Chapter 959: Toast or Penalty

A young swordsman staggered past the screen, about to call out for more jars of Jiannanchun liquor when he suddenly froze as if strangled by an invisible rope, his eyes locked onto a woman standing just seven or eight steps away.

In the martial world, what does it take for a wandering warrior to encounter a terrestrial immortal? Only sheer dumb luck!

And what does it take to meet a renowned celestial maiden after already stumbling upon an immortal in a single day? Well, that would require one’s ancestors to crawl out of their graves and bask in the sun!

Yet this very swordsman, who had recently been kicked into the Longju River by an immortal, was now staring at the universally acknowledged celestial maiden—Liu Nirong, the leader of one of the world’s top ten sects and the undisputed ruler of the Northern Liang martial world!

He rubbed his eyes fiercely, his face flushing crimson. Not daring to take even half a step forward, as if standing at the edge of a thunderous abyss, he mustered all his courage and stammered, “M-may I ask if you are Sect Leader Liu?”

If Heaven granted him another chance, he would have straightened his tongue before speaking.

The young woman, who had been on her way to meet distinguished guests from afar, paused at the sound of his voice. Her expression remained indifferent as she asked, “Is there something you need?”

The young swordsman, a rising star in his own right back home, blurted out, “N-nothing!”

She dismissed him with a faint smile and turned to leave.

Filled with regret, he nearly slapped himself. But emboldened by liquor, he raised his voice slightly and called out tremblingly to her retreating figure, “Sect Leader Liu! I am Song Guanxiang of Baling County, disciple of the Qingfu Swordsman, master of the Haoran Pavilion!”

The unattainable woman had already vanished behind the screen into a private chamber. He lacked the audacity to chase after her. Though they were separated by nothing more than a Shu embroidery screen, he knew all too well that the distance between them was as vast as heaven and earth—an insurmountable chasm.

Since the Liyang dynasty changed its era name from Yonghui to Xiangfu, the martial world had undergone a clear division. Apart from the new Liang King, who bridged the gap between two generations, the old and new martial worlds were starkly distinct. Legends like Wang Xianzhi of Wudi City, the Sword God Li Chungang of the Spring and Autumn Era, the Three Jias of the Spring and Autumn Era—Huang Longshi, the Human Cat Han Shengxuan, and the Eleventh-Ranked Wang Mingyin—had all passed into history. With the fading of the Peach Blossom Sword God Deng Tai’a and the death of the Grand Official Cao Changqing outside Tai’an City, the Yonghui era of the martial world was sealed.

Now, the Xiangfu era was all about fresh faces and new trends. The most talked-about figures included the Purple-Clad Beauty of Huishan, who commanded the Central Plains’ heroes despite being a woman, the Twelve Xiangfu Champions and the Four Sages under her leadership, the flourishing new sects like the Kuai Xue Mountain Villa by Spring God Lake, the Golden Saber Manor, the Jia Gu Terrace of Jiangnan, and the Youyan Manor. There was also the young exiled immortal of the Taibai Sword Sect, whose meteoric rise in swordsmanship had propelled his once second-rate sect into the top ten. And then there were the enchanting young maidens like Lin Hongyuan of the Southern Dragon Palace and Liu Hunxian of Jia Gu Terrace, who captivated countless heroes.

The current martial world adored novelty and discarded the past. When elders spoke of the Wu Family Sword Mound, where all sword techniques supposedly originated, the younger generation would scoff, claiming that the exiled immortal of the Taibai Sword Sect—who had broken through three realms in half a year—could single-handedly trample the so-called Wu Family Mound. When the elders mentioned Wang Xianzhi, who had called himself the world’s second-best for sixty years, the youths would sneer that the old man was lucky to have died early—otherwise, he wouldn’t even dare claim the twentieth rank once the Taibai Sword Sect’s genius and the Golden Saber Manor’s lady honed their skills for a few more years.

Only when it came to the new Liang King, who commanded three hundred thousand iron cavalry, did few dare to voice skepticism.

If that young feudal lord ever ventured into Liyang’s martial world again, he would surely find it unrecognizable.

This wasn’t a case of “thirty years east of the river, thirty years west,” but rather “three years east, three years west.”

Liu Nirong had long grown numb to such inexplicable advances. At first, she had earnestly engaged with them, adhering to her father’s creed of treating others with sincerity and equality. But after a bitter lesson, she abandoned those golden rules. Once, a dashing young talent from a Central Plains sect, whom she had met only once, spread rumors that they had fallen in love at first sight. The scandal rocked the entire Northern Liang martial world. Before she could react, two of her sect’s secret enforcers had already beheaded the man and hung his bloody head on the flagpole of the Yulong Sect’s training grounds in Lingzhou.

The young man’s sect, far from seeking revenge, sent a carefully worded apology letter to the Yulong Sect. From that moment, Liu Nirong truly understood her position. Even if she trained for another century, she would never make it onto the martial rankings. But as long as the Yulong Sect—boasting the largest membership in Liyang—existed, she would remain one of the most powerful figures in the martial world.

This had nothing to do with her surname. The martial world was simply that mercenary. She knew she was far from a peerless beauty—nothing like Chen Yu or Jiang Ni, who graced the Rouge Rankings, or the Purple-Clad Beauty Xuanyuan Qingfeng, whose looks ascended with her martial prowess. Even compared to the other three of Liyang’s Four Celestial Maidens—Lin Hongyuan of the Dragon Palace, Tong Shanquan of the Golden Saber Manor, and Liu Hunxian of Jia Gu Terrace—Liu Nirong admitted she fell short in both looks and demeanor.

Now, whenever she found a rare moment of leisure, she couldn’t help but reflect. Those seemingly gallant and loyal martial men who admired her—did they truly care for her, or just her status? Even if she were uglier, even if she were capricious and cruel, countless men would still vie to be her suitors.

So she increasingly missed her younger self—the naive, desperate girl who had taken up escort missions to the Northern Desert.

Shaking off her reverie, Liu Nirong stepped behind the screen and faced the four distinguished guests from the Southern Border. As the undisputed host, she still refrained from sitting immediately. Instead, she clasped her fists in apology. “My apologies for the two-day delay, Palace Master Lin.”

The man closest to her was the swordsman who had unnerved even the Imperial Guard’s Commander Qian. Though Liu Nirong had sensed four formidable auras behind her upon entering, the swordsman remained unfazed, continuing to eat and drink. However, he did release his grip on his sword hilt—perhaps as a gesture of goodwill. Whether Liu Nirong noticed or cared, the elderly yet black-haired man didn’t give a damn.

And he had every right not to.

Because he was Mao Shulang.

One of the few remaining grandmasters of the saber, a veteran of the glorious Thirteen Jias era, Mao Shulang had once been hailed as the “Northern Li, Southern Mao” alongside Li Chungang at his peak. Yet his two most crucial battles had ended in defeat. In the saber-sword rivalry, he lost to Li Chungang—a duel many old-timers considered a clash of destinies between the two weapons. Later, Gu Jianyao rose to prominence, challenging Mao Shulang in a contest for the title of the world’s greatest saber master. Though Mao Shulang emerged physically unscathed, his once-flawless mental state shattered. He sealed his saber and spent the next two decades crawling through the mire of stagnation, falling from the pinnacle of Southern Border swordsmanship to a has-been even the battlefield brute Wang Tongshan dared to mock.

The woman Liu Nirong had addressed as Lin Hongyuan smiled gracefully and rose. “Sect Leader Liu, you’re too kind. The Yulong Sect has tens of thousands of members, while my Dragon Palace barely scrapes three hundred. We struggle to find things to do. That you’ve spared time to meet us is already a great honor.”

Cheng Baishuang, recognized as the Southern Border’s top master after Mao Shulang, wore a wry smile. He knew Lin Hongyuan’s prideful disdain for Liu Nirong. During their recent joint expedition to the Western Regions to hunt six demonic leaders, Lin Hongyuan had repeatedly clashed with Liu Nirong in public. As for the reason behind this animosity—well, such subtle feminine rivalries were best left unspoken. Cheng Baishuang, who had some inkling of the matter, had no intention of meddling. Besides, by principle and affection, he would always shield Lin Hongyuan, whom he had watched grow up.

Ji Liu’an, the Dragon Palace’s chief guest elder, frowned and said sternly, “Palace Master, let’s not delay our business. Our original plan was to visit Lingzhou first and meet Sect Leader Liu. It was your decision to detour to Tai’an City to see those eunuchs. How can you blame Sect Leader Liu for the delay?”

Lin Hongyuan glanced at Liu Nirong and smirked. “Uncle Ji, I’m sure Sect Leader Liu won’t take offense.”

The four experts behind Liu Nirong, who had joined the Yulong Sect as enforcers over the years, simmered with anger. In both court and martial circles, a master’s humiliation was a retainer’s shame. Lin Hongyuan’s repeated veiled barbs at Liu Nirong had long grated on the Yulong Sect’s pride. Moreover, the sect’s elite—especially those of higher status—nursed a deep resentment. Though the martial world feared the Yulong Sect’s numbers, they sneered at its lack of true top-tier experts.

The Dragon Palace had its old master and Ji Liu’an. Huishan’s Great Snow Platform boasted the celestial-ranked Huang Fangfo. The Taibai Sword Sect had its prodigious genius. Jia Gu Terrace had the Music Sage, one of the Four Sages. The Golden Saber Manor’s lady could single-handedly turn the tide. Even the Youyan Manor, though lacking a supreme master, had regained prestige through the revival of the Longyan Sword Forge and its alliances.

Compared to these, the Yulong Sect—isolated in the northwest—was a motley crew of mediocrity.

So when Lin Hongyuan sarcastically praised the Yulong Sect’s “tens of thousands,” one of Liu Nirong’s burly enforcers, Zhao Shanhong, stepped forward despite her attempt to stop him. Slamming a hand on the table, he sneered, “I hear the Dragon Palace has a swordsman named Ji Liu’an—supposedly quite the master, eh? Even that loudmouth Wang Tongshan, whom our prince slapped to death, called him ‘half a master’?”

Ji Liu’an, who wore two heavy swords at his waist, narrowed his eyes. “I am that ‘half-master,’ Ji Liu’an.”

Zhao Shanhong grinned mirthlessly. “So it’s you. As guests, I, ‘Stone-Splitting Hand’ Zhao Shanhong, shall offer you a toast!”

With a light press on the table, the surface remained unmoved—but the half-filled cup of green ant wine before Ji Liu’an shattered. The fragments didn’t scatter; they collapsed neatly within an inch of their original position, the wine still hovering intact.

It was a masterful display of controlled force.

Lin Hongyuan ignored it entirely, her sidelong glance at Liu Nirong dripping with schadenfreude—as if to say, “See? Even your own enforcers don’t respect you.”

Liu Nirong remained expressionless.

Cheng Baishuang, observing her unflappable demeanor, secretly revised his opinion of her.

Ji Liu’an chuckled. “A toast cannot be refused. I’ll drink this cup.”

He tapped the table’s edge with two fingers.

The fragments levitated and reassembled into a pristine cup. Lifting it, he drained the wine in one go.

Setting it down, he smiled. “Now that I’ve had the toast, I’m curious about the penalty drink.”

Before joining the Yulong Sect, Zhao Shanhong had ruled Jizhou’s underworld for a decade. Had the mad dog Yuan Tingshan—then Jizhou’s general—not obliterated his hard-earned empire and two hundred mounted bandits (whose skills rivaled Liaodong’s elite cavalry) overnight, Zhao Shanhong would never have fled to Northern Liang like a stray dog. Though he had toned down his act over the past year, old habits died hard. Among the Yulong Sect’s thirty-plus enforcers, Zhao Shanhong was notorious for his defiance. Leading a faction with several like-minded powerhouses, he had grown increasingly brazen—hence his disregard for Liu Nirong’s authority even before outsiders.

Zhao Shanhong bared his teeth. “The toast was just courtesy. The penalty drink? That’ll be harder to swallow!”

Liu Nirong finally turned and snapped, “Zhao Shanhong!”

Ignoring her, Zhao Shanhong flexed his wrist, eyes locked on Ji Liu’an.

Then, the youngest of Liu Nirong’s four retainers did the unthinkable.

With a lightning-fast punch, he struck Zhao Shanhong’s lower back.

The explosive force nearly pierced through Zhao Shanhong’s spine.

Though a ruthless villain, Zhao Shanhong was a martial prodigy. Starting with a third-rate manual, he had perfected external fist techniques before stumbling upon a fragmentary Longhu Mountain internal cultivation method. Combining both, he had reached the rare “half-Diamond, half-Finger” second-rank small grandmaster realm—a freakish hybrid with formidable combat power.

Yet even with his instincts kicking in, Zhao Shanhong barely managed to stagger forward three steps, barely staying upright. Grabbing a chair, he sat heavily, poured himself half a cup of wine, and discreetly spat a mouthful of blood into it before drinking it all down.

Say what you will about Zhao Shanhong—he was as cruel to himself as he was to others.

Wiping his mouth, he turned, eyes bloodshot, and growled, “How thoughtful of my own kin to serve me such fine wine!”

The young enforcer replied coolly, “I’ll treat you to more when we return. As much as you want.”

Liu Nirong’s surprise was fleeting. This taciturn young enforcer had always been a loner in the Yulong Sect, never joining any faction. Unlike Zhao Shanhong’s clique, he had no power bloc. The sect was now a tangled web of alliances: her two elderly retainers were nominally loyal, but even they had stood by during Zhao Shanhong’s provocations.

The Yulong Sect—true to its name (“Fish and Dragon”)—was a chaotic mix. Founded by her father, it had become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

After past purges of rebellious elements, figures like Zhao Shanhong still feared crossing certain lines. They all suspected that despite Liu Nirong’s lack of personal ties to the young Liang King, the Yulong Sect—with its thirty thousand members—was under close surveillance by Lingzhou’s government, the governor’s office, and even the Cool Breeze Mountain.

That was the real reason they dared not act recklessly. If they provoked Cool Breeze Mountain—which even the Liyang court turned a blind eye to—it wouldn’t take the young Liang King (one of the four grandmasters) or his cavalry to crush them. A mere hundred elite agents from the Whispering Rain or Eagle Raising divisions would suffice to dismantle the Yulong Sect overnight.

At its core, the Yulong Sect lacked a true pillar—a supreme expert to command respect. Some within the sect wondered why Cool Breeze Mountain didn’t simply replace Liu Nirong, whose martial skills and leadership were mediocre at best.

Anyone bearing the Liang King’s mandate, no matter how incompetent, would instantly command obedience.

Even Liu Nirong couldn’t fathom the reason.

At first, she thought the Liang King wanted a puppet regime in Northern Liang. But as the Yulong Sect flourished, he never reclaimed what was essentially his own harvest.

Was he playing a long game? Yet with the second Liang-Mang war looming, there was no sign of Cool Breeze Mountain conscripting the Yulong Sect’s forces. Did he expect them to defend Northern Liang if the Mangan cavalry breached Jubei City?

Liu Nirong felt disheartened.

This martial world was nothing like the one she had dreamed of in her youth.