to this city, but not everyone can leave.
The driver did not dare to mention this part, fearing to scare his young employer, and even more so, fearing his commission would vanish like a cooked duck. Before the shabby carriage entered the city, the driver kindly shared more details about the city’s current state. For example, the city is divided into inner and outer sections. The outer city has four local gang sects that enjoy riding into battle outside the city walls. At their peak, each side had nearly a thousand cavalry charging. It was said that the four factions together had over three thousand horses and even hundreds of crossbows. Provoking them meant waiting to be torn apart by five horses. After all, those guys had done such things before.
The inner city has three families that are particularly untouchable, each with deep roots and wealth. Within the city, they are like local emperors. The Chai family, for instance, possesses twenty or thirty dragon robes and Python Robe. On rare occasions when the Chai family head made grand appearances, he truly wore a dragon robe, accompanied by several beauties wearing phoenix crowns and embroidered robes, like empresses and imperial concubines, which was truly a sight to behold.
Near the city gate, the thirsty driver took a swig from his leather wine pouch and turned to the young man who was listening attentively. He grinned, saying, “I’m just telling you this so you can be more cautious. But if, just if, you do run into trouble, if there are red-robed monks with prayer wheels nearby, you must quickly seek their help. After all, in our western regions, they are living bodhisattvas. Even the most unreasonable people will show some restraint around them.”
After entering the city, the young nobleman got off at a bustling inn in the eastern part of the city and gave the driver a few more taels of silver, which, though slightly tarnished, was still pleasing to the eye. This made the driver feel that his words were not wasted and that good deeds would be rewarded. However, when he saw the young man walk into the inn with no apparent caution, the driver’s expression became complex. In truth, his words were still in vain. Whether a foreigner could leave the inn alive was up to fate. Even if they managed to escape, they would likely lose several layers of skin. However, thinking about the share he would receive from the inn for guiding such a “fat sheep,” the driver couldn’t help but smile secretly. But at that moment, the young man turned back and smiled at him, causing the driver’s smile to freeze slightly, though he quickly resumed his usual grin and waved goodbye to the poor soul who had unknowingly walked into a tiger’s den.
As the driver happily cracked his whip and drove away, he probably didn’t realize that if the city was a coiled local dragon feared by all in the western regions, then he had personally delivered a mighty river dragon capable of easily swallowing that serpent.
The young man who hired the carriage into the city was Xu Fengnian, who had failed to receive a clear response from Mount Landuo. There were over 300,000 monks in the western regions, with over 40,000 monk soldiers officially affiliated with Mount Landuo. However, even though Xu Fengnian personally visited Mount Landuo, he could not successfully take away a single soldier. Yet, the situation was not entirely without hope. Xu Fengnian came to the Western Regions Protectorate of the Great Feng Dynasty in search of that slim chance, doing his best before leaving the rest to fate.
In the center of the inner city stood a small hill no more than twenty zhang high, known as Little Landuo. Atop the hill was the largest prayer wheel in the world, made of copper and plated with gold, weighing twelve thousand jin. The outer wall of the wheel was carved with the four great bodhisattvas—Manjusri, Samantabhadra, Avalokitesvara, and Ksitigarbha—and eight thousand lifelike celestial maidens. The inner wall was inscribed with 810,000 six-character mantras and the entire Tripitaka. The prayer wheel had a Fabricated handle for turning, but it was said to be Fabricated because no one had ever successfully turned it since its creation. Thus, the great blessing of chanting 810,000 mantras with each full rotation had yet to be enjoyed by anyone.
This legend, carried eastward with Buddhism, had long been Legend in the Central Plains. It was said that the difficulty of turning the wheel lay first in climbing the small hill of Little Landuo, second in possessing the strength equivalent to that of ten thousand elephants, and third in having the right karmic connection with the Buddha. Even the monks of Mount Landuo claimed that even the likes of Lüzu and Wang Xianzhi would find it difficult to turn the wheel.
For Xu Fengnian, whether it was Mount Landuo urging him to turn the prayer wheel or his own attempt to do so, it was not impossible, but Xu Fengnian could not be certain of success. Mount Landuo was home to many accomplished monks, including Liu Songtao, two other human Buddhas, the Six-Pearl Bodhisattva, and dozens of other masters. If they united to defend or prevent something, they could indeed make it as difficult as climbing to the heavens. Xu Fengnian believed that among the fourteen martial experts, the physical strength to push the prayer wheel was not the main issue. The real challenge lay in the elusive karmic connection with the Buddha.
Mount Landuo gave the young prince who personally climbed the mountain a four-character hint: “Tianshui Bathing the Buddha.”
Xu Fengnian checked into a second-floor room at the inn, opened the window, and looked troubled. It was the second day of the third month, the Grain Rain. However, the Buddha’s birthday, when “nine dragons spew water to bathe the golden body,” would not arrive until the eighth day of the fourth month. Logically, Xu Fengnian could not afford to waste an entire month in this isolated fortress city thousands of miles from Beiliang. Yet, at the foot of the mountain, he encountered an elderly woman devoutly holding a small prayer wheel and reciting Buddhist scriptures. After a casual chat, the old woman gifted her ordinary prayer wheel to Xu Fengnian. Later, as Xu Fengnian reflected on the encounter, he recalled the old woman’s offhand remark that resonated like a great bell in his heart. She had said that turning the prayer wheel should not be rushed, for the number of turns did not equate to more merit. Instead, one should remain calm and steady. Xu Fengnian knew the old woman was just an ordinary Buddhist devotee in the western regions, but precisely because of that, he truly felt the sense of an unseen divine will.
A faint, helpless bitterness crept to the corner of Xu Fengnian’s mouth. Did he really have to wait patiently until the eighth day of the fourth month? The battle at Houtou City in Liangzhou was raging, and Liuzhou was also on the brink of turmoil. Every day, people were dying at the Hulu Pass in Youzhou. Even if he, as the King of Beiliang, could not personally command the troops at the Beiliang Protectorate, he felt the need to be there, to see the smoke of war and hear the war drums with his own eyes and ears, to feel at ease. If he could turn the prayer wheel, then after Kou Jianghuai entered Liuzhou, there would be another 40,000 to 50,000 fearless and valiant monk soldiers, transforming the quest for defeat into a quest for victory. Thus, Huangman’er, who was at the forefront of the western front against Liang and Mang, would have a bit more stability. This was the personal motive behind Xu Fengnian’s actions under the watchful eyes of Tuoba Pusa, which greatly angered Tantai Jing at the time.
At that time, Xu Fengnian had killed the true dragon of the Northern Mang and suffered a significant drop in his cultivation level. If he could, why would he willingly risk going to the outside of the Hulu Pass? However, the Beiliang Iron Cavalry was different from other border troops. The entire world knew that these iron cavalry belonged to the Xu family, and the Beiliang border army shared this understanding. Yet, Xu Fengnian inherited the royal title, and it was extremely difficult to earn the respect of the 300,000 armored soldiers. The military and the martial world are two different realms. It was not enough for Xu Fengnian to become one of the few martial arts masters in the world to command thousands of troops with authority. Xu Xiao, back then, was merely a minor master of martial arts, yet why was he the only one who could command respect? Why was Gu Jiantang, the greatest swordsman in the world, and his trusted subordinate Cai Nan, leading several thousand troops, willing to risk disgrace and being deemed unfit for service by the ministers of Liyang, still willingly kneeling to salute Xu Xiao and requesting him to inspect the army? The reason was simple: although Xu Xiao could not kill many men alone, since he emerged from Liaodong like a tiger, how many great cities had he destroyed? How many thousands of surrendered soldiers had he buried alive? Warriors are not like literary scholars; they do not have the sentimentalism of “unjust spring and autumn, the fall of the Central Plains.” Even those soldiers who later served the Zhao family after their country’s fall would harbor an indescribable respect for Xu Xiao beneath their hatred.
Xu Fengnian knew that the prayer wheel of Little Landuo might not be turned, but he still had to stand here, torn in his heart.
The carved dragon throne in Tai’an City could be sat on by anyone, but not by Xu Fengnian. The tiger-skin throne in Qingliang Mountain could be sat on by no one but Xu Fengnian. This could not be changed even if Xu Fengnian’s martial cultivation reached the level of a celestial being. A person lives one life, bound to have attachments, making it extremely difficult to become a self-sufficient hermit. Xu Xiao, who rarely spoke eloquently, once said that a person’s life in this world is about enduring hardships and repaying debts. When the debts are repaid, if there is any surplus, it is already a man’s greatest ability. Xu Fengnian used to feel this way, but later, when he saw the arrogant behavior of the descendants of the generals who had fought alongside Xu Xiao in Lianzhou, he felt both pain and relief. Look, these are the descendants of the men who followed Xu Xiao to conquer the world. Xu Xiao never betrayed their fathers’ sacrifices, so they could enjoy their lives today! Even in a barren border like Beiliang, Xu Xiao ensured that they could live a life as prosperous as the Central Plains in Lianzhou, a place known as the Jiangnan of the frontier. Xu Fengnian’s hatred for Zhong Hongwu, the true intent to kill, was not because the general looked down on him as a second-generation noble, but because Zhong Hongwu, who considered leaving the border to enjoy himself as a natural right, caused the entire Lianzhou military families to forget Xu Xiao’s painstaking efforts.
Standing by the window, looking at the bustling street outside, Xu Fengnian mocked himself, “Is it true that heroes are not free when their luck runs out?”
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. It was a waiter from the restaurant asking if he wanted to order some food. If he did not want the trouble of going downstairs, the restaurant could deliver to his room. The waiter also bluntly asked if he needed some extra “side dishes” with a strong local flavor, mentioning that they had not only wild horses from the grasslands but also delicate Jiangnan horses that could sing small tunes, though they were more expensive, costing twenty taels of silver each time. As for whether they could stay overnight and the price, it would depend on the guest’s ability. Xu Fengnian politely declined, ordering only a simple dinner. The waiter, seeing that he did not look like a wealthy customer, rolled his eyes and left in disappointment, muttering about the driver’s poor judgment in bringing such a thin and unprofitable “two-legged sheep” who could barely earn a few copper coins in commission.
Afterwards, Xu Fengnian ate dishes laced with knockout powder. The waiter who brought the food tray lingered for a long while, but seeing that Xu Fengnian hadn’t collapsed onto the table, he realized he had encountered a formidable opponent. In their line of business, running a long-established den of iniquity, such situations were not particularly rare. Since subterfuge had failed, they resorted to force. The tavern had one or two blood-stained enforcers ready for such occasions. If they truly encountered someone who could not be swayed by either soft words or brute force, then they would simply accept their loss. Men who had established themselves in the Western Regions were especially magnanimous in such matters, unafraid to swallow their pride. If ever they were trampled underfoot, they could still pick themselves up again.
Soon, a tall, scar-faced middle-aged man pushed the door open and entered. Four or five curious waiters gathered at the corridor’s corner, placing bets on how long the young gentleman could endure. One particularly gambling-inclined fellow, who had lost many times before, decided to stake all his spare silver on the young nobleman walking away unscathed. The bookmaker was none other than the waiter who had previously brought the meal, grinning widely as he accepted the three or four taels of silver.
However, before the silver had even warmed in his pocket, he found himself owing back seven or eight taels. The famed “Lu Master” of the outer city had barely entered the room before exiting again. The waiter immediately tugged at the sleeve of the departing man, wailing, “Master Lu, did you spare the young man because you fancied his looks? This means half a year’s hard work down the drain for me!”
The man, exuding the aura of a hardened bandit tempered by years in the military, flew into a rage at these words. He kicked the troublemaking rascal so hard that the waiter crashed against the corridor wall. Fortunately, the kick had some finesse to it, though it still left the waiter gasping for air like a fish out of water, unable to utter a word. The man hissed in a low voice, “Spare him water? If your mother were in that room, I’d keep her bedridden for ten days!”
The waiter dared not argue, merely groaning in pain. Compared to the kick, such vulgarities were trivial matters. In the Western Regions, such things were barely worth mentioning as appetizers. Even among these twenty- to thirty-year-olds born and raised in the city, many knew the dark secrets of the past. Twenty years ago, countless refugees had arrived, unable to survive by honest means. Many noble-born women had ended up “entertaining” guests in dimly lit brothels. The men who guarded the doors and lured in customers might even have been their own fathers or husbands.
Thus, even now, many elderly men, sunbathing and waiting for death, liked to lecture the younger generation with variations of the same tale: “You young whelps were born too late. We were in our prime during better times. The women who came from the east, whether in their teens, twenties, or even thirties, were far more delicate than the women you see on the streets today. Their skin felt just like fine silk. Though they often pretended reluctance, preferring to have the lamp extinguished before engaging in the act, otherwise demanding extra payment, it wasn’t a big deal. Once you truly pinned them beneath you, you’d understand the ecstasy. Such blessings are beyond your wildest dreams, you little rascals.”
The man ignored these shallow-eyed young ruffians and walked away. Even after distancing himself from the room, he still felt a lingering unease. There was something he lacked the courage to say: when he crossed the threshold, a mere glance from that person nearly froze his steps. Had the young man not smiled and refrained from further “harassment,” he would have already turned tail and raised the white flag. Yet, when he finally managed to muster his strength and take seven or eight steps forward, drenched in sweat, he, a hardened outlaw who had survived bloody battles for nearly two decades, dared not even sit. He simply bowed lightly and said, “Apologies for the disturbance, young sir.” Only after the young noble nodded and smiled did he regain the strength to turn and walk away. Otherwise, he might have stood there like a log until death.
Standing at the second-floor staircase, the man paused, increasingly perplexed. Lu Dayi, once a valiant soldier in the army of a fallen kingdom during the Spring and Autumn Period, had not lost his martial prowess over the years. Even in this ancient Western Regions garrison, he had learned many secret techniques from a hidden martial arts master. Having survived countless bloody battles, he had now reached the threshold of becoming a minor master. Though ranked last among the twenty Master on the outer city’s list, he was still a name on the list. Could it be true, as his aging master had once said, that the so-called masters cultivated in isolation in the Western Regions were of inferior quality, far inferior to the orthodox martial artists of the Central Plains?
At nineteen, Lu Dayi had followed his benefactor into exile in the Western Regions. Having previously been a soldier, his thoughts of his homeland had long faded. As for the martial world of the Liyang Kingdom, he had never ventured there, always believing that even if this city was the capital of the Western Regions, achieving success here would be no less impressive than among the Central Plains’ martial artists. He firmly believed that the top ten Master in the inner city, though not all comparable to the grandmasters ranked in the martial world, must include two or three worthy of such recognition. Yet today, after merely encountering that young man, Lu Dayi suddenly realized he had been a frog in a well.
That young nobleman exuded a true “presence.” His usually stern master had only occasionally spoken of such an enigmatic realm while sipping wine and in a good mood. He had said that martial artists’ confrontations were similar to a physician’s diagnostic methods of inspection, listening, inquiry, and palpation. Observing the opponent’s aura was merely the first step. Listening to the opponent’s voice and vitality was the second. Only then did they exchange names and backgrounds to determine if it would be a fight to the death. The final step, rarely taken unless absolutely necessary, was the actual duel, often resulting in a grim outcome where life and death were decided in an instant. Lu Dayi had never taken such matters seriously before. Having spent a long time in the Western Regions, he had become accustomed to drawing swords at the slightest disagreement, to assassinations and killings driven by nothing more than money. Who cared about sects or factions? Cut off someone’s livelihood, and even the emperor himself would face a blade. In the Western Regions, where neither heaven nor earth imposed order, life and death were not matters one could afford to take seriously. If even life and death were disregarded, who cared whether the opponent was a dragon from afar or the son of a wealthy family? If not for Lu Dayi’s Cherish of his hard-earned martial cultivation and the hope of becoming a master, he would have already gathered dozens of men to block the door after his defeat today. If that still failed, he would call upon the few compatible Master on the outer city’s list, and if even they were insufficient, there were always the inner city’s top-tier masters who had spent years cultivating their inner energy. The Western Regions had long understood one truth: the Western Regions belonged to the people of the Western Regions. Internal conflicts aside, outsiders who came here to cause trouble, no matter how powerful they were in the Central Plains or the Northern Wilderness, had to pay their dues! Over the past twenty years, how many formidable “overseas dragons” had been stripped and broken in this great city? Lu Dayi and his brothers alone had killed seven or eight such tough characters, some dying in the arms of women, others first wounded by a child’s hidden blade and then beaten to death by a mob.
Lu Dayi pondered for a while and finally suppressed the rising urge to kill. He beckoned to a trusted waiter and instructed the boy to inform the tavern’s manager that the young man in room Wu of the second-class quarters must not be touched.
The sixteen- or seventeen-year-old boy, who had already taken a life, rarely saw Master Lu in such a gloomy mood and dared not act rashly. He hurriedly went to deliver the “military intelligence,” glancing back at Lu Dayi’s imposing back as he descended the stairs. In the boy’s heart, a man like Lu Dayi, who seemed to sit amidst a pile of corpses, Drinking fine wine heartily, and enjoy the company of beautiful women, was the epitome of a heroic figure in the Western Regions. It wasn’t just talk; when Lu Dayi visited the finest brothels, the fox-like beauties who usually didn’t even spare a glance for the young hotheads would always give him a big discount when collecting his silver, or even let him sleep with them for free. Rumor had it they would lazily lean against their beds and say, “Come again, Master Lu.” This wasn’t just a guess; once, the boy had the good fortune to accompany Lu Dayi to witness such a scene. Although he had to sit outside the lady’s room all night, not even daring to touch the hand of the waiting maid, the next morning, when Lu Dayi pushed open the door, he personally heard the lady, in a voice that could melt bones, lazily and sensually utter those words. Since then, the boy had aspired to possess even half of Lu Dayi’s skills before he could peacefully close his eyes in death.
The city, densely packed with hundreds of thousands of people, was already a major metropolis even by Central Plains standards, let alone in the vast, desolate Western Regions, which were even more sparsely populated than Beiliang? Surely you wouldn’t compare it to Taian City?
After finishing his meal, Xu Fengnian watched the city lights from his windowsill as night fell. This city had no curfew, and the wealthy families of the Western Regions had all gathered here, exuding a natural air of freedom and ease. Beiliang naturally did not ignore such a strategic border town. From the time of his master Li Yishan, they had not been content with being confined to the three provinces of Beiliang. According to the original plan, not only the thousands of hidden soldiers in Qingcheng Mountain, but also the Western Regions, including the refugees in Liuzhou and even Xishu and Nanzhao, should become strategic depth after the outbreak of war. Thus, the unparalleled cavalry strength of Beiliang could be fully unleashed. Xishu would provide infantry, Nanzhao would supply military funds, and the Western Regions, together with the three provinces of Beiliang, would serve as the strategic depth for Xu’s cavalry to gallop freely. This was the true vision of Li Yishan, Xu Fengnian’s master. Unfortunately, even though Xu Fengnian successfully intercepted the prince Zhao Kai and the sick tiger at the Iron Gate Pass, the imperial court still proved to be a step ahead, and Xu Fengnian ultimately failed to help his master complete this lifelong wish.
However, Xu Fengnian could not afford to lose heart or give up. Thus, Cao Wei’s secret army was dispatched through the Western Regions, at the cost of nearly the entire Youzhou cavalry of ten thousand men dying in the Hu Lu Pass. In comparison, Xu Fengnian’s decision to hide Liu Wenbao, a destitute old scholar first met on the Spring God Lake and later accepted at the Xia Ma Wei inn in the capital, in this city, even granting him the covert identity of a second-class room master in the Fu Shui Society to coordinate between Beiliang and Cao Wei’s cavalry, was not a significant matter. Xu Fengnian had no intention of meeting Liu Wenbao, who had infiltrated the inner city but had not yet established a foothold. Times had changed, and according to the Fu Shui Society, there were now many desks with portraits of Xu Fengnian. Xu Fengnian smiled, touching the face mask glued to his face. The news from Xiangfan was not good. Shu Xiu, the woman who had left Qingliang Mountain, seemed to have become genuinely involved in the matter of Lu Xu, opposing Beiliang. However, she had not yet dared to openly break with Beiliang. According to the usual biweekly meetings with the Fu Shui Society, she was still respectful and cautious. In this distant land, where the emperor’s reach was limited, and people’s hearts were as fickle as rippling water, Xu Fengnian did not feel much anger. He couldn’t help it; he had always heard from his mother in childhood that the world was unstable, and women found it even harder to find peace. He had no desire to quarrel with a pitiful woman from the southern frontier. It was one thing for Heaven, the Liyang Zhao family, and the Northern Wilderness army to conspire against him, but Xu Fengnian did not feel the need to vent his anger on women. However, Shu Xiu was one matter, but if Han, the man from Jizhou whom he had personally supported, dared to betray him at a critical moment, it would cross the red line of Beiliang, making him as bad as Song Dia’ er, the bandit leader secretly collaborating with the Northern Wilderness’ Taiping Decree and Chun Na’ er. Currently, Xu Fengnian could not do everything as he wished, but when it came to killing a descendant of Liyang’s loyal and righteous family with a tainted background, Xu Fengnian would not hesitate for a moment.
At the beginning of the month, under a crescent moon in the night sky, Xu Fengnian, unable to sleep, simply took two jugs of strong wine and sat on the roof of the tavern, gazing at the inner city’s center. The night view around the Xiaolan Tuo Mountain, with its prayer wheel on the summit, was especially dazzling. Around this small mountain, lanterns were hung everywhere, presenting a scene of continuous revelry and opulence. Xu Fengnian suddenly recalled his verbal duel with Xie Guanying. This scholar, ranked first on the list of earthly immortals, was indeed not someone who merely spoke grand but empty words. Xie Guanying had pointed out a truth that struck Xu Fengnian’s heart: after Xu Xiao left Liaodong, he galloped across half the world for decades. The true achievement of the “Spring and Autumn” campaign was to shatter the foundations of the aristocratic families, breaking the old rule that “even if the country falls, the family remains” and “in times of peace, the aristocracy and the emperor govern together, while in times of chaos, the emperor changes but the family head remains.” The Spring and Autumn period was filled with tragedies and secrets. How could Xu Xiao, as the vanguard of Liyang, defeat the mighty Chu without some unspeakable truths? After Xu Xiao completed the siege of Xilei Wall, how many aristocratic families had shamelessly acted as fence-sitters, betting on both sides? Otherwise, how could so many former Western Chu aristocrats later become high-ranking officials in the Liyang court? As for the Southern Tang nobles secretly colluding with Gu Jiantang, the southern expedition commander of Liyang, to open the gates of their country for family prosperity, the numbers were countless. These hidden truths were unknown to the common people, who could only follow the tides of history. Perhaps only centuries later would future historians cautiously uncover a corner of this buried past from the vast sea of historical records.
Historical records of past dynasties are always like maidservants locked inside the chambers of historians from new dynasties, free to be painted with rouge or smeared with filth.
He, Xu Fengnian, without unexpected twists, definitely belongs to the latter kind of fate.
As for the ink and vermilion annotations in historical records thousands of years later—whether he will be remembered in disgrace or in glory—Xu Fengnian neither dwells upon nor concerns himself with such matters. Just like he had once confessed emotionally to an elderly stone gatherer of unknown name in Dayu Hidden Realm (Cave Heaven), he simply said he would do his best. Now, Xu Fengnian is no longer some incarnation of the Great Deity Zhenwu, nor a reincarnation of the great Qin Emperor. He is merely the son of Xu Xiao. Historians of the Central Plains may curse Xu Fengnian for having lofty ambitions beyond his abilities and losing the gateway to the northwest, but they must not allow the historical records merely decades later to start calling the Xu family of Beiliang, originating from Liaodong, mere servants serving two masters.
Now that Xu Xiao has passed, Xu Fengnian cannot allow his father—who during life could not sleep peacefully—to be disturbed even in death. Ultimately, Xu Fengnian’s determination to fight the Northern Barbarians until the end stems purely from this personal motive: to leave behind a decent reputation for Xu Xiao in the annals of history, and to accumulate spiritual merits and blessings for his parents and his elder and younger sisters, as well as for Huangman.
Xu Fengnian took a sip of wine, raised his sleeve to wipe his lips, but did not lower it. He smiled softly and said, “Xu Xiao, you, as a father, never asked your children for anything, nor did you expect us to achieve great success. But I, a son who has rarely shown filial piety, used to focus only on opposing you. I was so petty and stingy I barely ever called you ‘Father,’ fearing that saying it would slight my mother. From now on, you needn’t concern yourself with me anymore—of course, you can’t even if you tried. Eventually, future generations will remember you, Xu Xiao. When history is read about our Xu family, there will be those who, against the tide of popular opinion, sincerely say: ‘The Xu family of Liaodong, for a hundred years roared like tigers, dying without ever collapsing their frame!'”
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