The moon hung round and full above the lake, its silver glow reflecting upon the rippling waters. Xu Fengnian, having enjoyed the scenery and playfully teased the fair young maiden, carved a string of whimsical words upon an ancient stone tablet. With heart content, he rode back to Laoshan Island alongside Wang Chudong, while Ning Emei and the others heaved sighs of relief. Upon returning to the Wang residence, Xu Fengnian accompanied Wang Chudong to the entrance of her courtyard. When all others had departed, he stole one more kiss. The young girl returned to her courtyard, sat upon the swing, and gently rocked herself. Her fingers brushed her lips, a smile tugging at their corners. Thoughts of his teasing words drifted through her mind: “If only charm of countenance could conquer the Jianghu, this young prince would long since have stood unrivaled beneath Heaven.” His shameless talk brought laughter and thought in turns, each feeding the other without end.
Xu Fengnian’s praise for her talent had not been idle flattery. Wang Chudong, from childhood, had devoured countless books—Confucian classics and miscellaneous tales alike. Thus, her prose flowed with natural grace. When Qingzhou celebrated the traditional festival of children lifting brush to write poetry for the first time on the second day of the second lunar month, she penned: “Frog songs whispering through green window-screens; beyond the tower, great waves of the river wash away sands of time.” The first half spoke of delicate femininity, while the latter turned bold and grand, a striking contrast. Thus, the world praised *Dong Xiang Tou Xue* (The Snow of the Eastern Wing), saying that Wang Dongxiang painted deep emotions with light ink, her tender verses striking straight at the heart, perfectly capturing the essence of the Sage’s saying—“delighted yet never excessive; sorrowful yet never broken.” The final touch came with the line: “May all lovers under Heaven find each other and be united at last,” elevating the work to a realm of transcendence.
Wang Linquan entered the courtyard and began pushing the swing for his daughter. With a smile, he said, “See? Didn’t I tell you? The Young Prince is a sharp and clever soul. I said it all along: raised by General Xu and Lady Wang, how could he be anything but fine? He took to the blade early, and now we see him wielding two swords—this warms my heart. I’ve long loathed those so-called gentlemen and scholars of Qingzhou who prattle on about propriety. They lack the boldness and decisiveness of the Young Prince. I heard that you two beat the son of General Zhao at the teahouse? A fine deed! Nothing teaches a lesson like a punch to the gut. I was already planning to throw some coin around just to show these fools who truly holds the reins of fate—whether it’s the whispers of a woman’s pillow talk, or the weight of real gold and silver.”
Wang Chudong hummed softly, then turned and said, “Father, I won’t be writing the sequel to *The Snow of the Eastern Wing*.”
Wang Linquan sat beside her on the swing, gently replying, “Then don’t write it. That avoids the palace ladies falling into a frenzy over it.”
The girl teased, “Then people will say I’ve run out of talent.”
Wang Linquan laughed heartily, “Let those idle, penniless scholars squawk. They can’t spin a fine story with their pens, nor wield a blade on horseback to strike down enemies. Why should we care for their opinions? Even for my daughter to deign to curse them is already a great honor bestowed upon them.”
Before leaving, Wang Linquan spoke with quiet gravity: “Daughter, it’s still a little early for secret engagements of the heart. Wait another two years.”
A blushing Wang Chudong raised her tiny fist in mock protest.
Wang Linquan then made his way to the Young Prince’s courtyard, knocked, and entered. He found Xu Fengnian seated in the courtyard, a sandalwood sword case placed upon the table, with only the maid Qingniao standing nearby. As Xu Fengnian began to rise, Wang Linquan hurriedly said, “Your Highness need not stand. This old servant cannot bear such courtesy.”
Xu Fengnian made no reply, for distinctions of rank and the weight of tradition were not easily cast aside with mere words. Wang Linquan took his seat, his gaze lingering upon the sword case—the one item that had haunted his heart ever since he left the Northern Liang army. There were things no veteran ever forgot: the camp he had belonged to, and the invincible Xu family banner. Wang Linquan had once been a true cavalryman under General Xu Shao, fortunate enough to witness the awe-inspiring might of that banner. One such treasure was the sword case now resting before him. Its blade, held by the Lady of Xu, had been celebrated with the verse: “Ten thousand miles of sorrowful wind, a single sword sends chills across the land.” It was undisputedly the greatest sword ever wielded in the mortal world. An old poem from the previous generation of martial experts once said: “A single sword shining over thirty provinces, its divine qi pierces the heavens, shaking stars themselves.” Remembering the Lady Wang’s glory, tears welled in Wang Linquan’s eyes. Though he had long since been steeped in the stench of coin, in the quiet of night he still thought of those days when General Xu stirred the heavens and led ten thousand cavalry into battle, throwing their bridles into the river. It was this very spirit that had carried Wang Linquan to this day.
Xu Fengnian closed his eyes slowly, tracing the sword case with two fingers. Eighteen characters were carved upon it—his mother’s own handwriting. Daughter of the Wujia Sword Clan, she had left her family for Xu Shao but still upheld their traditions. After her death, her sword was guarded by Zhao Yutai, the armored swordswoman, resting in a tomb that was not merely a symbolic one. The Wujia Sword Clan was itself a legendary sword resting in a tomb.
In the path of the Dao, one who does not reverence Heaven cannot pass through the gates of immortality, no matter how long he cultivates. By the same token, a swordsman who does not respect and cherish his blade will never reach great heights. Though Dantian A, the man who succeeded Li Chungan’s legacy in swordsmanship, carried only a peach branch and seemed utterly undisciplined in his ways, he once declared openly that it was not from disdain for swords, but because worthy opponents were rare. The only such opponent was Wang Xianzhi, while others like Cao Guanzi were only half-worthy.
This journey of Xu Fengnian’s was no mere venting of three years of pent-up frustration. Besides secretly mapping thousands of miles of terrain, it had been to reestablish ties with old veterans of the Northern Liang army like Wang Linquan—something his father had never taught him. The emperor’s favorite son, the so-called “wastrel,” was never lectured by Xu Shao about how to act or behave. Instead, the general simply allowed his son to make mistakes and then cleaned them up with gladness. The Young Prince had always been accompanied by bands of loyal bodyguards, so why take up dual blades now? It was not so he could charge recklessly into battle—that was better left to his younger brother Huangman’er, who bore the might of a god. If the day came that Xu Longxiang bore the standard banner, none would dare oppose him. So why, then, did Xu Fengnian take up the sword?
Part of it was for Lao Huang, the toothless old servant who died in the city of the Martial Emperor, leaving his sword behind. But more deeply hidden was a secret that haunted the Xu family like a shadow.
Before the Xu family departed for Northern Liang, Lady Xu had once gone alone to the imperial palace, where thirteen top martial artists gathered—seven from the imperial court, six from the Jianghu. It was a forbidden topic, hushed even now beneath the dust of history. Xu Fengnian understood the late emperor’s design. If Xu Shao had no sons, what good was a position as Grand General and King of Northern Liang? The thirty thousand elite cavalry would remain safe and sound in the Emperor’s grasp. Such paltry tricks of emperors, Xu Fengnian needed no one to spell them out for him. As for the hidden martial experts of the Jianghu, many had lost their families in the Xu cavalry’s crushing campaigns, or were ancient sages once serving the great clans. To strike down Xu Shao when his power peaked, what sweeter revenge could there be?
But none had expected the pregnant Lady Xu to transcend from a worldly sword to a celestial path. When her martial prowess surpassed the heavens, she became a swordsaint upon the mortal realm, no longer bound by mortal understanding.
The aftermath of that battle left no true victors.
The Northern Liang cavalry, once loyal to the imperial court, was now forever estranged. And Lady Xu, despite her victory, bore a fatal illness that stole her away in the prime of her youth.
Xu Fengnian carried a life-and-death ledger, upon which the names of those thirteen figures stood. A third had died since, none of old age. Though Xu Fengnian had come of age, when he faced these living names, he still longed to slay them with his own hands—even if it took a lifetime, even if he failed, it was still better than doing nothing at all.
Xu Shao had once defended the glory of the empire, standing alone against all the Jianghu. Xu Fengnian wished to flatten the Jianghu itself, for some things needed no reasoning. While Xu Shao ensured his son’s safety with iron cavalry and hidden guards, he too would grow old one day—ten, twenty years from now? The loyalty of Xu Shao had been forged in blood and battle, but Xu Fengnian must fight to claim the Northern Liang cavalry himself. This was no idle talk. Northern Liang revered martial prowess and valued victories in war. If he followed his second sister Xu Wei Xiong’s advice and focused only on command from behind the lines, he lacked the confidence to lead.
Xu Fengnian often asked himself: *Without Xu Shao, what am I?*
He instinctively gripped his twin blades and exhaled a long, heavy breath.
Wang Linquan, steeped in memory, sighed, “At the time, General Xu quelled Xi Shu, and only ten more miles separated Master Zhao from beholding the imperial palace, but he passed before he could see it. General Xu then led the cavalry in a river-crossing ritual, honoring Master Zhao’s spirit. Whose heart in Xi Shu did not tremble in fear?”
Xu Fengnian said solemnly, “The Northern Liang cavalry knows only one path—battle to the death.”
Wang Linquan nodded, “Only battle to the death!”
Though others might scheme and deceive, Xu Shao chose the path of truth—no matter how fierce the enemy’s might, the Northern Liang army would never yield.
Xu Fengnian smiled faintly: “This time, when Xu Shao arrives at the capital for audience with the Emperor, I wager he’ll stir the city into chaos once more.”
Wang Linquan dared not reply.
Yet Xu Fengnian had no qualms speaking of such dangerous matters with this old soldier. Wang Linquan had knelt and wept openly at the dock despite countless eyes watching. If Xu Fengnian lacked even the dignity to speak plainly, then he could never hope to take up the reins of his father’s legacy, nor even walk the Jianghu with ease. He signaled Qingniao to fetch wine and said, “Uncle Wang, among kin we need no formality. This time, I came to Laoshan, and you have so openly declared your past ties to Northern Liang. Many in Qingzhou—and perhaps even the court—will seek to harm you. I’ll have Zhu Luxian watch over you. Should it spiral too far, I’ll have Xu Shao himself speak. I dare say even Prince Jing’an Zhao Heng, who once had his head cracked by Xu Shao’s whip, won’t dare show his true face. As for Xu Shao’s journey to the capital… well, I’d wager it’s to secure a clear promise of hereditary succession that can never be replaced. That way, in time, I can wear the yellow-dragon robe of imperial rank, as grand as the one my father wears.”
*Hereditary succession without substitution!*
The very phrase, though often overlooked by the aging Wang Linquan, now ignited fire in his eyes. Among the thirty thousand Northern Liang soldiers and the scattered veterans across the empire, who didn’t long for such a decree? The term “hereditary” was simple—it meant inheriting a title, lands, and Fenglu. But “without substitution” carried deep meaning: the title would never be replaced or revoked. Even among imperial princes, only those like the Yan Ci King and Guangling King, who possessed unmatched martial glory, were allowed such exceptions according to the *Laws of Royal Clan*. Normally, successors like Prince Jing’an Zhao Heng would see their titles reduced by one rank when passed to the next generation—unless Xu Fengnian received official recognition. Only then could he retain the title of King of Northern Liang.
And thus came the phrase about the yellow-dragon robe.
The emperor alone wore the dragon robe with nine dragons and five claws—the mark of supreme sovereignty.
Xu Fengnian had no objection to wearing such a robe as he crushed the Jianghu beneath his boots. He would show the traitors what true vengeance meant—scare them to death with his might.
Wang Linquan felt unshakable joy as Qingniao brought the wine. He tossed back a cup, wiped his mouth with a grin, and said, “With that secured, who in Northern Liang would dare rise against you?”
Xu Fengnian emptied his cup as well, a faint self-mockery in his voice: “But for now, I can barely cut through six layers of armor with a single strike. I haven’t got much to show.”
Wang Linquan shrugged: “Your Highness is destined for greatness. A bit of sword training, and you’ll be a First-Rank warrior without effort!”
Xu Fengnian laughed: “Uncle Wang, you make it sound easy. But training a blade is not a light matter for me.”
Wang Linquan merely laughed, the words *Uncle Wang* warming him more than any wine.
Suddenly, Linquan’s face darkened: “My two sons are good for nothing but books. They cannot even hold the reins for you.”
Xu Fengnian shook his head: “That’s not the way.”
For the first time, Wang Linquan contradicted the Young Prince, stating solemnly: “Your Highness, so long as Wang Linquan yet lives, the Wang family shall serve the General with all our might. There is no greater truth in the world than this!”
Xu Fengnian found no words to reply, raising his cup in silence and once again emptying it. He murmured softly: “Only time will tell whether the court will strip Xu Shao of his title as Grand General.”
Wang Linquan fell silent.
They drained the last of the wine together.
With a final, deep bow, Wang Linquan departed.
Xu Fengnian turned his gaze once more to the sword case.
To those eighteen words carved upon it:
*This sword quiets the unrest of the world.*
*This sword brings justice to the guilt-ridden of mankind.*
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