The rain during the Qingming season is the most bitter.
On the muddy post roads of Northern Liang, under the drizzle, large contingents of Youzhou cavalry continued to rush toward the passes beyond Liangzhou. Combined with the earlier reinforcements from within Liangzhou who had yet to return to their garrisons after aiding Qingcang City, this meant that nearly all of Northern Liang’s main field forces—especially its cavalry—had now surfaced. They would become the absolute core of the next great battle between Liang and Mang, shifting from city sieges to an unprecedented large-scale cavalry clash.
In the fierce collision between the nomadic cultures of the north and the agrarian civilizations of the Central Plains, the contrast was stark—one dynamic, the other static. The former relied on the sheer numbers of their warhorses to charge and rampage, while the latter depended on city walls and crossbows for defense. Throughout history, countless frontier and border cities had been swallowed by the tides of cavalry, their names forever entwined with the thunder of northern hooves—words like “lone city” and “massacre” inseparable.
For twenty years, countless civil officials had secretly indulged in wishful thinking at court: What if the two elite cavalry forces of Liyang—the tens of thousands of Northern Liang Iron Cavalry and the nearly hundred thousand border riders of the two Liao regions—could truly unite and fight side by side against the Northern Mang barbarians on horseback? What a magnificent and awe-inspiring sight that would be!
In the borderlands of Youzhou and Liangzhou, in Yanzhi County, two riders paused at a fork in the muddy road to let a merchant caravan pass. The young man wore a blue robe, carried a Liang saber at his waist, and rode one of the rare “Jia”-grade warhorses from the Youzhou army. The white-clad woman carried a long, cloth-wrapped bundle on her back and also wore a saber at her waist.
The sight of the young man—well-mounted and armed with a Liang saber—politely yielding the road, alongside a woman of peerless beauty, made the caravan’s lead guard’s heart skip a beat. He quickly signaled his men to relay a warning to the rowdy, foul-mouthed members of the caravan behind them: Don’t let your tongues get you into trouble. Just because they had some connections with the Northern Liang border army didn’t mean they could act recklessly. A young man bold enough to openly wear the latest Liang saber was no one for second- or third-rate figures like them to provoke.
Thanks to the guard’s warning, though the caravan’s men cast heated glances, none dared to catcall or flirt with the woman.
As the caravan slowly moved on, one rider suddenly turned and galloped back. A handsome young knight reined in his horse a dozen paces from the pair, flashing a bright smile as he cupped his fists toward the white-clad woman who had stunned him with her beauty.
“I’m Chen Jianzhai of the Fish-Dragon Gang. Might I ask the lady’s name? Rest assured, I mean no harm—it’s just that my friends bet I couldn’t find out. If they lose, they owe me half a year’s worth of Green Ant Wine.”
He grinned understandingly. “If you’d rather not share your real name, any will do.”
Yet even with this concession, the woman remained unmoved, her gaze calm—neither the flustered anger of a Central Plains maiden facing a rogue nor the fierce glare of a Northern Liang girl toward an outsider.
Under the drizzle, Chen Jianzhai, his hair slightly damp, kept his sunny smile, undeterred.
The young man with the saber, whom Chen had deliberately ignored, chuckled. “Her name is Jiang Baicai—‘Baicai’ as in ‘cabbage.’”
The stunning woman, now dubbed “Baicai,” glared and snapped, “And he’s Xu Shizi—‘Shizi’ as in ‘rotten persimmon’!”
Chen Jianzhai, now somewhat wounded, thought to himself: This kind of bickering between you two is even worse than flirting in the eyes of a single man like me.
The “rotten persimmon” asked lightly, “I heard your gang’s leader, Liu Nirong, is stepping down for someone else?”
Chen’s expression turned grave as he finally gave the audacious saber-wearer his full attention. The Fish-Dragon Gang—aptly named for its chaotic mix of members—outnumbered all other major sects and gangs in Liyang, boasting nearly twenty thousand martial artists. Everyone in the gang knew that if not for the backing of some Northern Liang heavyweight, they would never have grown to this size.
But the old guard who had built the gang with the former leader had long retired, and successive leaders had come and gone. Rumors about the gang’s origins abounded: Some said it was the former Lingzhou Governor Xu Beizhi who elevated the obscure gang to prominence in Northern Liang’s martial world. Others claimed it was the local warlord, the late General Zhong Hongwu, who tried to collude with the gang, only for Liu Nirong to betray him and ally with Qingliang Mountain, offering the old general’s head as a pledge.
Now, whispers suggested Liu Nirong was merely a favored concubine of the Wutong Courtyard, implying she lacked the qualifications to lead twenty thousand men. A gang could flirt with the authorities, but it could never marry into high society as a mere concubine. Amidst this undercurrent, Liu’s resignation had surfaced.
As a rising star of the gang’s fourth generation, Chen Jianzhai had mixed feelings. He admired Liu’s leadership but didn’t want the gang entangled too deeply with the government or border army. The martial world was its own realm—martial artists should stick to martial affairs. If the second Liang-Mang war escalated, would all twenty thousand of them be sent to the front lines? Gambling with their lives was something small gangs did when they lacked territory or silver. Now, the Fish-Dragon Gang was deeply rooted in Northern Liang, almost like a semi-independent fiefdom, especially in Lingzhou, where border garrisons were weak. Chen knew many in the gang were already entertaining other ideas.
His prolonged silence made the saber-wearing man chuckle dismissively. Losing patience, the man turned to the woman. “Let’s go.” With a nudge of their horses, the two riders passed Chen by.
Chen didn’t stop them, slowly turning his horse to watch their figures recede toward Liangzhou.
The two riders were none other than Xu Fengnian and Jiang Ni, who had entered Youzhou from beyond Jibei Pass.
Jiang Ni glanced subtly at Xu Fengnian. The sudden rise of the Fish-Dragon Gang had spawned many rumors in the Central Plains’ martial world. She knew his earlier journey into Northern Mang had involved traveling with some of its members.
Guessing her thoughts, Xu Fengnian smiled. “When I was young, free from life-and-death worries, and even younger, my mother often told me that women in this world are both lovely and pitiable, deserving of kindness. Back then, I thought: If a woman is wonderful, why shouldn’t I like her? If I could have her, why shouldn’t I take her? I used to love collecting rare ancient calligraphy, spending fortunes to complete sets like the *Four Seasons Scrolls*—*Spring Breeze*, *Summer Rain*, *Autumn Cicada*, and *Winter Snow*—and even the *Twenty-Four Solar Terms Scrolls*, missing only three. Back then, I wanted every woman I liked to like me back, to keep them all in my Wutong Courtyard like precious scrolls—safe from wind, rain, and worms, living without hardship or displacement.”
Jiang Ni tsked. “I bet when Gu Jiandang offered to make you emperor, you were secretly thrilled. As emperor, you could legitimately have three palaces and six courtyards, with ministers scrambling to find you consorts. You’d pretend to refuse while happily accepting. Four seasons? Twenty-four solar terms? A hundred scrolls wouldn’t be enough!”
Xu Fengnian, unusually, didn’t retort. He tilted his head, squinting as if savoring the cool drizzle, and mused, “Later, I realized every lovely woman in this world could live well without my meddling—maybe even better without me. The world outside Wutong Courtyard might be chaotic, but it wasn’t necessarily worse than that walled-off, windless, rainless little yard. Women aren’t lifeless scrolls to be locked away. The Listening Tide Lake is vast, but the martial world is vaster. If I could start over, I’d still admire them in my heart but wouldn’t interfere. Like Xuanyuan Qingfeng on Great Snow Ridge—she lives freely. Yu Youwei as a Master Jishang at Shangyin Academy must be content too. But some, like Chen Yu and Zhao Fengya, I don’t regret helping. I had no ulterior motives—just wanted them to live for themselves.”
Jiang Ni huffed. “You always have the last word. But I know—I just can’t out-argue you!”
Xu Fengnian quickly changed the subject. “If your Chess Sage uncle had gained real power in the Chu army earlier, instead of being stuck south of the Guangling River, my father might not have won the Xilebi Campaign. Both sides were hanging by a thread. If Cao Changqing had replaced Ye Baikui to rally the Chu, their spirit might have endured. This time, thanks to my talks with Wang Sui, we’ve linked the entire border from the two Liao regions to Jibei, Northern Liang, and the Western Regions. My master, Cao Changqing, and you—the three of you made this possible. Under this momentum, figures like Prince Zhao Shui of Jiaodong, Cai Nan of the Two Huai regions, Han Lin, and Han Fang will also play crucial roles. And outsiders like Yu Luandao, Kou Jianghuai, Xie Xizhui, and Xu Huang. Even the twenty-thousand-strong Fish-Dragon Gang might contribute—though if the war reaches the point where they’re needed after the Qingzhuang youths of Liuzhou, both Liang and Mang will already be exhausted.”
Jiang Ni, momentarily setting aside her grief for her late uncle, worried aloud, “The Northern Mang barbarians… there are so many of them. A vast, endless horde.”
Xu Fengnian chuckled. “There are many, but I’ve left some surprises in Northern Mang too. Just wait—if they can’t take Jubei City in one go, I’ll set their backyard ablaze.”
Jiang Ni abruptly changed the subject. “That Chen Yu… is she very beautiful?”
Xu Fengnian grimaced, playing dumb. Some questions were better left unanswered.
Jiang Ni muttered, “This ‘hidden beauty’ of the Rouge Ranking—just how stunning is she? I’d love to see for myself. Though I might feel ashamed in comparison.”
Xu Fengnian suddenly turned serious. “I know this is too much to ask, and it’ll upset you, but I’ll say it anyway: If I’m ever gone, take them all away from Northern Liang. As far as you can.”
Jiang Ni flared up. “No!”
The answer didn’t surprise him.
Xu Fengnian rubbed his stubbled chin, self-deprecating. “The thought of dying in battle and never seeing you all again… it’s depressing. Both above and below the belt.”
After the jest, his gaze hardened.
Wherever there is war, there will be corpses.
Once spring passed, and at most one peaceful summer, by the time autumn winds rose, beyond Liangzhou’s passes and across Liuzhou, the dead would pile faster than they could be buried.
Of the four grandmasters on the Martial Rankings, aside the carefree Peach Blossom Sword God Deng Tai’a, the Western Chu had Cao Changqing, Northern Mang had Tuoba Pusa, and Northern Liang had him, Xu Fengnian.
The latter three were men who would die if their side lost the great war.
Just then, Jiang Ni said something he never expected.
Her words were ominous, but her tone was firm.
“If that day ever comes, wherever your corpse lies, that’s where I’ll stand!”
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