Xu Fengnian, who had left the city earlier, never expected to stumble upon a grand martial arts event even in the remote Western Regions, causing a brief pause in his northward journey. Over the past century, the brilliance of Li Chungang and Wang Xianzhi had been so overwhelming that the entire martial world beneath them seemed like ants squabbling, no matter how much they stirred. Li Chungang, with his solitary sword, was too ethereal, while Wang Xianzhi remained confined within the Eastern Sea’s Martial Emperor City. Though the martial world of Liyang had its vitality, it ultimately lacked the fervor of true spectacle. It wasn’t until Xuanyuan Qingfeng became the leader of the martial alliance that this pattern began to shift. Among the Four Great Grandmasters, Xu, Cao, and Tuoba were not pure martial artists, while Deng Tai’a was elusive as a ghost. The remaining ten on the martial rankings were equally shrouded in mystery. Thus, Xuanyuan Qingfeng, rumored to have captivated even the Liyang Emperor and earned the gift of martial secrets from the new Liang King, became the undisputed leader of the Central Plains’ martial world.
Beyond the recognized top ten sects—led by the Wu Family Sword Mausoleum, with the Southern Border’s Dragon Palace in the middle and the Northern Liang’s Fish-Dragon Gang at the bottom—many new, more populist rankings had emerged after the last martial gathering at Great Snowy Peak. These rankings excluded the overly lofty martial grandmasters and sects, instead naming the Four Fairies, Four Sages, and Ten Great Sects, along with titles like the Twelve Champions and the Eight Demon Lords. Though these lists lacked the prestige of the old rankings, their accessibility granted them a wild, tenacious popularity, quickly becoming household names across Liyang. Amid this fervor, two major events shook the already bustling martial world: first, Xuanyuan Qingfeng emerged from seclusion after just half a year, having broken through the barrier of longevity, her power soaring. She claimed three of the twelve titles derived from the legendary Thirteen Heroes of the Spring and Autumn Era—sword, blade, and dao. The second event was the theft of sixteen supreme martial manuals from the Great Snowy Peak’s library during her seclusion. Rumors pointed to six of the Eight Demon Lords collaborating in the act. In response, a second martial gathering was convened at Great Snowy Peak. Though Xuanyuan Qingfeng did not appear, under the leadership of Huishan’s chief guest elder, Huang Fangfo, the gathered leaders of prestigious sects set the tone for a righteous crusade against the demonic factions. The martial world erupted in fervor, vowing to hunt down the six demonic figures who dared challenge the sacred Great Snowy Peak.
The elite orthodox factions, bearing the banner of heavenly justice, set out from Huishan, passing through Xiangfan—the strategic heart of the Central Plains—and traversing Western Shu, tirelessly pursuing their quarry all the way to the Western Regions. Along the way, countless second- and third-tier sects joined the fray, whether out of idle curiosity or hopes of forging ties with Huishan. The eastward-moving tide swelled to thousands, its commotion alarming even the garrisons of Jiangnan and Western Shu. Rumors spread that young nobles from several princely estates had secretly joined the ranks, some merely hoping to catch a glimpse of the famed “Purple Robe of Huishan,” others covertly recruiting martial forces to secure their positions in the looming upheaval. It was a true spectacle of chaos and grandeur.
At the time, Xu Fengnian stood alone on a well-trodden gravel path, stunned by the unprecedented sight of a bustling, endless stream of travelers—like a market day. Among them were wandering monks with strings of fist-sized prayer beads, moving with swift strides; kindly old nuns leading groups of young, comely disciples, some of whom lagged behind to secretly touch up their makeup with rouge, drawing resigned sighs from their elders; a troupe of elegant horse-riding women, their sleeves fluttering, one particularly striking young woman with thin lips and a small mouth carrying a pipa in an ornate Western Shu brocade case, the others holding guzheng, konghou, and hulei instruments; and swarms of young martial artists in vibrant attire, their waists adorned with expensive blades and swords—half of them white-clad, white-horse riders, with a few eccentrics sporting wooden swords. The procession even included donkey-riders clutching peach branches—devotees of the legendary Peach Blossom Sword God, Deng Tai’a…
Xu Fengnian had traversed Liyang’s martial world twice before—once crawling in the mud at the mountain’s base, blind to the heights, and once striding its peaks like an immortal feasting on mist and dew. But today, witnessing so many “neither-here-nor-there” mediocrities was truly eye-opening. Xu Fengnian halted his horse, neither mounted on a prized steed nor armed, making him inconspicuous. Even with exceptional looks, a young man of ordinary status in the martial world held little sway. Women, unless skilled in networking, could at best become minor local celebrities, never fairies. The travelers, regardless of martial prowess, had long honed sharp eyes for judging others. Most men glanced past Xu Fengnian without a second thought; women’s gazes might linger briefly, lamenting that such a handsome face lacked the backing of a prestigious sect. After all, the ten rising stars of the martial world all had ties to the Four Sages or Ten Great Sects. Take the toad-faced Dou Changfeng, who constantly licked his lips—enough to ruin any meal—yet, thanks to his high-ranking master at Great Snowy Peak, was always surrounded by admirers wherever he rested.
Xu Fengnian watched the endless stream before him, lost in thought.
Earlier intelligence had reached the Snow Lotus Tower: Tantai Ningjing had rushed to Guangling Province, where Cao Changqing’s shift from sagehood to tyranny served as yet another example of Confucian saints meeting tragic ends. Beneath the Well of Demons in the Mirror of Water and Moon lay the remains of legendary Confucian paragons—unthinkable to commoners, but to qi cultivators, it was the inexorable cycle of heaven’s law. Meanwhile, Xu Yanbing, after confirming Xu Fengnian’s safety, had taken a new disciple to the southern passes of Lingzhou, bordering Liang and Shu, to meet his fellow disciple Han Laoshan—a move resembling a “deathbed entrustment,” likely to settle affairs before his life-or-death duel with Huyan Dahuan.
Suddenly, a loud laugh echoed as a figure soared across the sandy expanse. Though “peerlessly skilled,” this person wisely avoided provoking the crowd by flying over their heads, instead skimming the edges where nobodies like Xu Fengnian stood. The figure’s leaps kicked up clouds of dust, enveloping Xu Fengnian, who merely brushed the sand away without complaint. Others weren’t so forgiving, erupting in curses. A young traveler near Xu Fengnian was accidentally shouldered by the soaring expert, stumbling into Xu Fengnian’s horse. Xu Fengnian bent to steady the poor fellow, who looked up gratefully without anger. “Thank you, young master.”
Xu Fengnian smiled. “Might I ask where all of you are headed?”
The young man gaped. “Are you from the Western Regions?”
Xu Fengnian nodded. “I came from Snow Lotus City, heading north. I’m curious why so many martial heroes have gathered here.”
The young man, carrying a worn cotton satchel, laughed. “No wonder! Young master, not only are there nearly a thousand orthodox heroes on this road, but the entire Central Plains’ martial elite has marched west in three divisions, converging at a Western Regions town dozens of miles ahead. There, we’ll welcome the martial alliance leader and plan the extermination of the six great demon lords. My group has few top-tier masters—the other two divisions are packed with experts. But they move too fast for my legs, so I settled for this slower path.”
Xu Fengnian dismounted, walking alongside the cheerful youth, who couldn’t help eyeing his horse with naked envy. Noting the boy’s exhaustion, Xu Fengnian offered to hang his satchel on the saddle. The youth thanked him earnestly, seizing the chance to pat the horse and praise its quality. Seeing Xu Fengnian as approachable, the talkative lad launched into tales of their grand expedition, brimming with Central Plains pride. Without prompting, he spilled his background: Shen Changgeng from wealthy Jiangnan’s Yanglu County, a nominal disciple of the Taige Sect’s lowest-ranked elder. While twenty-plus sect members had journeyed west, he—lacking funds—traveled alone.
Turning to gossip, self-styled “Yanglu’s Ears” Shen Changgeng pointed out the procession’s luminaries: “See those instrument-toting women? Don’t underestimate them—they’re from Piaomiao Mountain, the second-largest sect in Huainan, exclusively female, divided into vertical and horizontal peaks mirroring court musicians. Their leader, Fairy Feichan, preserves her youth at fifty, sitting prominently at Great Snowy Peak and among the eighteen leaders who recently tea-talked with the alliance head.”
“The nuns are from Southern Sacred Mountain’s Jingci Convent, vying with Chengxin Temple for mountain supremacy—whichever contributes more to the demon hunt wins the alliance leader’s recognition.”
“That towering monk with sandalwood beads? The Sandalwood Monk, a famed Liaodong expert among the Sixteen Wanderers, owes his status to a near-millennium ginseng he guarded for a decade. His bead-string, woven from ginseng roots, is said to be unbreakable.”
“The mounted youths? Scions of Jianzhou’s elite orthodox sects—what I call ‘martial second-gen’ and ‘third-gen.’ My Taige Sect? Locally middling, its disciples swagger only at home. I’d rather roam free than kowtow to others.”
Xu Fengnian listened patiently, smiling faintly.
When Shen Changgeng grew hoarse, Xu Fengnian offered him a flask of Green Ant Wine from Snow Lotus Tower. The inexperienced youth gulped a mouthful, coughing violently as fire burned his throat. “This wine… is fierce,” he gasped.
Xu Fengnian’s gaze flicked to a passing horsewoman whose chest bounced wildly with each stride. “As fierce as that lady?” he murmured.
Shen Changgeng brightened, instantly bonding over the shared jest. “Now that’s what I call momentum!” he crowed.
His loud remark drew sharp ears. The riders wheeled around, glaring at the two “vulgar ruffians.” One protector dismounted, storming over with a vicious grin. Shen Changgeng stepped forward to apologize, but the man kicked him square in the chest before he could speak, sending him flying. Xu Fengnian caught him, feigning struggle. The attacker pressed on, aiming another kick, but Xu Fengnian shielded Shen Changgeng, blocking the blow with an elbow. Looking up at the smirking horsewoman, he said mildly, “Our rudeness was unintended. We beg your pardon.”
The burly young man, who had returned empty-handed, clearly felt he had lost face in front of the fairy-like figure. As he charged forward, he deliberately kicked up yellow sand with his toes while performing a dazzling set of fist techniques, stirring up a cloud of dust—his momentum was nothing short of awe-inspiring. He roared furiously, “Looking for death? Spare me your apologies! Today, your grandpa will teach you a lesson!”
But what happened next left both the young man’s group and all the onlookers on the road torn between laughter and exasperation. The rather handsome young man simply grabbed the troublemaker behind him and fled, abandoning even his horse as he turned tail and ran. The burly youth spat in disgust and couldn’t be bothered to give chase. He remounted his horse and continued on his way, chatting and laughing with his companions.
Recently, a new trend had swept through the martial world of Liyang. It all started when Xuanyuan Qingfeng, before she became the rightful leader of the martial alliance, had a legendary duel during the later stages of her rise to fame at the Kuai Xue Villa. Her opponent was a fiery-tempered, elderly martial arts master who had spoken disrespectfully to her. Not only did Xuanyuan Qingfeng humiliate him, but she also forced the old master to bow his head and acknowledge her as his “grandmother,” making him admit he was her “grandson.”
In the past two years, as Xuanyuan Qingfeng’s unstoppable rise continued, the martial world began to see all sorts of “father-son” and “grandfather-grandson” duels. The loser would have to call the winner “father” or “grandfather.” After Xuanyuan Qingfeng became the undisputed leader of the Central Plains’ martial world, challengers flocked to her like fish crossing a river. Her approach mirrored that of Wang Xianzhi’s Martial Emperor City—losers had to leave their weapons behind on the “Weapon Surrender Platform.” Though she no longer forced anyone to call her “grandmother,” many busybodies still kept count, gleefully tallying who had become her “grandson” or “son of Huishan” that day.
As the two fugitives returned to retrieve their horse, many slow-moving spectators rolled their eyes, while a few young ladies giggled behind their sleeves. Even the usually thick-skinned Shen Changgeng felt a bit embarrassed. But seeing the unflappable composure of the chivalrous young man beside him, he relaxed and patted the dusty footprint on his chest. “Brother, I dragged you into this mess,” he muttered.
Xu Fengnian shook his head with a smile. “No trouble at all. I’m used to it.”
Shen Changgeng, ever the carefree soul, didn’t dwell on the incident. Gazing at the distant silhouettes of the riders ahead, he joked, “Should’ve known—that was an ‘omen of doom.'”
The two walked slowly along the path, blending into the crowd. Shen Changgeng, ever the chatterbox, enthusiastically briefed his like-minded companion on the current state of the martial world.
“This once-in-a-century battle between righteousness and evil has drawn all the elites of the Central Plains. Led by the Que Yue Tower of the Great Snow Plateau, the ten major sects have all gathered—Kuai Xue Villa by the Spring God Lake, the Dragon Palace of the Southern Border, the Jia Gu Terrace of the Jiangnan region, the Youyan Villa revived by the legendary swords forged at the Longyan Sword Furnace, the Taibai Sword Sect of Nanzhao, the Golden Saber Manor, the Spring Scroll Cottage of Western Shu, along with the old-guard Dongyue Sword Pool and the Northern Liang’s Fish-Dragon Gang. Rumor has it that Huishan is ostensibly led by the grandmaster Huang Fangfo, but as for the whereabouts of the Martial Alliance Leader herself—no one knows.
“The daughter of Kuai Xue Villa’s master, Wei Chiliangfu, is making her debut in the martial world. The Dragon Palace’s master, Lin Hongyuan, has personally brought a group of top-tier experts. The young master of Youyan Villa, Zhang Chunlin, travels west alone with three famed swords. The Taibai Sword Sect, once home to a land-bound sword immortal, has finally produced a prodigy hailed as the ‘Banished Immortal of the Sword Path’ after a century of silence. It’s said he received guidance from the Peach Blossom Sword God, advancing through three realms in just half a year—Second Rank, First Rank Diamond, and Finger Profound. Alongside the man currently battling the tides at Martial Emperor City, Qixian Xia of Dragon-Tiger Mountain, and the master of the Golden Saber Manor, he’s now hailed as one of the ‘Four Young Grandmasters,’ the future equals of the legendary Four Grandmasters. And he’s not even eighteen yet—impressive, huh?”
Xu Fengnian nodded with a smile. “Very impressive.”
Shen Changgeng sighed. “Of the four, the female master of the Golden Saber Manor actually outshines even the Taibai Sword Sect’s prodigy. Can’t be helped—she’s already a true saber master before thirty and one of the four famed fairies of the martial world, alongside Lin Hongyuan of the Dragon Palace, Liu Nirong of the Fish-Dragon Gang, and Liu Hunxian of Jia Gu Terrace…”
Xu Fengnian couldn’t help but interject, “The Fish-Dragon Gang’s leader is that beautiful?”
Shen Changgeng looked puzzled. “Of course! They say when Liu Nirong visited Huishan with martial manuals, her grace was like an immortal’s. And she’s the most down-to-earth of the four, with an impeccable reputation!”
Xu Fengnian chuckled wryly. “Is that so?”
Shen Changgeng grew serious. “But this crusade against the demonic sects isn’t a guaranteed victory. Rumor has it one of the demonic leaders is a local warlord in the Western Regions, commanding thousands of swift horsemen whose combat prowess rivals the Northern Liang’s elite cavalry. The other five are no pushovers either, having rallied many notorious outcasts during their flight—several even possess the legendary ‘Young Grandmaster’ level of skill. Still, evil can’t triumph over righteousness. With Liu Nirong guiding us through the Western Regions and the Martial Alliance Leader’s peerless strength as our backbone, we’ll surely win—it’s just a matter of the cost.”
Xu Fengnian murmured, “Seems like there are quite a few familiar faces.”
Unhearing, Shen Changgeng thumped his chest. “I may not be famous, but I know a few people. Once we reach town, I’ll introduce you around.”
But Shen Changgeng soon realized he’d overpromised. The small town, which could barely hold four to five hundred, was already packed. The elites of the ten major sects and their affiliates had taken the best spots, while those with connections or deep pockets had squeezed in through backdoors. The rest—lesser sects and latecomers like Shen Changgeng—were left camping on the outskirts or worse, sleeping under the stars.
Standing half a mile from town, Shen Changgeng scanned the sea of faces in vain for his acquaintances. Xu Fengnian suppressed a smile, sparing his companion further embarrassment. Fortunately, enterprising locals wheeled out carts selling dry rations, wine, and shriveled dates. Shen Changgeng gritted his teeth and bought two small bags at an exorbitant price—twenty shriveled dates for a tael of silver.
As they squatted among the crowd, chewing the overpriced dates, Xu Fengnian surveyed the scene. None of the faces here were familiar, dashing his hopes of running into Lin Hongyuan. Once the dates were gone, he planned to head north.
He handed his jug of Green Ant Wine to the eager Shen Changgeng, who uncorked it with relish, drawing envious glances from nearby men and women. The struggling “hero” Shen found some solace in this small pleasure.
Xu Fengnian, squatting on the ground, pondered Xuanyuan Qingfeng’s motives. The so-called “Six Demon Lords” hardly seemed worthy of her attention. As for Shen Changgeng’s claim that she dominated three fields, Xu Fengnian sensed deeper implications. The late Useless Monk, slain by Cao Zhangqing, had likely crossed paths with Xuanyuan Qingfeng, imparting his lifetime’s knowledge to her. Liu Songtao, though not solely a swordsman, had possessed sword immortal prowess—enough to slay the sword immortals of his era. His genius likely extended to saber techniques as well, fueling Xuanyuan Qingfeng’s rapid progress in both disciplines.
And then there was Zhao Huangchao of Dragon-Tiger Mountain, whose death had sent a black rainbow soaring to the Great Snow Plateau. When Xu Fengnian met Xuanyuan Qingfeng there, she’d concealed this fact—but both were too shrewd to call each other out.
With the Purple-Gowned Mistress of Huishan absent, the crowd could only wait. Boredom reigned, though the gathering provided ample opportunity for networking. Whenever a late-arriving martial arts heavyweight passed through, cheers erupted, further elevating their fame.
Xu Fengnian, squatting among the masses, smirked self-deprecatingly. Of the fourteen on the Martial Rankings, he was surely the only fool here braving the wind.
Suddenly, he said to Shen Changgeng, “Look up.”
Baffled, Shen Changgeng raised his head to the cloudless sky—empty, not even a bird in sight.
But soon, his eyes widened. Compared to the oblivious crowd, he was among the privileged few to witness what came next.
A streak of violet light descended from the distant horizon, plunging straight into the town.
Shen Changgeng stood dumbstruck, heart racing. It took him a long moment to recover, forgetting even to question how his companion had foreseen this. Rubbing his face, he exclaimed, “That must be the Martial Alliance Leader arriving! How about that, huh—”
Xu Fengnian beat him to it. “Yeah, very impressive.”
Shen Changgeng burst into laughter, dumping the remaining dates into his mouth. Inspired, he mimicked the legendary land-bound sword immortals who could kill with a spit of sword qi, puffing out date pits with gusto. Unfortunately, one pit landed squarely on the back of a seated man’s head.
Though harmless, face was everything in the martial world. The man whirled around, spotting Shen Changgeng—who promptly clamped his mouth shut and pretended to study the sky.
As the man rolled up his sleeves, ready to teach the brat a lesson, Shen Changgeng looked pleadingly at Xu Fengnian, contemplating another escape. But Xu Fengnian simply took the wine jug from him and tossed it to the man with a grin.
“Friend, our apologies. If you want to throw punches, we won’t resist. But in this wide world, nothing beats a drink—have one on us!”
The man caught the jug, sniffed, and downed it in one go, shuddering with delight. Tossing it back, he eyed the horse behind Xu Fengnian and wiped his mouth. “Strong stuff! If you don’t mind, we’ve got some cured meat left—care to share?”
Soon, two groups of rough men—seven or eight in total—formed a circle, passing around slices of meat. Xu Fengnian bought more wine with silver, and as spirits rose, one drunkard smashed his bowl, drawing glares from the vendor. Xu Fengnian smoothed things over by purchasing the entire cart—dozens of pounds of wine and two lamb legs.
His generosity broke the ice, and soon, they were feasting like kings.
The wine was cheap, but enough could still intoxicate. One particularly enthusiastic drinker soon slumped over, slapping his thigh and launching into a drunken ballad:
“Pawn my famed sword for cheap wine,
Slay barbarians on Liangzhou’s plains!
The thatched pavilion’s wind chimes sing of solitude,
In death, I’ll join the Hall of Heroes…”
As the others waited for the next verse, the man mumbled, “Truly drunk,” and collapsed backward, snoring.
The first man Xu Fengnian had befriended laughed. “This guy studied for a few years—always says he’s unappreciated. Gets poetic when drunk, though usually he’s just eyeing women’s backsides…”
Nearby, another group snapped, “Shut the hell up! Who died—your parents or your wife?”
Tempers flared, and blades were drawn.
Then, a graceful figure in a veiled hat approached, stopping behind Xu Fengnian and Shen Changgeng. As she lifted the veil, revealing a face of breathtaking beauty, both sides fell silent, all eyes following her every move.
The drunken man, kicked awake by his friend, squinted at her and slurred, “An immortal descended!” before passing out again.
Shen Changgeng, sitting on the ground, tilted his head to gaze up at the woman. Even as she seated herself between him and Xu Xiao, he still thought he must be drunk and seeing things.
Xu Xiao chuckled and asked, “Why did you change out of the purple robe? With that grand entrance of yours just now, were you afraid someone might recognize you?”
The woman, holding two delicate little wine flasks, remained silent. She tossed one to Xu Xiao and began drinking from the other without a word.
For some reason, the moment this taciturn and peculiar woman sat down, everyone near Xu Xiao sobered up instantly. Even the rowdy martial artists nearby, who had been on the verge of brawling, lost their temper and held their breath, not daring to make a sound.
Like a dragon descending into a pond, she cowed all the fish and shrimp within.
Xu Xiao leaned in slightly, his voice so soft only she could hear, “I’ll gift you the secret manuals from the Tidal Listening Pavilion’s martial archives, and you’ll let the martial world of the Central Plains know of Northern Liang’s battles. Let’s call it even again.”
She didn’t turn her head, merely sipping her wine, a cold smirk playing at her lips. “Does my Huishan Mountain care for your manuals?”
Xu Xiao grinned. “Then tell me, what *do* you care for?”
Finally, she turned to him, narrowing her eyes. “Rumors have already begun spreading in the martial world about your battle with Tuoba Pusa. Today, I want you, Xu Xiao, to lose to me right here. How about it?”
Xu Xiao clicked his tongue. “A maiden like you, still waiting to be wed, yet with so many ‘sons’ and ‘grandsons’—aren’t you ashamed?”
Her fingers tightened around the flask.
Tendrils of violet qi rose briefly before vanishing in an instant.
Xu Xiao pretended not to notice, smiling. “Drinking is fine, but fighting? Let’s skip that.”
Both of them fell into silence, gazing into the distance.
Just like that day under the eaves of the capital, when they had looked upon a snowman called “dream.”
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