Xu Fengnian traveled eastward along the line of Hutou City, turned into Hulukou, and listened to the wind passing over Wogong City, its sound like weeping and sighing.
After meeting with the generals of Youzhou, such as Yan Wenluan and Chen Yunchui, in Xiaguang City, he entered Daoma Pass on the border.
There, on the stone-paved ground where two “martial arts masters” had once sparred, he heard the laughter of children playing after school.
Sitting on the low yellow-earth wall, Xu Fengnian recalled Liu Nirong and Wang Dashi of the Yulong Gang, as well as Zhao Yousong, a child who had once lived on this land and borrowed a knife from him. He also remembered the little girl with frostbitten hands who had been by Zhao Yousong’s side, their innocent childhood banter, and the memories that lingered in his heart. Finally, he thought of that girl, as humble as a blade of grass in the countryside. After entering the Lingzhou Jinlu Weaving Bureau and meeting him once more on Qingliang Mountain, she had saved enough silver to repay her debt—a mere one or two hundred taels—before resolutely leaving Liangzhou and returning here.
Six years had passed unnoticed since he first left Beiliang to wander the martial world.
He had traveled many places, met many people, witnessed many events, and remembered many names.
Passersby at Daoma Pass saw a young man in a blue robe with a white jade pendant at his waist, staring blankly at the sky.
Yelü Dongchuang had once said that if Xu Fengnian allied with him and helped him become the emperor of Northern Mang, half of the Southern Dynasty would be his reward—as trivial as tea money.
Not long after, Gu Jianyao ate the most expensive bowl of dumplings in the world.
Regardless of the truth behind these words, they were all grand wagers with the world at stake, bold declarations that shook the heavens.
Xu Fengnian lowered his gaze to the wild grass and flowers quietly growing in the cracks of the mud wall—each blade, each petal, inconspicuous and far from spectacular.
He raised his head and looked toward the bustling market in the distance.
A figure in white appeared beside him, descending from the sky without stirring a speck of dust on the wall.
If it was true that everything had its counterbalance, then in the current world, there were only a handful who could pose a fatal threat to Xu Fengnian—not as the Prince of Beiliang, but as a grandmaster on the martial rankings. After Cao Changqing’s death, even Tuoba Pusa, unless he made a sudden breakthrough in martial arts, could no longer be counted among them. Only the Peach Blossom Sword God, Deng Tai’a, could be considered half a threat—not because Xu Fengnian could easily defeat him, but because Deng Tai’a roamed the martial world freely, with no reason to engage in a life-or-death battle with Xu Fengnian. That left only one person: Tantai Pingjing, the last surviving grandmaster of Qi cultivation, the leader of the Guanyin Sect, who had unknowingly amassed immense fortune.
Standing beside Xu Fengnian, she murmured to herself, “Wildfires cannot burn it all; spring winds revive it anew. But these are plants. Humans are not plants, and sometimes, when someone dies, those left alive may find life worse than death—no matter how insignificant they seem in the grand tides of war, how trivial they appear amid the clamor of battle. I once traveled the length and breadth of the land with my master, witnessing life and death, but that does not mean I can take them lightly.”
Xu Fengnian remained silent, one leg dangling over the wall, the other bent at the knee, his arm resting on it, his chin propped on his forearm. The breeze brushed his face as he narrowed his eyes, appearing utterly at ease.
Tantai Pingjing’s gaze turned icy. “Xu Fengnian, you must understand that the current state of the world no longer follows the rules. If Huang Longshi merely went with the flow, then you are the chief culprit—along with Li Yufu of Wudang. If you stop now, there might still be a peaceful end for you.”
Xu Fengnian smiled faintly. “According to Huang Longshi, if I die fighting in Beiliang, condemned by history for a hundred or a thousand years, is that what you call a peaceful end?”
Tantai Pingjing replied calmly, “They have already made concessions. If you push further, what does it matter if you’re invincible? Don’t forget, ‘invincible’ only means within this world.”
Xu Fengnian neither agreed nor disagreed. “If I recall correctly, you owe your current cultivation to me, don’t you?”
Tantai Pingjing’s eyes turned eerily white, like two cups filled with mercury, like two worlds engulfed in snow.
She lightly stamped her foot.
In an instant, they stood atop the clouds. She hovered in the air, while Xu Fengnian remained in his seated posture.
Beneath them, the clouds gathered and dispersed, revealing ribbons of varying thickness—like streams, rivers, and great waters—flowing slowly across the land.
Xu Fengnian glanced down, recognizing this as the true world seen through the eyes of Qi cultivators.
Life does not lengthen for virtue, nor shorten for vice. Individuals have their births and deaths; nations, their rises and falls.
Xu Fengnian plucked a blade of wild grass between his fingers and whispered, “Huang Sanjia once said: ‘To be born into this world, all its wonders are but a fleeting dream. Even as an immortal, after a thousand years, all that remains is a few cups of green wine.’ How long can a fleeting dream last? How much wine can a few cups hold? Like this blade of grass before me, they are all small things. No matter what, I don’t want to hear grand principles now. The grander they are, the less I care to listen.”
Tantai Pingjing, now immersed in the transcendent state of unity with heaven and earth, sneered. “Do you truly believe Gu Jianyao will help you become emperor?”
She clasped her hands behind her back, gazing down at the mortal world and its mountains and rivers, answering her own question: “He will, that much is true. But by then, anyone else who becomes emperor will likely reign longer than you, Xu Fengnian. Gu Jianyao, now at the peak of his cultivation and able to glimpse the workings of heaven, saw this clearly—which is why he was so ‘generous.’”
Xu Fengnian said flatly, “I guessed as much.”
Tantai Pingjing shook her head. “In truth, you’ve only guessed half of it. You think that after Li Yufu severs the connection between heaven and earth, you’ll be free from the constraints of the heavenly way? But have you considered that if mere mortals like you and Li Yufu can cross the forbidden line, might there not be a few discarded pieces from above willing to destroy you both? Over centuries, millennia, how many legendary figures have sought immortality? Do you truly believe you and Li Yufu can escape unscathed?”
As the two transcendent beings discussed the fate of the mortal world atop the clouds, far below in Daoma Pass, a small village in Youzhou’s Yanzhi County, a slender yet curvaceous young woman, upon hearing from the village children that he had appeared in the market, mustered her courage and ran there. She wanted to ask him if he would come to her home for a simple meal. Standing not far from the yellow-earth wall, sweating profusely, she bent over, hands on her waist, panting heavily. She did not see the figure she dared not even long for.
Longing—once remembered, it lingers forever.
She knew they belonged to different worlds. Even before meeting him at the Beiliang Palace on Qingliang Mountain, she had resigned herself to this truth. Afterward, it was even more so.
When she learned he was in Daoma Pass, she had been preparing a meal for Yousong. She could have sent Yousong to invite him, but she didn’t. Instead, she told Yousong to wash the rice and pick the vegetables while she ran to the market. This way, if he came to her home, he would have to wait for her to finish cooking before eating. She thought that no matter how busy he was, he might agree—agree to stay near her for just a little longer. For her, that would be enough.
Anything more, he wouldn’t give, and she wouldn’t ask.
Her name was Xu Qing. She straightened up, wiped the sweat from her forehead, and smiled, content as if she had already seen him.
Yet after taking a few steps away, she couldn’t help but glance back.
Her face flushed slightly.
※※※
Tantai Pingjing noticed Xu Fengnian’s wandering gaze, and the silver light in her eyes flickered in response.
Xu Fengnian withdrew his gaze. The world was vast—how could he possibly find him? Though he had once used the Fushui spies to track his whereabouts after learning he had left the martial world, Beiliang’s intelligence network was focused on the capital, Guangling, and Jing’an. The Fushui spies had little presence in the southeast, where mountains dominated and dialects varied wildly within short distances, making information scarce. Searching for him there would be like fishing for a needle in the ocean. Even if by some miracle he were found, he would surely refuse to come to Beiliang, and Xu Fengnian couldn’t leave now to visit his hometown. If they were to meet, it would be years later. Xu Fengnian hoped that by then, the man would not only be safe and sound but perhaps even settled with a family. He had imagined countless scenarios for their reunion, but none felt particularly grand. Perhaps they would simply raise their hands and lightly clap palms.
It should be that simple. Between brothers, there was no need for thanks, no talk of debts.
No need for apologies.
In the end, Tantai Pingjing did not strike.
Xu Fengnian stood up. “Opportunities lost do not return. It seems the leader of the Guanyin Sect has no intention of going all out.”
Tantai Pingjing’s eyes returned to normal. “Why should I leap into such an obvious trap?”
Xu Fengnian smirked and turned his head. Given her height, their eyes met levelly.
Xu Fengnian grinned. “As it should be. You can always strike after I’ve fought to the death with Northern Mang.”
Just as Xu Fengnian was about to descend back to the mortal world, he paused. “In battles of fortune unrelated to physical strength, as long as I’m near Beiliang, your chances of winning are slim.”
Tantai Pingjing raised an eyebrow. “A few words to unsettle my mind?”
Xu Fengnian laughed it off.
Tantai Pingjing vanished.
Standing in the sky, Xu Fengnian stretched lazily. Perhaps it was the vastness of the view that expanded his heart, but an inexplicable surge of heroism welled up within him.
He suddenly remembered that in all his life’s battles—whether ending in draws or victories—he had always felt somewhat stifled, never truly unrestrained.
Northern Mang, just you wait. Let Xu Fengnian face ten thousand riders alone.
Let me, for the first and only time in my life, fight without restraint, to the bitter end.
Not as the Prince of Beiliang, but as a grandmaster on the martial rankings, fighting with all my might!
If your million-strong cavalry wishes to enter the Central Plains, they must first pass through me, Xu Fengnian.
It’s that simple.
The figure standing between heaven and earth, clad in a blue robe with a jade pendant and a Liang blade at his waist, resembled a blade of grass.
Xu Fengnian, his sleeves fluttering like an immortal’s—no, more divine than any immortal—did not know.
The heroism swelling in his chest—
The same heroism Lü Dongbin had felt when he passed through the heavenly gates without entering.
The same heroism Li Chungang had felt when his sword swept across the Guangling River.
The same heroism Cao Changqing had felt when he ascended to Confucian sagehood at Xileibi.
It was also called the Aura of the Vast.
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