Gu Jian Tang’s words carried the same impact as his signature “Inch Thunder” technique. However, Xu Feng Nian didn’t react with exaggerated surprise. Without hesitation, he waved to the waiter for another bowl of dumplings and asked with a grin, “A large bowl only has about twenty dumplings. The entire Liyang territory spans just thirty provinces. So, one dumpling equals one province? Doesn’t Grand General Gu think this deal is a massive loss for you?”
Gu Jian Tang chuckled but didn’t respond, appearing like nothing more than a famished traveler patiently awaiting his bowl of thin-skinned, meaty dumplings.
Xu Feng Nian had wolfed down his food quickly, while Jiang Ni took dainty bites, eating much slower. Xu Feng Nian was the first to set down his chopsticks, exhaling contentedly with the lingering taste of cabbage in his mouth. Gu Jian Tang remained expressionless, meeting the young prince’s gaze with calm composure. Though they were a generation apart in age, the true gap between them lay in the “Spring and Autumn” era.
Among the four legendary generals of the Spring and Autumn period, Ye Bai Kui of Great Chu was the most orthodox in strategy, never losing a single battle in over seventy engagements—until his final, catastrophic defeat at Xileibi. The Eastern Yue’s Prince Consort Wang Sui embodied the spirit of the era, turning the impossible into the possible with his unorthodox tactics. He could win battles deemed unwinnable but also lose those he shouldn’t, often baffling his opponents. Despite his brilliance, his achievements were the least. Xu Xiao, though lacking in strategic genius, was unmatched in resilience, always rising from the ashes of defeat. His unyielding spirit kept the Xu army united, allowing him to emerge victorious in the end.
Gu Jian Tang, while not as exceptional as Ye or Wang in either orthodox or unorthodox warfare, had no weaknesses in his command. His military career was illustrious, with only minor setbacks and no major defeats. Unlike Xu Xiao, who rose early with eight hundred veterans from Liaodong, Gu entered the Spring and Autumn conflicts later, resulting in his contributions being limited to two states compared to Xu’s six. Most military historians and strategists in Liyang believed Gu’s command was no inferior to Xu’s—his only disadvantage was timing: “Xu was early, Gu was late.”
Gu Jian Tang’s life was full of intrigue. After becoming Minister of War in the capital, he disbanded his old faction, dispersing them across Liyang. Figures like Cai Nan, Dong Gong Huang, and others became regional governors. Though his “Gu Residence” in Tai’an City once rivaled Zhang Ju Lu’s “Zhang Residence,” only Zhang was ever said to wield overwhelming power—never Gu.
As one of the top ten martial masters in the realm, Gu never cared about rankings or challenging Wang Xian Zhi in Wudi City. As the undisputed top blade master, he never clashed with sword-wielding grandmasters. In over a decade, the only time he intervened was during the Xiangfu era when Cao Chang Qing and Jiang Shi stormed Tai’an City. Gu acted as Liyang’s martial representative, using his “Inch Thunder” to block them. Since then, no further reports of Gu engaging in combat surfaced.
For twenty years, Gu Jian Tang stood firm in Liyang’s court, his loyalty unquestioned by emperors past and present, nor by the officials. To Liyang, he was not only the best candidate to counter Northern Liang’s cavalry but also their greatest pillar of stability. Silent and steadfast, Gu was like a family heirloom—unseen but reassuring. Even during the disastrous Guangling campaign, when Gu could have marched south, Liyang’s people never doubted their victory over the Western Chu rebels.
Yet today, at the moment of Western Chu’s inevitable collapse, this very pillar of Liyang declared his intent to make a non-Zhao youth emperor.
Xu Feng Nian watched Gu Jian Tang across the table as the latter picked up his chopsticks and lightly tapped the greasy surface before taking a slow bite of dumpling. Xu’s face remained calm—a composure honed through countless battles—but his mind was in turmoil.
After eating seven or eight dumplings, Gu paused and looked up at the young prince he’d only met once. Glancing at the sensitive young woman beside him, he said coolly, “Don’t believe me? At this point, do I need to deceive anyone with words?”
Having traveled the martial world three times, fought in the Liang-Mang war, and visited the capital twice, Xu Feng Nian was no longer the brash youth of old. He smiled. “So, you didn’t come south to find Cao Chang Qing but anticipated I’d stop you?”
Gu picked up another dumpling, shaking off some scallions before replying, “If you hadn’t come, I’d have gone straight to Tai’an to kill Cao Chang Qing. Before, against the Confucian Sage, I had at best a forty percent chance. Now, with him embracing the Overlord’s Path, no one can stop him—unless he insists on defying fate to drain Liyang’s Zhao dynasty. Then, I’d have an opening. Since you’re here, it’s even better. You must know why I want Cao dead. He once promised me that if Western Chu succeeded and the Jiang clan ruled the Central Plains, all credit for defeating Northern Mang would be mine. I didn’t refuse.”
Xu frowned. “Even if Western Chu fails, it’s the same. You wouldn’t even bear any blame.”
Gu sneered. “What have I done these twenty years? Had no choice but to ‘nurture bandits to strengthen myself.’ With Xu Xiao in the northwest and Zhang Ju Lu in court, I stayed secure. The warlords—don’t forget the ‘garrison’ part. How many generals died needlessly in Guangling? How much military power was stripped? Yan Zhen Chun’s cavalry was annihilated. Yang Shen Xing’s Ji Province infantry was decimated. Zhao Yi’s navy and army were shattered. Zhao Ying of Huainan died in battle. Civil officials, no matter how powerful, can be executed on the emperor’s whim. But frontier generals? They can rebel at will, unafraid of historical infamy. If I were emperor, I’d suppress the military too, for long-term stability.”
Gu continued eating, speaking slowly. “Do you think Emperor Zhao Dun didn’t try to undermine me before his death? My old subordinates Tang Tie Shuang and Tian Zong were brought to court. Lu Sheng Xiang and Xu Gong were groomed to replace me. Xu Gong inspected the borders for the emperor. Lu Sheng Xiang built his resume in Guangling. Why weren’t they fully utilized? To avoid making them too powerful too soon. They were meant for the Northern Mang war, needing time to grow. Frankly, even with decades of experience, they’d at best become second-rate versions of me. By then, Liyang would be stable, and it’d be easier to retire them than to oust me. Zhang Ju Lu and Yuan Ben Xi’s strategy for Emperor Zhao Dun was sound—but as the target, would I just wait to die? Need I remind you how the Zhao family treats their meritorious officials?”
Gu picked up another dumpling, glancing at the young woman with the sword case—the deposed emperor of Great Chu—with a wry smile. “Xu Feng Nian, do you know how Cao Chang Qing and she convinced me?”
Xu suddenly flushed with anger, gritting his teeth. “Damn it! Did Cao promise one of your sons could be… ‘empress’?! If that’s true, I won’t stop you—I’ll help you beat Cao Chang Qing till he can’t even think of being Overlord!”
Under the table, Xu’s foot was stomped and ground repeatedly. When one foot wasn’t enough, the perpetrator added the other.
Gu laughed dryly. “Cao Chang Qing isn’t that… petty. He simply promised me free rein to crush Northern Mang, letting me achieve what even Xu Xiao couldn’t. His reasoning? As long as he lived, no matter how great my military feats, I couldn’t rebel—because he could take me down with him. Even after his death, a unified Great Chu that absorbed Northern Mang would still have someone who could kill me single-handedly if I dared plot treason. And that person would outlive me. So, the Gu family would remain docile for fifty years. Beyond that, it’d be up to fate. With no worries, I could focus on my achievements without fear of overshadowing the throne. How Great Chu treated Ye Bai Kui, how Liyang treated Xu Xiao—I know it all too well.”
Xu rubbed his chin, smirking. “Now that sounds more believable.”
Seeing his smug expression, Jiang Ni, who hadn’t finished her dumplings, slammed her chopsticks on the bowl.
Instead of guilt, Xu glared. “This bowl cost five coppers! There are six dumplings left—wasting one copper doesn’t hurt you? I didn’t bring money. You’re paying!”
Jiang Ni was stunned, then snorted but quietly picked up her chopsticks again.
Even the iron-willed Gu Jian Tang found this amusing.
Shaking his head slightly, Gu smiled. “Likewise, if you become emperor, with Xu Xiao’s precedent of treating old subordinates well and your own battlefield prowess, I’d have no fears for my future.”
Xu sighed softly. “Becoming emperor, huh?”
Gu picked up his last dumpling. “Xu Feng Nian, I’ve always wondered—did Xu Xiao ever consider rebellion? Or putting you on the throne?”
Xu avoided the question. “Do you know how Cao Chang Qing convinced Wang Sui? Or how Wang feels now?”
Gu hesitated. “The first is simple. Wang could never let go of the Eastern Yue royals who became Liyang’s lapdogs. Cao likely promised their descendants official posts or even noble titles. As for the latter… hard to say. Wang might rage and aid Northern Mang’s invasion. Or he might withdraw, fighting purely as a general against you and me on the battlefield. After all, he and I are mortal enemies, and he resents how the Xu family ended the Spring and Autumn era.”
Xu mused, “The Spring and Autumn—no one can let it go.”
Finishing his dumplings, Gu set down his chopsticks and stared at Xu.
Xu snapped back to reality. “If nothing goes wrong, Northern Mang will invade this autumn. I’ll try to persuade Wang Sui to at least stay neutral, if not cooperate.”
Gu nodded solemnly. “Best case. Zhao Shui of Jiaodong has already promised neutrality. If you can keep Wang Sui from stirring trouble, once the Liang-Mang war stalemates, I’ll lead Liaodong’s elite north to cut off Northern Mang’s southern and northern courts! With Liang and the south as our buffer, we’d have half a million troops, including two hundred thousand cavalry, and endless reserves. Even sandwiched between Northern Mang and Liyang, what’s there to fear?!”
Xu fell silent, then suddenly slammed the table.
Jiang Ni jumped. Gu’s eyelids twitched.
Xu shouted, “Waiter! Three more bowls of dumplings!”
Jiang Ni took a deep breath, scowling. “Two are enough.”
But the spendthrift, unfazed by spending others’ money, added, “Put it on General Gu’s tab. My wife and I are broke—every copper counts…”
Gu smirked. “Oh? Then one bowl’s enough. Like Miss Jiang, I’m not hungry.”
Jiang Ni blushed. “Maybe two? I’ll have another.”
The waiter, annoyed, interjected, “So how many? Three big bowls are just fifteen coppers—why the fuss?”
Liyang’s Grand Pillar Gu said one.
Great Chu’s Emperor Jiang said two.
Northern Liang’s Prince Xu said three.
The waiter stared, exasperated. “Fine, forget the haggling. Today, I’ll treat you to three bowls!”
As the steaming dumplings arrived, Gu finished first. After bidding Xu farewell, he left his prized Liaodong horse with the stall owner and headed north alone.
The owner and waiter exchanged glances, then grinned ear to ear.
Xu waited quietly for Jiang Ni to finish. Seeing her place her chopsticks on the bowl’s rim, he moved them neatly to the table. “One of the few Xu family rules—never leave chopsticks on the bowl after eating.”
Blushing, she blinked. “So… you really want to be… that?”
Xu whispered, “Gu’s words are credible but not entirely trustworthy. A man who endured from Hongjia to Yonghui to Xiangfu… is terrifying.”
Jiang Ni nodded and said, “I don’t like this man. Uncle Qi Daizhao once said your father was a tiger emerging from the forest, Ye Baikui was a river dragon, Wang Sui was a ravine serpent, and Gu Jiantang was a cave snake. The first three were heroes who cared not for life, death, or personal honor—only Gu Jiantang’s mind was the most inscrutable and shadowed.”
Xu Fengnian hummed in agreement. “I’ll be careful.”
Jiang Ni, carefree as ever, brushed off talk of Gu Jiantang and emperors. Suddenly, her expression turned sorrowful, and she pleaded pitifully, “Can’t you save Uncle Qi Daizhao? If Northern Liang had his counsel, you wouldn’t have to bear so much alone.”
Xu Fengnian sighed helplessly. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s that I can’t—and shouldn’t.”
After a long silence, Jiang Ni spoke cautiously, “Uncle Qi Daizhao once schemed against you. Please don’t be angry.”
Xu Fengnian shook his head with a faint smile. “Whether I’m angry or not doesn’t matter. What matters is that the Overlord of Western Chu is furious with this world—and he’s taking it out on Tai’an City.”
The little mud figure lowered her head, wiping away tears as she sobbed, “I don’t want Uncle Qi Daizhao to die.”
Xu Fengnian, unsure how to comfort her, murmured softly, “The Spring and Autumn Era… truly has ended.”
※※※
In Tai’an City, waves of arrows rained ceaselessly upon the lone figure in green robes.
Yet outside the city, the moves came faster and faster. No sooner had one radiant pillar crashed upon Tai’an than another descended from the heavens. With each move, each beam of light, every arrow shattered midair, never reaching its target.
The palace eaves crumbled. The towering bells and drums of temples and monasteries shrank. The city’s birds, sensing the oppressive weight from above, flew lower and lower, forced to circle anxiously beneath the rooftops.
As the spring waters thawed, fish leaped from rivers and lakes, mirroring the birds above.
On the city walls, Chai Qingshan had already struck once. His sword, *Wild Fox*, unleashed the might of an immortal’s blade—a dazzling arc of light bridging the ramparts and the green-robed chess player below.
The white rainbow, born from the city walls, crashed upon Cao Changqing’s head—only to collide with an invisible barrier, erupting in sparks and deafening thunder.
The white-haired master of Dongyue Sword Pool raised his arm, guiding *Wild Fox* as it circled Cao Changqing in a frenzied dance. Yet no matter its fury, the sword could not breach three zhang of the seated scholar.
When *Wild Fox* finally snapped under the strain, Chai Qingshan swallowed blood and stepped forward. With a flick of two fingers, he commanded, “Borrowed Sword!” The blade at the young girl Shan Er’s back shot forth like a young dragon breaching water, a thick column of cyan energy hurtling toward Cao Changqing.
The martial world of Liyang, though not yet barren, was undeniably waning. Rumors spoke of Huang Sanjia’s perverse act—diverting the remnants of the Eight Kingdoms’ fortunes into the martial world’s pool. For twenty years, the waters swelled, and though the land seemed lush, the towering trees had fallen one by one. The blaze was fierce, but its brilliance would not last.
In this foremost city of the realm, Gu Jiantang and Xie Guanying were absent. Yang Taisui, Han Shengxuan, Liu Haoshi, and Qi Jiajie had perished. The imperial astrologers lay dead, their grand formations shattered by Xu Fengnian’s hand.
Thus, Chai Qingshan had no choice but to stand.
For his sect. For his disciple. For his sword’s path.
As the girl’s sword lunged like a dragon, Cao Changqing remained unmoved, serene. His right hand held a chess piece, his left brushed his sleeve as if whispering to a companion:
“My Great Chu once had a commander who wielded armies like a flood, unstoppable—seventy-two battles without a single defeat. How I admire him.”
A gentle tap of the piece.
The soaring sword tilted and plunged three zhang away, striking the earth like a meteor, raising dust.
Cao Changqing did not glance at the blade. Instead, he watched a black piece rise from its box, his gaze following it to the board. He picked up a smooth, cool white piece and smiled.
“My Great Chu once had a poet whose words were like a hundred-stone bow, a thousand-catapult—like the full moon hanging over mortals, leaving descendants with no choice but to kneel in awe. Such grandeur.”
The piece fell.
At the gates of the Imperial Academy, stone tablets cracked inch by inch.
“My Great Chu once had a strategist whose moves seemed guided by gods, each stone a general charging into battle—such rare brilliance.”
Another piece. Cao Changqing adjusted a slightly misplaced white stone. Simultaneously, all bolts fired at his “opponent” scattered as if struck by a gale.
“My Great Chu’s people were a galaxy of stars—philosophers’ parables, monks’ sermons, immortals’ teachings. Why envy the heavens?”
On the board, black and white danced like lightning.
Then, the ancestral master of the Wu Family Sword Mound, Wu Jian, finally acted. The pinnacle of swordsmanship, whose lineage *was* the art itself, did not descend from the walls.
From the outer city to the imperial palace, gates swung open. A slender yet immense sword energy shot southward—a charge of a thousand riders in a single stroke.
Chai Qingshan did not turn his head after his strike. Neither did Wu Jian.
Cao Changqing murmured, “In the Spring and Autumn Era, amidst storms, some wept, some hid, some borrowed cloaks. Only my Great Chu never sought shelter—preferring to sing in the rain and die standing, rather than live on another’s mercy.”
The sword energy hesitated at three zhang, then surged violently—breaking through to two and a half. Layer upon layer, it dissolved only at two zhang.
As the second sword energy left the city, a beam of light struck the elder at the palace gates.
The Wu family’s patriarch shattered it with a sweep of his sleeve, paling slightly. The ground beneath him sank. Stepping from the crater, he stomped once.
A crack, thin as a blade’s edge, split the earth from his feet to the southern gates—a sword’s path miles long.
In that instant, the energy was about to leave the city.
Cao Changqing placed a piece at the board’s nearest edge.
At the gate’s threshold, a pillar of light fell—like a sword severing a serpent.
Wu Jian, who had followed his energy, stood at the gates. Swordless, he mimed a draw and roared, “Cao Changqing! This path was hard-won—turn back before it’s too late!”
Cao Changqing lifted a piece. Before it could land, it crumbled to dust.
To his side, a blinding sword light materialized in the sky.
The collision was deafening—a temple bell rung beside the ear.
All eyes, on walls and below, strained through the dust. When it settled, their hearts clenched.
Cao Changqing sat unharmed, unmoved.
The earth beneath him had been sheared away by feet, leaving him suspended in air.
The board’s pieces remained undisturbed.
The scholar, temples frosted white, finally lifted his gaze—not north to the Sword Mound’s master, but south. Gently, he said, “You lived and died in such a Great Chu. So did I. Always.”
Then, every heart shuddered.
From a high tower in Tai’an, a woman in purple rose.
She alighted upon the royal avenue.
Leaning forward, she sprinted toward the gates.
Her form, energy, spirit—all peerless.
Even Wu Jian, at the avenue’s end, yielded ground.
Let her charge forth.
Cao Changqing’s next move was deliberate.
Purple robes, purple aura, purple light—she breached one zhang from his side.
Xuan Yuan Qingfeng of Huishan’s Snowy Plateau.
Her fingers hooked like talons, inches from Cao Changqing’s crown.
Unfazed, he leaned forward, steadying his sleeve to avoid disturbing the board. The piece fell with a crisp *click*.
With that sound, she was hurled back, tumbling through the air.
Her back slammed into the city wall. Blood trickled from her lips, knees mangled. Elbows braced against stone, her gaze was ice.
The green-robed scholar, now streaked with white, sat quietly. He bit his lip and shook his head.
At last, the Sage of Great Chu, Cao Changqing, spoke words unspoken for twenty years:
“This world blames you for Great Chu’s fall. I, Cao Changqing—refuse!”
For the first time since his solitary siege, he raised a piece high—then slammed it onto the board.
The heavens churned. Clouds plunged.
The sky above the Central Plains sank a hundred zhang.
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