“When encountering a king, stop; if possible, do not kill.” This was the first talisman provided by Li Yishan, the national scholar.
Xu Fengnian had no initial intention of fighting Qingyang Palace to the death. Wu Lingsu had been conferred the title of king; killing him would have summoned even Xu Xiao, the great general, to the capital to face the emperor’s wrath. Xu Fengnian jokingly referred to himself as a rat chased by all, yet no one dared strike. Perhaps Xu Xiao was a tiger on the street, but few heroes dared confront a tiger. Aunt Zhao said a fierce tiger, even while sleeping, could kill upon opening its eyes, but without his three hundred thousand Northern Liang iron cavalry, Xu Fengnian still worried that his father Xu Xiao might be at a disadvantage, particularly in the heart of the capital, surrounded by enemies from all directions. Could Xu Xiao manage? Not only was Gu Jiantang, an old grudge-laden general from the Spring and Autumn period, waiting in ambush, but also Zhang Julu, the chancellor who had entered the imperial court. This Zhang Prime Minister, whom political enemies accused of monopolizing imperial authority, bore new hatred from the Liaodong thunderstorm, while his older grudge originated from the death of his revered teacher, Chancellor Zhou, due to despair caused by Xu Dazhuguo. Throughout the entire court, among all the nobles intermarried with the previous great aristocratic families, who had not grown tired at home listening to complaints from their relatives?
Can an aging tiger without claws and teeth still kill if it enters the cage alone?
Xu Fengnian handed Qingniao the red box containing the Daliang Longque sword, placing it together with three precious Qingyang Palace scriptures into the carriage. Sitting atop his horse, he looked back at the eaves of the Daoist observatory atop Qingyang Peak with an expressionless face and said to Yu Youwei, who was reluctant to part with Que’er: “After delivering little Shan Zha back to Xiaoshan, you no longer need to ride, just stay inside the carriage.”
Yu Youwei, lost in thought, looked up with pleading eyes at the young prince and at the innocent Que’er, but Xu Fengnian only shook his head, his heart like iron and stone.
Leaving Qingyang Peak, Xu Fengnian placed little Shan Zha behind Lü Qiantang on the horse, and Que’er onto Shu Xiu’s mount. Leading his horse, Xu Fengnian looked up at the two children, their eyes moist, and smiled: “I won’t see you off. Please pass on my farewells to the old men, Master Meng, Liu Luyugan, and Kong Boot. I already spoke with those Daoist immortals of Qingyang Palace: if you ever run out of food, you can ask them for credit under my name. But don’t go splurging on fine meats; else, I might refuse to cover the cost. Should Que’er be abducted to become a Daoist nun, mind you, I won’t interfere.”
Que’er began to weep. Xu Fengnian stepped closer and saw that she tightly held a leaf in her hand, apparently intending to play a small tune for him. Smiling silently, Xu Fengnian cocked his nose and made a childish face at her, an action unbecoming of royalty, which made the young girl burst into laughter.
Shu Xiu, holding Que’er, wore an unusual expression.
Shan Zha behaved more boldly, turned his head, rubbed his eyes, and smiled: “Xu Fengnian, don’t forget to come back and visit early. Otherwise, if Que’er is seduced by some young scholar someday, mind you, I won’t stop it.”
Xu Fengnian tapped the boy’s head with the sheath of his Xiudong sword: “Don’t be a harbinger of misfortune.”
After tapping Shan Zha, Xu Fengnian slightly kicked his horse, and upon seeing this, Lü Qiantang and Shu Xiu spurred their horses as well. The two horses and four riders entered a forest trail. The clear, lingering sound of Que’er’s farewell flute followed them. Smiling and closing her eyes, Qingniao knew it was Prince Xu’s favorite tune, “The Song of Spring Spirits.”
Looking back at their receding figures, Xu Fengnian handed his mount to Yang Qingfeng, then entered a spacious carriage obtained from Qingyang Palace, sat cross-legged, and began meditating with the Wudang Jade Column’s esoteric incantation combined with the four-thousand-character “Shen Tong Ji,” releasing his qi slowly. His breath traveled gently through every meridian and pore across his body. Outwardly still but inwardly dynamic, the process never ceased. Martial cultivation, after all, was a burdensome endeavor against the current of nature. Take the Northern Liang mansion as an example: it was home to a treasure trove of martial arts manuals, yet before his firm decision to learn swordsmanship, could Xu Fengnian become a master merely by reading all those superior techniques? If cultivating martial arts were really that effortless, wouldn’t every imperial prince in the palace be a highly accomplished expert?
Yu Youwei, who disliked being with the old sword saint, entered the carriage and just so happened to see Prince Xu guiding qi toward his palms, placing warm hands over his ears, fingers pressed against the Posterior Region of his head, the index finger atop the middle, applying pressure down the back of the head, producing drum-like sounds with a total of twenty-four strikes. Curious, Yu Youwei memorized the count. Originally intending to follow the “Heaven Drumming” section of the Huang Ting with thirty-six teeth clenchings afterward, Xu Fengnian opened his eyes, slightly annoyed with Yu Youwei, who responded with Grievance: “You wouldn’t let me ride; I had no choice but to come up.”
Thinking she didn’t want to stay with Master Li, Xu Fengnian said no more, returned to concentrating his mind, clenching his teeth, swallowing saliva, and calming himself, completely ignoring the beautiful Yu Youwei. Accustomed to being ignored, Yu Youwei didn’t mind but was instead fascinated by observing Xu Fengnian’s breathing and energy flow. After watching for a while, she noticed something—his forehead shade changed from deep red to light violet as he exhaled through his mouth and inhaled through his nose, breathing in once and exhaling six times. Yu Youwei couldn’t hear the sound of each breath, but she could see swirling breezes around his body, even feeling coolness seep into her skin. Truly remarkable.
Xu Fengnian meditated for a full hour before opening his eyes, grasping his sword; Xiudong and Chunlei vibrated slightly. Seeing Yu Youwei wide-eyed, he smiled: “Stop staring. If you hadn’t interrupted me, I could have sat like an old Daoist or monk in deep meditation the entire day.”
Yu Youwei spoke softly: “Then I’ll go ride again; I wouldn’t want to interrupt the young prince’s cultivation.”
Xu Fengnian laughed softly, shaking his head. “No need, don’t ride anymore. If you keep riding, your lovely bottom might never be smooth like jade again. And if I ever want to engage in a passionate embrace from behind and see your rough skin, I might lose all interest.”
Furious, Yu Youwei stood up abruptly and bent to get back on her horse, hoping to ride away her frustration, maybe even her lovely figure.
Still composed, Xu Fengnian chuckled: “No need to hurry. My breathing practice alone is rather dull. Why not tell you something about this Qi Hai guiding technique? If you’ve got nothing better to do and are bored, you might as well learn it. Claims of immortality are nonsense, but extending life is undeniably true. This breathing technique from Wudang Mountain might seem simple, but it’s incredibly profound. It combines the Daoist Huang Ting cultivation method—based on the Five Benefits and Six Methods of ancient mystics, the Wu Dang Jade Column’s Sixteen Principles for Warding Off Sickness and Prolonging Life, and even the Lotus Huang Ting Guiding Technique devised by the young Taoist Hong Xixiang. Master Wei owns a version of “Shen Tong Ji” with the same name as the ancient texts but a distinctly different Daoist approach. As the senior priest of Jiudou Mi Taoism, he claims the book made even the Longhu sect submit. Come, I’ll teach you a section of the incantation, so you can prevent cold winds and evil qi from attacking your chest. Remember, the heart governs as the emperor, while the lungs act like the prime minister—showing how vital our chests are indeed. This incantation also involves finger massage techniques. If that’s too much, I can do it for you.”
At first, Yu Youwei was absorbed, but soon Xu Fengnian revealed his true colors, which left her exasperated. Still, she didn’t pull open the curtain and get downstairs. Instead, sitting in a corner, she changed the topic and softly asked: “Why not bring Que’er and Shan Zha along? Can you bear to see them follow Old Meng as highwaymen, scraping by the mountains?”
Xu Fengnian countered: “Is that bad?”
Yu Youwei was furious: “Xu Fengnian, who are you? You are the eldest son of the Northern Liang King, the beloved son of Chancellor Xu. You could grant these children a bright future; is that too much to ask? You dared to kill the “immortals” of the Qingyang Palace in front of them. Why, then, do you hesitate to show kindness now?”
Xu Fengnian, resting his hand on his sword, softly tapped the hilt of his Xiudong sword without flinching, as though he found Yu Youwei’s question completely irrational, not even bothering to explain or argue.
Yu Youwei blushed, her gaze heavy with sorrow.
Xu Fengnian still asked, “Do you think taking the children with me means they would have better lives than the children of rich merchants, living without worry? Would they prefer not to live like bandits, free from daily worries about salt and rice? What would they do instead—raise hawks and dogs like me, or engage in small trades, only to be targeted by my father’s enemies, dying at any moment? Yu Youwei, do you know what I find most annoying about those of noble lineage like yourself? It’s this self-righteous notion of being concerned for the state and its people that comes laced with a scholar’s impractical idealism. You seem brave and noble, but have you ever asked the common people what they truly need? Did Xu Xiao start the Spring and Autumn Wars? The strategists of the Shangyin Academy, filled with book knowledge, believed they were devoted to the realm, determined to uphold the orthodox Confucian order, treating entire nations as pawns. In the end, millions died. A million soldiers perished, and many more civilians. And how many died in the Shangyin Academy? Even if you heard tales of loyal scholars drowning themselves or leaping off cliffs to prove their loyalty, at least their names were recorded in history, celebrated for ages to come. But who remembers the lives and deaths of insignificant people like Old Meng? Your father, a scholar of the Shangyin Academy, composed elegiac poems lamenting the fall of the state, saying that no man in the great city of the phoenix raised a flag of defiance. To me, this so-called pinnacle of Spring and Autumn elegies is nothing but nonsense. Everything is false. It’s fair for the royal families to perish, but the real lament lies in the unheard cries of the common people. During your escape with your father, caught among the refugees, surely you heard those cries? Do you even remember? My second sister composed the Northern Liang Song. Was she praising Xu Xiao’s bravery? The destitute homes of Northern Liang, each clad in rusty armor, how many bones are buried? It’s a condemnation of Xu Xiao! Ask yourself, how many generals and ministers have been reduced to mere dust? Am I imitating the literati like your father, singing praises of achievements? Yu Youwei, do you know why I don’t kill you? It’s because I want you to keep your eyes wide open. I want to show you not only the world of martial arts but also what real life is like. Later, I’ll take you to the Northern Liang border to witness the armor, to hear the thunder of hooves, to understand what war truly means.”
Xu Fengnian paused and continued calmly: “Of course, I also kept you around because I like to tease you.”
Yu Youwei remained silent.
Xu Fengnian continued his meditation. This Wudang technique was distinct from ancient methods of guiding breath. After evaluation by Master Wei, many modifications had been made. The usual inhalation/exhalation correspondence of heart ” Hoo” as ” Heh,” liver ” Heh” as ” Hush…” had been changed, and spleen ” Hsi” was now ” Hoo.” Added was the gallbladder’s ” Haha,” chanted while directing qi. This proved highly beneficial. Common martial artists shouted loudly during practice not just to show might but to guide internal qi, creating instantaneous power. However, without the essence of steady, soft, smooth, and round breathing, in harmony with the heavenly way, Xu Fengnian recalled vividly how, when he and the white-haired old master climbed the Wudang Mountains, the cowherd monk at the summit stood amidst the gales without swaying, his swaying posture, though seemingly awkward, brimming with hidden profundity. Beyond Wudang, no one believed this yellow-robed young Daoist could bear the weight of Xuanwu, but Xu Fengnian gradually came to believe that the cowherd might indeed be a rare Daoist immortal, like Qizhen, appearing once every hundred years.
Yet, no matter how divine, if one does not descend from the mountain, it’s all for naught.
The flourishing of Longhu Mountain’s incense offerings over the past few decades still relied on the immortal who prolonged the late emperor’s life, not the mighty Qi Xuanzhen.
At noon, they had a meal at the foot of Chaoyang Peak with some wild game. Yu Youwei never left the carriage, and Xu Fengnian didn’t expect the little western Chu cat to be easily tamed with just a few words. With her familial and national grudges piling up, the two were bound to have irreconcilable philosophies. How could a few words from Xu Fengnian soothe such a rift? Moreover, Xu Fengnian had no desire for Yu Youwei to become an obedient concubine, stripped of her fierce spirit, for that would make her less fun.
Just as he was about to go to Jiang Ni’s carriage to hear stories, they heard a thunderous roar from the woods above, resembling the final cry of a beast from the wilderness. Everyone’s scalp prickled. Xu Fengnian turned to Lü, Yang, and Shu: “Lü Qiantang and Yang Qingfeng, follow me up the mountain. Shu Xiu, fetch Ning Emei and follow us. This mythical creature that has ruled Qingcheng Mountain for two or three hundred years will not be easy to overcome.”
Xu Fengnian leapt into the forest, agile like a hare. Each light step propelled him several zhang forward without visible effort. Behind him, Lü Qiantang and Yang Qingfeng exchanged astonished glances, for this feat was beyond ordinary martial capability.
When Shu Xiu and General Ning Emei reached the young prince, they witnessed a strange scene: the ancient trees lay shattered, blood splattered the ground, and at the prince’s feet lay an unidentifiable giant beast, bristling with armor-like spikes, now dead, its skin turning from crimson to black. Its belly had been sliced open; the blood-stained Xu Fengnian looked down at two newborn creatures he cradled in his arms, one in each hand. Beaming, he said: “You two shall be called Jingang and Pusa.”
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