Wei Wei commanded the flagship to ram the enemy vessel, determined to burn his bridges and commit to the battle. Among the sons of noble families, few were as decisive and ruthless as he was. Born into a prestigious clan, having seen and acquired much, they often became more calculating rather than more open-hearted.
Wei Wei’s objective was simple: to earn renown. If he could help his father climb the ranks of power, that would be the icing on the cake. He had no real desire to cross swords with Xu Fengnian. After all, his father, “Dragon King” Wei, was but a minor deity presiding over a small temple along the rivers and lakes, nowhere near the status of a celestial dragon like Xu Xiao, a man who could turn the heavens upside down. Hearing that the Grand Column General remained in the capital, even a complete ignoramus like Wei Wei understood the danger—the wrath of an emperor was nothing compared to what would follow if harm befell Xu Fengnian.
But the Crown Prince of Jing’an sought something far greater: a five-clawed imperial dragon robe, a garment fit only for royalty. Such a difference was like the space between heaven and earth. Thus, after careful contemplation, the prince resolved to risk everything. A single strike might fail—failure was acceptable. Who would notice the secret, deadly ambush hidden behind the spring breeze on the lake? But if it succeeded?
Standing by the window, Wei Wei had been eagerly awaiting the moment when the Yellow Dragon would smash the enemy vessel into splinters. Suddenly, an unremarkable old man clad in sheepskin leapt from the enemy deck. With only a light tap of his foot on the hull of the mighty Yellow Dragon, the enormous warship flipped over?
It did flip!
Stunned into silence, Wei Wei gripped the windowsill with both hands, his eyes wide with disbelief.
The Jing’an Prince’s Mansion’s expert martial artist, famed for his dragon-claw techniques, had barely stepped from the cabin before he turned back. Slowly and grimly, he shook his head at the Crown Prince.
The lake waters surged violently, rocking the massive Yellow Dragon so fiercely it threatened to capsize completely.
“Why?” asked the Jing’an Crown Prince, remarkably calm.
“An old man with one arm sent the Yellow Dragon to the depths,” replied the elderly attendant with a wry smile, already past seventy.
“One arm?” The prince’s fingers tightened around his wine cup.
“One arm,” confirmed the martial expert, well-fed and pampered within the mansion of the prince. His expression was uneasy. After all, even if a hundred attempts were made, none could flip a ship weighing five hundred tons with brute strength!
“A Grade-One martial artist?” The prince suddenly smiled.
Sighing helplessly, the attendant replied, “Likely so.”
This revelation appeared to ease the prince’s mind. He was not dismayed by the feat. Curious, he asked, “One arm you say? Do you know of any one-armed masters in Beiliang?”
Shaking his head, the attendant replied, “Never heard of such a one. Perhaps it’s a mysterious figure summoned secretly by the Beiliang Prince’s Mansion.”
With that, the Crown Prince rose and turned toward another cabin.
Out of sight, out of mind.
The commander of the flagship had already rushed to order his men to rescue the drowning crew. Even he had been shaken to the core by that single step from the old immortal. All they could hope now was that the divine being would not hold a grudge against them, lowly ants crawling upon the earth. “We know your might, Great Sage,” he silently pleaded. “Just leave us be, and please, not another kick.”
For Wei Wei, the game was over.
His face pale as ash, the so-called ‘evil dragon’ of the lake slumped back into his chair in despair. Nearby, one of his close comrades, wounded by a thrown dagger and weeping bitterly, sobbed loudly in the otherwise silent cabin. Wei Wei could not fathom how one hundred Beiliang soldiers had subdued four hundred Yellow Dragon rowers. Nor could he grasp how a mere kick could flip the might of Qingzhou’s navy, the pride of its waters—had the great warship become as fragile as a drifting leaf?
Xu Fengnien hadn’t expected the old sword sage to intervene so dramatically. Yet now that the scene was set in such a show of strength, he leapt onto the Yellow Dragon as chaos reigned on deck. The oarsmen, busy rescuing those thrown into the water, scattered in terror. Daoist Master Wei Shuyang, the spearman Ning Emei, and attendants Lu and Yang followed the young prince’s lead, bounding up to the third floor—the control and lookout tower. There, they met the Crown Prince of Jing’an attempting a discreet escape.
Xu Fengnian leaned lightly against the chest of the noble youth with the scabbard of his embroidered saber. The youth’s personal guard tried to interfere but was instantly met by Ning Emei’s spearpoint and surrounded by Lu and Yang. The Jing’an Prince’s Mansion’s elite martial artists, accustomed only to comfort and luxury, dared not move another muscle.
Xu Fengnian pressed slightly, pushing the nobleman back into the cabin. Inside were nearly a dozen elites of Qingzhou—sons and daughters of the aristocracy. They all turned toward him—the son of the Butcher of the North, clad in white robes astride a white steed, come from Beiliang.
The noblewomen gazed with wide eyes, stunned, captivated, fearful, and even reverent. Their expressions alone formed a breathtaking spectacle.
In the capital, the Qing Party held great sway. Who, from outside, would dare challenge the tightly-knit elite of Qingzhou?
Much less so when the Crown Prince of Jing’an himself was in their midst.
Xu Fengnian smiled sweetly. “Little one, trying to run? This Yellow Dragon isn’t that big, where could you hide from this young lord?”
The Crown Prince, composed and refined, had surely inherited his father Jing’an King Zhao Heng’s poise. Even with the saber scabbard pressed firmly against his chest, he remained calm. “Just stepping out for some fresh air, and to admire the sight of your lordship up close.”
Xu Fengnian drew back slightly but did not sheath the saber. Instead, he playfully tapped the young man’s face, the sound echoing like a slap. “Don’t think I don’t know who you are,” Xu teased. “Zhao Xun, eldest son of Jing’an King Zhao Heng. You and I, both princes, how come there’s such a difference?”
Zhao Xun met Xu Fengnian’s gaze, still unflappable. “Your father is a martial king of a thousand lifetimes. Mine devotes himself to Buddhism and Daoism—surely, we cannot compare.”
There was nuance in Zhao Xun’s words, though not much. Everyone could tell he meant that Xu Fengnian’s current glory was only possible thanks to the legacy of a father who bore the hatred of the entire realm—nothing to do with his status as a prince himself.
Pah!
Xu Fengnian struck again, the saber’s scabbard landing heavily this time. Blood welled at the corner of Zhao Xun’s mouth. Xu smiled warmly. “Well said! A reward! Let this saber be the gift.”
Zhao Xun forced a smile still.
The retainers of Jing’an Prince’s Mansion were ready to die defending their master, but Xu Fengnian had already turned and brushed past Zhao Xun.
“Consider this Yellow Dragon mine,” he murmured. “Be a good lad and swim back to Xiangfan. Tell your father to prepare for our arrival.”
Zhao Xun did not even bother wiping the blood from his lips. “Xiangfan shall welcome you with due honor.”
Xu Fengnian ignored the soon-to-be-drenched prince and turned instead toward the stunned young women.
He offered them a warm, gentle smile. Then his eyes settled on Zhao Wanshi, the haughty son of a general, and Wei Wei, the cowardly ‘dragon king’s son’, hiding in the corner. “One,” he pointed at them with his saber, “a son of a fourth-grade official who plotted to bring Zhao Xun right to me—well done! The other, a dragon-king’s son, daring enough to loose arrows and order the Yellow Dragon into a collision—truly a brave hero!”
By the doorway, Jiang Ni, who had arrived with the old sword sage, watched the spectacle in bewilderment.
So this was how Xu Fengnian acted toward those outside the mansion? In Beiliang, she had only heard of him teasing servants and tormenting maids. Outside its walls, he had humiliated Jin Lanting in the county, now he was treating the Qingzhou navy as his plaything.
She had thought he only preyed on helpless women.
Xu Fengnian did not hastily deal with Wei Wei and the Zhao boy. Instead, he turned toward the noblewomen, flashing a dazzling smile.
“Does any of you fair sister know how to brew tea? Let us sit for tea and admire the view. All this fighting—utterly distasteful. Forgive the disturbance, honored sisters. Allow me to pour you a cup, or ten, in apology!”
A girl with an oval face, whose older sister had married into Beiliang, boldly stepped forward. “I’ve brought some early spring tea from the Qianshen Mountains and a full tea set—I haven’t had the chance to brew it just yet.”
Xu Fengnian became a completely different person in the presence of the ladies, agreeable and pleasant, chuckling warmly. “Fate, fate!”
Jiang Ni stiffened as she watched. There it was—the fox’s tail finally showing itself.
Despicable!
This fellow with the bruised face was detestable enough.
But the one suddenly flirting with a group of girls on sight—that one was the worst of all!
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