The convoy of the Liyang Seal Office finally quickened its pace after passing through Tongguan and entering Liangzhou territory, their hooves pounding the post road like an autumn downpour. With thousands of capital cavalry in tow, their imposing presence naturally drew the gazes of many Northern Liang locals. Most of the Northern Liang cavalry were stationed beyond Liangzhou’s borders, leaving only elite units like the White Horse Righteous Retinue to patrol key strategic points such as Tongguan. Unless hastily mobilized, it was rare to see a force of over two thousand cavalry galloping at full speed.
As the nominal envoys of the Son of Heaven, this contingent journeyed westward, witnessing firsthand the stark poverty and harshness of Northern Liang. Yet amidst this bleakness, the autumn crops along the way stood out—lush and vibrant, a striking contrast. Occasionally, villagers busy with the harvest would pause, wiping sweat from their brows, and gaze calmly at the unfamiliar, vast cavalry. Children playing in the fields would even point and chatter—a sight utterly different from the scenes in Jizhou or Hezhou. This, perhaps, was the unique spirit forged by Northern Liang after two decades of relentless struggle against the Northern Mang. Among the countless cavalry forces of the world, none could rival Northern Liang’s.
The convoy rested at Qingma Post, a mere eighty li from Liangzhou City. The three high-ranking eunuchs of the Seal Office, having endured countless hardships, were finally on the verge of reaching the Prince’s residence. In a rare moment of relaxation after dinner, they strolled along the banks of the Longju River, accompanied by two nimble attendants and six imperial guards bearing royal blades.
The Chief Eunuch, surnamed Liu, squinted at the riverbed. With autumn’s arrival, the water had receded significantly compared to the summer floods, exposing dark, fish-spine-like stones along the banks—a sight far removed from the lush landscapes of the Jiangnan region or even the capital’s outskirts. The three eunuchs, accustomed to years of comfort, found the walk taxing despite their familiarity with cold weather. After an hour of meandering, even the younger attendants were exhausted, and the two senior eunuchs were panting heavily. Yet, bound by strict protocol, none dared suggest turning back, even as dusk approached.
The Chief Eunuch, Liu, was a man of few words about his past. Like many elderly eunuchs, he was a remnant of a fallen kingdom, brought to the capital after Liyang’s conquests. Though history would remember the grand exodus of the Hongjia era, the plight of eunuchs like him was often overlooked. In the Liyang court, eunuchs were known for their docility, far removed from the political machinations of their predecessors.
As they walked, they came upon a towering cliff by the river. Climbing it, Liu was overcome with emotion. His portly colleague, unable to bear the strain, sat heavily on the back of a kneeling attendant, while another young eunuch attempted to offer similar service to Liu, only to be waved off.
Pointing upstream, Liu turned to his companions with a rare smile. “Eunuch Song, Eunuch Ma, you know I was once a scholar from Northern Han. My family… well, as the youngsters in the capital say, we were once prosperous.”
The two nodded knowingly.
Liu continued, his voice softening. “Before my family’s downfall, my grandfather’s generation had already declined. I was just a scholar then, traveling westward to study under the great Master Yao. I passed through here, though I barely remember the river’s name—only this cliff and a small ferry ahead.”
The young eunuch who had failed to serve him earlier chimed in, “No wonder Your Excellency’s calligraphy is so refined, even praised by the late emperor. You were a true scholar!”
Normally indifferent to flattery, Liu found himself unusually pleased today. Rubbing his beardless chin, he gazed into the distance, his sharp voice mellowing. “The reason I remember this nameless cliff so clearly…”
His voice trailed off, leaving his listeners in suspense.
In truth, the old man was reminiscing about a trivial yet poignant memory—a young scholar’s encounter with a ferry girl decades ago. He had chosen her to carry him across the river, while his companions opted for older women. Midway, he witnessed one of his usually stern peers groping his carrier with the glee of a scholar who had just passed the imperial exams. Another, typically bold, hesitated until the woman laughingly pressed his hand to her chest, offering more for a mere five coins.
Liu, however, remained proper, burdened by scholarly decorum and a pang of guilt. After crossing, he tried to pay her extra, but she refused, her eyes downcast, fingers nervously twisting her patched clothing.
That brief encounter was their first and last.
Perhaps his lingering attachment wasn’t to her, but to the young scholar he once was. Or perhaps, in some unmeasured way, he had truly liked her.
Suddenly invigorated, Liu checked the sky and announced, “I wish to visit the ferry. Eunuch Song, Eunuch Ma, there’s no need to accompany me. I’ll return before dark.”
The seated eunuch rose, understanding. “Since we’ve come this far, a little further won’t hurt. Returning in the dark won’t delay our duties.”
The tallest of the three, Eunuch Ma, added, “This may be our only chance to accompany you on this nostalgic journey. A bit more walking is nothing compared to the thousands of li we’ve traveled for the emperor.”
Liu nodded gratefully. The Seal Office, though not as prestigious as the Directorate of Ceremonial, was no minor institution, entrusted with the emperor’s seals and decrees. The pressures of this mission had temporarily united the three, setting aside their usual rivalries.
The saying “the mountain seems closer than it is” proved true. The distant ferry, though visible, took considerable effort to reach, leaving even Liu apologizing to his exhausted colleagues.
The ferry was a shadow of its former self, with only a handful of elderly men idling about. Disappointed, Liu nearly turned back but approached them nonetheless. The villagers, recognizing the trio’s luxurious attire, knew better than to provoke such nobility.
Just as Liu prepared to leave, a white-robed swordsman glided across the river, his movements effortless. Landing gracefully, he ignored the villagers’ awe and turned to his companions on the opposite bank.
They wagered on who could cross the river with the fewest steps on the water, competing to prove which sect’s lightness skill was superior.
Yet, despite the young martial artist’s haughty demeanor—as if pushing others a thousand miles away—he couldn’t help but fear the eunuchs clad in python robes and jade belts behind him.
Since when did Northern Liang have eunuchs? The world knew that the Northern Liang Prince’s residence was unlike any other princely estate in the Liyang Dynasty—it had never employed eunuchs.
After the old butcher surnamed Xu led his iron cavalry to trample the martial world, the Liyang martial arts community had either kept a respectful distance from the imperial court or shamelessly curried favor with officials. Never had any sect or faction dared to challenge the authorities.
This dashing young man by the riverside was no stranger to the rules of officialdom, but he was unfamiliar with the lofty heights of Tai’an City. He wasn’t sure which rank of eunuch was entitled to wear that eye-catching crimson python robe, but he suspected they weren’t small fry—otherwise, they wouldn’t have been allowed to leave the palace openly.
Given the vast gulf in status between them, he simply pretended not to see them.
The young eunuch, adept at reading expressions, noticed the three senior eunuchs frowning and quickly whispered an explanation:
“Earlier, the female martial alliance leader of Huishan, Xuanyuan Qingfeng, rallied heroes to Northern Liang to hunt down several demonic figures. They pursued them all the way to the Western Regions before stopping. Many martial artists didn’t rush to leave Northern Liang afterward. These must be young talents from the Central Plains martial world.”
Eunuch Liu snorted coldly. “These so-called ‘chivalrous’ types disrupt the law with their martial arts. Even that Western Chu rebel Cao Changqing, a Confucian sage, has repeatedly flaunted his strength in Tai’an City!”
The plump, Buddha-like Eunuch Song chuckled softly. “It’s not just the martial world that disrupts the law with force.”
Eunuch Liu and Eunuch Ma remained silent.
Soon, two more young martial artists, a man and a woman, skimmed across the Longju River.
Eunuch Liu suddenly turned to a royal guard commander with a smile. “Commander Qian, how do these youngsters’ skills compare to the legendary grandmasters of the martial world?”
The stoic, burly guard replied flatly, “Eunuch Liu, forget the four realms of the first rank—even the second-rank minor grandmaster is far beyond these embroidered pillows. With their talent, unless they encounter a great opportunity, it’ll take them twenty or thirty years to reach the second rank.”
Eunuch Liu nodded, losing all interest.
The martial world was distant, the imperial court lofty.
Unless they were among the rare few listed on the Martial Rankings, so-called grandmasters were nothing more than caged birds or pond fish, kept at the emperor’s whim.
Just as Eunuch Liu was about to leave, he suddenly narrowed his eyes and peered intently at the river’s center.
One of the young men crossing the river seemed to specialize only in external martial arts—his lightness skill was so poor that even Eunuch Liu, a seal-keeping eunuch, found it unbearable. He stepped on the water multiple times, splashing noisily. If others were like grass gliding over water, this fellow was rolling in it.
But that wasn’t what caught Eunuch Liu’s attention.
The old man spotted another youth slowly carrying an elderly woman across the river.
The clumsy martial artist’s splashes drenched them both.
In the Longju River, the old woman wiped the water from the young man’s forehead, her expression kind yet pained. “You’re suffering for nothing. I told you I could cross on my own. I’ve been ferrying people for decades—even blind, I could cross during a flood. There was no need for you to carry me.”
The young man grinned. “Back then, during that storm, the silver notes in my bag nearly turned to pulp. I didn’t have any loose change, and you refused the jade pendant I offered. I’ve owed you this favor for years. Now that I’ve run into you again, how could I not carry you?”
The old woman said gently, “Not just a jade pendant—even a bit of loose silver would’ve been too much. A crossing costs three copper coins. Anything more would’ve been excessive.”
Some poor folk live hard lives. If they can’t even find peace in their hardship, it becomes true suffering.
The old woman suddenly asked, “Young master, what happened to Old Huang, the one who crossed with you back then? The one missing a front tooth when he smiled? I remember him clearly—he followed behind us, and the water nearly reached his neck.”
The young man replied softly, “Old Huang… he’s gone. Passed away somewhere far from Northern Liang. I didn’t get to see him off.”
The old woman sighed, unsure how to comfort this young man who’d held onto a debt of five copper coins for so many years.
In her village, people might remember owing or being owed a single coin for half a lifetime. But this young man carrying her didn’t seem like a poor man’s child.
Who would offer a jade pendant just because they lacked copper coins? Even the cheapest jade was still jade.
The old woman smiled. “Young master, are you married? Any children?”
The young man awkwardly replied, “Soon.”
As they neared the shore, the old woman asked, “Aren’t you tired?”
The young man laughed. “You’re so light—how could I be tired?”
Then he teased, “You must’ve been very beautiful in your youth. I bet you had many suitors.”
The old woman, poor but neatly dressed, smiled knowingly. She neither nodded nor denied it.
At the shore, the young man gently set her down. She asked, “Young master, are you sure it’s safe to leave your horse on the other side?”
He grinned. “Don’t worry, it won’t go missing.”
The old woman helped him smooth his rolled-up sleeves. “Once you start a family, you can’t afford to be so careless about everything.”
The young man nodded cheerfully. “Understood. I’ll be more frugal.”
After stepping ashore, the old woman waved at him from the shallows. “Hurry back and check if anything’s missing from your horse.”
The young man, sleeves now down but pants still rolled up, chuckled in acknowledgment.
The old woman slowly walked toward the ferry.
Then she spotted an oddly dressed old man—immediately noticeable even beside two others in “red robes.”
Eunuch Liu, the seal-keeping eunuch of Liyang, also saw her.
He hesitated, on the verge of speaking.
But she only smiled faintly, tilting her head slightly as she smoothed her hair with thin fingers.
He watched her, about to step forward, but ultimately shook his head with a self-deprecating laugh and turned away.
And she, just as she had many, many years ago, waved gently at the retreating figure of that young scholar, as if she were still the maiden of yesteryear.
As dusk fell, the python-robed eunuchs and royal guards departed first. The ferry villagers, sensing no more business, left the shore—as did the old woman.
The scruffy young man, wading back across, suddenly turned and sprinted ashore. Though handsome, his shabby appearance drew no second glances—who would notice a poor ferryman earning copper coins?
Ignoring the disdainful stares of the seven or eight young martial artists, he approached them with a grin and said inexplicably:
“Back when I was dog-paddling through the martial world with my brothers, I always wanted to do one thing to you fancy river-crossing ‘masters.'”
Before the white-robed swordsman or the enchanting young swordswoman could react, he kicked each squarely in the rear, sending them splashing into the Longju River—like dumplings dropped into a pot.
Barefoot (his boots still on the far shore), he stood at the dock, watching the soaked, cursing figures and declared solemnly:
“Now that’s skill!”
Had those young martial artists known this madman’s identity, they might’ve been grateful rather than furious.
To be kicked by one of the Martial Rankings’ top four grandmasters was, by martial world standards, akin to sparring—an honor even their sect founders would envy.
They could brag about this for thirty years.
The grandmaster stood on the shore, hands on hips, laughing uproariously:
“Your hero goes by one name—the foremost figure of the Northwest, known throughout the martial world as the Divine Fist, Peerless Kicks, Supreme Blade, Sword Saint, and Jade-Faced Young Lord: Xu Fengnian!”
Not a trace of immortal grace, chivalrous bearing, or grandmaster dignity could be found.
The drenched young man who’d splashed him earlier shouted furiously:
“Xu your ass!”
The grinning scoundrel retorted: “Don’t like it? Come fight me! The mountains stay green, the rivers flow long—we’ll meet again!”
This time, even the Reserved (composed) swordswomen couldn’t hold back.
But as they moved to retaliate, they suddenly felt themselves falling—and the next moment, found themselves sitting on the dry riverbed. The riverbed was damp, but not a drop of water remained. Upstream and downstream, the river had vanished.
Only when someone looked up did they realize the truth, stunned.
The river still flowed—but now above their heads.
Like a blue dragon soaring across the sky.
By the time the terrified, bedraggled group scrambled ashore, the suspended river-dragon crashed back into its bed with a thunderous splash. No one cared about being drenched again.
Far away, a man led his horse toward Qingma Post.
The martial world remained unchanged.
But the horse was no longer the old nag, and he was no longer young.
Gone was the gap-toothed Old Huang, and the wooden-sword wanderer too.
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