As if sensing the celestial anomaly in the small courtyard, Chen Zhibao slowly opened his eyes, showing no awareness of being in peril. Instead, he leisurely surveyed the scene—a pond full of swaying lotus blossoms, each exuding an ethereal grace.
These lotuses, he mused, must be the manifestation of Xu Fengnian’s divine will.
The young prince, who had once inherited Gao Shulu’s celestial physique, now resorted to such an effortless, immortal technique to face his foe. It seemed the battle at Longyan Plain had indeed wounded him to the core.
Chen Zhibao’s gaze drifted past the lotuses to the nine miniature flying swords hovering before Xu Fengnian. Clearly, the young prince feared that this “Thunder Pool” alone wouldn’t be enough to restrain him and needed these swords—also independent of qi circulation—to guard against the sudden lethality of his Plum Blossom Spear.
Were these nine trinkets the rumored gifts from the legendary Peach Blossom Sword God, Deng Tai’a? It was said Deng Tai’a had once bestowed twelve swords upon Xu Fengnian, though some were lost in battles—first against the enemy assassin Han Shengxuan outside Shenwu City, then against Wang Xianzhi. Had they never been replenished?
Xu Fengnian’s face grew paler as he stared at the nine hovering swords. Contrary to Chen Zhibao’s assumption, these weren’t Deng Tai’a’s gifts but were forged by the Mo Family’s grandmaster at Qingliang Mountain, nurtured into existence through sheer will.
The Peach Blossom Sword God had once spoken of his own sword-forging journey. Raised in the eerie Sword Mound of the Wu Family, where countless blades were buried, Deng Tai’a had drawn his first ancient sword—Tai’a—only for it to crumble instantly. Yet he took its name as his own. Over time, he resonated with eleven other swords but, resentful of the Wu Family for abandoning him, left the Mound empty-handed, carrying only their essences. Eventually, he forged twelve flying swords, storing them in a small case: Xuanjia, Qingmei, Zhuma, Chaolu, Chunshui, Taohua, Emei, Zhuque, Huangtong, Pifu, Jinlv, and Tai’a.
After the battle at the Imperial Observatory, Xu Fengnian returned to Northern Liang and followed this method to forge nine swords of his own.
**Fengdu** and **Old Flood Dragon**—a pair, commemorating the Green-robed Maiden of Fengdu and the old man in sheepskin who once declared, “In this life, I wield but one sword—wherever a flood dragon lurks, I shall slay it.”
**Bookworm**—a term Xu Fengnian first heard from his mentor in the Listening Tide Pavilion, referring to a creature said to dwell in ancient tomes.
**Crystal**—inspired by the ancient turtle of Spring God Lake, whose age none could guess.
**Bearded**—a tribute to a certain mender of the Liyang court, a purple-bearded, green-eyed man who, despite being Northern Liang’s enemy, earned the respect of Xu Xiao, Li Yishan, and Xu Fengnian alike.
**Child’s Fancy**—recalling a brave child at Daoma Pass during Xu Fengnian’s first journey to the Northern Desert, who dared to ask to touch his saber.
**Wild Fox**—a jest from his advisor Xu Beizhi, who teased that the new Liang King practiced a “wild fox Zen,” unorthodox and fraught with trials.
**Jade**—a thought for the maid in the Wutong Courtyard who loved crimson rouge. He wondered how she fared in Dunhuang City and whether Huyan Daguang’s mission to bring her home would succeed.
**Ant’s Scent**—a reminder that even dead trees retain fragrance. But what of men? Xu Fengnian had traveled far, met many, and seen countless sights, yet his heart remained with the barren, bitter land of Northern Liang, where once every household wore mourning white.
Fengdu, Ant’s Scent, Bookworm, Crystal, Old Flood Dragon, Bearded, Child’s Fancy, Wild Fox, and Jade—these nine swords bore not only Xu Fengnian’s divine will but also the deepest essence of his spirit.
Chen Zhibao narrowed his eyes at the nine swords, each unique, as if gazing into the young prince’s life.
In truth, Chen Zhibao had been watching coldly for over twenty years.
When he first met Xu Fengnian, Chen Zhibao was but a boy of fourteen, newly enlisted in the Full Armor Battalion, dreaming of one day riding across the world in iron armor, spear in hand. When he took the infant from the princess’s arms and beheld that tiny face, he had smiled with genuine joy. Later, as the Butcher Xu Xiao helped the Liyang Zhao family secure the Central Plains, the “White-Clad War Sage” Chen Zhibao declined a kingship and followed the Xu army to Northern Liang. After the princess’s death, he grew increasingly silent, watching from a distance as the young Xu heir caroused in the Wutong Courtyard and idled beyond Qingliang Mountain. The stark contrast between the young heir’s carefree life and the anonymous deaths of Xu’s veterans left Chen Zhibao with little fondness for him—though to say he harbored early murderous intent or treasonous thoughts would overestimate Xu Fengnian and underestimate Chen Zhibao.
For Chen Zhibao had never considered Xu Fengnian a worthy opponent.
His rivals had once been the Spear Immortal Wang Xiu in the martial world and the War Armor Ye Baikui on the battlefield.
Suddenly, Chen Zhibao thrust his spear like a dragon, aiming straight for Xu Fengnian, who stood shielded by lotuses and nine swords. The force was like the mighty Guangling River surging into the sea.
Where the spear passed, lotuses born of Xu Fengnian’s will shattered one by one.
Xu Fengnian remained motionless, merely raising a hand and rotating his index finger. The nine swords vanished, tracing slender arcs through the air.
The clash of sword and spear rang out nine times—clear, melodious, like wind chimes stirred by a pond’s breeze.
Though small, the swords carried immense force, deflecting the Plum Blossom Spear’s lethal path time and again. At the last moment, Xu Fengnian tilted his head, bending his knees slightly as the spear grazed his throat, leaving a bloody streak. Leaning forward, he seemed to shoulder the spear’s weight before lunging violently.
Chen Zhibao’s wrist twisted, pressing the spear downward with a thunderous impact on Xu Fengnian’s shoulder—yet the prince’s momentum didn’t falter.
A subtle shift of Chen Zhibao’s wrist sent the spear sweeping sideways, aiming to decapitate. Xu Fengnian swayed right, narrowly avoiding the strike.
All this transpired in an instant.
A hair’s breadth meant life or death.
Xu Fengnian raised an elbow to block the spear, preventing a follow-up, and struck at Chen Zhibao’s exposed torso. Instead of retreating, Chen Zhibao traded blow for blow—a palm to his forehead, a fist to Xu Fengnian’s brow.
Both staggered but refused to yield, each launching a vicious kick. This time, they were forced apart, only to surge forward again, mirroring each other’s elbow strikes. Their heads snapped sideways as they veered past one another.
Xu Fengnian’s battle with Tuoba Pusa in the narrow alleys of the Western Regions had been a masterclass in confined-space combat, eschewing grand movements for precision. Today’s duel with Chen Zhibao echoed that artistry.
As they separated, Chen Zhibao—though wielding the longer Plum Blossom Spear—adjusted his grip, sliding the weapon back until it resembled a perfectly balanced three-foot sword. The blunt spearhead struck Xu Fengnian’s chest first, sending him flying. Yet Chen Zhibao frowned, as if unsettled by his own success.
Xu Fengnian spread his arms mid-flight, nine fingers extended, one curled. The nine swords reappeared, their energy halting his retreat and propelling him forward like lightning.
Leaping high, Xu Fengnian brought a finger down.
The courtyard’s ethereal lotuses dissolved as all divine will coalesced into that single point.
Li Chungang had once delivered a sword in the rain—
*One Sword to Make Immortals Kneel.*
Chen Zhibao raised the Plum Blossom Spear horizontally.
The finger struck, bending the spear into a grotesque arc that smashed into his forehead, sending him crashing against the wall.
Xu Fengnian landed lightly. “That was for the strike you dealt me on behalf of Northern Liang’s 300,000 cavalry. Consider it returned.”
Chen Zhibao swallowed blood, steadying the trembling spear. He glanced around—the coffin indoors, the jujube tree, scattered fruit, the unused Winter Thunder and Spring Thunder sabers—before settling on the battered young prince.
Removing the spearhead, Chen Zhibao entered the house, sheathed the weapon, and slung it across his back. At the gate, he paused, back turned. “Too cowardly to rebel? What kind of Northern Liang King are you?”
Xu Fengnian countered, “Do you know why Xu Xiao never wanted you to be king?”
Chen Zhibao stepped out, tossing over his shoulder, “We both know it had nothing to do with you.”
Xu Fengnian let him go.
Some things weren’t about courage but capability—or desire.
Their previous clash at Guangling River hadn’t escalated to mutual destruction, nor had today’s. Xu Fengnian had needed to lead ten thousand Snow Dragon Riders to rescue Jiang Ni, while Chen Zhibao, leaving his fief, sought gains in Guangling’s chaos. Now, Xu Fengnian prepared to face the Northern Desert’s million-strong army, while Chen Zhibao, like a tiger freed from the mountains, set his sights on the world.
Walking the deserted streets of Huaiyang Pass, Chen Zhibao ignored the complex gazes of the border cavalry outside the gates. To White Fox, who’d entered the city with him, he said, “Will you join me in Guangling or stay in Northern Liang? Though Xie Guanying is dead, I owe him for capturing a Shu flood dragon. I’ll repay that debt through you.”
White Fox nodded. “I’m returning home. Our paths align.”
Both clad in white, both peerless in their era.
Chu Lushan hesitated before offering them two Northern Liang steeds. Chen Zhibao accepted without protest.
As the former Northern Liang Protector mounted, Chu Lushan grumbled, “Next time you stir trouble here, Chen, don’t expect hospitality!”
Ignoring the threat, Chen Zhibao rode off, two figures growing distant.
White Fox suddenly asked, “Chen Zhibao, what’s your aim? You bore killing intent yet no will to kill. Had it been otherwise, I’d have barred your entry.”
Chen Zhibao remained silent.
Abruptly, White Fox wheeled his horse. “Wait—I forgot my sabers.”
Alone now, Chen Zhibao reined in, glancing back at Huaiyang Pass—or perhaps the desolate lands beyond.
“Some things, Xu Fengnian, you cannot do.”
He left unspoken the words in his heart:
*But there are also things I, Chen Zhibao, cannot do.*
Gazing skyward, he smiled—a rare, genuine expression.
Telepathy and mutual understanding weren’t exclusive to friends. Enemies could share them too.
Though he’d questioned and mocked Xu Fengnian today, Chen Zhibao’s lack of murderous intent stemmed from recognizing the young man’s unwavering principles.
Xu Fengnian’s unvoiced thoughts weren’t lost on him:
*”Don’t I wish Northern Liang’s 300,000 cavalry and millions of civilians could all live? Don’t I wish for peace, for Northern Liang to know decades—centuries—without war?”*
*”Don’t I wish the Qingliang Mountain steles bore no new names?”*
Chen Zhibao almost pitied him.
“Truly his father’s son, truly Li Yishan’s disciple—never knowing true freedom.”
He sighed.
This trip to Northern Liang had been meant to save Qi Dangguo.
And to visit a certain place on Qingliang Mountain, to pay respects to the woman he’d always regarded as a mother.
Chen Zhibao smiled.
*I don’t bear the Xu name.*
*But I am called ‘Zhibao’—‘Know Repayment.’*
※※※
When White Fox returned to the courtyard, he found the solitary young prince seated on the steps, twin sabers at his side, his robe cradling half-ripe jujubes.
Whistling a tune, Xu Fengnian looked up and nodded in greeting.
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