The lake was filled with swords that, upon emerging from the water, piled up into a mountain, resembling the island of Tianmu Mountain at the heart of Chun Shen Lake.
The sword tips pointed toward the waterside pavilion, leaving one to wonder if the young prince would feel the prickle of unease.
From start to finish, the Empress of Western Chu never once glanced at him. Instead, she tilted her head upward, staring in a daze at the famous, ancient, and newly forged swords she had borrowed from all corners of the land.
Xu Fengnian bent forward, hands resting on his knees, gazing softly at the pair of boots before him. “The vegetable garden on Wudang Mountain—I went up there last time to check. If no one tends to it soon, it’ll truly go to waste. What a shame.”
“Your room in Qingliang Mountain—last New Year’s Eve, I had someone paste a spring couplet on the door. Everything inside is still kept for you. I didn’t let anyone touch it, and the door’s been locked all this time. Just think—without cleaning for so long, how dusty it must be.”
“When my father was on his deathbed, he told me that no matter what, no matter how chaotic the world became, I had to bring you home one day. In his heart, you, Jiang Ni, were always the first daughter-in-law of the Xu family. My father felt that way, and my mother even more so.”
Receiving no response, Xu Fengnian continued murmuring to himself, his loneliness palpable.
At some point, as if finding the unconscious Song Wenfeng lying on the ground an eyesore, he flicked his sleeve, sending the man flying out of the pavilion. The deputy commander of the Imperial Guards, He Taisheng, who had just shown signs of regaining consciousness, was knocked out again before he could even open his eyes.
“If you feel that leaving at a time of national crisis, as the Empress of Western Chu, would weigh on your conscience, I understand. But I don’t know if Cao Changqing ever told you the truth—the fall of Western Chu is inevitable. So, your Great Chu will leave behind four to five hundred scholars who will break through the Guazi Zhou frontlines and rendezvous with my Snow Dragon Cavalry before returning to Northern Liang together. Many have died for Western Chu, but don’t think they all died for you, Jiang Xi. That’s not the case. The rapid rise and fall of Western Chu was largely due to the true remnants of the old Chu nobility. After Cao Changqing restored the kingdom, some died in the wilderness, while others, though alive, refused to serve in office. They were truly disillusioned. That’s why opportunists like the Song family rose to power.”
“And rest assured, the restoration of Western Chu was always part of the Liyang court’s plan—a long-standing scheme by Zhang Julu, Yuan Benxi, Huan Wen, and others. First, to completely dismantle the remnants of the Spring and Autumn era, ensuring the Jiangnan scholars, especially those from Jiangzuo, would abandon any illusions of resistance. Second, to weaken the separatist forces of the various princes and local generals. The court cares little for the people of Western Chu. After all, half the empire’s taxes come from Guangling. As long as the northern threat of Beimang remains, the court won’t truly crush Guangling Dao, opting instead for appeasement. Even the Liyang officials—Qi Yanglong, the Chief Minister, and Huan Wen of the Chancellery—harbor pity for the scholars and people of Guangling, not hatred. A key piece of evidence is Xu Gong’s southern campaign, a gesture of goodwill from the court. It’s like encircling three sides in battle while leaving one open—giving the besieged a sliver of hope. Not that the court is particularly magnanimous. If they pressed the attack on all fronts, leaving no hope for Western Chu’s officials and generals, a desperate last stand would only harm Liyang’s prospects in the coming war with Beimang. Remember, Western Chu’s victories last year, especially those led by Xie Xichui and Kou Jianghuai, already exceeded the court’s expectations. So whether you, Empress Jiang Xi, remain or not is irrelevant. In fact, without you and Cao Changqing, fewer would die on the Guangling battlefield.”
“Cao Changqing has already let go. He didn’t mobilize Gu Jiantang or Wang Sui, nor did he activate the dormant agents in Southern Beimang to set the Central Plains ablaze. So why can’t you?”
Jiang Ni suddenly stood, barefoot in her socks, walking to the edge of the pavilion steps. With her back to the man who rambled on, nothing like the young prince of old, her voice was icy and devoid of emotion as she pointed toward the direction of the Tai Chi Palace. “I am the last legitimate descendant of the Jiang bloodline of Great Chu. The late emperor died right there. Why should I leave?! Why must I leave?! If it were you—if Beimang breached Liangzhou’s borders and marched all the way to Qingliang Mountain—would you, the Prince of Northern Liang, flee?!”
Xu Fengnian didn’t rise, merely lifting his gaze to her back. “I wouldn’t leave. But you, Jiang Ni, can. If you refuse, I’ll drag you away by force.”
Jiang Ni sneered. “How fitting for the Prince of Northern Liang, commander of three hundred thousand iron cavalry! Not content with wreaking havoc in Liyang’s capital, you dare act so arrogantly in Great Chu’s capital too!”
She turned slowly, then suddenly exploded in fury. “But don’t forget, Xu Fengnian! I’m no longer that helpless maid from Qingliang Mountain! I am Jiang Xi, Empress of Great Chu! I am the master of all the swords in this world!”
In an instant, ten thousand swords shot forth, reducing the exquisite, centuries-old lakeside pavilion to rubble.
Dust swirled, then settled.
Amid the wreckage, Xu Fengnian remained seated on the sole surviving fragment of a bench, motionless. The boots at his feet were untouched by the debris.
Around him, the ground was littered with hundreds of swords, their blades twisted and bent. Their auras swirled—some ancient like fading elders, others lively like young maidens, some mighty like seasoned warriors, others sharp like battlefield generals, some graceful like noble ladies, others towering like mountain fortresses, and still others profound like boundless rivers and seas.
Xu Fengnian spoke softly. “I’ve reasoned with you, but you won’t listen. Today, either you come with me, or I stay here until you do. I don’t care if you’re Jiang Xi or Jiang Ni, if you’re the Empress of Western Chu or the little maid of Qingliang Mountain.”
He grinned, but there was no levity—only sorrow. “You’ve long grown used to my unreasonableness. Get used to it one more time.”
Jiang Ni, one of the four beauties on the Rouge Ranking, faced Xu Fengnian, one of the four grandmasters on the Martial Ranking.
Between them lay the heights of the court and the depths of the martial world, intertwined with national enmity and personal grudges.
Xu Fengnian brushed off his robes and slowly stood.
Instantly, the lake’s ten thousand swords hummed and trembled. Though Jiang Ni’s qi had been suppressed by the Song family’s drugs, the scholarly Song clan could never have imagined the sheer brilliance of her innate sword talent—a talent even Li Chungang had admired. Where her thoughts led, her will followed, and so did her flying swords.
Seething with rage, Jiang Ni trembled, and the towering mountain of swords swayed violently. She glared at the man before her, teeth clenched. “You’ll really die!”
Xu Fengnian nodded. “I know. You’ve dreamed of stabbing me for years.”
Jiang Ni raised her hand abruptly. Five flying swords, as if summoned by divine decree, shot from the sword mountain and embedded themselves in the ground beside her.
Xu Fengnian, still standing, had his sleeves and shoulders torn by the passing blades.
Still unsatisfied, Jiang Ni clenched her trembling fingers. Hundreds, then thousands of swords “fell” from the mountain, crisscrossing the space between them in a dizzying display.
Her voice shook. “Do you really want to die in Great Chu’s capital?!”
The bastard across from her grinned. “Guess?”
As if a lifetime of grievances had erupted at once, her eyes reddened. She stretched out an arm, grasping a sword that materialized beside her with thunderous force.
At the same time, the sword mountain shifted, looming overhead until it blotted out the sky.
In the dim light, she could no longer see his face.
All she heard was her own furious scream: “Xu Fengnian, will you leave or not?!”
And then his warm reply: “No.”
The sword mountain—ten thousand blades—descended like a blizzard, vast and desolate, burying the earth and the martial world beneath.
Xu Fengnian looked up. Just inches above his head, a single sword hovered, refusing to fall.
He whispered to himself, too softly to be heard.
*Back then, I always bullied you—pretending to be a ghost outside your room at midnight, startling you when you fetched water from the well, pelting you with snowballs, hiding in trees to scare you when you passed. I knew you were angry, humiliated…*
*But if I hadn’t bullied you, you’d have never paid me any attention.*
Then he heard a sob. At that moment, he closed his eyes, his face contorted in pain.
“Xu Fengnian, you brought this on yourself!”
The sword above his head shattered into dust.
But between them, another sword shot forth.
It pierced his chest.
The sword wasn’t fast.
Yet he didn’t dodge.
In the past, Han Shengxuan wanted him dead. Liu Haoshi wanted him dead. Wang Xianzhi wanted him dead. The immortals of the Qin Tian Jian wanted him dead.
No matter how formidable his foes, Xu Fengnian had never surrendered—only fought and triumphed with unyielding pride.
Now, a sword ran him through.
This blade couldn’t compare to Qi Jiajie’s sword, or Huang Qing’s from Beimang, or many others.
Yet half the blade protruded from his back.
In this moment, they mirrored another tragic pair—Li Chungang and Green Robe.
She stood frozen.
Xu Fengnian opened his eyes, blood trickling from his lips. He raised a hand as if to grasp something, but in the end, he only gently gripped the sword’s hilt, gazing at her deeply.
This man, who had journeyed wearily from Northern Liang to Guangling, turned away. Slowly, he pulled the sword from his chest and tossed it aside. Clutching his bleeding wound, he said nothing.
He had traveled a thousand miles, from the desolate borderlands to these lush, scenic lands.
His robes were wrinkled, his boots worn.
He had carried a thousand words in his heart, yet in the end, he couldn’t speak them.
To the world, he was but a pawn crossing the river. Now, he drew the blade *Crossing the Pawn*, dragging his palm along its edge. The blade drank his blood like water, absorbing every drop until none remained.
Kneeling, he placed the sword near her boots. “If anyone ever bullies you, break this blade. Even if I’m a million miles away, I’ll come to you in an instant.”
He paused, his voice hoarse. “Even if I’m already dead, I’ll return from the underworld just to see you one last time.”
Then he stood and declared to the heavens: “Whoever dares harm Jiang Ni, I, Xu Fengnian, will hunt them down!”
After speaking, he raised an arm to shield his eyes, leaving it there for a long time.
One step forward—and he vanished.
Her outstretched hand still reached for something in the distance.
Suddenly, her face turned deathly pale. Her other hand flew to her mouth, but crimson blood seeped between her fingers.
Yet the hand reaching for something refused to lower.
She longed to turn her head, to see that familiar, grinning face—to see the man who had tormented her for years smiling at her once more.
She turned.
He wasn’t there.
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