The Old Du Mountain line in the Guangling region was the main offensive direction of the Southern Border army and a key defensive zone for one of Western Chu’s main forces—forty thousand troops. Thus, Wu Zhongxuan dispatched Wang Tongshan, the foremost warrior of the Southern Border army, to oversee the battle here, ensuring that the Western Chu rebels led by Pei Sui wouldn’t cause any trouble. Although Wang Tongshan lacked numerical superiority, commanding only twenty thousand pure infantry, the rugged terrain of the Southern Border was never suited for large-scale cavalry. Wu Zhongxuan had once lavishly funded a cavalry unit, but it had been swindled away by Zhao Zhu, the heir of the Yanchi Prince, leaving him with nothing but an empty promise. Wu Zhongxuan, who had defected from the Southern Border to the imperial court, didn’t dwell on this loss. Wang Tongshan’s twenty thousand infantry, aside from Wu Zhongxuan’s personal six thousand elite guards, were the most formidable foot soldiers in his ranks, incorporating many fierce Southern Barbarian tribesmen who feared no death.
It was precisely because of Wang Tongshan’s unparalleled ferocity and his soldiers’ fearless combativeness that Wu Zhongxuan, who valued military discipline above all else, didn’t punish Wang Tongshan for his blatant disregard of rules. Instead, he allowed this fierce general to redeem himself on the battlefield of Old Du Mountain.
Inside the commander’s tent, a burly middle-aged man, bare-chested and bare-bellied, tilted his head back and poured wine from a leather pouch into his mouth. Drinking didn’t quite capture his bravado—wine splashed everywhere, drenching his body. He stood with one foot on the bare back of a woman, and beside him, a massive crimson halberd was planted in the ground. Military regulations strictly forbade drinking and bringing women into camp—two ironclad rules in any army of the Liyang Dynasty. But clearly, this man cared little for such rules. He drank as he pleased, indulged in women as he wished. Yet when battle came, he always led from the front—not to win hearts, but simply because he loved killing. His bloodlust was so notorious that he, once a Southern Border general, had been personally exiled by the Yanchi Prince to the Northern Border under Wu Zhongxuan’s command. As Nalan Youci put it, if left unchecked, he would have wiped out the Southern Barbarian tribes within three years.
In the Southern Border, he was a figure of infamy—illiterate, crude, yet oddly fond of pretending to be cultured. He had “invited” (or more accurately, kidnapped) several scholars to serve as his advisors, even bestowing upon himself the absurd title of “Joyful General” because he found no joy without women, wine, meat, or death. His favorite catchphrases were: “Compared to me, that fat Chu from Northern Liang is only half the villain,” and “Compared to me, Cheng Baishuang and Ji Liuan are only half the warriors.” The first claim was debatable, given their geographical separation, but the second was undeniable. Once, he had marched straight to the gates of the Dragon Palace—now one of the world’s top ten sects—brandishing his halberd and demanding that Palace Master Ji Liuan hand over Lin Hongyuan to serve him for three nights, or else he’d slaughter everyone in the palace. In truth, Lin Hongyuan had left the Southern Border in disguise to attend the martial arts gathering at Kuai Xue Mountain Villa by Spring God Lake largely to escape his relentless pursuit. Had it not been for Cheng Baishuang, the undisputed top martial artist of the Southern Border, passing by the Dragon Palace at the time, even Ji Liuan and the palace’s hidden patron, Nalan Youci, wouldn’t have escaped unscathed.
This man was Wang Tongshan—the world’s foremost halberd wielder and the Southern Border’s fiercest general.
Before Wang Tongshan, who was still guzzling wine, stood a frail elderly scholar clad in ill-fitting armor. The scholar kept his gaze averted, not daring to glance at the woman beneath Wang Tongshan’s foot. He cautiously reported the latest battlefield developments: “We’ve just received reliable intelligence from Western Chu’s capital—a handwritten letter from a Left Vice Minister of Rites. It states that Xie Xichui has secretly arrived at the Old Du Mountain front, though he seems to have brought only two or three hundred cavalry. I suspect he’s here to bolster morale, as his presence is still needed at the Western Rampart to maintain order. With you here, General, Western Chu’s loss of Old Du Mountain is only a matter of time. Xie Xichui would be better off conserving his forces for the defense of the Western Rampart.”
Wang Tongshan showed no reaction to Xie Xichui’s movements or his advisor’s flattery. Instead, he pressed his foot down on the woman’s pale back and grinned. “Old Zhang, what if I gave this pretty thing to you? Would you take her?”
The elderly scholar immediately bowed deeply. “This subordinate wouldn’t dare! Not even if it meant death!”
Wang Tongshan chuckled. “Oh? So you’re a gentleman after all. Don’t you scholars always say, ‘A gentleman does not take what others cherish’? Seems you’re the real deal. Having an advisor like you makes me very pleased.”
The scholar, surnamed Zhang, paled further and bent even lower, stammering in terror. “General, I’m no gentleman… I’m just a notorious old lecher who’s tarnished your reputation. I deserve death, death…”
Wang Tongshan roared with laughter. “Good, good! A lecherous old man—nowhere near my ‘Joyful General,’ but passable for my camp. Speaking of which, preying on your own daughter-in-law? You *should* die. But you’re lucky you serve under me, the most lenient general there is.”
Though the elderly advisor kept his head bowed, his face betrayed no resentment or grief.
It was Wang Tongshan who had forced him into this disgrace, threatening to turn his entire family of sixty into archery targets if he resisted. He didn’t dare die—nor did his tragic daughter-in-law, who had eventually gone mad, driven to insanity by her own torment.
Wang Tongshan’s eyes darkened with murderous intent, but after a moment’s hesitation, he smirked. “Since you don’t want her, and I’m tired of her anyway, she might as well die.”
With a casual stomp, he crushed the woman’s spine. Her lifeless body slumped to the ground.
For the woman who had once worn simple clothes and lived a modest life, death was likely kinder than survival.
Wang Tongshan didn’t spare the corpse a glance. Instead, he stared at the elderly scholar’s sweat-soaked back, deriving deep satisfaction. He took another swig of strong liquor, then shook the empty pouch and hurled it at the old man’s head, knocking him to the ground. Watching the dazed wretch, Wang Tongshan sneered inwardly. *You scholars thought you were the Southern Border’s literary elite? Thought you were unyielding? Thought you could criticize Wang Tongshan behind my back? Thought fleeing to Jianzhou would let you slander me freely? Well, I’ll show you—the Southern Border isn’t the Northern Liang under that cripple Xu. And I, Wang Tongshan, am no aging, ambitionless cripple. If scholars dare wag their tongues in my presence, they’ll wish for death!*
Zhao Zhu, that little brat, had wanted him dead for years. What came of it? Wang Tongshan simply moved elsewhere and remained the Joyful General. When the brat tried to assassinate him personally, what happened? Nalan Youci had to sacrifice over twenty elite bodyguards just to help him escape.
Wang Tongshan kicked the spineless old man out, then leaned back in his chair, deep in thought.
Wu Zhongxuan’s defection to the court was a good thing. With the Guangling campaign, Wang Tongshan might rise from the backwater Southern Border to the imperial court in Tai’an City, perhaps even earning the title of “Conquest General.”
Brutal and bloodthirsty? Harsh discipline?
Wang Tongshan was confident that as long as he wielded the heaviest halberd in the world, even if he left the Southern Border alone and unarmed, not only would the Liyang court scramble to recruit him, but any regional army would gladly hand him command.
He grinned. But for now, the priority was breaking through Old Du Mountain’s defenses, driving deep into Guangling, and storming Western Chu’s capital. He didn’t care if Wu Zhongxuan pleaded with the emperor—that beauty from the Rouge Ranking, surnamed Jiang, would be his first. Then he’d carve out his own domain. Wu Zhongxuan might become Minister of War through connections, but Wang Tongshan wasn’t stupid. He could bow and flatter the young emperor too. With the merit of quelling Guangling’s rebellion, the title of “Pacification General” would be his for the taking.
His smile widened as he recalled another rumor.
Jiang Ni—not just the dragon-robed empress of Western Chu, but also the woman the Northern Liang Prince fancied?
Wang Tongshan snorted and gripped his halberd. “So-called ‘Four Great Grandmasters’? Ji Liuan, a mere Finger Mystic, only took three halberd strikes. Thirty should be enough for you, Xu, shouldn’t it?”
Just then, an armored officer rushed into the tent. Wang Tongshan’s fury flared, but before he could erupt, the usually perceptive officer saluted and reported, “General, three scout teams have returned with the same report—a young man is approaching our camp.”
Wang Tongshan lazily raised an eyebrow. “Oh? How many troops? Five thousand?”
The officer looked uneasy. “Reporting, General… just one man. Our scouts thoroughly searched the surroundings—no ambush.”
Wang Tongshan glared. “Have the scouts lost their minds? One head is still a merit! Since when do they care if someone’s a civilian?”
The officer swallowed hard. “General, the young man demanded to see you—by name. The scouts feared he might be an acquaintance…”
Since this officer was a trusted subordinate, Wang Tongshan restrained his temper. “I don’t have any ‘acquaintances’!”
The officer hesitated, then added, “General, the scouts noted the young man carries twin blades at his waist. One resembles a Northern Liang saber, but it’s different from the ‘Xu Five Blades’ we’ve seen before. They couldn’t be sure.”
Now intrigued, Wang Tongshan sat up slightly. “Oh? Could it be the sixth-generation Xu family war saber? Let me think… any ‘friends’ tied to Northern Liang, and young at that…”
The officer nearly mentioned the scouts’ description of the man as “exceptionally handsome” but held his tongue.
Suddenly, a thunderous voice boomed across the camp.
**“Wang Tongshan.”**
The three syllables, uttered with casual familiarity, echoed unnervingly, as if the speaker stood right beside them.
Wang Tongshan instinctively tightened his grip on his halberd, his face darkening.
After a moment, he released the weapon and calmly ordered, “He’s about two li away. Dispatch three hundred elites to test him. Ten thousand taels of silver and a three-rank promotion for his head.”
As the officer turned to leave, Wang Tongshan added, “And send the six hundred cavalry reserved for chasing Old Du Mountain’s retreating forces. Position them behind the infantry.”
The officer hesitated. “General, how should we arrange the camp’s defenses?”
Wang Tongshan smirked. “Is that necessary?”
The officer hurried out.
Wang Tongshan rose to his full, towering height and muttered, “No good comes uninvited. But who among the Northern Liang’s youth would come? Xu Yanbing? Too old. Yuan Xiong? He’d be leading the Snow Dragon Cavalry. Could it be that young Prince Xu himself? No reason for him to abandon the fronts against Xu Gong and Yuan Tingshan. Unless… he really does have ties to Western Chu’s empress? Did that cripple smuggle her to Northern Liang years ago?”
He laughed incredulously. “Or is it simply because of what I said on the battlefield? Did you, Xu Fengnian, come alone to pick a fight with Wang Tongshan?!”
His laughter turned cold. *Fine. Killing you, the Northern Liang Prince who walked into your own death, would be a greater merit than slaughtering a hundred thousand Western Chu rebels. The young emperor in Tai’an City would be overjoyed.*
Wang Tongshan drew his halberd and strode toward the tent’s entrance—only to pause and turn back to don his armor.
The invincible warrior told himself it was just caution.
A mile and a half south of the camp, a young man with twin blades walked steadily northward.
Straight toward them.
Three hundred armored infantry formed a blockade. At the camp’s gate, Wang Tongshan sat astride a towering warhorse, halberd in hand, his expression grim.
Half an incense stick’s time later, a scout captain galloped back, pale as a ghost. He dismounted and knelt. “General, that man… he’s a martial arts master, no doubt. He just walked straight toward our formation—didn’t draw his blades, didn’t strike. Every weapon aimed at him was repelled. The harder they tried, the stronger the rebound. Over a dozen spears snapped outright! General, our men couldn’t even get close to him…”
“Trash!” Wang Tongshan roared in fury, thrusting his halberd into the scout’s chest. With a mighty heave, he lifted the lifeless corpse high before flinging it away, where it crashed heavily to the ground.
Another half-incense’s time passed, and this time, several scouts frantically retreated from the front lines. A captain-like figure, standing at least twenty paces from Wang Tongshan, trembled as he reported, “General, even six hundred cavalry couldn’t get close. Seven or eight riders charged head-on, only to be shattered—men and horses alike—into a bloody mess, not a single corpse left intact. After that, the cavalry pulled back, raining arrows from eighty paces to thirty. But those arrows… they hit as if striking an invisible wall, snapping mid-air…”
Before the captain could finish, Wang Tongshan spurred his horse forward. The captain scrambled to dodge, but Wang Tongshan abruptly yanked the reins, causing his warhorse to rear and stomp down on the man’s chest.
The towering Wang Tongshan, combined with the sheer weight of his massive steed, crushed the captain’s chest beneath its hooves in an instant!
The Slaughter God Wang Tongshan seethed with rage, battle intent surging like a tidal wave.
This was a provocation.
A direct challenge to him, Wang Tongshan.
The cleanest, most ruthless method—yet also the most terrifyingly extraordinary.
Wang Tongshan raised his halberd, gesturing to a lieutenant. “Form two thousand infantry into a defensive formation ahead. Let’s see if he dares to walk straight through. I want to measure just how much this bastard is worth!”
By the time Wang Tongshan’s elite infantry had formed their ranks, the enemy was already half a li away.
The young man had long since gotten a clear look at the towering general’s face.
Wang Tongshan, too, had seen the young man’s features.
Almost instantly, he recognized him.
Xu Fengnian, the Northern Liang King.
Wang Tongshan’s breathing grew ragged.
Two thousand armored soldiers from the Southern Border deliberately tightened their formation, sacrificing width for depth.
Xu Fengnian, who had been moving leisurely, suddenly quickened his pace—faster and faster.
Years ago, Liu Haoshi of Tai’an City had used this very method to breach the city walls, nearly crippling Luo Yang at the peak of his martial prowess.
In the blink of an eye, Wang Tongshan found the young prince standing less than ten paces ahead.
Behind Xu Fengnian stretched a horrifying trail of blood. The infantry formation had been split cleanly in two, carved open like a mountain cleaved by a celestial blade.
Alone, in a straight line, he had shattered the formation.
Not a single drop of blood stained his robes.
The young man hadn’t even drawn his blade, merely asking calmly, “Scared?”
Wang Tongshan steadied his breath, refusing to rush into action or foolishly answer the madman’s taunt.
Between masters, victory hinged on the flow of qi.
To circulate one’s qi eight hundred li in an instant—this was the dream of every martial grandmaster. Legends spoke of only Li Chungang, the Sword God of a bygone era, and Wang Xianzhi after him, achieving such heights. Even the immortal Lü Zu of Wudang, the undisputed pinnacle of martial arts for a millennium, had once declared, “The longest breath cannot exceed a thousand li.”
Xu Fengnian remarked, “I heard you’re a battlefield demon, Wang Tongshan. So I suppose you’re not afraid. If it were me, even killing ten thousand men standing still would be exhausting.”
The lieutenants and captains in the distance dared not even breathe.
Was this the bearing of one of the top four martial masters?
Even as enemies, they couldn’t help but marvel inwardly—this young Northern Liang King was truly, unbelievably domineering!
Wang Tongshan, clad in heavy armor, suddenly sank—his warhorse buckling under the weight of his concentrated qi.
At the same moment, his halberd swept out, the air tearing like silk.
Xu Fengnian didn’t draw his blade. Instead, he held the scabbard of *Guo He Zu*, resting it vertically against his left shoulder.
The halberd struck the scabbard—insignificant in comparison—yet the scabbard didn’t budge.
The halberd bent.
Wang Tongshan twisted his body, the halberd arcing toward Xu Fengnian’s waist with a howling gust. Two nearby soldiers suddenly clutched their waists, their armor split by the halberd’s unseen force.
Xu Fengnian, still holding the scabbard, tilted his wrist slightly, blocking the halberd’s path once more. “I heard you recently charged into the Western Rampart battlefield, cutting through hundreds of paces. Quite the spectacle. They say you wield two halberds?”
Wang Tongshan remained silent, stepping forward to thrust his halberd like a spear toward Xu Fengnian’s abdomen, intending to gut the arrogant bastard.
Xu Fengnian lifted the scabbard and tapped it lightly against the halberd’s tip. “Is this your so-called ‘great halberd’? Feels like a woman’s toy. Holding back? Don’t bother—I can take it. Look, I haven’t even drawn my blade yet. Honestly, compared to Tuoba Pusa, who fights bare-handed, you’re a disappointment. If this is all you’ve got, you’ve been lucky never to venture into the Central Plains or the Northwest. Otherwise, someone would’ve beaten you back into your mother’s womb long ago. ‘Ten-thousand-man slayer’? More like a hundred-man slayer at best.”
Wang Tongshan said nothing, his feet kicking up dust as his halberd blurred into a storm of strikes, stacking like a bundle before Xu Fengnian.
Xu Fengnian, still sheathed, strolled leisurely, pointing with the scabbard as if giving a lecture.
Each “point” rang like thunder. Soldiers who dared approach within a hundred paces suddenly collapsed, bleeding from their orifices, eardrums ruptured.
“Halberd King Wang Tongshan, tired yet? Need a break? I’ll wait.”
Xu Fengnian stepped back a dozen paces, perfectly timing Wang Tongshan’s need to exhale—or risk internal injury.
Only then did Wang Tongshan’s men realize the truth: this wasn’t a duel between grandmasters.
It was a man walking his dog.
Wang Tongshan refused to pause, his halberd strikes growing silent—yet deadlier.
Xu Fengnian finally showed a flicker of emotion, his thumb pressing against *Guo He Zu*’s hilt. “Impressive. A true ten-thousand-man slayer doesn’t need to catch his breath. Then I won’t hold back either.”
Wang Tongshan’s heart lurched. He yanked his halberd back in retreat.
Xu Fengnian, without the slightest ripple of qi, floated slightly off the ground, spinning once. His sleeves billowed as a dazzling blade light exploded before Wang Tongshan’s eyes.
Instinctively, Wang Tongshan crossed his halberd in defense.
The impact sent him staggering back, arms bent, halberd trembling.
Xu Fengnian didn’t let up. Strike after strike landed in the same spot, forcing Wang Tongshan back further with each blow.
Wang Tongshan’s hands slid toward the halberd’s ends, his palms bleeding onto the already crimson weapon.
Xu Fengnian swung like a child chopping wood—monotonous, relentless.
Wang Tongshan retreated over a hundred paces, barely holding on.
Through the blinding blade light, Wang Tongshan glimpsed a furious young face—and a string of words unbefitting a grandmaster.
“You dare bully *my* woman?!”
“You rule your little Southern Border fiefdom like a king, fine. But you knew I brought ten thousand cavalry to the Central Plains—yet you still had the gall to provoke her while I was away?!”
“You’re *begging* to die! Just because your surname’s Wang, you think you’re Wang Xianzhi?!”
“‘Great halberd’? I’ll shove it up your—!”
Meanwhile, Wang Tongshan’s men, unable to bear the sight, charged in desperation.
Xu Fengnian uttered a single word: “Scram.”
A dozen men flew backward, their bodies lacerated with bone-deep wounds—far worse than Wang Tongshan’s plight.
A second wave of a hundred Southern Border warriors rushed in, some donning extra armor.
“You bastards slaughtered countless innocents on your march north. Northern Liang fought the Northern Barbarians on three fronts—lost over a hundred thousand men! We bled for this peace, and you *ruined* it!”
In his fury, Xu Fengnian bisected the hundred men at the waist.
Seizing the momentary distraction, Wang Tongshan lunged.
Xu Fengnian smirked. “Two halberds, huh? Today, you’ll have *three*.”
Just as Wang Tongshan thought he could finally exhale—
A blade descended with crushing force.
Wang Tongshan spat blood, his halberd snapping in two.
Kneeling, he gripped the broken halves, blood dripping from his lips.
“You think brute strength is all that matters? If that’s the rule, then today, Xu Fengnian will *teach* you.”
Xu Fengnian dashed forward, kicking Wang Tongshan in the forehead. The massive general skidded twenty zhang across the ground.
Gritting his teeth, Wang Tongshan endured the blow, buying himself a desperate gasp of air.
He grinned through bloody lips, ready to rise—
Only for Xu Fengnian’s foot to slam him back down, shattering his armor.
A mocking voice rang above him. “Thought you had a chance? *Fool.* I *let* you.”
The kick shattered not just Wang Tongshan’s armor but also his qi flow, threatening to rupture him from within.
Wang Tongshan rasped, “Just kill me!”
Xu Fengnian sneered. “If I didn’t plan to kill you, why would I be here? To adopt you as my grandson?”
Wang Tongshan roared, “Then *do it*!”
Xu Fengnian suddenly smiled. “Oh, I’m just waiting for you to try gouging my tendons with those broken halberds.”
Even exposed, Wang Tongshan slashed at Xu Fengnian’s ankles—
Just as twenty crossbows loosed their bolts.
But the arrows veered unnaturally, embedding themselves in Wang Tongshan’s limbs instead.
Xu Fengnian stood over Wang Tongshan’s head, sheathing *Guo He Zu* and slowly drawing the Northern Liang blade that had yet to taste blood.
He pressed the tip to Wang Tongshan’s ear. “Years ago, Xu Xiao used this blade to kill many like you in the Central Plains.”
Wang Tongshan, face drenched in blood, grinned grotesquely. “…Crippled old fool.”
Xu Fengnian’s blade slid across Wang Tongshan’s throat, severing his head.
“Forgot to mention—you can call my father a ‘dead cripple.’ I won’t deny it. He *was* a cripple. And he *did* die north of the Central Plains.”
He lifted the head, voice icy.
“But the only one in this world allowed to say those words… is *me*, his unfilial son.”
※※※
After that young prince casually selected a warhorse and rode off into the distance—even after he had vanished beyond ten miles—the entire military camp remained eerily silent. Not a single soul rose to pursue him, nor did anyone clamor to avenge their fallen commander.
Instead, there was an elderly Confucian scholar, one long reviled by the scholars of the southern borderlands as a “lackey of tyranny,” a man infamous for his disgraceful deeds. Upon witnessing the decapitated corpse of Wang Tongshan, he turned silently and retreated into the camp. He fetched a large bucket of water, hastily bathed and changed his robes, and even took the time to pick up a battle blade—one he had never dared touch before—using it to meticulously shave the stubble from his gaunt cheeks.
The old man sat behind the small desk in his modest tent, trembling as he laid the blade across its surface. After a moment’s thought, he rose again and retrieved a yellowed tome of Confucian classics from his travel bag in the corner. Reseating himself, he flipped the book open to a random page, not bothering to read its contents.
Suddenly, the old man chuckled. “Back then, the Xu family’s iron cavalry cost my Lin Yang Zhang clan twelve official caps, four thousand acres of fertile land, and forty-six treasured volumes of sacred texts. So for over twenty years, from the eldest to the youngest, we cursed you, Xu family, and your Northern Liang. Who would’ve thought that in the end, it’s my Zhang clan who owes you more?”
He glanced at the book he had cherished for decades and smiled faintly. “A lifetime spent reading the words of sages—what have I truly learned?”
He answered his own question. “I don’t know. Though I do wonder—what books did those sages who wrote these sacred texts read? Still, I don’t know.”
The old man stretched out his withered hand.
When he had set down the blade earlier, his wrist had trembled. But this time, as he lifted it, his grip was steady.
If one cannot live with purity, at least let death be clean.
At last, he could die.
※※※
When the lone rider finally caught sight of the walls of Western Chu’s capital, he reined in his horse and halted.
The young man dismounted, patting the warhorse’s back to signal it to leave on its own.
This youth, named Xu Fengnian, crouched by the roadside and scooped up a handful of earth.
From north to south, from south to north.
He had traveled many places and beheld countless sights.
The boy once called Xiao Nian had grown, little by little.
Along the way, many who had stood beside him had departed, slipping through his grasp.
Like the time he wandered the martial world, amidst the picturesque landscapes of Jiangnan, where he had promised his elder sister they would return home together.
Or the time he journeyed back to his hometown, standing in the house with the loquat tree outside its door, holding an old man’s hand, speechless.
Xu Fengnian loosened his fingers and stood.
He began his march into the city.
He wanted to tell the woman in this city—the one with the dimples—
“Xu Fengnian likes you. He liked you from the very first glance, and he never once thought of not liking you. Maybe you didn’t know before, so now I’ve come to stand before you and say it myself.”
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