On the southern city wall of Tai’an City, an old man and a young girl stood out amidst the clanging of armored soldiers. The elder wore simple hemp clothes and cloth shoes, carrying a longsword on his back—a fairly typical swordsman’s appearance. The girl, however, was in the spring of her youth, her figure beginning to blossom with grace. She not only bore a sword on her back but also wore twin swords at her waist and held another in her hand, making her seem less like a noble swordswoman and more like a street vendor peddling blades. These two were none other than Chai Qingshan, the current master of the Dongyue Sword Pool, and Shan Eryi, the girl who had once been gifted a copy of *The Green Pavilion Sword Manual* by the young Prince of Beiliang in the town of Taoshu.
Earlier, several men had stormed out of the city with fierce momentum, only to be flung back and embedded into the walls like flies smashed against a window. The gruesome sight sent shivers down the spines of many martial officers on the wall, who instinctively glanced at the master-disciple pair from the Sword Pool before mustering some courage.
The girl’s face was pale—not because she was physically weaker than ordinary soldiers, but because, having truly stepped into the realm of martial arts, her sensitivity to the world’s energy was far beyond that of common folk. To the untrained eye, a rolling river might seem majestic, but a cultivator could discern the flow of fate itself.
Her master, Chai Qingshan, a true grandmaster of the sword, had chosen her as his final disciple precisely for her extraordinary talent. He had even boasted to the old master of the Wu Family Sword Mound that her potential was second only to Jiang Ni, the Empress of Western Chu. The girl, whose name sounded like “Three-Two-One,” felt as if she were standing on the walls of the Martial Emperor’s City, about to be crushed by a tidal wave. She clenched her teeth and gripped her sword, her delicate frame swaying unsteadily—until Chai Qingshan placed a hand on the ancient sword “Young Phoenix” strapped to her back. Only then did she exhale in relief, trembling as she asked, “Master, what exactly is Cao Daguangzi trying to do? Does he truly intend to breach the capital alone? Will he not stop until he storms the palace for the fifth time?”
Chai Qingshan, who had traveled far and wide with her in recent years, shook his head. “Even I do not know why Cao Changqing has turned from Confucianism to the path of hegemony.”
The girl gazed at the solitary figure in green outside the city, feeling an inexplicable sorrow. Rumors said that the once Imperial Chess Advisor of Western Chu had harbored unspoken love for the late empress, adhering strictly to propriety until death parted them without a word. The girl cared little for whether this scholar, who had ascended to Confucian sainthood on the ancient battlefield of Xileibi, was the pride of the Cao family or his legendary feats of traversing the Liyang palace like a corridor. Instead, she envied the woman who had been vilified for twenty years as a nation-wrecking seductress, thinking only that it would be wonderful to have someone remember her so devotedly after death. Sighing softly, she lifted her arm and tapped her chest lightly with the blade of her half-worn sword, “White Python.” Beneath her spring-thinned robes lay a yellowed manual—*The Green Pavilion*. That was her solace, the reason she had truly begun practicing swordsmanship after leaving Beiliang. The young man who had given it to her was tall, forcing him to bend slightly when speaking to her at the foot of Wudang Mountain. Though his smile was gentle, he had treated her as nothing more than an innocent girl of the martial world, a passing acquaintance. She disliked that.
As Cao Changqing placed another piece on the board, a pillar of rainbow light as thick as a palace pillar descended from the heavens, shaking Tai’an City once more.
Ignoring the spectacle behind him, Chai Qingshan mused, “We swordsmen have pursued the pinnacle of martial prowess since ancient times—the power to shake the heavens and pierce the skies. Yet Cao Changqing has surpassed us all, channeling the righteous energy of the world from the heavens into the mortal realm. Even the legendary Gao Shulu’s so-called ‘profound celestial being’ pales in comparison. Truly, Cao Changqing has added ten feet to an already towering scroll.”
Had a northern geomancer been present, they might have noticed faint tendrils of azure and purple energy seeping into the girl’s seven orifices—unbeknownst to her or even her master, who had long reached the profound “Zhi Xuan” realm. The gap between celestial and terrestrial realms was vast, after all.
The girl suddenly asked, “Master, among the Three Teachings, Buddhist monks reach the ‘Diamond’ realm upon entering the first rank, Taoist masters attain ‘Zhi Xuan,’ and Confucian scholars leap directly to ‘Celestial Phenomenon.’ You’ve always been vague about why these paths are equal, and why Confucian sages are especially rare.”
The old man hesitated, reluctant to reveal secrets or expose his disciple to such truths prematurely. But under her pleading gaze, he sighed. “Take this as idle talk—do not dwell on it, lest it unsettle your sword heart. In my youth, I often visited Huishan’s Snowy Plateau and spoke with a scholar named Xuanyuan Jingcheng. He had unique insights, such as his critique of the saying ‘Drop the butcher’s knife and become a Buddha.’ While it encourages virtue, it misleads by suggesting enlightenment comes easily. True achievement requires relentless effort.”
Xuanyuan had also questioned the pursuit of the “Three Immortalities”—virtue, merit, and wisdom—advocated by Confucian sages. He cited the tale of a man who buried his son to feed his mother, an act praised for filial piety but doomed to karmic retribution. “Heaven nurtures all; we should repay it in kind,” Xuanyuan argued.
Taoist sages warned, “Heaven and earth are ruthless, treating all as straw dogs”—a statement of impartiality, not cruelty. Yet Xuanyuan believed scholars must defy fate, establishing order for lasting peace. Hence the Confucian ideals: “To ordain conscience for Heaven and Earth, to secure life and fortune for the people, to continue lost teachings for past sages, to establish peace for all ages.” But, Chai Qingshan asked, “Does Heaven need our guidance? Is eternal peace truly Heaven’s design? Thus, Confucian sages sacrifice themselves for posterity, daring to defy the cosmos.”
The girl blinked. “Oh.”
The old man sighed deeply, emotions swirling.
“Understood?” he asked.
She grinned. “Not at all.”
Chuckling, he ruffled her hair. “No need to understand. Ignorance is bliss—a carefree life is best. For us swordsmen, it’s enough to right wrongs with our blades.”
Softly, he added, “Having seen Beiliang’s desolate borders and battlefields, I’ve realized how fragile our martial world’s joys are. But do not resent Liyang blindly. If the Northern Barbarians ever breach our borders, even those who curse Beiliang today would fight to the death.”
Liyang’s martial culture was renowned, though its southern neighbors often dismissed its people as uncivilized northern brutes. Yet under leaders like Gu Jianfang and Xu Xiao, the borders held firm, ushering in peace. The capital, Tai’an, now rivaled the glory of ancient Chu, thanks to imperial patronage of scholars and commerce. But beneath the surface, cracks were showing—rebellions in Guangling and Beiliang’s unrest threatened the fragile balance.
The girl pouted. “I still think Beiliang is more pitiful.”
The old man smiled. “I don’t deny Beiliang’s plight, but I hope you won’t bear undue hatred. Do you know why I admire that young Prince of Beiliang?”
At the mention of him, her eyes sparkled. “Tell me!”
He feigned annoyance. “Never mind.”
With Cao Changqing’s moves accelerating, Chai Qingshan focused on gathering his energy. He hadn’t come to sightsee.
The girl sighed but knew better than to press.
As arrows rained down on the figure in green, the old man mused: What if Beiliang and Liyang stood united against the northern threat? What if Cao Changqing served as prime minister, guiding the court alongside the northern armies? How different the world might be.
※※※
On a northern path to the capital, a rider approached leisurely.
By a roadside stall selling dumplings and tea sat a young couple, engrossed in their meal.
The rider dismounted. “May I join you?”
The young man glanced up. “If you’re unarmed, then yes.”
Thus, Gu Jianfang took a seat beside Xu Fengnian and Jiang Ni.
The mighty Grand Pillar of the State smiled. “Xu Fengnian, how about this trade: you buy me dumplings, and I’ll make you emperor. Do we have a deal?”
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