A true battle between grandmasters—whether it was the White-Clothed Luoyang facing Deng Tai’a in Dunhuang City back then, or Xu Fengnian clashing with Wang Xianzhi on his way to Northern Liang—never drags on with unnecessary formalities. There is no room for pleasantries; victory and defeat are matters of life and death.
Though Tuoba Pusa couldn’t pinpoint the exact origins of the white-robed figure before him, he had a rough understanding. This person had once traveled through the Northern Wilderness with a young swordswoman, occasionally making moves but never suffering defeat. Even when confronted by thousands of cavalry, they had always retreated unscathed. Li Mibi, the revered elder of the Northern Wilderness’ Spider Web, held this person in extremely high regard, even going so far as to claim that their future martial achievements might rival those of Wang Xianzhi and Xu Xiao. Though Tuoba Pusa had no intention of speaking, he wasn’t in a hurry to strike either. For one, Xu Fengnian’s injuries were undeniable. Moreover, he didn’t want to risk losing a favorable position by acting rashly. After all, martial artists of their caliber dreaded nothing more than encountering an unknown newcomer who could pull off a “beginner’s luck” move. It was like a long-renowned chess master who feared not a familiar rival but dreaded facing a prodigious newcomer, especially in a single decisive match.
This was the logic of life-and-death struggles in the martial world. Back then, Song Nianqing of the Dongyue Sword Pool had brought fourteen new swords, causing immense trouble for Luoyang at her peak. Tuoba Pusa also held a unique perspective: the martial world had seen an endless stream of sword grandmasters—after Li Chungang came Deng Tai’a, and beneath Deng Tai’a were figures like Huang Qing of the Northern Wilderness, Qi Jiajie of Tai’an City, and Jiang Ni, the sword prodigy of Western Chu. In Tuoba Pusa’s view, the fortune of the sword path had been largely exhausted since the end of the Spring and Autumn Era. It was unlikely another figure like Lü Zu would emerge. However, grandmasters of the blade were far rarer, and none had ever risen to a height where they were universally acknowledged as contenders for the title of the world’s strongest. Tuoba Pusa’s intuition told him that someone was bound to emerge soon—perhaps even the person before him, the one whom the King of Northern Liang, Xu Fengnian, was willing to entrust with his life!
After careful scrutiny, Tuoba Pusa noticed something peculiar. The person Xu Fengnian called “White Fox” didn’t possess an overwhelmingly vast internal energy. Compared to figures like Cao Changqing, their aura might not seem majestic. Yet, the flow of their energy was bizarre—unimaginably fast, like the surging waters of the Guangling River in flood season. This was practically a path to certain death!
Tuoba Pusa grew increasingly curious. What kind of conviction would drive someone to trade their lifespan for martial prowess? This went far beyond mere obsession; it defied simple explanation.
Xu Fengnian sighed softly. He knew exactly why White Fox was so resolute—they aimed to become the world’s strongest before the age of thirty, to personally slaughter all their enemies. After thirty, life or death no longer mattered.
White Fox took a few steps forward, standing before him. “Though I’ve arrived in time, don’t expect both of us to survive. You know as well as I do that saving you is far harder than killing him.”
Xu Fengnian chuckled self-deprecatingly. “Just fight freely. If I die after killing Hong Jingyan and you take down Tuoba Pusa, even if it’s a loss, it’s not a total disaster. I can accept that.”
White Fox pressed their palms against the hilts of the two blades at their waist—Xiudao (Embroidered Winter) and Chundao (Spring Thunder).
Xu Fengnian was all too familiar with these blades. During his second journey through the martial world, White Fox had lent him Xiudao. Even earlier, after his first journey back to Northern Liang, he had lamented not encountering a true peerless expert—until he stumbled upon White Fox at the very end. That encounter had made the hardships of his three-year wandering worthwhile. He remembered vividly the snowy scene by the Listening Tide Lake on Qingliang Mountain, when White Fox had leapt from the pavilion, drawing Xiudao and Chundao. The sight of their blade techniques—and the wielder—had been breathtaking. It was likely then that the young heir began seriously considering the path of the blade, yearning to one day possess even half of White Fox’s elegance.
Though they hadn’t yet clashed, Tuoba Pusa seemed to grasp the essence of White Fox’s twin-blade style. Breaking his usual silence, the Northern Wilderness’ Martial God unexpectedly smiled. “You’re no match for me. Are you truly willing to die here for the King of Northern Liang?”
Receiving no reply, Tuoba Pusa wasn’t angered. He spread his palms before his chest, gazing down with a hint of melancholy. “I may never get the chance to personally slay Central Plains’ grandmasters like you again. Wang Xianzhi and Cao Changqing are already dead. What a pity.”
Suppressing a smirk, Xu Fengnian glanced at Tuoba Pusa and said in flawless Southern Dynasty court dialect, “The person before me doesn’t understand a word of Northern Wilderness tongue. Save your sentiments. If you’re here to fight, stop blabbering. Or are you waiting for Huyan Daguang to arrive?”
Tuoba Pusa laughed it off. “Him? He won’t come.”
Xu Fengnian’s eyes darkened.
Tuoba Pusa mused, “Though I don’t know what schemes you’ve set in Dunhuang City, on my way south, I learned that His Majesty and Li Mibi personally headed there, even temporarily mobilizing Helian Wuwei’s Hexi Army and twenty thousand elite cavalry from the Northern Court. Such a grand display. Even someone like Huyan Daguang, who claims to be ‘a sect unto himself,’ would find it hard to gain any advantage, no matter his intentions.”
Xu Fengnian took a deep breath and suddenly straightened, gripping the iron spear tightly.
Both White Fox and Tuoba Pusa were caught off guard.
White Fox struck first.
Xiudao erupted before Tuoba Pusa in a dazzling arc, like the moon rising over the sea.
Tuoba Pusa shattered the lunar brilliance with a single punch, dispersing the blade’s fierce energy before driving his other fist straight toward White Fox’s brow.
Chundao, the shorter blade, arrived belatedly, barely unsheathing in time to slash toward Tuoba Pusa’s armpit—a clear intent to trade injury for injury.
Tuoba Pusa’s fist never faltered, landing squarely on White Fox’s forehead while he retracted his elbow, attempting to trap the short blade.
Struck, White Fox arched backward, kicking Tuoba Pusa’s chest to wrench Chundao free from his armpit.
The blade, now brimming with energy, merely tore Tuoba Pusa’s robe, its metallic screech like steel grinding on stone.
With both blades in hand, White Fox leapt back, circling Xu Fengnian and his spear like a butterfly around a branch before lunging at Tuoba Pusa with even greater speed.
Tuoba Pusa crossed his arms before his head. White Fox’s Xiudao and Chundao struck in succession, sending violent ripples of energy between them.
Tuoba Pusa’s feet sank into the sand as he retreated several steps, golden light coiling like serpents around his arms, unwavering.
By the time White Fox’s feet touched the ground, they had unleashed over twenty slashes in one breath, each strike layering upon the last, their momentum only growing.
Tuoba Pusa slid backward under the relentless assault. Though his expression remained composed, the sheer force made it seem as though he was utterly defenseless. If word spread, this alone would elevate White Fox’s reputation sky-high.
After all, Xu Fengnian was famed for killing foes in a single move beneath the level of terrestrial immortals. As one of the four grandmasters on the martial rankings, Tuoba Pusa, even against a first-rank Heavenly Phenom expert, should never have been forced into continuous retreat without holding back. Moreover, compared to his battle with Xu Fengnian across the Western Regions, Tuoba Pusa had grown even stronger, his physique and aura incomparable to before. This meant White Fox’s relentless assault—dozens of strikes from Xiudao and Chundao—was simply too fast, leaving Tuoba Pusa no opening to counter.
Tuoba Pusa had initially believed that even if White Fox unleashed dozens more strikes, their energy would eventually wane. But after being driven back nearly a hundred paces, he realized with shock that their blade momentum not only showed no signs of exhaustion but was accelerating. The latest strikes were faster than Xu Fengnian’s sword thrust that had forced him out of the city in the Western Regions. Speed alone wasn’t terrifying—what was terrifying was speed without end, as if ascending step by step toward the heavens, refusing to halt even before the Heavenly Gates!
Tuoba Pusa sighed inwardly. If he’d once been confident of breaking the blade storm, now he could only defend to the bitter end.
It was like a slow-moving heavy infantry meeting an elite light cavalry—they wouldn’t lose, but they’d be stuck enduring blow after blow.
Silently, Tuoba Pusa began counting. Starting from three, he’d reached nine.
Each increment marked a strange “pause” in White Fox’s strikes—a momentary stillness before an even fiercer onslaught.
Squinting, Xu Fengnian watched the distant battlefield. Even he could no longer make out White Fox’s figure—only a whirl of white snow swirling before Tuoba Pusa.
By the twelfth pause, the golden light around Tuoba Pusa’s arms began to flicker faintly.
By the fourteenth, White Fox’s strikes carried the force of natural wind and thunder, transcending mere Heavenly Phenom borrowing from the world’s momentum.
It bore traces of a Daoist immortal’s pocket universe or a Buddha’s lotus paradise within a square inch of land.
Even with Xu Fengnian’s current prowess, he could muster a similar level of power in a single breath, but never with such seamless continuity between breaths.
Between the fifteenth and sixteenth pauses, Tuoba Pusa attempted to halt White Fox’s terrifying momentum at the cost of injury, gripping both blades with hands strong enough to rend any Heavenly Phenom’s body. Yet, as if divinely aided, the blades slipped free like knives parting water.
This defied all logic.
But what truly unsettled Tuoba Pusa was the realization that by the seventeenth—or at most eighteenth—pause, White Fox would gain an unshakable upper hand.
There was no grandeur to White Fox’s strikes—only speed. They lacked Li Chungang’s overwhelming force, Gu Jiantang’s instant heavenly wrath, or Deng Tai’a’s ethereal, untamed swordplay.
White Fox’s blade work was like a diligent farmer, quietly awaiting a predictable harvest through years of toil.
And that was the most terrifying part.
Tuoba Pusa wasn’t without aces up his sleeve. His instincts told him the tipping point would come around the eighteenth pause. But today wasn’t a duel between just the two of them. A hundred and fifty paces away stood a young prince who undoubtedly had his own trump cards.
Sixteenth pause.
Tuoba Pusa opened his guard, allowing the long blade to crash like thunder against his chest and the short blade to graze his shoulder like a coiled dragon. For the first time, the Northern Wilderness’ Martial God staggered, his feet leaving the ground as he was forced to retreat—just to create distance from those two blades.
Seventeenth pause!
Just as Tuoba Pusa gritted his teeth to unleash his hidden move, Xu Fengnian quietly pulled the iron spear from the sand.
Xiudao descended like a falling star, driving Tuoba Pusa to his knees and sending him skidding back thirty paces. In the next instant, he vanished entirely.
White Fox stood where Tuoba Pusa had disappeared, holding Chundao and Xiudao, their back to Xu Fengnian. Motionless, as if unwilling to pursue—until they suddenly stepped forward, Xiudao’s tip pointing straight ahead.
Eighteenth pause!
Tuoba Pusa reappeared a hundred paces away, his gaze shifting uncertainly before he finally turned north and fled.
Xu Fengnian walked to White Fox’s side, spear in hand, and said apologetically, “Forgive me. I didn’t expect your strike to be so…”
He struggled for words to describe its awe-inspiring nature before settling on a colloquialism: “So damn skillful.”
Watching the fading energy to the north, Xu Fengnian sighed. “Had I known, I’d have risked permanent damage to stop Tuoba Pusa for you. We might’ve actually killed him. Even in my current state, I could’ve traded half my life for two or three strikes.”
White Fox sheathed their blades coldly. “Six pauses kill second-rank. Nine kill Finger Profound. Twelve kill Heavenly Phenom. Sixteen break Buddhist Vajra and rend celestial bodies like paper. After eighteen, no terrestrial immortal stands before me. If I strike first, neither Wang Xianzhi nor Qi Xuanzhen could match me. At worst, I’d trade my life for theirs.”
Standing shoulder-to-shoulder, Xu Fengnian sighed. “Must you say such domineering things so casually?”
White Fox remained silent.
Without turning, Xu Fengnian murmured, “Wipe the blood off your face. No need to play the aloof master here—there’s no audience.”
White Fox raised a trembling arm to wipe their cheek.
Only then did Xu Fengnian turn to study that face—never quite familiar, yet never a stranger’s—and smiled. “When I fought Han Shengxuan or Wang Xianzhi, I always ended up battered. Only against Qi Jiajie’s sword did I manage to maintain my ‘peerless’ act from start to finish. Comparing myself to you is just depressing.”
White Fox said coldly, “Before Li Yishan died, he asked me to save you once. Now we’re even.”
Xu Fengnian nodded. “Even.”
Suddenly, White Fox frowned. “Why are you forcing yourself? Your legs are shaking!”
Xu Fengnian, who’d taken Tuoba Pusa’s full-force punches to the back, grinned weakly. “If I’m not mistaken, you can only manage seventeen pauses now, right? Still short of your ‘unstoppable first strike’ claim. That hands-behind-back pose is dashing, but it must be tiring.”
Silence fell.
Finally, Xu Fengnian relented. “Who carries whom? I’d offer to carry you, but I doubt you’d allow it. Your call.”
And so, across the desert sands, a comical scene unfolded: a white-robed figure trudged forward, carrying a young prince who dragged an iron spear behind him.
White Fox grumbled, “Worse than a woman!”
The “dependent” prince sighed. “Whatever you say. Hey, White Fox, remember our first meeting?”
White Fox’s gaze grew distant, but their tone was icy. “No.”
“I do. Back then, I thought you were the epitome of a martial artist—unbelievably cool, unbelievably strong…”
Mumbling drowsily, the prince—one arm around White Fox’s neck, the other dragging the spear—soon drifted off.
Carrying Xu Fengnian, White Fox whispered to themselves, “Back then, I’d thought… once I avenged my family, I’d travel the martial world with you. Everywhere—north, south, east, west…”
Occasionally, Xu Fengnian would murmur “White Fox” in his sleep, and each time, they’d softly respond.
They didn’t tell him that today, they could’ve pushed to nineteen pauses—enough to perish alongside Tuoba Pusa. It wasn’t fear of death that held them back, but unwillingness.
The price of that unwillingness was never regaining the pinnacle of nineteen pauses.
White Fox reflected: since vengeance had always been a grand joke, being the world’s strongest no longer mattered.
Later, Xu Fengnian murmured names in his sleep—unintelligible whispers of “Sweet Potato,” “Dunhuang City.” But when he uttered “Qi Dangguo,” his voice cracked with grief he’d only dare show in dreams.
White Fox couldn’t fathom what had transformed that carefree youth into today’s King of Northern Liang—a fool who’d drawn his own prison.
Nor could they decide whether they preferred the smooth-talking boy or the man who clung to a battered spear even in sleep.
Nangong Pusa, who’d always identified as male since childhood, suddenly snapped, “Xu Fengnian!”
Startled awake, Xu Fengnian flinched. “What? Did I grope you? Don’t chop my hand off! Must be a mistake!”
White Fox took a deep breath, quashing that thought. “Keep your hands to yourself! Go back to sleep!”
“Want me to carry you instead?”
“Shut up!”
Exhausted, Xu Fengnian obeyed.
Neither could’ve imagined that years later, when the new King of Liang—whose achievements rivaled even Xu Xiao’s—ventured alone to Tai’an City, the newly enthroned emperor wouldn’t even show his face. Instead of a warm reunion or tales of ruler-subject harmony, the “foremost meritorious subject” of the court would find himself surrounded by enemies.
That time, White Fox would arrive in time once more. And Nangong Pusa would give the unified empire an answer so absurd it would echo through history:
“I’ve come to take my wife home.”
Perhaps only White Fox could love Xu Fengnian as their woman—regardless of what the world thought.
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