Xu Baozao once said that from a very young age, she had longed for a donkey companion, watching the sunset as spring breezes carried peach blossoms along the roadside. She dreamed of wandering freely, following her heart, from spring winds to autumn winds, from south to north, from youthful exuberance to silver-haired old age.
Xu Fengnian neither agreed nor disagreed. The ambitions of young men often resembled grand odes, while the sentiments of young girls were like delicate lyrics—neither was unfamiliar to him.
This time, he didn’t whisk her away on a journey soaring through the skies from start to finish. Instead, he honored her wishes. On their way to the Dongyue Sword Pool, they stopped at scenic spots, strolling, resting, and sightseeing, much like traveling scholars accompanied by their maidservants.
The Sword Pool lay in the southern reaches of the former Dongyue Kingdom’s territory during the Spring and Autumn era. Unlike the secluded Wu Family Sword Mound, the Dongyue Sword Pool maintained close ties with the imperial courts of successive dynasties. Its masters often served as sword instructors for royalty or esteemed guests of high-ranking officials. The disciples of the Sword Pool naturally gravitated toward the martial world, attracting an endless stream of literati, poets, and wandering heroes who came seeking fame.
About a hundred miles south of the Sword Pool, within Yunquan Prefecture, stood another sword-based sect called the Great Sword Casket. Though its heritage was deep, its proximity to the Sword Pool made it seem overshadowed. The sect’s location resembled the Gulu Ridge of Huishan Mountain, as if a celestial immortal had left behind a massive sword casket on earth—hence its name. Compared to its “lavish” neighbor, which produced dazzling swordsmen in every generation, the Great Sword Casket appeared far humbler. Throughout its history, only a handful of its masters had shaken the martial world. Yet, as the foremost martial sect in the region, it never lacked second-tier grandmasters to serve as its backbone. In this generation, three such grandmasters had emerged simultaneously, standing shoulder to shoulder. Meanwhile, the Dongyue Sword Pool had declined after the deaths of Song Nianqing and Chai Qingshan. The Great Sword Casket now seemed poised to replace it, with many loudly advocating for its rise, hoping it would break the rigid dominance of the two great sword lineages and secure a place among the next generation’s top ten sects.
Perhaps because they had wandered northward too leisurely, even Xu Baozao began to feel a twinge of guilt. Though she knew they would pass by the Great Sword Casket, she unexpectedly suggested to Xu Fengnian, “Why don’t we head straight to the Dongyue Sword Pool instead of stopping here?” To her surprise, Xu Fengnian refused without hesitation, insisting they must visit the place. His rejection left her feeling unappreciated.
Unlike many sects hidden deep in remote mountains, the Great Sword Casket was relatively accessible. From Yunquan City, one only needed to travel six or seven miles southeast to reach it. On clear days, standing atop the city walls, one could clearly see the massive sword casket spanning the horizon.
Before entering the Great Sword Casket, Xu Fengnian and Xu Baozao stopped at a nearby town for lunch. They ordered a table of signature dishes at a tavern—slightly sweet for Xu Fengnian’s taste, though he ate quickly, finishing two bowls of rice before setting his chopsticks aside. Xu Baozao, however, savored each bite. Xu Fengnian ordered a pot of osmanthus wine, a mild brew popular in Yunquan Prefecture, said to quench thirst without causing drunkenness. Rumor had it that this wine had even found its way onto the banquet tables of the capital’s nobility, thanks to the famed general and loyalist Lu Shengxiang. Despite once obstructing Emperor Zhao Zhu’s march into the capital, Lu was later honored with a high imperial commendation. Capitalizing on this, Dongyue winemakers exaggerated Lu’s connection to their osmanthus wine, boosting sales.
As Xu Fengnian sipped the mellow wine, he reflected on Lu Shengxiang’s unexpected loyalty—a stark contrast to the opportunistic defection of Xu Gong, another general who had secured immense wealth for his clan. Raising his cup, Xu Fengnian drank to the north, silently acknowledging the fates of these two men.
Some people, like fine wine, reveal their true character only in life-and-death moments.
The Spring and Autumn era had passed, and so had the Xiangfu era. Though Xu Fengnian had only glimpsed Lu Shengxiang from afar by the Guangling River, their paths never crossed again—not a bitter regret, but a lingering wistfulness.
Satisfied, Xu Baozao set down her chopsticks and noticed Xu Fengnian’s distant gaze. “What are you thinking about?” she asked.
Xu Fengnian shook his head, unwilling to share his thoughts with a young girl.
Unfazed, she merely lifted her delicate chin in silent dismissal.
A girl’s beauty often blossoms from slenderness, especially in the cheeks, while a woman’s maturity flourishes with fullness, her figure and charm growing richer.
Beneath her mask, Xu Baozao’s true face must already be lovely—and would only grow lovelier.
A warm voice broke the tavern’s hum: “Waiter, the usual.”
The waiter responded with genuine cheer, his voice brimming with enthusiasm.
A plainly dressed but refined young swordsman entered, scanning the room before settling at a table near Xu Fengnian. His sword’s scabbard was unusually broad, wrapped in delicate green silk—a striking contrast of white robes and green sheath. Had his features been handsomer, he would have been truly dazzling.
Noticing Xu Baozao’s gaze, the young swordsman smiled politely. She rolled her eyes, but he remained unbothered, waiting calmly for his meal.
The food would take time, but the wine arrived swiftly—a pot of osmanthus brew in an exquisite celadon vessel, its glaze like rain-washed skies. As he poured, the wine’s shimmer deepened the ceramic’s luster. The sight irked Xu Baozao; she knew his wine, though sharing the same name, was worlds apart from hers in quality.
The swordsman and the waiter, familiar with each other, chatted quietly. “Young Master Han,” the waiter asked eagerly, “did your northern sword inquiry yield great gains?”
The young man nodded. “Much was learned. The journey was worthwhile.”
“Did you best their Grandmaster Li? Or humble those two prodigies?”
Han chuckled. “Our exchange was civil—no blades crossed, no victor declared.”
The waiter groaned in disappointment. “Young Master, you’re too mild! Though recklessness is unwise, your generosity costs you dearly!”
Unoffended by the waiter’s bluntness, Han smiled. “You’re the true martial soul here. Once you’ve saved enough to wed, we’ll roam the rivers and lakes together.”
The waiter sighed. “At this rate, who knows when that’ll be?”
Han laughed. “The martial world isn’t going anywhere. There’s no hurry.”
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