Mu Xin was momentarily stunned, letting out a soft “Oh,” unsure of what to say next.
She simply felt that a wandering swordsman like the one surnamed Wen, as long as he remained in the martial world, could add a touch of color to it, even if he hadn’t made a grand name for himself. So she felt a pang of regret, much like regretting a friend who hadn’t married the woman he loved.
Mu Xin exhaled softly, stretching her legs straight and interlacing her fingers over her lap as she gazed at the road beyond the pavilion. In a quiet voice, she asked, “Did you come to see the commotion too?”
Xu Fengnian shook his head. “More like arriving at the right time than coming early.”
He then reassured her, “When soldiers come, we block them; when water rises, we build dams. Apart from life and death, there are few obstacles in this world that can’t be overcome. Besides, your Dongyue Sword Pool has deep roots. Many things might seem terrible at first, but in the end, the boat will straighten itself when it reaches the bridge.”
Mu Xin forced a weak smile and nodded.
After a moment’s hesitation, Xu Fengnian asked, “Did the Sword Pool notice any signs beforehand?”
Mu Xin looked utterly bewildered, her face blank.
Xu Fengnian chuckled wryly. Of course—if this young swordswoman had been the sharp-witted type, she wouldn’t have crossed paths with them in the first place. He explained, “The Spring God Lake’s Shengqi Tower, Li Houzhong of the Great Snow Cottage, and now the officials from the Ministry of Justice’s Qingli Bureau here in Fuluzhen—from top to bottom, they all seem quite displeased with your Sword Pool. Now that these three forces have gathered, hasn’t your Sword Pool come up with any explanation? For instance, why would Shengqi Tower, thousands of miles away, choose your Dongyue Sword Pool as a stepping stone?”
Mu Xin pondered for a moment before replying, “I heard my master mention it in passing. She didn’t seem to take Shengqi Tower seriously at all.”
Xu Fengnian sighed. “Zhu Huang is, after all, one of the top twenty in the new martial rankings. How can she dismiss his Shengqi Tower so easily?”
Mu Xin blinked. “My master said that all sword arts in the world ultimately stem from just two lineages—the Song family of our Sword Pool and the Wu family of the Sword Mound. Naturally, only the Sword Mound has the right to rival us. Zhu Huang is nothing more than a stray dog cast out by the Sword Mound, hardly worth mentioning.”
Xu Fengnian was left speechless.
Such arrogance, if displayed by a commoner, would be seen as ignorance. But coming from an aristocratic family, it was simply dignified poise.
It wasn’t entirely fair to say Mu Xin’s master was blind to others. Some truths, unchallenged for two or three centuries, eventually became indisputable facts. The Sword Pool and the Sword Mound had stood as twin peaks for centuries. Though prodigies like Li Chun’gang, the Sword Immortal of the Land, had emerged, no sword-based sect had ever risen to rival the heights of the Song and Wu families.
Mu Xin asked curiously, “Is that Zhu Huang, the withered swordsman from the Sword Mound, really that strong?”
Xu Fengnian hesitated, unsure how to answer.
Zhu Huang, master of Shengqi Tower, ranked nineteenth in the new martial rankings, was undeniably a grandmaster of the sword. But because he was at the bottom among the dozen or so Central Plains martial grandmasters, he inevitably gave the impression of being unworthy of even carrying the shoes of the top three land immortals. For instance, in the final years of the Yonghui era, Wang Mingyin, ranked eleventh in the world, would have been no match for Wang Xianzhi, who called himself second—ten Wang Mingyins wouldn’t have stood a chance against the old monster.
In this world, nothing was more dangerous than comparison.
Xu Fengnian straightened up, folding his hands. “Let me put it this way: if there are only five people in the world who truly understand the sword, he is one of them.”
Mu Xin listened carefully, but she still couldn’t grasp just how formidable Zhu Huang was.
Xu Fengnian tried another approach. “Among the top twenty in the martial rankings, in terms of sheer killing power, he’s easily in the top ten—and that’s despite his old injuries.”
Mu Xin frowned. “My master said Zhu Huang was also among the hundred riders of the Wu family who left the Sword Mound for Liang. Why was his reputation so much weaker than Wu Liuding, the Sword Crown, let alone that female Sword Immortal?”
Xu Fengnian couldn’t reveal the full truth, so he opted for hearsay. “A few years ago, a friend from the Yulong Gang who’s familiar with border military affairs told me that despite his low profile, Zhu Huang was actually the strongest swordsman among the Wu family’s hundred. Years ago, he went on a rampage in the Sword Mound, and the Wu family’s patriarch used a secret technique to seal his energy sea and suppress his cultivation. That’s why he never displayed the prowess of a land immortal. Otherwise, he wouldn’t just be nineteenth—he could easily have been in the top five.”
Mu Xin’s mouth fell open slightly, as if listening to a fairy tale.
To her, whether it was the top five or the nineteenth, anyone who reached the first-rank martial realm—be it the Diamond or Finger Mystic stage—was already akin to a celestial being. She was, after all, just a minor figure in the Sword Pool. After over a decade of arduous sword training, she had never even met the old patriarch Song Nianqing, who had been in seclusion. The previous patriarch, Chai Qingshan, had spent most of his time traveling after taking over the Sword Pool—once following the capital swordsman Qi Jiajie to the foot of Wudang Mountain, once fighting alongside the Wu family’s patriarch on the walls of Tai’an City to stop Cao Changqing from entering the capital, and finally dying in battle outside Jubei City.
Mu Xin had only seen Patriarch Chai twice, both times from a distance. To her, the martial grandmasters she truly knew were figures like the Central Plains’ Divine Fist Feng Zongxi, whose faces she could see and whose laughter she could hear—not the dragons hidden in the clouds.
The current patriarch, Li Yibai, was someone Mu Xin had met more often, even conversed with. For the young women of the Sword Pool, especially those her age, Li Yibai was the ideal match—graceful, noble, skilled with the sword, and approachable.
But for slightly older women, like those in Shan Er’yi’s generation—those under twenty-five or twenty-six—they were all infatuated with a man far beyond their reach. After the world settled into peace, over a dozen young Sword Pool disciples had begged their masters and even gone through connections to ask Patriarch Li Yibai for permission to travel to the northwestern frontier. From Jizhou to Youzhou’s Hulu Pass, to Liangzhou’s Jubei City, then to Liuzhou’s Qingcang City, and finally westward to the ancient city where a single sword had repelled Tuoba Pusa—only then did they return, satisfied.
As for the former princely residence, now the Northern Liang Dao’s administrative office, it was a must-visit pilgrimage site for these starry-eyed young women from the Central Plains. On their way back, they would always stop by Wudang Mountain, especially the Wash Elephant Pool where that man had once practiced his blade. How could they miss it? Many elders of the Dongyue Sword Pool still remembered how those fifteen or sixteen fair-skinned girls had returned from the northwestern frontier as dark as charcoal—though their eyes shone brighter than ever, brimming with vitality.
To these naive young women, that man—Xu Fengnian—was simply too perfect, as if he weren’t of this world.
According to the oldest generation of martial artists, in the last five hundred years, only Li Chun’gang could compare.
Mu Xin fell silent.
Xu Fengnian stood up. “Miss Mu, you should return to the Dongyue Sword Pool without worry. I still have some loose ends to tie up, but we’ll surely meet again soon.”
Mu Xin rose as well. “Be careful! Don’t act recklessly.”
Xu Fengnian shook his head and smiled. “Don’t worry. In this lifetime, I’ve rarely done anything reckless.”
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