When the white-robed monk transformed into a rainbow and arrived at the border’s sea of clouds, he saw the crimson figure seated cross-legged on a sword, facing east. Li Dangxin abruptly halted, his movements as fluid as drifting clouds and flowing water, standing still in the sky like an ink-wash painting.
The white-robed monk gazed into the distance, where the turbulence of wind and clouds was stirred by the sword formation piercing the heavens. He said, “Of these remaining 120,000 flying swords of will, half are destined never to reach Tai’an City. While I can still fend off the celestial immortals trying to exploit the chaos for you in Northern Liang, Tai’an City is another matter entirely. This is a futile effort—better to conserve your willpower and use it to strengthen your foundation.”
Xu Fengnian still held the two broken halves of his sword, its sharpness dulled but its edge still keen. He whispered softly, “I couldn’t help myself.”
“Young people,” the white-robed monk chuckled, shaking his head. “Put yourself in the shoes of the Liyang emperor, who rules the world as his own. Watching martial artists and scholars pour their destinies into Northern Liang—could you endure it? Tai’an City’s original intent was merely to use this sword to cut away your fate. It was Xie Guanying who added fuel to the fire, turning it into a fight to the death. According to the plans of the capital’s heavyweights like Qi Yanglong, Huan Wen, and Yin Maochun, even if they wanted you dead, it should have been after the Northern Mang army and Northern Liang’s iron cavalry had exhausted each other. Your death now would disrupt the grand strategy Liyang has been plotting since Zhang Julu’s time.”
Xu Fengnian raised his elbow and wiped the blood from his face haphazardly. “Xie Guanying is determined to plunge the world into chaos. Not only does he want to gain fame from the Guangling battlefield, but he also seems intent on having Chen Zhizhao replace me as the Northwest’s feudal lord. Of course, if I were to die suddenly, all three of Northern Liang’s battlefronts would collapse. Cai Nan, the military governor of Huainan, the closest to Northern Liang, wouldn’t even be able to take command of the border army with an imperial decree—Yan Wenluan wouldn’t even let him enter Youzhou smoothly. Meanwhile, Chen Zhizhao, the Prince of Shu, who has always had a good reputation in Northern Liang, would be the ideal replacement. Even if the Liyang court resented it, they’d have no choice but to accept it. After all, having Chen Zhizhao consolidate power in the Northwest is better than Northern Liang fracturing and being overrun by Northern Mang, allowing them to invade the Central Plains prematurely. Of course, with Chen Zhizhao commanding Northern Liang’s iron cavalry and having the strategic depth of Western Shu and Southern Zhao, he’d achieve the best scenario my master, Li Yishan, once envisioned. For the Liyang imperial family, it’d be like drinking poison to quench thirst—but without that poison, they’d die even faster.”
The white-robed monk rubbed his bald head and sighed. “Just listening to this gives me a headache. You people in the imperial court—don’t you ever get tired?”
Xu Fengnian laughed it off, then turned his head and grinned. “Did the Zen Master pick up Dongxi and Nanbei?”
The monk hummed in affirmation but said nothing more.
Xu Fengnian waited for a long while, but there was no further response.
Finally, the white-robed monk turned to look at the young man hovering on his sword and said slowly, “The sword beneath you is trembling. How much longer are you going to pretend to be a master? Do you really think you’re an immortal who feasts on morning dew and drinks the wind?”
Xu Fengnian’s face flushed with embarrassment. The monk flicked his sleeve lightly, and Xu Fengnian, along with his sword, was sent spinning toward Wudang Mountain. The monk floated alongside him, calmly remarking, “I’ll only take you back to Taoshu Town to help Dongxi repay her debts. Don’t push your luck by asking me to intimidate Qi Jiajie and Chai Qingshan for you.”
Even without protective energy, the breeze was gentle and carried no chill. Xu Fengnian couldn’t help but marvel inwardly—this was the Buddhist divine ability to create an inviolable eight-foot domain. Who in the world could break this impenetrable defense? Deng Tai’a’s sword? Or the Confucian Sage Cao Changqing, who had turned to the domineering path? After careful consideration, Xu Fengnian realized that neither seemed likely to succeed.
As if reading his thoughts, the monk chuckled self-deprecatingly. “This old monk’s only real talent is taking a beating. Unlike you, Xu Fengnian, who completely withstood that sword strike. If it were me, while the sword wouldn’t harm me, I certainly couldn’t have stopped it from entering Northern Liang. Thinking of stealing this Buddhist technique? I’d advise against it—unless you’re willing to shave your head and renounce being the Northern Liang King…”
Xu Fengnian quickly shook his head. He looked down at the one-zhang sword lying across his lap—the culprit behind his grievous injuries. Though the wound on his chest looked terrifying, the crimson threads weaving through it had already stopped the bleeding. He estimated it would take half a year to fully recover. During that time, he wouldn’t stand a chance against Tuoba Pusa, let alone guarantee victory against masters like Qi Jiajie. Still, compared to the damage to his scattered fate, this was a far better outcome. His body would heal, and his energy would replenish like a slowly filling pond. The pond’s width depended on the martial artist’s physical foundation, while its depth was tied to the elusive concept of destiny. After Huang Sanjia dispersed the dynastic fortunes into the martial world, Wang Xianzhi had excelled in both, dominating the Martial Emperor City for sixty years. Tuoba Pusa and Huyan Guanyin belonged to the former category, while Xie Guanying was the pinnacle of the latter.
The monk, ever perceptive of Xu Fengnian’s thoughts, gazed at the distant peaks of Wudang Mountain and mused, “From a cultivator’s perspective, everyone possesses fate, but in vastly different measures. Emperors and generals naturally have more than commoners, yet why is it said that water can both carry and capsize a boat? The simple phrase ‘the will of the people’ reveals the truth. Heaven and earth are like strict fathers and kind mothers—divine justice watches from above, while the earth yields crops to nourish humanity. A nobleman bears virtue to carry the world’s burdens. When I journeyed west long ago, Huang Longshi saw me off and welcomed me back. That man always spoke in riddles. Once, he mentioned offhandedly that, according to his readings, you, Xu Fengnian, were merely a figure carried by fate, while Chen Zhizhao was born to sever the destinies of dragons and pythons. Thus, you were supposed to die early on the border, leaving behind a legacy of infamy for centuries.”
Knowing Xu Fengnian couldn’t respond freely, the monk answered his own question. “All these years at Liangchan Temple, I’ve often wondered—why do some achieve Buddhahood in this life while others never will, even in the next? Does becoming a Buddha prevent others from doing so? When Buddhism spread eastward, it adapted to local customs, and the divide between Mahayana and Hinayana grew starker. I boldly proposed the idea of sudden enlightenment—that one could drop the butcher’s knife and become a Buddha instantly—and it spread like wildfire. Sometimes, I worry that this step was taken too hastily. In truth, Hinayana’s detachment from the world, seeking nirvana in solitude, is a fine path. Mahayana’s aim to benefit all beings, guiding others to salvation, is even nobler.”
Xu Fengnian managed to rasp, “Still gives you a headache, doesn’t it?”
The monk nodded. “Indeed.”
As they neared Wudang Mountain, the lotus-tip island emerged from the rolling sea of clouds. The monk suddenly said, “You may visit Tai’an City twice in the future—though it’s only a possibility. Treat this as an old monk’s rambling nonsense; don’t take it too seriously.”
Xu Fengnian smiled. “I thought it’d only be once.”
At that moment, strange movements appeared on the monk’s robe—at the shoulders, sleeves, and elsewhere—as if hooks were tugging at the fabric. Li Dangxin merely flicked his sleeves and patted his shoulders casually.
Xu Fengnian’s expression darkened, and he instinctively reached for the broken sword on his lap.
High above the nine heavens, immortals sat fishing, their invisible lines descending into the mortal realm.
And now, many of those hooks had latched onto the white-robed monk.
The monk chuckled and shook his head. “Pay it no mind. Being part of the Three Teachings comes with its annoyances.”
Xu Fengnian couldn’t help but inwardly grumble—how could he not mind? Having celestial beings literally tugging at his clothes would unsettle anyone. But seeing the monk swatting at them like flies, he decided to follow suit and ignore it.
Xu Fengnian suddenly grinned. “Zen Master, with all this commotion before a fight, Han Gui from Qingshan Temple must be under a lot of pressure.”
The monk laughed heartily. “My daughter taught me this. She said that when martial artists fight, they always perform an impressive routine before landing a punch—it boosts their courage and earns cheers from the crowd.”
Xu Fengnian forced a smile. “Truly the wisdom of seasoned martial artists.”
As they approached Taoshu Town at the foot of Wudang Mountain, the monk gave Xu Fengnian a gentle push, sending him gliding downward on his sword. A voice called after him, “Change your clothes before Dongxi sees you. If she finds out you were in such a wretched state under my watch, she’d nag me endlessly, and I’d never have peace. My daughter’s Buddhist Lion’s Roar is nearly as potent as her mother’s.”
Xu Fengnian smiled knowingly. In an instant, he landed above Taoshu Town, standing up as the flying sword of will dissipated. He gripped both broken sword halves in his left hand. Qi Jiajie, after having his zhang-jian snapped, was even more severely injured than Xu Fengnian—his body might recover, but his sword heart was shattered, forever barring him from further breakthroughs in swordsmanship. Thus, Xu Fengnian’s real concern was Chai Qingshan, who had chosen to stand aside for unknown reasons.
When Xu Fengnian’s feet touched the street, the protective Buddhist domain vanished, and a surge of blood rushed to his throat. He forced it back down. From the time he left on his sword to his return, barely half an hour had passed. The town had stabilized under the suppression of the 500 Horned Eagle cavalry led by Battalion Chief Luo Hongcai and the Fushui House assassins under Sui Tieshan. Wang Yuanran’s group, nearly all wounded, had been detained, while Qi Jiajie had sent the noble youths like Yin Changgeng back to the inn. He, along with Li Yibai and Chai Qingshan’s disciples, remained standing in the street. Soldiers streamed into the town, and even Yu Xingrui, the highest-ranking elder of Wudang Mountain, appeared at the town’s edge, standing atop a mud wall. Though he didn’t confront the two sword masters directly, his presence clearly blocked their retreat.
When Song Tinglu and Shan Eryi saw Xu Fengnian drenched in blood, they froze in shock. The boy was stunned that this man surnamed Xu had actually survived the sword strike, while the white-clad girl felt her heart shatter. Tears glistened in her bright, spirited eyes as she clutched *The Greenwater Pavilion’s Sixty-Year Sword Training Manual*, her knuckles white.
Xu Fengnian waved off Luo Hongcai and Sui Tieshan, signaling their forces to withdraw. The 500 Horned Eagle cavalry and 70-odd elite riders retreated like a receding tide, while the assassins and archers on the rooftops vanished without a sound. The sheer discipline of this silent force sent a chill down Chai Qingshan’s spine—even the elite troops of Guangling, aside from the feudal lord’s personal guard, could barely compare.
Not seeing Dongxi or Nanbei, Xu Fengnian assumed they had already begun ascending the mountain after shopping.
He turned to Qi Jiajie and Chai Qingshan. “Shall we talk inside the inn?”
Chai Qingshan smiled. “Why not?”
Qi Jiajie, now wearing a long sword at his waist, remained silent. Inside the inn’s empty main hall—the guests had long hidden in their rooms—Xu Fengnian took a seat. Chai Qingshan and Qi Jiajie followed suit, while Song Tinglu was yanked back by Li Yibai before he could sit. The boy sulked but stood obediently behind his master. Meanwhile, Yin Changgeng and his group watched from the second-floor staircase. Only Yin Changgeng descended, approaching the table with composed dignity.
“Your Highness,” he asked, “is there a seat for me?”
Xu Fengnian placed the broken sword halves on the table—one far too long, the other dagger-short—and smiled. “Sit, Young Master Yin. Even prisoners get a last meal.”
Yin Changgeng’s face stiffened. His gaze flickered to the bloodied wound on Xu Fengnian’s chest before he averted his eyes and sat down.
Qi Jiajie sat rigidly, eyes closed in meditation, while Chai Qingshan studied the broken swords with fascination. Though forged in the Eastern Yue Sword Pool’s Great Feng Furnace, even he, as the sect leader, had never seen them before completion. Before its “marriage,” the sword’s aura had been legendary. Now, this peerless masterpiece had died in its infancy, leaving only its sharpness behind.
The inn fell into heavy silence. Then, the sword-carrying girl who hadn’t entered earlier rushed in with an armful of clothes and shoes—not bought, but taken after she kicked open a shop door and tossed down a bag of silver.
Shan Eryi whispered timidly, “King of Northern Liang, you gave me a manual. Can I repay you with these clothes?”
Xu Fengnian smiled faintly, “If this were a business deal, I’d be at a great loss. But as a matter of personal favors, it’s no big deal. Miss Shan, just leave the clothes on the table. I’ll change into them before I ascend the mountain.”
Song Tinglu, his face full of anxiety, stood on tiptoe and whispered into the ear of his tall senior brother, Li Yibai, “Senior brother, senior brother, what should we do? With junior sister like this, won’t she just stay in Beiliang and never return to our Sword Pool?”
Ignoring the young boy’s worries, Xu Fengnian got straight to the point with Qi Jiejie, “If this sword succeeds, it will advance your swordsmanship, and the court will rest easy. Honestly, I admire you all. They say the heavens are high and the emperor is far, yet you’ve gone to such lengths—quite the compliment for someone like me, who doesn’t even dabble in the martial world anymore. Someone tampered with the sword, and you, Qi Jiejie, already know it. I won’t beat around the bush—today, you will return to Tai’an City and not draw your sword for ten years. Also, take a message back to your master: I’ll find time to have a chat with him, just like we’re doing now.”
Qi Jiejie’s eyes snapped open.
“What? No room for negotiation?”
Xu Fengnian, who had been keeping his hands hidden in his sleeves, slowly raised his arm, bending two fingers as he tapped rapidly on the long broken sword, moving too fast for the eye to follow. At the same time, he chuckled softly, “Breaking willow branches to bid farewell isn’t just a Central Plains custom—we do it in Beiliang too. The only difference is that in Beiliang, many who leave never return. I wonder, Qi Jiejie, if you’ll follow local customs when you arrive in Beiliang?”
The broken sword, over ten feet long, shattered into dozens of fragments.
Each fragment floated in the air, spinning lightly above the table like willow leaves detached from their branches, swaying with the wind.
Qi Jiejie snorted coldly, seemingly venting his anger, but everyone present knew this was the great master from the capital showing weakness.
The “willow leaves” slowly settled back onto the table.
Yin Changgeng, whose heart had been in his throat, finally exhaled in relief, sweat beading on the young nobleman’s forehead.
But the next moment, Yin Changgeng felt only a gust of wind before being slammed backward, chair and all, crashing to the ground.
The entire table was split in two by a single impact. Chai Qingshan turned to see Qi Jiejie pinned against the inn wall by Xu Fengnian’s grip on his throat, his feet dangling in the air.
The long sword at Qi Jiejie’s waist was only half-drawn.
Xu Fengnian held Qi Jiejie by the throat with one hand, the other behind his back, looking up at the capital’s top swordsman, whose internal energy was exploding violently. He grinned, “Given equal injuries, killing you, Qi Jiejie, isn’t as hard as you think. Reciprocity is courtesy—I’ll have Young Master Yin, who surely harbors deep resentment toward you, take your head back to Tai’an City.”
As the swordmaster’s energy rapidly waned, the long sword slid back into its scabbard.
Chai Qingshan’s mind raced, but in the end, he remained motionless, sighing inwardly. This young man was truly ruthless—to his enemies and even more so to himself.
This young prince, seemingly so effortless in killing Qi Jiejie, must have lost another seven or eight ounces of blood, barely dried from his previous wounds.
Xu Fengnian released his grip, and Qi Jiejie, now lifeless, slumped against the wall.
At the second-floor stairway, Zhao Chunyuan and Gao Shiqing covered their mouths, stifling their gasps. Gao Shilian and Han Xingyan both sucked in sharp breaths. The young Zhao Wenwei, for the first time, regarded this rebellious prince of Liyang with genuine seriousness, rather than his earlier fascination with the white-clad maiden Shan Eryi. Unlike his siblings’ shock and fear, the boy, who had only read frontier poetry in books, remained unshaken. Instead, he coolly observed the reactions of those present: the seemingly expressionless swordmaster Chai Qingshan, gripping his chair armrest tightly; Yin Changgeng, trembling slightly as he righted his seat before hesitantly sitting back down; and the young prince, smiling faintly as he leisurely returned to his seat.
At that moment, Zhao Wenwei, who had always idolized his brother-in-law Yin Changgeng, underwent a sudden shift in perspective. Words his father had once spoken—previously dismissed—now made perfect sense, especially the line: “Wenwei, Yin Changgeng is merely a peace-time chancellor, unfit to be a chief minister in turbulent times. For our Zhao family, such a son-in-law may not be a blessing.”
Xu Fengnian turned to Chai Qingshan with a smile, “Master Chai, I’m surprised you managed to hold back just now.”
Chai Qingshan replied, “Your Highness, I’m even more surprised that you didn’t.”
Xu Fengnian, his bloody aura thickening, glanced at Chai Qingshan’s two disciples. “Master Chai has taken on two fine students. The Dongyue Sword Pool may yet rise again.”
Though Song Tinglu regarded this elegant yet ruthless prince as a formidable enemy, he couldn’t help but straighten his back at the praise.
Nonsense! To be personally complimented by one of the top four martial masters in the world—if word spread, Song Tinglu would become famous overnight! From then on, traveling the martial world would be a breeze, with friends everywhere.
Chai Qingshan laughed heartily, “Then I’ll take Your Highness’s auspicious words to heart.”
Xu Fengnian grinned at the young Song Tinglu, “I hear you aspire to be the second Wen Busheng to make a name in the capital? These dozens of willow-leaf flying swords on the table—I’ll give them to you. Do you dare accept?”
The boy lifted his chin. “Why wouldn’t I?!”
Chai Qingshan sighed helplessly. This troublemaker. Such a gift was far too hot to handle.
Xu Fengnian indeed gathered the broken swords from the table and stood. “Young Master Yin, kindly escort me to Qi Jiejie’s room. I’ll change clothes before ascending the mountain.”
The white-clad maiden, seeing Xu Fengnian’s bloodied hands, bones visible through the flesh, hurriedly picked up the clothes. “I’ll carry them upstairs for Your Highness.”
Chai Qingshan sighed again. Foolish girl—did she want the whole world to suspect the Sword Pool had shady dealings with Beiliang?
Yin Changgeng led Xu Fengnian upstairs, the girl following closely. Their companions at the stairway had already retreated to their rooms.
Song Tinglu rested his head on the table, grinning foolishly.
Li Yibai teased, “With new swords, you’ve stopped worrying about your junior sister?”
The boy, still staring adoringly at the willow-leaf fragments, scoffed, “Well, I can’t compete with Xu Fengnian anyway. Que sera, sera.”
Chai Qingshan smacked the back of his disciple’s head. “Look at you, so easily satisfied!”
At the end of the second-floor corridor, Yin Changgeng stopped. “This is Master Qi’s room.”
Before Xu Fengnian could act, the white-clad girl, quick as a clever maid, pushed the door open first.
Xu Fengnian stood at the doorway and said to Yin Changgeng, “If you have the courage, tell Yin Maochun when you return to Tai’an City: with Xie Guanying’s full support, Prince Shu Chen Zhibao is like a tiger with wings. Once he establishes prestige in Guangling, his threat to the court will be no less than mine. Of course, whether you say it or not is up to you—I can’t force you.”
Yin Changgeng seemed to steel himself before suddenly whispering, “Your Highness, may I speak with you inside?”
Xu Fengnian paused, then smiled. “By all means.”
The blushing sword-bearing girl bustled about cheerfully, not only setting down the clothes but also placing her own sword on the table, acting as if she belonged there. She even picked up a wooden basin to fetch hot water. Seeing Yin Changgeng enter, she blinked in surprise but wisely asked no questions, only saying shyly to Xu Fengnian, “Your Highness, I’ll fetch hot water for you. It might take a moment.”
Xu Fengnian joked, “Go ahead. But this time, I’ve got nothing to give you in return.”
The girl lowered her head and scurried out, skipping down the corridor once outside.
Her interruption steadied Yin Changgeng’s nerves. After closing the door, he remained standing while Xu Fengnian sat. Just as he was about to speak, he noticed Xu Fengnian covering his mouth—blood seeped between his fingers, especially the large stain on his chest. Yin Changgeng couldn’t help but wonder: Even as a grandmaster, could anyone lose so much blood and still be fine?
Xu Fengnian swallowed hard, lowered his hand, and took a shallow breath. “Before he died, Qi Jiejie didn’t draw his sword, but he left me eighteen strands of sword energy wreaking havoc inside. So make it quick.”
Yin Changgeng tried to ignore the pungent blood and quickly composed himself. “Your Highness, have you heard that Tan Tan Weng intends to step down as head of the Menxia Province?”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Xu Fengnian press a hand to his abdomen, fingers curled in some esoteric gesture, likely suppressing the sword energy.
Xu Fengnian’s gaze turned playful. “I’ve heard. Your father and father-in-law are both contenders. Keeping it in the family, eh?”
Yin Changgeng shook his head solemnly. “Zhao Youling has always looked down on me, partly because he pins his hopes on his youngest, Zhao Wenwei. In truth, Your Highness knows well that my father was the first to leave Zhang Lu, earlier than Zhao Youling, Yuan Hui, or Han Lin, precisely because he disagreed with the old chief minister regarding Beiliang…”
Xu Fengnian cut him off with a laugh. “There were disagreements, but don’t rush to smear Zhang Jutu. Yin Changgeng left Zhang Lu first not just over Beiliang—that was minor. It was mostly the late emperor’s doing. He needed to groom a scholar-official to rival Zhang Lu after Gu Lu. Sadly, the Qing faction failed, and the Jiangnan scholars were even worse. Yin Changgeng tried twice to rally them in secret but failed, leaving him stuck in the Hanlin Academy—not only disappointing the late emperor but even more so Yuan Benxi.”
Yin Changgeng fell silent.
Xu Fengnian coughed intermittently as he continued, “Scholars really aren’t cut out for face-to-face negotiations—they’re much better at scheming behind the scenes. Fine, since you can’t say it, I’ll say it for you. Your father and Zhao Youling may be in-laws, but they’ve never gotten along. If I’m not mistaken, your father’s true confidant, the colleague he considers a kindred spirit, is Han Lin, soon to be the new Huainan Circuit Commissioner, right? What, you want Beiliang to look after the ambitious Han? And what’s in it for us?”
Yin Changgeng hesitated, then said quietly, “Once Commissioner Han assumes office, he’ll propose moving the commissioner’s residence to the border of Ji and He Provinces…”
Xu Fengnian nodded. “Understood.”
Yin Changgeng exhaled in relief—some things were better left unsaid.
Xu Fengnian waved him off. “Go back to Tai’an City in peace. As for Huainan and Ji Provinces, tell the commissioner to rest easy on your way back.”
Yin Changgeng seemed to want to say more.
Xu Fengnian smirked coldly. “Beiliang will act as it sees fit. Rest assured, we won’t embarrass your father or Han Lin. This deal favors you more, anyway.”
Yin Changgeng bowed. “Then I await good news.”
As Yin Changgeng slipped out, he spotted the Sword Pool girl waiting with a basin of hot water.
Xu Fengnian, of course, had no intention of letting an unrelated girl tend to him. Alone in the room, he stripped off his bloodied robe, bemused. The older he got, the thinner his skin became—how odd.
After a quick bandaging and freshening up, he reopened the door to find the girl blinking up at him, silent. Xu Fengnian ruffled her hair gently. “Thank you, little one. If Beiliang ever knows peace, come visit. The frontier may lack the lush greenery of the Central Plains or Jiangnan, but it has its own beauty.”
The girl pouted—ruffling her hair felt too much like a doting elder.
Suddenly, Xu Fengnian clasped his fists and boomed in true martial fashion, “Mountains stay green, rivers flow blue—till we meet again!”
The girl jumped, then burst into laughter, unable to contain herself or feign decorum.
Xu Fengnian strode out. At the tavern entrance, Luo Hongcai waited with horses, flanked by the stiff-backed Jinqi Captain Fan Xiangda and the wounded ex-scout Tao Niuche, now reassigned to the Jinqi.
Taking the reins, Xu Fengnian gave a thumbs-up to the pale-faced Tao before mounting and riding off in a cloud of dust.
Luo Hongcai lightly kicked Fan Xiangda, then clapped Tao Niuche’s shoulder heartily before mounting. “Well done! You’ve made me proud today!”
Tao, nearly knocked over, grinned goofily.
Fan Xiangda sulked.
Tao turned to him. “Captain Fan, pinch me. I think I’m dreaming.”
Fan laughed despite himself. “Dreaming in broad daylight? Nonsense!”
Tao puffed out his chest. “Captain, I’m treating you and the boys to drinks tonight—all you can drink!”
Fan raised an eyebrow. “With what money? You sent all yours home.”
Tao grinned. “I’ll figure it out!”
The oxcart driver Tao Niuche chuckled slyly, “Well, isn’t that what you’re here for, Deputy Commander Fan? To help cushion the blow?”
Fan Xiangda froze for a moment before sneakily draping an arm over his squad leader’s shoulder. “Brother Tao, let’s make a deal. Since it’s just the three of us today—you, me, and that Lieutenant Luo—and the lieutenant is off with the prince to Wudang Mountain, how about when we drink tonight, you tell the boys the prince gave *us* a thumbs-up?”
Tao Niuche straightened up with mock seriousness. “Deputy Commander Fan, borrowing money is one thing—I *will* pay it back. I, Tao Niuche, am an honest man!”
Fan Xiangda sighed.
Tao Niuche lowered his voice. “No interest on the loan, and we’ve got a deal. How about it?”
Fan Xiangda burst into laughter. “No problem! Tomorrow, drinks are on me!”
To accommodate Tao Niuche’s injuries, neither man rode a horse. The deputy commander and the squad leader walked side by side through Taoshu Town when suddenly, Tao Niuche’s gaze grew distant. He murmured, “I was one of the last ranger archers trained by Governor Hu. Came in too late—our battalion chief and deputy commander always bragged about seeing the Grand General with their own eyes. Back in those days beyond the pass, I was *so* jealous.” He turned to Fan Xiangda. “Deputy Commander, once the prince leads us to victory against those Northern Wilderness savages, can we tell the younger lads, ‘Back in our day, we saw the prince up close—just two or three steps away’?”
Fan Xiangda nodded solemnly. “That day *will* come.”
※※※
When Xu Fengnian and Luo Hongcai ascended the mountain, Yu Xingrui was already there. Xu Fengnian asked the old Taoist for a medicinal pill and instructed Luo Hongcai to deliver it to the squad leader of the Jinqi cavalry—without mentioning his involvement.
As Xu Fengnian approached the thatched hut, Zhao Ningshen sat on a small stool, an empty one beside him, while the “White Lotus Scholar” busied himself moving, flipping, and airing Xu Fengnian’s books.
After taking a seat, Xu Fengnian addressed Zhao Ningshen—who, like his uncle Zhao Danping, was one of Longhu Mountain’s current Heavenly Masters—with a cold tone. “If the prince intends to hold me accountable, this humble Daoist will not resist.”
Xu Fengnian scoffed. “Not resist? What *could* you do even if you did?”
Zhao Ningshen gazed into the distance. “This humble Daoist is willing to practice in seclusion on Wudang Mountain for ten years.”
Xu Fengnian glanced at the busy White Lotus Scholar and smirked. “What, you’d sacrifice the Heavenly Master Manor’s reputation just to let *him* leave safely?”
Bai Yu slowly stood, wiping sweat from his brow before approaching Xu Fengnian. Squatting beside the two, he squinted habitually at the Prince of Northern Liang and grinned. “Your Highness, how about letting Zhao Ningshen go and keeping *me* instead?”
Xu Fengnian laughed.
This White Lotus Scholar was clearly far more perceptive than Qi Jiajie—or even Yin Changgeng.
Bai Yu raised a finger. “But I can only stay in Northern Liang for one year. During that time, I’ll give it my all.”
Xu Fengnian extended a palm. “Five years!”
The White Lotus Scholar shook his head. “Now you’re being unreasonable. A year and a half. *At most* a year and a half!”
Xu Fengnian sneered. “Four. Four years, and that’s me giving *you* face. Bargain for even a day less, and the deal’s off.”
Bai Yu still refused. “In four years, the Central Plains will be long past saving. Besides, Northern Liang doesn’t *need* me for four years. You know this, Your Highness. A year and a half is *enough*! The fate of the realm will be decided by then!”
Xu Fengnian retracted two fingers. “Three. Haggle any further, and I’ll really have to beat you—ah, no, *beat Zhao Ningshen*.”
Bai Yu suddenly plopped onto the ground. “Then go ahead, Your Highness. I won’t lift a finger—just here for the show.”
After a pause, Xu Fengnian finally relented. “Fine. For Zhao Zhu’s sake, *two years*. One more word, and I’ll beat *both* of you!”
With surprising agility, the scholar sprang to his feet and bowed. “Two years it is.”
Xu Fengnian quickly stood to help him up, all smiles. “How are you adjusting to Northern Liang’s climate, Master Bai? And when might you visit Qingliang Mountain?”
Zhao Ningshen stared at the two, utterly dumbfounded.
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