Upon hearing the ruthless words of the white-robed monk, he chuckled and said, “I only care about wielding my blade. Whether you’re angry or not is none of my concern.”
Li Dangxin responded with a serene smile, pressing his palms together in a gesture of courtesy.
Black prayer beads, snow-white kasaya.
Truly transcendent and untainted by worldly concerns.
Qi Xianxia pulled Bai Yu under the eaves of the thatched hut, with Han Gui following closely behind.
The three of them had already guessed the identity of the visitor.
It was unexpected, yet somehow inevitable.
Fang Cun Lei.
A name that undoubtedly carried the weight of thunder.
Just as whenever people spoke of Li Chungang, the Sword Saint of the Spring and Autumn Era, they could never avoid mentioning “Wooden Horse Ox,” “Two Sleeves of Green Snakes,” or “Sword Opening the Heavenly Gate.”
Not just in the martial world of Liyang, but even within the imperial court, no one was unaware of the renowned technique of the former Minister of War—Fang Cun Lei.
It was this very technique that allowed Gu Jiantang, the general who pacified the Eastern Yue and Southern Tang for the Zhao royal family of Liyang, to defeat the once-unrivaled saber master Mao Shulang, thereby cementing his status as the undisputed supreme master of the blade.
Gu Jiantang’s mastery of the saber was akin to Li Chungang’s mastery of the sword or Wang Xiu’s mastery of the spear—a pinnacle that countless martial artists dreamed of reaching.
Yet, Gu Jiantang’s greatest humiliation lay in the fact that despite standing at the apex of saber wielders, his rankings in the martial evaluations had never been impressive. Far from being a peerless figure like Wang Xianzhi of the Martial Emperor City, he could barely be considered among the top contenders. More importantly, in the eternal rivalry between saber and sword, whether it was the old Sword God Li Chungang or the Peach Blossom Sword God Deng Tai’a, both in terms of cultivation realm and sheer combat prowess, Liyang universally acknowledged that the two generations of sword masters had left Gu Jiantang far behind.
When a certain young prince first entered the martial world, the era was dominated by three figures—Wang Xianzhi, Deng Tai’a, and Cao Changqing—who were hailed as “the only three truly peerless in the world.” The remaining seven, including Gu Jiantang, were seen as mere supporting characters, indispensable to the martial world but ultimately inconsequential once they entered the top ten.
After Li Chungang returned to the realm of terrestrial immortals, sword practitioners even boasted that the gap between Gu Jiantang and Li Chungang was “another Gu Jiantang apart!”
For the past twenty years, Gu Jiantang, who had long held power in the Gu Lu of Tai’an City, had never engaged in sparring with others. Later, as the Grand Pillar of the State overseeing the military and governance of the two Liao regions, he became even more reclusive.
Only when Cao Changqing of Western Chu stormed the capital with Jiang Ni did Gu Jiantang, who had already gifted his beloved saber to his son-in-law Yuan Tingshan, briefly reveal his edge.
Gu Jiantang seemed utterly indifferent to martial rankings and even less interested in the saber-sword rivalry.
Wang Xianzhi had the arrogance to declare himself the “second under heaven,” leaving no one daring to claim the first. Cao Changqing had the gallantry to stride through the imperial palace as if it were a mere corridor. Deng Tai’a had the carefree spirit to roam the land on a donkey, admiring the rivers and mountains.
In recent years, the rise of the new Liang King Xu Fengnian, the meteoric ascent of Xuanyuan Qingfeng from the Great Snowy Plateau, and the earth-shaking exploits of the demoness Luo Yang across both the Northern and Liyang courts had further eclipsed Gu Jiantang’s presence.
Yet, Gu Jiantang remained unmoved, watching the ebb and flow of the martial world with detached indifference.
Thus, the martial world of the Central Plains, which inherently resisted the influence of Tai’an City, could never truly revere this saber grandmaster who had reached the pinnacle of political power.
But now, this very pillar of the state, who had always remained aloof from the martial world, had ascended Wudang Mountain to seek out the white-robed monk Li Dangxin—apparently intending to shatter his indestructible golden body with a single strike.
Qi Xianxia, who had always been indifferent to worldly affairs beyond his pursuit of the sword path, cared little for the outcome of this clash between titans. Having once abandoned his old sword path with great resolve in Tai’an City, the young celestial master neither interfered nor feigned astonishment.
Han Gui, whom the former sect master Wang Chonglou praised as “sincere and upright, a late bloomer,” and whom the previous sect master Hong Xixiang regarded as a close friend, was now deeply concerned. He feared that if the confrontation escalated, Wudang would be unable to handle the aftermath, burdening the young prince with unnecessary troubles.
As for Bai Lian, the scholar who claimed to have “three fears and two joys” in life, he had even less interest in violence. Sitting on a small stool under the eaves, he stared blankly into the distance, lost in thought. With two princes now stirring unrest across the Central Plains, the court’s promised grain shipments to the Northern Liang might face unexpected obstacles. Chang Sui, the governor of Lingzhou responsible for the grain transport, had already sent secret letters to Cool Mountain, urging the deployment of the Fish-Dragon Gang to infiltrate the Guangling River’s grain route from Xiangfan to Lingzhou. If necessary, the gang’s twenty thousand members might even have to shed blood to secure the grain for the Northern Liang’s border cavalry.
Thus, none of the three paid attention to why General Gu had not brought his saber.
Gu Jiantang’s talisman saber, Nanhua, was renowned alongside Wang Xiaoping’s talisman sword, Shentu.
Gu Jiantang was tall and broad-shouldered, embodying the northern physique, yet his scholarly green robes exuded southern refinement.
Gu Jiantang—his name bore the character for “sword,” yet he wielded a saber.
After defeating Mao Shulang, he stood at the zenith of martial reputation, hailed as the “Saber Sage.”
Whether his epithet was fitting was debatable, but his name seemed truly misplaced.
Gu Jiantang raised one hand slowly, the other resting behind his back.
Li Dangxin, the white-robed monk, shifted from pressing both palms together to saluting with a single hand, his gaze lowered as he murmured,
“Amitabha.”
※※※
What a twist of fate!
When word spread that Xuanyuan Ziyi had not only appeared on Wudang Mountain but also drawn four marriage divination sticks near the Elephant-Washing Pool, Xu Fengnian’s stall immediately became swarmed with customers. Though the young man behind the counter hardly matched the image of an immortal sage, most visitors were there for fun and didn’t mind spending a few coins. Moreover, the handsome fortune-teller was remarkably eloquent, turning even mediocre omens into dazzling prophecies. Soon, not just martial artists and outlaws but even ordinary pilgrims began to take his readings seriously.
The excitement peaked when a visiting swordswoman drew an exceptionally auspicious stick—the 108th, bearing the line: “May we live long and share the beauty of the moon, though a thousand miles apart.” This verse, from the famed poetess’s *First Snow*, was second only to the top stick in fortune. The fact that the luckiest stick remained unclaimed only fueled the crowd’s competitive spirit. Even skeptics joined in, eager to test their luck.
Yet, strangely, after over a hundred attempts in an hour, no one managed to draw the coveted stick. The suspense only intensified the frenzy, with some stubbornly trying again and again. The young fortune-teller drank bowl after bowl of Wudang’s calming tea as coins piled high on the table—a sight both impressive and absurd.
Having amassed a small fortune, the young prince abruptly covered the stick holder after reading the third attempt of a burly man and declared, “Closing up! No more readings today!”
A young man who had waited nearly half an hour immediately erupted, “Xu! Are you messing with me?!”
Xu Fengnian rolled his eyes and began gathering the coins.
The man slammed his palm on the table. “If you leave now, don’t blame me, Su Su, for exposing you!”
Xu Fengnian glanced up at the exiled prince of the fallen Western Shu. “Cutting off my livelihood? Watch where you step—you might land in dog shit. Besides, can you even afford a reading?”
Su Su sneered. “Ten thousand. Enough?”
Xu Fengnian paused. The meaning behind “ten thousand” was something only he, the Northern Liang King, would understand—ten thousand soldiers from Shu-Zhao.
“So,” Xu Fengnian smirked, “can you back that promise?”
The Qi swordsman behind Su Su spoke softly. “It’s the Old Master’s will.”
Xu Fengnian raised two fingers. “This number, or no deal.”
Su Su’s face darkened with rage as he leaned forward, gripping the table. “Do you think I’m some Daoist immortal who can summon troops from thin air?!”
Xu Fengnian raised three fingers. “No sincerity? Price just went up.”
Su Su seethed, breathing heavily.
The blind musician Xue Songguan, carrying a qin case, tugged gently at Su Su’s sleeve. Su Su snorted and crossed his arms, resigning himself to defeat.
As Xu Fengnian withdrew his hand, his playful demeanor vanished, replaced by a chilling intensity. He looked up at the three Northern Desert exiles and said coldly, “I’ve been burned once. Out of past camaraderie, I’ll advise you—don’t repeat the mistakes of the Spring and Autumn warlords who played both sides. How my family dealt with them, Old Master Zhao Dingxiu knows better than you.”
Su Su flushed crimson, trembling with humiliation.
Xue Songguan, understanding the deeper context, sighed softly and squeezed his hand.
Su Su’s eyes glistened faintly as he gripped her hand, turning away—whether to avoid the young prince’s gaze or his own shame, it was unclear.
Back in the Northern Desert’s slums, the Old Master had nearly abandoned hopes of restoring Western Shu. It was the young prince who reignited those ambitions and facilitated their return to the Central Plains. Much of their early success owed to Northern Liang’s covert operatives in Shu-Zhao. But when Chen Zhibao became the Western Shu King, severing ties with Northern Liang, the true mastermind Zhao Dingxiu shifted allegiances—a pragmatic move some called “adapting to circumstances,” others “burning bridges.”
Initially, the Old Master braced for Northern Liang’s retaliation, particularly from the Fury-Water and Eagle-Nurturing divisions. Yet, inexplicably, the betrayed prince seemed unfazed, deepening the Confucian scholar’s guilt. Hence, Su Su’s journey to Liang—a chance to mend fences or re-place bets, now that the “White-Clad War God” had left Shu for the Central Plains’ power struggle, leaving the region vulnerable.
The Qi swordsman placed a sword case on the table. “The Old Master said twenty thousand is the limit. And this ‘Full Armor Snow’ is a bonus.”
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage