Xu Fengnian suddenly turned around and saw a group of familiar faces—Xu Huang with his elegant beard, Sima Can with his ever-bright smile, Liu Duanmao with his striking features, Jin Baoshi with her cool demeanor, and a middle-aged stranger reeking of alcohol, a long sword slung diagonally across his back. This must be the renowned “Wine Immortal” Chang Sui, celebrated among the scholars of Liyang. Xu Huang chuckled softly, “By chance, I met Daoist Han at Ziyang Palace. Hearing that the Prince had arrived on the mountain and ‘borrowed the nest’ once more, I thought it only right to find you and say thank you.”
What had been a harmonious and polite conversation was utterly disrupted by Chang Sui, who slung an arm around Xu Fengnian’s shoulder and said with careless bravado, “I took a trip to Ji’bei and realized that Youzhou isn’t just home to the world’s finest infantry under Yan Wenluan—its cavalry is also unmatched in Liyang. I figured our esteemed teacher wouldn’t lower himself to grant me leave, so I planned to make an excuse about suffering from ‘northern sickness’ in your Liang territory, needing three or four years to recover. But to my surprise, the old man was generous this time, tossing even Xu Huang and the others into Northern Liang. Perfect! Now we brothers can stick together. Pity my scheming backfired—after parting in Jizhou, it’s likely the last time I’ll ever see our teacher. Had I known, I’d have followed him all the way to Qingcang City in Liuzhou. Xu Fengnian, from now on, we’re sticking with you. So, how about this—let’s get Xu Huang a proper general’s rank? No honorary titles, mind you. Even if he can’t get a real command in Liangzhou’s border forces, Liuzhou or Youzhou would do. With his strategic genius, leading ten thousand men would be child’s play. As for Sima Can here, he’d fit right into the Liangzhou Governor’s office as a fourth- or fifth-rank official. If you’re feeling bold, toss him to Song Dongming as an aide—just watch out for him seducing your pretty maids in Qingliang Mountain. His biggest flaw is his inability to keep his pants on. As for Liu Duanmao and Jin Baoshi, no rush. If there aren’t any official posts for them, just find someplace to temper them for a year or two…”
Xu Huang looked exasperated, Sima Can’s smile turned forced, Liu Duanmao outright turned his head away as if disowning this senior brother, and Jin Baoshi stole a glance at Xu Fengnian, her gaze complex.
Returning the favor, Xu Fengnian—thrilled by Han Lao’s grand gesture—wasn’t one to be petty. He immediately displayed the decisiveness of a feudal lord, declaring solemnly, “Master Xu, you may proceed to Huaiyang Pass’s Protectorate. I’ll personally write a letter to Chu Lushan. Northern Liang’s border military affairs are strictly regulated, and to be frank, I can’t guarantee you’ll immediately become a Liangzhou army commander. But I promise you won’t be wasted. Master Sima, head straight to Qingliang Mountain to assist Deputy Economic Strategist Song Dongming. If you dislike playing second fiddle, you could also serve in the Liangzhou Governor’s office or Tiezhu County in Lingzhou. The Governor’s office currently has an empty Merit Officer position, while Tiezhu County just lost its prefect—both fourth-rank. The choice is yours. As for Master Liu, I’d like you to assist Governor Xu Beizhi in Lingzhou. The initial rank may not be high, but with your knowledge and Xu Beizhi’s discernment, I’m sure you’ll rise quickly. As for Miss Jin… I truly haven’t decided yet. Give me time to think, but before I leave the mountain, I’ll give you a satisfactory answer.”
When Xu Fengnian finished, even Sima Can and Liu Duanmao exchanged stunned glances, while Xu Huang was visibly shocked. Jin Baoshi pressed her lips together, her eyes gleaming. Only Chang Sui remained nonchalant, lazily taking a swig from his gourd before wiping his mouth and grinning. “Bold!”
Xu Fengnian said sincerely, “I’m delighted you’ve chosen to stay in Northern Liang, and my second sister will be overjoyed too.”
Chang Sui sighed softly. “Apart from our eldest brother, who has old grudges with the Xu family, and our youngest brother, who’s forced to oppose you, six of our teacher’s eight disciples are now gathered in Northern Liang. Life and death are fated, wealth lies in heaven’s hands, and partings are inevitable. The six of us are already fortunate.”
The last remark was clearly directed at Liu Duanmao, who still harbored unresolved feelings. Of the eight, Liu had been closest to the late Prince Zhao Kai.
Liu Duanmao pretended not to hear.
Chang Sui then suggested they gather to taste the most authentic “Green Ant Wine” in the world. Xu Fengnian emptied his purse to buy over a dozen bottles from a vendor and led them to a nearby hut. Though uninhabited, the hut was well-maintained, showing no signs of decay—even the small vegetable plot behind it was lush. Xu Fengnian expertly fetched bamboo chairs and stools, even clearing a table originally piled with books. The hut wasn’t far from the Elephant Washing Pool, but the contrast between the lively pool and the hut’s tranquility was stark—a deliberate arrangement by Wudang Mountain. The group sat around the table in the clearing outside. Chang Sui was already drinking heartily, Xu Huang and Liu Duanmao sat side by side, Jin Baoshi sat opposite Chang Sui, diagonally across from Xu Fengnian.
Naturally, Xu Huang brought up the Guangling naval battle. When they’d met in Liuzhou, they’d disagreed over what was essentially an internal conflict within the Guangling navy. As their teacher had predicted, each was half-right: Xu Huang had guessed it would be swift, while Xu Fengnian had foreseen the Western Chu’s victory. Now, regarding Guangling’s future, they clashed again. Xu Huang, a military strategist who’d traversed the old Western Chu, believed Liyang would soon encircle it, while the Western Chu’s only hope lay in breaking through the seemingly unstoppable Southern Border’s elite forces. Only then could they secure strategic depth, anchoring themselves between Jiangzuo and the Southern Border to leverage the Guangling River’s natural defenses. Even if this left them trapped between Lu Shengxiang and the Yanchi King’s pincer attack, it was better than being cornered in the Western Chu capital, slowly bled dry by Liyang.
Xu Fengnian fetched a map of Guangling’s terrain and spread it on the table. Xu Huang, wine cup in one hand, gestured with the other, explaining, “Landscape paintings emphasize ‘momentum,’ as do martial duels. The Western Chu’s national momentum peaked after Xie Xizui defeated the veteran generals Yang Shenxing and Yan Zhenchun on the western front, Kou Jianghuai shone on the eastern front, and Cao Changqing secured the Guangling River in one battle. But…” He refilled his half-empty cup and pointed to the wine jar. “No matter how strong the Western Chu’s momentum, it’s just this cup of wine. Liyang’s momentum is this entire jar. Even with Yang Shenxing’s Jizhou infantry battered, Yan Zhenchun’s cavalry annihilated, and Prince Zhao Yi’s Guangling navy wiped out, the jar still holds far more wine than the cup. And that’s just troop numbers. Liyang’s true advantage lies in its unshaken public sentiment under the new emperor. The transition from Yonghui to Xiangfu wasn’t nearly as turbulent as outsiders imagined. So in this war, Liyang can afford one decisive victory, while the Western Chu can’t afford a single defeat!”
Xu Huang tapped two key locations on the map—a town north of the Guangling River and a pass south in Jianzhou—and said gravely, “If I were Cao Changqing, I’d send a fierce general with ten thousand elite troops south to cut off the retreat when veteran Wu Chongxuan leads half the Southern Border army across the river. Then I’d station a steady, defensive commander to hold the western gateway, trapping the Southern Border’s hundred thousand troops—unable to fight or retreat comfortably.”
Xu Fengnian leaned over the map, frowning. “Our deputy infantry commander, Gu Dazu, mentioned Wu Chongxuan. He believes Wu surpasses both Yang Shenxing and Yan Zhenchun in leadership, with many capable generals under him. On foreign soil, Wu wouldn’t neglect his rear.”
Xu Huang glanced at Sima Can, who was lounging and cracking melon seeds. Reluctantly, Sima straightened up and said, “Wu Chongxuan and his veteran generals are too experienced to be careless. But as the saying goes, ‘Grain doesn’t travel a thousand li’—that’s a hidden flaw for the Southern Border army. The deadlier weakness, beyond Wu’s control, is that even the fiercest battles are just ripples from court intrigues. Since the late Liyang emperor, the court has distrusted the Yanchi King, Zhao Bing. The current emperor is no exception. ‘Reducing feudatories’? It’s just using the Northern Liang’s thirty thousand cavalry to weaken the Northern Desert, and the Western Chu to weaken the Southern Border’s two hundred thousand wolves. If Wu conquers the Western Chu too easily, won’t the court fear his southern barbarians marching straight to their doorstep to flaunt their might?”
Sima Can couldn’t resist grabbing another handful of seeds, mumbling through his chewing, “Northern Liang’s canal troubles are nothing compared to the Southern Border army’s woes. So if Wu Chongxuan somehow defeats Cao Changqing, it’ll be a miracle—and the court will surely meddle, just like when Yan Zhenchun was ‘inspired’ to recklessly advance. A stalemate suits Liyang best. If Wu loses, he’ll be absorbed by the southern campaign’s commander, Lu Shengxiang—not a single soldier will return south. Wu himself might even be summoned to the capital. After all, the ‘Tangxi Sword Immortal’ Lu Baijie was just demoted from Minister of War to Economic Strategist. Wouldn’t Wu fancy competing with the young, inexperienced new Vice Minister Tang Tieshuang? And let’s face it—in the capital, any official who doesn’t aspire to be Chief Minister is a bad official, and any general who doesn’t covet the Minister of War post is a bad general…”
Jin Baoshi stomped hard on his foot under the table. A seasoned victim, Sima Can didn’t flinch but dropped his playful tone. “Though Liyang’s court is domineering—watching the Liang-Mang war from afar while battling the Western Chu rebels and scheming against the old feudal lords—I must admit, the late Liyang emperor was a master strategist. Historically, excluding military achievements, he’d rank in the top five. Just look at how he handled the feudatories: the Huainan King Zhao Ying died in battle, the Jiaodong King Zhao Shui loyally guarded the northeast, and the hereditary Jing’an King Zhao Xun practically carved ‘loyalty’ on his forehead. The Spring and Autumn Annals glorified military saviors, but the Yonghui era was all about scholars ruling—led by Zhang Julu, with five ministries collaborating brilliantly. A thousand years from now, scholars will still marvel at that golden age.”
Sima Can paused dramatically, like a storyteller, and took a sip of wine. “So here’s the question! If Liyang’s odds improve with time while the Northern Desert’s dwindle, why did the late emperor insist on igniting Guangling, luring the Northern Desert to invade? Fighting on two fronts—wasn’t he afraid of exhausting even the deepest coffers?”
Chang Sui, amused, pointed at him with his gourd. “If you fail in Northern Liang, become a storyteller. I’ll partner with you, and Jin can collect fees.”
Xu Fengnian smiled and answered, “Elite troops peak for twenty, thirty years at most, then decline. Our Northern Liang cavalry, born in the Spring and Autumn era, has lasted thirty years. The capital fears two things: first, that our border forces will weaken against the Northern Desert over time; second, that once I solidify my power, I’ll turn traitor. A simple example—if my father had declared independence from the Zhao family back then, half his troops would’ve deserted. By the end of Yonghui, with the Xu family entrenched in Northern Liang, far fewer would’ve left. Give me four or five years to consolidate power, and Northern Liang—already disdainful of the capital—might well declare independence in the northwest. To the court, that’s only natural, isn’t it?”
Chang Sui laughed heartily, “Ah, the common sentiments of men!”
Sima Can grinned mischievously and asked, “Your Highness, have you truly never considered this matter?”
Xu Fengnian shook his head and remained silent.
Finally, Chang Sui turned serious, his drunken eyes glazed as he spoke, “Speaking of the world’s armies, those that can be called truly formidable are few. The Ji’nan infantry, once the elite of the Northern Han Imperial Guard, have been ruined by Yang Shenxing. Yan Zhenchun’s cavalry was once the finest in Liyang, but alas, the old general died unjustly—his downfall was not due to battle. What remains now can be counted on one hand. Cai Nan, the newly appointed governor of Huainan, expanded his forces from sixty thousand to eighty thousand, yet their combat strength has significantly declined. The Liaodong Duoyan elite cavalry, forged by Tang Tieshuang, the Minister of War, is exceptional. The Blackwater Iron Cavalry of the Western Liao Prince Zhao Sui is also formidable. Wu Zhongxuan’s Southern ‘Great Armor’ claims to rival Yan Wenluan’s Youzhou infantry. As for the four thousand Blunt Edge Army personally led by Prince Yan Zhao Bing—though they remain shrouded in secrecy, their true strength is unknown. As for the navy, the once-mighty Guangling Fleet was split in two and is hardly worth mentioning. The Qingzhou Fleet has long been corrupted by Qing faction officials—if battles could be fought with words alone, they’d be invincible. After all this counting, the only force that has maintained its edge for a full thirty years is your Northern Liang border army.”
Chang Sui stood up slowly and declared, “On the plains of the Central Plains, neither natural barriers nor city walls can halt the Northern Mang’s iron hooves. That is why I stand here, among the only army that can hold its ground against overwhelming odds—the Northern Liang border forces—to lend my meager strength and shield the Central Plains.”
He raised a gourd and drank deeply. “At the Hulu Pass in Youzhou, with its two cities and hundreds of fortresses, the Northern Mang’s advance will only trample over the corpses of Northern Liang’s defenders!”
Chang Sui murmured to himself, “Before I came to the border, I wrote grandiose frontier poems in my drunken stupor. Only now do I realize that the true reality of war is nothing like the romanticized heroism of scholars.”
He raised his voice, “Why write poems for the dead? Better to leave one’s last words where one falls!”
Sima Can whispered, “Second Brother is truly drunk.”
Xu Huang abruptly stood, raising his cup high toward Xu Fengnian. “To the Hulu Pass of Youzhou! To the Tiger Head City of Liangzhou! To the Qingcang City of Liuzhou! A toast to the Prince!”
Sima Can, Liu Duanmao, and Jin Baoshi also rose and raised their cups.
Xu Fengnian stood and said softly, “I do not deserve this toast. Let it be for Northern Liang, which has stood unashamed before the Central Plains for twenty years.”
The drinking then became unrestrained, truly letting loose. Jin Baoshi twice went to the Elephant Washing Pool to buy more wine from vendors. By the end, Sima Can was crawling under the table searching for his cup, while Chang Sui belted out a song in an incomprehensible hometown dialect. Even the usually dignified Xu Huang, with his magnificent beard, was drenched in wine. Even Jin Baoshi, who drank the least, had flushed cheeks. Xu Fengnian, who remained sober despite drinking the most, felt awkward. After pulling Sima Can out from under the table, he looked up at the woman with smiling eyes and said sheepishly, “Being the only one not drunk does spoil the mood.”
The thoroughly drunk Xu Huang squinted and slurred, “I heard that before the Grand General was enfeoffed as a prince, during a court audience, he once tapped the hat of a high-ranking Minister of War outside the palace and said, ‘When I, Xu Xiao, had only six or seven hundred men, I was nothing in your eyes! When I had six or seven thousand, whether I could see you depended on your mood. When I commanded sixty or seventy thousand, you called me brother to my face but cursed me as a dim-witted old soldier behind my back. And now, when I command two to three hundred thousand, have crushed six nations, and executed four emperors—what now? If I call you “old brother” today, would you dare answer?’ Haha! Grand General, oh Grand General! As a junior warrior, I, Xu Huang, wish to gallop across the battlefield like you, reveling in vengeance and justice!”
Seeing Jin Baoshi’s questioning gaze, Xu Fengnian sighed and explained quietly, “That’s just a rumor spread by Liyang officials. It never happened. If it had, Xu Xiao would have bragged about it to me a hundred times.”
Chang Sui, also drunk, ranted, “The Grand General was indeed extraordinary, but what of Li Yishan, the scholar who single-handedly aided him and helped Northern Liang stand alone against the Northern Mang? Was he any less great? It’s a shame Li Yishan is gone—otherwise, I, Chang Sui, would gladly serve as his humble book boy! To discuss the Spring and Autumn Annals with him—what joy!”
Liu Duanmao, dazed, looked around blankly, his cup long emptied from shaking. He muttered, “Where’s my cup? Where did it go?”
Sima Can slapped the table and answered, “It’s on the ground! I saw it under the table earlier!”
Jin Baoshi, only half-drunk, rubbed her forehead. Couldn’t her fellow disciples maintain at least a shred of scholarly dignity? At the Shangyin Academy, it was one thing, but here in unfamiliar Northern Liang, they were even more unrestrained.
Xu Fengnian chuckled, “Seems our Northern Liang’s Green Ant Wine is the strongest after all.”
By dusk, Chang Sui and the others refused Xu Fengnian’s offer to escort them up the mountain, staggering arm in arm toward the Purple Sun Palace. Chang Sui, however, shamelessly insisted on taking the Northern Liang saber with him. Jin Baoshi laughed and exposed him, “Brother isn’t truly drunk. When he’s really drunk, he gives things away—never takes them.”
Chang Sui glared, “If I’m willing to give my life, what’s wrong with taking a saber?”
Then, drunkenly, he muttered to himself, “Forget soaring sword energy—at least I, Chang Sui, can make wine fumes rise to the heavens! Xu Fengnian, you’re not being fair. A man’s character is seen in his drinking—how can you be the only sober one? No, tomorrow we drink again. Today, my junior brothers and sisters held me back…”
Jin Baoshi sighed, “Enough, enough. Let’s see if you can even borrow wine money from Wudang Mountain tomorrow.”
Xu Fengnian smiled, “Then I won’t see you off.”
Jin Baoshi nodded apologetically, “Forgive their behavior. They’re not usually like this.”
Xu Fengnian shook his head, “People of true temperament are the easiest to deal with. Northern Liang’s soil suits only such souls.”
For some reason, Jin Baoshi slowed her steps and turned back to ask, “Is it true, as the border rumors say, that the Northern Mang’s Dong Zhuo set up three grand formations—the ‘Chessboard,’ the ‘Sword Circle,’ and the ‘Sit-Stand’—using the Chess Mansion, Sword Mansion, and Music Mansion? That he even deployed over a hundred Kunlun slaves from Tipping Mountain to operate giant crossbows with the force of an immortal’s sword? That he used the ‘Line of Heaven’ talisman array from the Daoist Sect and the Dunhuang Flying Apsaras from the Princess’ Tomb—all just to stop you from advancing another two hundred steps?”
Xu Fengnian grinned, “Hearing you say it like that makes it sound impressive. But at the time, charging through, it didn’t feel that way. Besides, I had dozens of Wu Family swordsmen guarding my back.”
Jin Baoshi murmured, “I see.”
Xu Fengnian smiled without another word.
The woman turned lightly, her voice ethereal, “Observe the self through the self, the family through the family, the village through the village, the nation through the nation, the world through the world. See all there is to see, and wander freely in carefree joy.”
Xu Fengnian frowned, lost in thought.
As dusk fell, he returned to the thatched hut, clearing the remnants of the gathering and moving tables and chairs back inside. He checked the vegetable plot behind the house before lingering outside for a while.
Back inside, he lit an oil lamp and idly flipped through a martial arts manual he had taken from the armory years ago. Late into the night, he set the book aside and stepped outside.
In the eyes of practitioners like Tantai Pingjing, Tai’an City brimmed with imperial aura, Xiangfan City was thick with ghostly energy, and Jiangnan carried an air of refined melancholy.
Northern Liang’s men do not compose frontier poetry, nor do its women pen boudoir laments.
To die is to die.
Xu Fengnian raised his gaze to the night sky.
“A general’s fame is built on ten thousand bones.” What Xu Xiao owed to the Spring and Autumn Era, I will repay. As a warrior, Xu Xiao could only kill—there was no right or wrong in that. But for every life he took in the Central Plains, I, his son, will save one.
And what I, Xu Fengnian, owe to the three hundred thousand iron riders and the people of Northern Liang—I may never repay in this lifetime.
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