The martial world of Northern Liang had never been so lively. Under the instigation of Xuanyuan Qingfeng, many martial heroes had already set their sights on the northern frontier, brimming with fervor. And just then, news spread from Mount Wudang that a new round of Buddhist-Taoist debates was to be held, giving many who had been reluctant to involve themselves in the Liang-Mang conflict a convenient excuse. *We won’t wade into the muddy waters, but taking a slight detour to Mount Wudang for some excitement surely won’t anger the Liyang court, right?* Everyone knew the breathtaking scenery of the eighty-one peaks bowing toward the grand summit. Moreover, with both the legendary Lü Zu and the immortal Hong Xixiang, who once descended south on a crane, having cultivated here, a visit to soak in the immortal aura seemed fitting.
In no time, outsiders flooded into the two provinces of You and Liang like a school of fish crossing a river. As the local power of Northern Liang, the Yulong Gang, under the personal management of its leader Liu Nirong, not only actively guided fellow martial artists but also covered all their expenses for food, lodging, and travel. For those who preferred to travel alone, a simple registration at any Yulong Gang branch with a travel permit would grant them a hefty sum for transportation—whether they actually went to Mount Wudang, squandered it in brothels, or indulged in lavish feasts along the way, the wealthy Yulong Gang didn’t fuss. This inadvertently elevated the gang’s status in the martial world. True, the Yulong Gang lacked top-tier experts, but their wealth was unmatched. In the jianghu, wasn’t comfort measured by the strength of one’s fists and the weight of one’s purse? Otherwise, did one fancy themselves the dashing Northern Liang King? Rumor had it that before he even began martial training, his face alone had made no fewer than ten vengeful heroines fall head over heels, willingly sequestered in the Wutong Courtyard of his palace…
Among the handful of grandmasters in the martial world, the Peach Blossom Sword God Deng Tai’a was as elusive as a dragon’s head, the Grand Official Cao Changqing was no longer young, and Tuoba Pusa was an inherently unlikable brute from the Northern Mang. Thus, the dashing and ever-daring Xu Fengnian became the hottest topic in Liyang’s teahouses and taverns.
Newcomers to Northern Liang were in for an eye-opening experience. Every brothel’s top courtesan claimed to have warmed Xu Fengnian’s bed, every roadside fortune-teller boasted of having divined for the prince, and every tavern and teahouse loudly proclaimed his praise for their specialties. Particularly outrageous were the cosmetics shops, swearing up and down that Xu Fengnian had bought gifts for his lovers there. What infuriated young heroes and noble sons the most was how their female companions, seemingly bewitched, splurged on overpriced trinkets—leaving the men to foot the bill.
Amid the clamor of Northern Liang’s martial world, the local custom of *Zha Liu*—archery contests where participants shot objects hung from willow branches—was in full swing. Outsiders were stunned to see Northern Liang women equally adept at horseback archery, confirming the region’s fierce reputation. Many participants also wore white hemp ribbons on their arms, a mourning custom observed for a month after removing funeral garb—similar to the Central Plains’ practice of warding off evil with multicolored threads. This also raised uneasy questions: Had Northern Liang truly lost so many in battles at Hutou City and Hulukou? Why had Central Plains rumors painted the Northern Liang border army as either retreating or collapsing before the Northern Mang’s million-strong force? Meanwhile, Grand Pillar of the State Gu Jiantang’s defenses in Liaodong and his son-in-law Yuan Tingshan’s in Jibei were reportedly thriving.
As most outsiders began ascending Mount Wudang, two legendary updates spread: Xu Fengnian, after leading ten thousand cavalry at Hulukou, had now single-handedly forced the Southern Court King Dong Zhuo into retreat at Hutou City. Meanwhile, the notorious Northern Liang Protector Chu Lushan had led eight thousand cavalry from Huaiyang Pass to crush thirty thousand of Dong’s private troops at the northeastern border of Liuzhou. Though villains were universally despised, having one on your side was oddly reassuring. Chu Lushan, the nightmare of children, was perfect for Northern Liang’s borders—terrorizing the Northern Mang without troubling the Central Plains.
Xu Fengnian had come to Mount Wudang not for the debates but because intelligence reported two unusual groups arriving: Duan Mao Deng Mao and Yelü Dongchuang, who had entered Youzhou with Luo Yang, and the even more peculiar couple—Li Dangxin, the white-robed monk and nominal abbot of the now-sealed Two Chan Monastery, and his wife.
Li Dangxin’s presence lent legitimacy to the debates at Little Lotus Peak. With Wudang’s current leader Li Yufu absent, the Taoist debater was an obscure disciple of Song Zhiming, Han Gui, who had just established his temple at Little Pillar Peak. Among Wudang’s eighty-one peaks, only twelve were inhabited, with Little and Great Lotus Peaks being the most famed. Han Gui’s temple, funded by the Northern Liang King, had risen in prominence.
Wudang, one of Taoism’s ancestral halls rivaling Dragon-Tiger Mountain, had seen its highest-ranking immortals pass away—Wang Chonglou, Hong Xixiang (who inexplicably reincarnated), the sword-obsessed Wang Xiaoping (who died heroically against Wang Xianzhi), and Song Zhiming. Only Chen Yao and Yu Xingrui, who self-deprecatingly claimed to “cultivate strength since immortality eluded him,” remained.
Xu Fengnian chose the less-traveled North Divine Path to ascend, underestimating the debates’ draw. Despite the muddy, narrow path crowded with wealthy pilgrims from as far as Huainan and Jiangnan, he pressed on.
At a humble roadside inn named *Passing Village*, Xu Fengnian rested. Packed with eager pilgrims, he sat under the eaves, sipping overpriced “Taoist tea.” Nearby, an elderly local defended Wudang’s reputation, explaining that the mountain never forced donations. When asked about Xu Fengnian’s legendary charm, the old man laughed, pointing at Xu Fengnian himself: “Our prince is as handsome as this young master here!”
Xu Fengnian smiled wryly, his thoughts drifting. Whether on the battlefield or in the mountains, one’s surroundings shaped their heart. The echoes of war lingered, even in peace.
As two unremarkable men approached, Xu Fengnian stood at the rain’s edge, unnoticed by others. To the uninitiated, this silent confrontation between masters was invisible.
Behind Xu Fengnian, some were drinking tea, some chatting, and others meditating, completely unaware of the impending storm that surged like a tidal wave crashing against the city walls.
Though the two men had slowed their pace, they still approached the tavern. Their strides appeared ordinary, but one of them barely touched the ground, leaving no trace in the mud, while the younger man seemed to carry a thousand-pound weight, each step sinking his shoes deep into the yellow mire.
Seeing no sign of them stopping, Xu Fengnian narrowed his eyes, his right hand resting on the hilt of *Guohezu*, poised to step off the stairs.
The middle-aged man halted first. The younger man beside him intended to keep moving but was abruptly stopped by his companion.
The youth, his face twisted in indignation, glared at Xu Fengnian and muttered in slightly awkward Central Plains dialect, “Think you’re so great just because you fought Wang Laoguai and Tuoba Pusa?”
Then, with a sigh, the arrogant young man admitted, “Well, yeah, you kinda are.”
He raised his voice and shouted, “Hey! You know we’re not here to fight. Is this how you treat guests?”
Xu Fengnian studied the young man—short even by southern standards, let alone the towering men of the north. His real identity was Yelü Dongchuang, a genuine noble of the Northern Desert. Simply put, if the puppet crown prince were to die, this guy, along with Murong Longshui, stood the best chance of becoming the next emperor.
Back then, because of Jia Jiajia, Xu Fengnian had played a cat-and-mouse game with Murong Longshui and the old spiderweb leader, Laoe. She was quite an interesting woman. For some reason, Yelü Dongchuang had boldly followed Luo Yang to Zhulu Mountain. As for Deng Mao, the Broken Spear, whose reputation in the Northern Desert was nearly on par with Hong Jingyan, he was likely the personal guard of this nephew of the late Northern Desert emperor.
To be precise, this was Xu Fengnian’s second meeting with Yelü Dongchuang. The first was when Gao Shulu awoke after four hundred years of seclusion, and Xu Fengnian’s spirit wandered to meet him in the heavens. Yelü Dongchuang, then running errands for Luo Yang, had barely crossed paths with Xu Fengnian.
Xu Fengnian chuckled, retracted his foot, and sat back on the small stool. Only then did Deng Mao and Yelü Dongchuang step onto the porch. It wasn’t that Deng Mao lacked the ability—he simply had no intention of provoking a fight. As for Yelü Dongchuang, against the current Xu Fengnian, he wouldn’t even be able to take a single step closer to the tavern if Xu Fengnian willed it.
Yelü Dongchuang scraped the thick mud off his shoes against the stair corner before plopping down beside Xu Fengnian. Deng Mao remained standing—there was only one spare stool in the tavern.
Yelü Dongchuang lowered his voice. “Did you really fight Tuoba Pusa? How’d it go? I want the truth.”
Xu Fengnian replied, “How’s Xu Ying?”
Yelü Dongchuang blinked. “Xu Ying? Who’s that?”
Xu Fengnian smiled faintly. “The woman who likes wearing red robes, always by Luo Yang’s side.”
Yelü Dongchuang nodded. “Oh, her. She’s… fine, I guess. Used to be half-ghost, half-human, then went mad and carved off part of her face. Now she looks almost normal, but she still likes spinning around in that red robe for ages. Makes me dizzy just watching.”
Xu Fengnian said nothing.
Yelü Dongchuang gasped dramatically. “Wait, you’re into her?!”
Without turning his head, Xu Fengnian asked calmly, “You’re not afraid of dying here?”
Yelü Dongchuang rolled his eyes.
The next moment, he didn’t dare breathe.
None of the people under the eaves noticed the instant when the handsome young man with twin swords swayed slightly on his stool, or when the plain-faced middle-aged man stepped into the rain and back again. They only realized the man had turned to face them.
Xu Fengnian murmured, “There won’t be a next time.”
Yelü Dongchuang forced a smile. “I heard you were supposed to be fun, not the type to take things so seriously. Guess becoming a master comes with a bigger ego.”
Xu Fengnian shook his head. “Walk a mile in my shoes, and you’ll understand.”
Yelü Dongchuang, whether genuinely or pretending, nodded. “Got it.”
Xu Fengnian waved for the waiter to bring a pot of tea and three cups. The shrewd waiter glanced at the short man taking up space and flatly refused unless Xu Fengnian bought two pots—though he’d throw in an extra stool. Xu Fengnian agreed with a smile, tossing out a silver piece worth about sixty copper coins. In these times, silver was far more valuable than copper. The waiter grinned—this guy knew the rules!
Later, when Deng Mao finally got to sit, if word of this spread, the waiter might become the most audacious man in the world: haggling with the King of Northern Liang, Xu Fengnian, sneering at Yelü Dongchuang, and gracing Deng Mao with a stool!
Xu Fengnian poured tea for both Northern Desert men. “What brings you to Northern Liang?”
Yelü Dongchuang didn’t beat around the bush. “Luo Yang told me to tell you—aside from Cao Changqing failing to negotiate with the Yan Sheng Gong who spoke for the Liyang emperor, the three-year agreement is off.”
He took a sip of the bland tea and added, “Also, I wanted to see you myself. Wondered if we could work together on something.”
Xu Fengnian seemed lost in thought, gazing at the light rain outside. After a deep breath, he said calmly, “Go on.”
Yelü Dongchuang smirked self-deprecatingly. “Back home, a lot of my relatives around my age have died recently—mostly those with my surname. The ones who took my aunt’s name, like that fat girl Murong Longshui, are mostly women. So, honestly, I’ve got a shot, however slim.”
He leaned in. “I snuck out to avoid that old bastard from the Qijian Yuefu. My grandfather exiled him to Liyang years ago, and now he’s back with a vengeance. He favors my brother—dogs guard houses, not wolf cubs.”
“I know the current standoff between Liang and Mang boils down to two people: the old man and Dong Fatso. Not everyone agrees.”
Xu Fengnian smirked. “Show some sincerity.”
Yelü Dongchuang chuckled softly. “At the very least, six of the eight *Chijie Ling* and twelve generals oppose the war. Guys like Helian Wuwei are on the fence. And my grandfather—though not a general or *Chijie Ling*—is worth one of each.”
Xu Fengnian, familiar with Northern Desert politics, corrected, “More than that.”
Yelü Dongchuang studied the young prince’s profile. “So, do we have a deal?”
Xu Fengnian countered, “Aside from crushing Dong Zhuo and Taiping Ling’s momentum, what else do you need?”
Yelü Dongchuang grinned foolishly. “First, you kill Tuoba Pusa. Second, spare as much of Hong Jingyan’s Rouran cavalry as possible.”
Xu Fengnian scoffed. “You should see the battlefield before making it sound so easy.”
Yelü Dongchuang shrugged. “I wouldn’t ask anyone else. But you? You can. That’s why I’m here, drinking this twenty-coin ‘fine’ tea.”
Xu Fengnian asked, “So desperate to be emperor?”
Yelü Dongchuang shot back, “Aren’t you?”
Xu Fengnian smiled and let it go.
Yelü Dongchuang waited.
Finally, Xu Fengnian said, “I can only promise to take it one step at a time.”
Yelü Dongchuang slapped his thigh. “That’s enough!”
As he stood, he whispered, “If we both make it that far, I’ll give you half of Southern Dynasty—payment for the tea. And if you ever march south, I’ll lend you the entire eastern front for three years to pressure Liyang’s border troops.”
Xu Fengnian watched them leave.
The tea grew cold.
After walking several miles, Yelü Dongchuang asked Deng Mao, “Do you think he’ll agree?”
Deng Mao replied flatly, “Why wouldn’t he? Aside from sparing the Rouran cavalry, everything else aligns with his goals. As long as Dong Zhuo and Taiping Ling rule, Liang and Mang are locked in a death grip. His odds are slim.”
Yelü Dongchuang clasped his hands behind his head. “Yeah. He’s got no choice but to gamble with me. Better than fighting a hopeless war. If he can discredit Dong Zhuo and Taiping Ling, it’ll buy me time. Then it’s up to my skill and luck.”
Deng Mao hesitated. “And if you succeed?”
Divide the world between north and south?
The short man grinned silently, revealing a ferocity unseen in the Yelü name for twenty years.
Back under the tavern eaves, Xu Fengnian smirked.
He stood and descended the steps, heading toward the northern path of Wudang Mountain.
What difference would it make if such a man became emperor of the Northern Desert?
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