In the quaint summer retreat town, the ever-stoic Mr. Qi, to the astonishment of Yin Changgeng and others, glared furiously at Chai Qingshan and demanded, “Why didn’t you stop Xu Fengnian from leaving?! Don’t you realize the later he meets that sword, the better our chances of success?!”
Qi Jiajie took a step forward, raising a hand as the long sword on the street levitated into the air. Glancing at the young maiden beside Chai Qingshan, who clutched a manual like a treasure, he sneered, “You just casually tossed out a shoddy copy of *The Green Pavilion’s Sixty-Year Sword Manual*—do you even care about Dongyue Sword Pool surpassing the Wu Family Sword Mausoleum anymore?! Have you forgotten why your junior brother Song Nianqing died?”
Chai Qingshan ruffled his disciple Shan Eryi’s hair and chuckled, “You think I could’ve stopped Xu Fengnian if he wanted to leave?”
Shaking his head, he continued, “Even if I joined forces with you, the so-called ‘Number One Swordmaster of the North,’ and risked our lives, we might’ve delayed him long enough for that sword to reach Youzhou—maybe even the foot of Wudang Mountain. But I doubt it would’ve changed the outcome. Dongyue Sword Pool and the Wu Family Sword Mausoleum have been competing for the title of ‘Supreme Sword Art in the World’ for centuries, from the Dafeng Dynasty to the current Liyang. Our disciples’ skills vary, their paths differ, but have you ever heard of any who betrayed the swords they forged themselves?”
His voice turned icy. “First, my junior brother Song Nianqing died for the court. Now, Sword Pool forged a blade for you, Qi Jiajie. We’ve done more than enough for the Liyang Zhao family. That’s why I didn’t even bring my sword this time. Some may need to grovel at the emperor’s feet for a meal, but I, Chai Qingshan, don’t! What? Not happy? Come at me then! I’ve despised you and Liu Haoshi for years anyway.”
Qi Jiajie was so enraged his composure shattered, his hovering sword trembling mid-air. Even Song Tinglu and Shan Eryi, disciples of Sword Pool, were stunned—their usually stern master had transformed.
Hah! But the youngsters loved it. *This* was the master they admired.
The white-clad, sword-carrying maiden felt especially vindicated. Before Xu Fengnian vanished, he’d tossed her *The Green Pavilion* manual. To her, her master should’ve met such a man sooner and shared three hundred cups of wine in celebration. Grinning mischievously, she taunted, “What? Not happy? Come at me! Come on!”
Song Tinglu turned, baring his teeth. *See? The moment that guy’s gone, my junior sister shows her fox tail.*
But he adored it.
His mood soured instantly, though, when he noticed that same infatuated boy staring dazedly at his junior sister. Song Tinglu gripped the hilt of his sword, *Guangling River*. If his master had already torn pretenses with that hypocrite Qi, why hold back? “Hey, punk! What the hell are you staring at?!”
His junior sister smacked his head. “Song Tinglu! *You’re* the one staring!”
Zhao Wenwei, who turned shy around girls, could only mutter inwardly: *Miss, my name is Zhao Wenwei, a scholar destined to become the greatest prime minister in history.*
Qi Jiajie’s gaze turned murderous.
Chai Qingshan, now truly unshackled, tilted his head and dug at his ear. “Qi Jiajie, if I recall, you’re the kite-flyer who still needs to focus on that sword thousands of miles away. Don’t let all this effort go to waste. If you want a life-or-death duel, wait till this is over. By then, your swordsmanship and mindset will’ve grown immensely—maybe even reach Deng Tai’a’s realm of transcending mortality. Then we’ll settle it.”
Qi Jiajie suddenly closed his eyes, sensing the delicate threads of sword intent. When he reopened them, he’d regained the transcendent demeanor of the esteemed Qi of Tai’an City. Smiling, he said, “Chai Qingshan, spare me the talk of swordsman’s honor and martial ethics. You just don’t believe that sword can succeed. Let me tell you—someone has imbued it with a surge of righteous energy potent enough to stir heaven and earth.”
Chai Qingshan narrowed his eyes. “Oh? Then let’s wait and see.”
Qi Jiajie laughed freely, flicking his wrist to send the long sword embedding into a nearby pillar.
—
Han Shengxuan once waited for him in Shenwu City. Yang Taisui beyond Iron Pass. Huang Qing and the Bronze Ancestor in Liuzhou.
Di Wuge descended from Tipping Mountain. Wang Xianzhi came to Northern Liang. Tuoba Pusa sought him in the Western Regions.
This time, it was just a sword seeking Xu Fengnian.
Xu Fengnian soared into the sky, summoning 2,400 strands of sword intent to meet it head-on.
Standing atop a sword born of his will, he rode the wind with ethereal grace.
Beneath his feet, the sword; beside him, the breeze.
Qi Jiajie was merely a catalyst concocted by Liyang’s court. Killing him would’ve been easy for Xu Fengnian, with or without Chai Qingshan’s interference. Why had Qi arrived in the retreat town alongside Wang Yuanran’s group? With his reputation and Yin Changgeng’s political weight, they’d have struggled to find lodging on Wudang otherwise. Qi’s plan was to leak sword energy, forcing Xu Fengnian to descend, then feign a duel to lock onto his aura—guiding the distant sword to its target.
Xu Fengnian recognized the tactic. In truth, he was its originator. Back when he was outmatched, he’d meticulously orchestrated Han Shengxuan’s death—loaning a sword to Sui Xiegu in Emperor City, then recalling it to Shenwu’s outskirts to slay the so-called “Number One Under the Celestial Realm.”
Xu Fengnian smirked. “Karma’s a circle. What goes around comes around.”
His toe tapped lightly, tilting the sword’s tip. Instantly, the entire forest of blades surged upward, piercing the dense clouds.
As Xu Fengnian and his swords broke through the sea of clouds, it was like a school of fish leaping from water.
Above the clouds, golden sunlight cascaded unrestrained, cloaking the heavens in resplendent radiance.
The world stood silent, serene—save for the playful dance of swords.
*Ducks know when spring waters warm; cicadas sense autumn winds before they rise.*
The Finger Mystic realm granted foresight, granting dominance in battle. The Heavenly Phenomena realm, named for its harmony with nature, rivaled even weather-divining mystics in sensing fate’s tides. And the pinnacle—Land Deities—could roam from eastern seas to western deserts in a day, their freedom beyond words.
Who in this world could deny that the once-dismissed “gilded wastrel” had become a true immortal?
As Wudang’s peaks faded behind him, Xu Fengnian sensed the approaching sword crossing into Huainan. A life-or-death clash in the heavens loomed, but with a whole province still between them, he remained unhurried.
Standing atop his sword, hands clasped behind his back, he gazed at the boundless sea of clouds. *Who’d have thought I’d reach this day?*
As a boy, he’d dreamed of becoming a gallant hero—light-footed, roaming the martial world with his family’s peerless blade, righting wrongs, saving the oppressed, and earning a legendary title like “Xu the Divine Blade.” Back then, the jianghu adored appending “Young Master” to names, so he and his elder sister had brainstormed endlessly: “Jade Tree Young Master” if he wore white, “Azure Dragon Young Master” in blue… He’d even promised his brother Huang Man’er to snatch him the world’s most beautiful bride.
His history-obsessed second sister had scoffed—until he vowed to find a love like their father’s. Then, for once, she’d smiled without mockery.
Later, he’d learned that immortals who soared through clouds might truly exist. Once, bored, he’d teased a girl who slept clutching her dagger, boasting he was a prodigy who could master swordsmanship in an incense stick’s time—enough to fly to Tai’an City and relieve himself overhead.
Now, with a thought, the swords around him shifted. Every ten paces, a new blade materialized beneath his feet.
Laughing, Xu Fengnian stepped onto the next sword, then the next, sprinting across the sky.
Long ago, when they’d first settled in Qingliang Mountain—before his elder sister married south, before his second sister was confined to a wheelchair, before his brother’s awakening—four carefree children had hopped across chalk-drawn grids for hours. At mealtime, their father, no longer armored but resembling a wealthy patriarch, would come calling under their mother’s orders. Limping slightly but too proud to show it before his children, he’d watch them play endlessly, murmuring, *Slow down, don’t fall.*
No one knew why a man who’d witnessed the grandeur of Northern Han, Later Sui, Western Chu, and Western Shu could find endless joy in watching four children repeat the same game. Or why he’d linger when his wife came to fetch them, as if willing them to stay young forever—his daughters unwed, his sons unburdened.
And perhaps no one would ever know that now, on the eve of battle, a young man who wasn’t a Land Sword Immortal danced across swords above the clouds—simply to relive those childhood joys.
Xu Fengnian finally halted, leaning back onto a bed of a hundred interlocked swords.
Bathed in golden sunlight, his body gleamed like a deity’s.
—
Not long before, on a quiet road near the retreat town, an exhausted girl succumbed to the scorching sun. “I need to rest,” she told her companion, then dozed beneath a willow.
A shabby-robed young monk knelt beside her, fanning a gentle breeze as she slept. But he worried—her brows furrowed in another nightmare. Since entering Northern Liang, she’d often wake terrified at night, refusing to sleep again no matter how weary.
Tears streaked her cheeks. The monk’s eyes reddened. “Master, Madam… I failed. Dongxi’s suffered so much… She hasn’t bought cosmetics in half a year, won’t even glance at shops, claims she doesn’t like them anymore… Master, help me awaken soon. I’ll study hard, attain Buddhahood faster…”
A familiar voice chuckled, “Oh, my foolish disciple.”
The monk looked up, overjoyed, then pressed a finger to his lips—*Don’t wake her.*
Li Dangxin sighed. *My daughter was right—you really are a simpleton.*
Sitting cross-legged, the white-robed monk extended a finger to his daughter’s brow.
…
Third Year of Xiangfu. Late autumn.
The Northern Mang army amassed again, 400,000 elites marching toward Huaiyang Pass.
A young monk descended through the clouds like an immortal, landing outside the city.
He looked up fiercely. “Though the world is vast, this humble monk shall claim but a sliver before Northern Liang’s gates—to erect a monument of mercy for Li Zi!”
Hands pressed together, he closed his eyes.
Unspoken: *The world’s breadth is but east, west, south, and north.*
The cavalry did not charge but slowly pressed forward in formation, then unleashed a volley of ten thousand arrows.
The arrows blotted out the sky like a swarm of locusts.
The entire heavens resembled fragile silk, instantly shredded by sharp weapons.
The young monk lowered his head, chanting sutras, his body encased in golden light.
As wave after wave of arrows rained down, the golden radiance around the monk began to waver and fade.
The arrows were endless.
Scarlet blood gradually soaked his kasaya.
The blood-drenched young monk trembled, lips quivering as he whispered, “Master, you once said that when love runs deep, regret is known but not chosen. I never understood these truths of yours, but it doesn’t matter. If the path leads west, then west I shall go. If enlightenment comes, then enlightenment it shall be.”
For some inexplicable reason, in that fleeting moment, the scarlet covering his body transformed into gold.
With blurred vision, the monk turned his head with great difficulty toward the city walls. Tears streamed down his face, yet he grinned, raising a hand to tap his own ear—as if trying to convey something to someone.
He turned back, slightly bending down to brush aside the sand at his feet, as if clearing space to place something.
Then, with two fingers curled, he lightly tapped—
Between heaven and earth,
A crisp, melodorous sound of a wooden fish suddenly resounded…
Under the willow shade, the girl burst into tears. When she opened her eyes, she looked around in confusion.
Seeing that Ben Nanbei was still there, now joined by a figure in white, she couldn’t tell if she was still dreaming and cried even harder.
The flustered young monk tugged at his master’s sleeve, his voice hoarse, “Master, what’s wrong with Dongxi?”
The white-robed monk cradled his daughter in his arms, soothing her gently, “There, there, silly girl. Don’t be afraid. Your father and Ben Nanbei are both here.”
He pressed a palm to her forehead, and Li Dongxi fell into a deep slumber.
This time, she dreamed nothing and slept soundly.
Li Dangxin let his daughter continue leaning against the willow tree, wiping the tear stains from her cheeks before rubbing his own bald head. Turning to the young monk beside him, he said, “Nanbei, when Dongxi wakes, take her to Ziyang Palace on Wudang Mountain. Your shiniang is waiting there. She complains that the temple’s vegetarian dishes are too bland and misses your cooking. Remember to buy plenty of meat and fish in the town at the foot of the mountain. When I return, we’ll have a proper family feast…”
The young monk hesitated, “Dongxi and I have no money. Do you have any, Master?”
The white-robed monk glared and whispered, “Once you reach Beiliang, do you think the Xu family would let you starve? If all else fails, go to that place called Taoshu Town, shout your names, and say you’re Li Dangxin’s daughter and disciple!”
The young monk pressed, “What if that doesn’t work?”
The white-robed monk huffed, “Then go to Xu’s thatched hut and steal some cucumbers for a cold salad.”
The young monk sighed, rubbing his bald head.
The white-robed monk rose slowly. “Figure it out yourself. Your master must hurry to bid farewell to that boy. Both Liyang and Beimang dynasties have suppressed Buddhism—only Beiliang reveres it. If this is what heaven deems intolerable, then this monk, Wu Chan, shall recite the sutras properly once more.”
The young monk panicked, “Master, when you meet Xu Fengnian, please be civil! He’s a good man. By the way, you didn’t bring that sharpened kitchen knife, did you? If you did, I’ll need it for cooking tonight. Please leave it behind.”
The white-robed monk flicked his sleeve and soared into the sky, ascending dozens of zhang before stepping upward, each step leaving a lotus in his wake.
Li Dangxin murmured to himself, “Disciple, leave enlightenment to me. That’s my expertise.”
That day, the skies above Beiliang resembled a celestial lotus pond.
And upon those lotuses sat Buddhas.
※※※
A hundred li from Hezhou’s border, the white-robed monk caught up to the young prince who was riding his sword eastward.
Xu Fengnian halted his magnificent sword formation and asked, “What brings you here, Master?”
Already above the sea of clouds, the monk pointed higher still. “You know, don’t you?”
Xu Fengnian smiled. “Of course. Aside from Qi Jiajie’s sword and Xie Guanying’s interference, there are… other forces that disapprove of me. But rest assured, Master, I’ve anticipated it all. Too many fleas don’t itch, too many debts don’t worry. It’s just how it is.”
He looked up into the vast void and sneered, “Before my battle with Huang Qing, I might have feared them. But now? It’s just how it is.”
The monk gazed at the prince who had opened Beiliang’s gates to monks across the land and said gravely, “I’m not here to help you, Xu Fengnian—nor could I. But this sanctuary in Beiliang is what my master, my shibo, and even that useless monk from Luotuo Mountain wished to see.”
Xu Fengnian hesitated before speaking bluntly, “You must know, Master, that I guard the northwest and resist Beimang’s million-strong army out of personal motives. If I weren’t Xu Xiao’s son, if our iron cavalry hadn’t rooted here for twenty years, if their blood and sweat weren’t invested here—then I, Xu Fengnian, might have just gone alone to kill a few Beimang generals or try to slay Tuoba Pusa. I’d never have held the border and died in Liangzhou. As for sheltering monks, isn’t it just my way of spiting Liyang?”
The monk waved impatiently. “I don’t care what you think. I only see what you do and what you’ve done.”
Xu Fengnian chuckled and let it go.
The monk snorted. “This sword is no trifle. Don’t die. My daughter and disciple have run up some debts in Taoshu Town, and they’re counting on you to settle them.”
Xu Fengnian smiled. “No problem!”
He turned and rode his sword toward the border between Beiliang and Huainan.
The monk faced west but glanced back at the solitary, lanky figure—reminiscent of his own journey from Liangchan Temple westward ten thousand li alone.
He smiled. Not long ago, his wife on Wudang Mountain had mused about having two daughters. At the time, it seemed absurd, but now it didn’t sound so far-fetched.
Clasping his hands, the monk softly chanted a Buddha’s name.
Around him, towering lotus thrones, massive as mountains, bloomed.
Bathed in radiant sunlight, the lotuses rose endlessly above the sea of clouds.
Across Beiliang, thousands upon thousands of lotuses ascended.
The monk whispered, “When my heart is pure, when have I not seen the Tathagata? Where my heart is pure, where is not the Western Paradise?”
He raised his head and declared, “Lotus blossoms fall upon the Buddha’s land!”
Upon each lotus sat a great Buddha.
Buddha’s light, spanning thousands of zhang, showered the earth, enveloping all of Beiliang.
※※※
Among the peaks of Wudang, towering over Beiliang, only the six neighboring peaks of Hezhou—Dansha Peak, Jiazi Peak, Shennü Peak, and others—could rival Wudang’s grandeur.
When Xu Fengnian arrived at Youzhou’s border with his sword formation, the scene before him was unlike the tranquil sea of clouds at Liang-You’s junction. Here, the clouds churned like storm-lashed tides, with the Hezhou mountains submerged beneath, leaving only the six perilous peaks protruding like lotus tips above the waves, steadfast as boulders in a raging river.
Xu Fengnian gazed at the six distant “islands.” This was the place.
Had Xie Guanying not worsened the situation, Xu Fengnian could have remained in Taoshu Town with some chance of victory, even if he allowed the flying swords into Youzhou. But now, Xie’s schemes ran deep—not only aiming to shatter Monk Jitang’s karmic vessel but also to fracture Xu Fengnian and Beiliang’s fortunes. If the battle took place at Wudang’s base, even if Xu Fengnian withstood the sword’s fragmented energy, the dispersed remnants would still ravage Beiliang. That would mean defeat—and he couldn’t afford to lose.
To fight, he had to meet it beyond Beiliang’s borders.
Xu Fengnian exhaled softly, raising two fingers skyward. “First sword—swords rise at the border.”
Apart from the sword beneath his feet, the remaining 2,400 swords scattered, each pointing upward, spaced ten to a hundred zhang apart, hovering above Youzhou’s border.
Then he retracted his fingers, bent his arms, and swung them outward. “Second sword—cavalry in formation.”
The once-thin sword formation suddenly multiplied—each sword splitting into a hundred.
The skies above eastern Youzhou’s border wove into a sword net, a mighty dam.
Like 300,000 Beiliang iron cavalry, arrayed for battle!
After deploying this grand formation, which drained his spirit, Xu Fengnian didn’t wait idly for the “uninvited guest.”
He pressed his lips tight, resolve burning in his eyes.
To outsiders, Xu Fengnian’s first striking feature was his phoenix eyes. Upon closer inspection, beyond his handsome face, one would notice his thin lips—often taken as a sign of a cold, unfeeling nature.
Three hundred thousand border soldiers of Beiliang, a million households enduring bitter winters!
Today, let this guilt-ridden Prince of Beiliang ease his conscience, if only a little.
Xu Fengnian rubbed his face fiercely and whispered, “Old Huang, Wen Hua, Old Man Sheepskin, I’m glad I met you in this life. With you three, I don’t need to say ‘sorry’—because I know you’d hate hearing it.”
He chuckled. “Shall we go, then?”
Then go they shall!
Xu Fengnian drew a deep breath and held it, leaping forward into the churning sea of clouds toward Dansha Peak.
His figure plummeted, landing atop Dansha Peak before rebounding to the next summit, borrowing momentum from the majestic mountains.
Amidst thunderous echoes of rolling stones, with no more peaks to land on, Xu Fengnian spread his fingers and hurled himself toward a blinding white streak slicing through the sky.
A hundred li beyond Youzhou’s border.
High in the heavens.
When Xu Fengnian’s palm met the sword’s tip, the vast clouds shattered instantly, leaving the sky clear.
The sword in his grasp glowed violet-gold, a full zhang long yet slender as a willow leaf—a blade without a sheath, where every inch was its tip!
Forged in Dongyue Sword Pool’s grandest furnace, sealed for nearly two centuries, legend held that the last emperor of the Dafeng Dynasty once cast his imperial jade seal into its flames, imbuing it with enduring fortune.
The furnace reopened in secret at the end of Liyang’s Xiangfu era, its flames visible for miles, forcing Dongyue Sword Pool to erect four towering pavilions to contain its aura, guarded by court diviners.
The impact hurled Xu Fengnian over a thousand zhang back—two full li!
Not even Tuoba Pusa’s full strength, Deng Tai’a’s utmost strike, or Wang Xianzhi at his peak could match this force.
Xu Fengnian focused entirely, channeling all his energy into the point where palm met blade.
Though the razor-sharp tip hadn’t pierced his protective qi, he knew even the slightest breach could spell collapse.
The nameless sword, having traversed Dongyue, Guangling, Jiangnan, and Huainan, now neared its zenith—unstoppable.
Xu Fengnian bent his knees, leaning forward to offset the impact.
Man and sword carved a trail through the sky.
Past Boze Peak, Zixiu Peak, Laoweng Peak—three mountains in succession.
Only fifty li from his sword formation now.
Frost crusted Xu Fengnian’s robes; his waning energy could no longer repel the rampant sword intent.
Spotting Shennü Peak, he finally exhaled.
The sword tip pierced his palm!
Blood bloomed.
Xu Fengnian used the blade as a pivot, leaning fully forward as if pushing a mountain, straining against Kunlun.
Past Shennü Peak, Jiazi Peak, Dansha Peak—three more summits.
The tip now protruded from his hand’s back!
Expressionless, Xu Fengnian placed his left hand over his right.
His energy surged like the Guangling River’s tidal bore, circulating eight hundred li in an instant.
Two hands, one horizontal, one vertical—
Stacked Thunder!
Yet over the next three li, the blade inched further out, its mere inch of exposed steel radiating formidable might.
Xu Fengnian stomped.
Thunder rumbled beneath Hezhou’s earth.
Letting the sword pierce another inch, its momentum finally faltered.
Scarlet blood trickled down his sleeve, freezing into crimson frost.
Although the forward momentum of the ten-foot-long sword was forcibly halted, it did not mean the sword’s imposing aura had begun to wane.
For every li Xu Fengnian retreated, the sword tip would pierce another half-inch through the back of his second hand.
Only twenty li remained to the border of Youzhou.
The sword began to trace an arc, its tip tilting slightly downward as it descended toward the land of Youzhou.
Xu Fengnian, who had been leaning forward, gradually straightened his posture.
Nervous upon nearing home, the wanderer adjusts his robes.
And thus, the tip of the ten-foot sword touched Xu Fengnian’s right chest.
A mere hair’s breadth from piercing through.
Behind Xu Fengnian, the twenty-thousand flying swords hummed in unison, converging like the thunderous drums of a battlefield, shaking the heavens.
Bleeding from seven orifices?
By now, Xu Fengnian was already drenched in blood from head to toe.
Especially his face, no longer shielded by his robes, where fresh blood seeped out in thin streams, unable to be cleansed by the omnipresent, razor-sharp sword qi before more blood flowed anew.
Ten li.
The long sword had already pierced through his chest.
From start to finish, Xu Fengnian maintained his stance with both palms pressing against the sword.
He lowered his head to glance at the blade, his vision blurred by the blood obstructing his eyes.
Xu Fengnian tugged at the corner of his mouth and spat a mouthful of blood onto the sword.
*If I’m suffering, don’t tell me you’re still full of vigor?!*
The sword trembled, churning the flesh of Xu Fengnian’s wound.
Five li.
A ten-foot sword.
Half of it protruded in front of Xu Fengnian.
The other half had already emerged from his back.
This scene of inhuman brutality was beyond anyone’s imagination.
Three li.
The sword formation fell silent.
Just like when the Northern Liang Iron Cavalry truly launched their death charge—no other army ever roared as loudly.
Seven chi of the sword had already passed through his body.
Xu Fengnian’s lips moved slightly, his words indistinct.
*When I was little, Mother once said with a smile, “Xiao Nian, remember this—wherever the Xu family stands, there stands the gate of the Central Plains. It has nothing to do with who sits on the Liyang throne, nor with whether the people curse the Xu family.”*
*But the man who never dared to talk back to the Princess Consort suddenly spoke up boldly: “Xiao Nian, don’t take it seriously, don’t you dare! War isn’t some game. If you can avoid playing the hero, then don’t. Just because you’re Xu Xiao’s son, does that mean you have to die for the country? That’s not how it works!”*
Xu Fengnian had just whispered to himself: *Mother, I’ll listen to you, not to Father.*
Two li.
Behind him lay the barren mountains and rivers of Youzhou.
Eight chi of the sword had already passed through his body!
At the precipice between waning momentum and exhaustion, it struggled with its most formidable might.
Xu Fengnian shifted his palms into fists, the flesh of his hands mangled to the bone. He gripped the three chi of the sword’s edge still protruding in front of him and began to pull it out!
One li.
Xu Fengnian staggered backward, but his hands remained tightly pressed against his chest, clutching the hilt of the ten-foot sword.
*He refused to let go!*
Half a li.
With one hand still gripping the hilt, Xu Fengnian reached behind his back with the other and grasped the sword’s tip, now protruding from his chest.
*The Northern Mang’s million-strong army presses upon our borders, yet Liangzhou’s Tiger Head City still stands. Youzhou’s Glow City still stands. As long as a single soul remains alive within its walls, the city stands.*
Xu Fengnian closed his eyes.
*The Northern Liang fights to the death, unwilling to retreat.*
*Because we cannot retreat!*
Xu Fengnian did not snap the long sword with his hands.
Instead, he wrenched the ten-foot blade apart with sheer force!
※※※
After the sound of the sword shattering,
it felt as though an eternity had passed.
In the end, Xu Fengnian stood hunched to the east of the sword formation, mere chi away from that solemn array of blades.
In each hand, he held a broken fragment of the sword.
This sword, which had traversed ten thousand li, could pierce through four provinces and nineteen prefectures of Liyang—yet it never took a single step into Northern Liang.
Once the sword was torn asunder, the million strands of sword qi scattered in all directions, only to be blocked one by one by the sword formation at the gates of Youzhou.
※※※
That summer, beneath the scorching sun of Tai’an City, a great rain fell.
A rain of swords.
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