At the end of the second year of the Xiangfu era, on the Guniugang of Huishan Mountain.
Heavy snow fell upon the vast snowy expanse of Daxueping.
In the twilight, a woman clad in purple robes walked alone out of the Queyue Tower, now a sacred site of the martial world. Holding an ordinary bamboo-handled oil-paper umbrella, she strolled slowly through the swirling snow.
Huishan Mountain was bustling with visitors all year round, and even this late blizzard of goose-feather snowflakes couldn’t deter them from climbing. However, the moment the purple-clad woman stepped out, Huang Fangfo, the chief guest elder of Huishan, immediately ordered his subordinates to set up checkpoints at the entrance to Daxueping from Guniugang. No one—whether idle onlookers or residents of Daxueping—was allowed to approach the snowy expanse or the mountain’s lord, who had suddenly taken an interest in admiring the snow. Violators would face death without mercy.
Nowadays, as the mistress of Huishan, Xuanyuan Qingfeng had long abandoned worldly affairs, leaving Huang Fangfo, a veteran of two dynasties, wielding immense power. His martial prowess also showed signs of ascending from the Finger Profound realm to the Heavenly Phenomena realm—a leap akin to a traveler crossing an abyss or a scholar achieving the highest imperial examination honors.
In recent years, Huishan had risen to prominence in the martial world of Liyang. Among the four grandmasters of the martial rankings, three were from Liyang: Cao Changqing was dead, Deng Tai’a’s whereabouts were unknown, and Xu Fengnian remained secluded in the northwest. Meanwhile, the top ten martial artists of Liyang, including Qi Xianxia and Chai Qingshan—who once shared Xuanyuan Qingfeng’s fame—now paled in comparison to the dazzling brilliance of the purple-clad woman of Huishan. Some admirers even hailed her as the “Rouge Grandmaster,” a beauty worthy of the Rouge Rankings and a martial grandmaster unparalleled in the world. Only the late Western Chu Empress Jiang Ni could have rivaled her. Now that Jiang Ni was gone, the entire martial world seemed to mourn Xuanyuan Qingfeng’s loneliness.
Lonely as the magnificent snowscape of Daxueping today—vast, overwhelming, yet admired by her alone.
She stood at the cliff’s edge, gazing into the distance, her small oil-paper umbrella now blanketed in snow.
Like a beauty with hair turned white.
At this moment, a man appeared on Daxueping, disrupting the scene. Huang Fangfo, watching from the second floor of Queyue Tower, darkened his expression and prepared to descend, intending to toss the bold trespasser into the river beyond Daxueping to feed the fish. But to his shock, though Xuanyuan Qingfeng remained silent and motionless in the snow, he sensed an overwhelming aura emanating from her, halting his intended strike.
Huang Fangfo respectfully retreated a step, signaling his understanding. He couldn’t fathom why this unremarkable intruder—a nobody who boasted of traveling the martial world with the Prince of Beiliang, Xu Fengnian, sharing meals, drinks, and even visiting Kuai Xue Villa—had been allowed to settle on Huishan.
Huang Fangfo dismissed such absurd claims, believing the two were merely passing acquaintances. The young prince would never take it seriously, but this fool on Daxueping did.
The low-ranking guest elder cautiously approached, his heart pounding. He had hoped to admire the scenery and perhaps mingle with fellow martial artists, only to find the path eerily empty.
When he finally caught sight of the purple-clad figure at the cliff’s edge, he hesitated, then mustered the courage to step forward.
A cold voice broke the silence. “I only recall your surname is Huang. What was your name again?”
The man, Huang Quan, trembled in awe. She remembered him?
Stammering, he introduced himself, careful to clarify the characters of his name.
She asked if he knew of a man named Wen Hua.
Huang Quan eagerly recounted the legend of “Wen Busheng,” the swordsman who had dueled Qi Xianxia and earned the admiration of the Sword Immortal Lu Baijia before mysteriously vanishing.
She then asked if he envied Wen Hua.
Huang Quan laughed awkwardly, admitting his own mediocrity in martial arts.
She mused aloud, “Though that bastard Wen Hua was insufferable, there was only one Wen Hua—for him, and for me. It’s unlikely I’ll ever meet such a scoundrel again.”
The wind and snow drowned out her murmurs.
Abruptly, she offered him a choice: take a secret manual from her collection and leave Huishan, or remain as a lowly guest elder with no future.
Huang Quan, knowing his limits, shook his head.
She dismissed him, and he hurried away, grateful yet ashamed of his lack of ambition.
As he descended, he reflected on his encounters with “Xu Qi,” the young martial artist who had humored his boasts and shared meals with him. Despite everything, he was glad to have met such a person.
Xuanyuan Qingfeng stood alone, the snow intensifying the world’s desolation.
She returned to Queyue Tower, ascending to its top floor—a vast, open space with only a sandalwood daybed. Lying down, she gazed westward, where the snowstorm raged beyond the silk screen erected by her maids.
With a flick of her wrist, she shattered the screen, letting the snow rush in.
She rose, took her umbrella, and returned to the cliff’s edge.
Her life had been a series of miracles—obtaining a forbidden technique at Daxueping’s library, surviving near-death experiences, absorbing imperial jade seals’ fortune in Beiliang’s Tingchao Pavilion, and rising to the Great Heavenly Phenomena realm with the aid of Liu Songtao and Zhao Huangchao.
No one dared question her position as the martial alliance leader. Some even believed she alone could rival the Prince of the Northwest.
Under her rule, Huishan’s influence eclipsed even Longhu Mountain’s. She dictated when pilgrims could visit, and even the emperor dared not defy her.
She had once barred the then-fourth prince, now emperor, from Daxueping. She had compelled the new Prince of Beiliang to send crates of Tingchao Pavilion’s secret manuals as if entrusting an heir. She had fought alongside Liyang’s three grandmasters in the battle of Tai’an City, shining like a moon over the martial world.
Some feared her, some despised her, some revered her—but strangely, no one seemed to purely love her, despite her beauty and power.
In the solitude of Queyue Tower’s pinnacle, her moods were unpredictable. Loyal followers had been crippled by her wrath, yet she could also bestow priceless treasures and rare manuals on a whim.
None could fathom her joys or sorrows.
Now, she stood once more at the cliff’s edge, the snowstorm raging around her, as untouchable and enigmatic as ever.
She slowly extended her hand beyond the oil-paper umbrella, letting snowflakes pile up in her palm as they fell ceaselessly.
Softly, she repeated two phrases.
“Meeting you made me happy.”
“Meeting you made me unhappy.”
Clad in purple, she stood there all night—one hand holding the umbrella, the other outstretched to catch the snow—utterly motionless.
No one knew why. Later, rumors spread through the martial world, exaggerating that the Purple-clad of Huishan Mountain had ascended to the realm of terrestrial immortals overnight after watching the snow atop the peak.
※※※
**Xiangfu Era, Second Year. Minor Snow.**
The air was cold, and snow had arrived, though the ground was not yet frozen, and the snowfall remained light.
The Dongyue Sword Pool, an ancient sect that had vied with the Wu Family Sword Tomb for centuries over the claim of “whose lineage the world’s sword arts originated from,” began to flourish anew after the death of Song Nianqing. Chai Qingshan, an outsider, took over as sect master, and several long-dormant elder swordsmen reopened their doors to disciples. Talented young swordsmen poured into Dongyue Sword Pool, forging swords while honing their skills.
Li Yibai, scion of a prestigious Jiangnan noble family, ceased his wanderings and stayed to assist Chai Qingshan in managing affairs. Though his sword cultivation progressed slowly, this once-celebrated genius—ranked alongside Wu Liuding of the Sword Tomb, Qi Xianxia of Longhu Mountain, and Li Huoli of Yan Fort in Jizhou—seemed content, unbothered by his stagnant martial progress. Meanwhile, the imperial court of Liyang openly recruited several masters from the Sword Pool. With such promising prospects, young swordsmen flocked to Dongyue Sword Pool like fish swimming upstream.
During this time, Chai Qingshan’s only two disciples—one perpetually grinning, the other perpetually scowling—stood in stark contrast.
Song Tinglu, Song Nianqing’s eldest grandson, was the happy one. Hearing others respectfully call him “Senior Uncle” daily made up for the years he had to address Li Yibai as “Senior Brother.”
Dan Eryi, however, was the unhappy one. Being addressed as “Senior Uncle” by those older than her made her feel prematurely aged.
Song Tinglu still idolized Wen Busheng, who had risen to fame in the battle of Tai’an City. He loved wearing a crude wooden sword at his waist, nodding sagely when called “Senior Uncle,” then grinning foolishly when no one was looking.
On this day, after the snow had cleared, Song Tinglu searched for his daydreaming junior sister and finally found her in a pavilion.
Lately, he had begun to understand melancholy. Ever since returning from Beiliang’s Taoshu Town, Dan Eryi had taken to sitting alone, lost in thought. He indignantly reported to their master that she had stopped practicing seriously—only for her to dismiss them both with a casual “I’m contemplating the sword.” When challenged to a spar, she defeated him in eighty moves, down from a hundred. After repeated losses, she mockingly dubbed him “Song Busheng”—a nickname that spread quickly through the Sword Pool. Two newly recruited female disciples even prefixed “Senior Uncle” with it, leaving him both pleased and aggrieved.
As Song Tinglu stepped onto the pavilion’s stairs, Dan Eryi suddenly snapped, “Remember, from now on, this pavilion is forbidden ground! No one enters without my permission—not you, not Senior Brother Li, not even Master!”
Seeing his stunned expression, she waved dismissively. “Fine, today doesn’t count. But don’t let it happen again!”
Song Tinglu sighed, long accustomed to her whims.
Lowering his voice conspiratorially, he asked, “Did you know a distinguished guest arrived today? Senior Brother Li even brought out his treasured tea set, and Master is entertaining him.”
For once, Dan Eryi didn’t protest being called “junior sister,” replying absently, “Why aren’t you joining them?”
He grimaced. “You know I hate tea—tasteless swill. Master promised I can drink wine in two years, and I’ll down it by the bowlful!”
She scoffed. “Why not drink from a vat? Even more heroic.”
He had no retort. Once, he couldn’t out-argue her; now, he couldn’t even outfight her.
Just as he sulked, three figures approached: Master Chai Qingshan, Senior Brother Li Yibai, and a young Daoist priest.
Dan Eryi and Song Tinglu stood. Chai Qingshan introduced, “This is Longhu Mountain’s Junior Heavenly Master—”
Song Tinglu cut in eagerly, “Qi Xianxia, the Little Lüzu!”
Li Yibai rapped his head. “Mind your manners!”
Unfazed, Song Tinglu grinned.
Dan Eryi tilted her face upward and asked bluntly, “Daoist Qi, how many moves could you last against the King of Beiliang?”
Chai Qingshan glared at her, but Qi Xianxia smiled. “In a friendly match, perhaps ten. In a life-or-death duel? One move.”
She beamed. “Then you must be a true master!”
Qi Xianxia blinked, baffled by her logic.
Chai Qingshan and Li Yibai exchanged exasperated glances. Song Tinglu rolled his eyes—his sister only cared that no one challenged *that man* for the title of world’s strongest.
Chai Qingshan instructed, “Tinglu, Eryi, demonstrate your best sword forms. Let Daoist Qi offer guidance.”
Song Tinglu eagerly unsheathed his wooden sword, his movements fluid and vibrant. Li Yibai nodded approvingly—this junior brother would one day uphold the Sword Pool’s legacy.
Dan Eryi, however, went through the motions half-heartedly.
Qi Xianxia watched intently, not as a master critiquing disciples, but as a student learning from them.
After Song Tinglu finished, he asked eagerly, “How was it?”
Qi Xianxia praised his momentum but cautioned against neglecting technique. “Study widely. In three years, you may reach the Second Grade. In ten, the First. With dedication, the Heavenly Phenomena realm is attainable.”
Song Tinglu pouted. “Only ‘may’? I thought Heavenly Phenomena would be easy.”
Chai Qingshan scolded, “Don’t spout nonsense!”
Dan Eryi tried to slip away, but Qi Xianxia stopped her. “A natural sword prodigy like you shouldn’t waste your gift.”
She widened her innocent eyes. “I practice diligently! I never slack!”
He countered, “For a swordsman, effort is secondary. Heart comes first.”
She hesitated, then blurted, “Fine! I’ll practice with heart! Just don’t say more!”
Chai Qingshan and Li Yibai were mystified. How had Qi Xianxia seen what they hadn’t?
Qi Xianxia asked gently, “May I know why?”
Flushing, she shook her head. “I won’t tell. But I’ll practice properly.”
Amused, he corrected, “Not just with heart—with focus.”
Chai Qingshan grasped the implication, relieved yet uneasy.
Li Yibai and Song Tinglu remained clueless. The latter felt especially wronged.
Somehow, since her travels, his junior sister had grown taller—and more distant.
Was it true what others said? Behind every beautiful junior sister stood one or more heartbroken senior brothers?
Qi Xianxia rose to leave. “I’ll take my leave now. No need to see me out.”
Chai Qingshan chuckled. “Just to the gate.”
Li Yibai agreed. “Exactly.”
Qi Xianxia smiled and acquiesced.
As they walked, Li Yibai asked quietly, “Returning to Longhu Mountain?”
The mountain was in turmoil—divided authority with Qingcheng’s Wu Lingsu, the Heavenly Masters’ ascension, Zhao Xituan’s mysterious death, and Xu Xiao’s devastating blow at the Qin Tianjian. Only Zhao Ningshen remained, struggling against Wudang’s rising influence and Huishan’s Xu Long Xiang.
But Qi Xianxia surprised them. “First, I’ll visit Difu Mountain, then Wudang’s Little Lotus Peak to see the child named Yu Fu. I’ll also go north to visit a senior brother. Only then will I return to Longhu Mountain.”
Chai Qingshan nodded. “I’ll join you to the northwest border. Let me know when you depart.”
Li Yibai fretted, “Master, how can I shoulder this responsibility?”
Chai Qingshan retorted, “Why can’t you?”
Qi Xianxia echoed, “Exactly.”
Suddenly, Dan Eryi declared, “Master, I’ve decided—from today, I’ll focus on sword practice and forge a lifelong sword. I’ve even named it!”
Song Tinglu was brimming with curiosity and asked, “What’s it called?”
The girl in white rolled her eyes and retorted, “Not telling you!”
Chai Qingshan chuckled, turning to his disciple with a kindly expression. “Very well. This master will relay the name of that yet-to-be-forged sword to that person.”
The girl fidgeted awkwardly. “Master, what are you talking about? I don’t understand.”
The boy was even more baffled. “Master, junior sister, what are you two saying? I understand even less.”
Li Yibai rubbed his forehead, genuinely exasperated.
Qi Xian Xia turned to the boy with a meaningful look. “Rare is the blessing of ignorance. Not understanding is a fortune in itself.”
The girl in white, who hadn’t actually grasped the meaning, nodded solemnly. “Exactly so.”
Chai Qingshan and the other two burst into laughter.
The boy didn’t know what they were laughing about, but when he saw the girl’s bright, crescent-eyed smile, he couldn’t help but laugh along.
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage