Chapter 1069:

The two walked along the bluestone path for about three or four miles into the territory of Longhu Mountain, the ancestral home of Taoism. Compared to the clamor at the foot of Huishan Mountain, this place was serene and secluded, with few traces of human presence.

When they spotted a small pavilion with upturned eaves, Xu Baozao hurried toward it. Upon approaching, they noticed a female traveler already seated on the bench inside. She wore a wide-brimmed hat and had a pair of long and short swords stacked at her right waist. Dressed in a tight-fitting outfit, her figure was graceful—likely a wandering swordswoman drawn by the mountain’s fame. Yet, for some reason, she hadn’t ascended Huishan but was resting here instead.

Xu Fengnian climbed the stone steps and greeted with a smile, “Master Tong.”

Xu Baozao, who had been bending to dust off the bench, stiffened instantly. She quickly turned and sat down, her scrutinizing gaze shifting between the man and woman.

The woman removed her hat, revealing a striking face—not the kind that would make men gasp at first sight, but one so vivid it was hard to forget after a single glance.

It was Tong Shanquan, the master of the Golden Saber Manor. With a hint of apology, she said, “It wasn’t convenient to speak by the Guangling River, so I followed you here. I have some doubts and need to ask… you for guidance.”

She nearly blurted out “Your Highness” but caught herself in time.

Xu Fengnian took off his cloth bag, pulled out two persimmons, and tossed one to Tong Shanquan. “Speak freely. I’ll answer everything I can.”

Noticing Xu Baozao’s expectant gaze, he threw the remaining persimmon to her.

Tong Shanquan held the fruit in one hand while resting the other on her saber hilt. Xu Fengnian quickly waved her off. “Sparring is out of the question. My current condition is… complicated. I’m in no shape to be a whetstone.”

The usually aloof Tong Shanquan flushed slightly, withdrawing her hand. “My apologies.”

Compared to the Purple Robe of Huishan, who had already ascended to the realm of Land Immortal, Tong Shanquan—even as the Eleventh in the world—was still a step behind in cultivation. Otherwise, she would have discerned Xu Fengnian’s peculiar state. A warrior in the Heavenly Phenomena realm resonated with the world, borrowing its power, their aura vast and profound. Upon becoming a Land Immortal, they forged their own microcosm, their energy cycling endlessly. Xu Fengnian was undeniably at the pinnacle of the Celestial Longevity realm, yet his energy, though immense, was like a sealed well—untouched by the heavens, neither growing nor withering, depleting with each use.

Xu Fengnian mocked himself, “Like rain that cannot nourish rootless grass, I neither bloom in spring nor wither in autumn. I may appear flourishing, but a few storms would lay me bare.”

Xu Baozao nibbled her persimmon, eavesdropping intently. Though she heard every word, their conversation was shrouded in mystery. She only grasped that the man surnamed Xu was expounding on saber techniques, while the woman surnamed Tong listened with grave focus, like a child absorbing a sage’s teachings.

Thus, Xu Baozao concluded that this young swordswoman was likely a mid-tier martial artist—somewhat renowned, but not exceptional.

Then she watched as Xu Fengnian mimicked saber techniques with his hand, demonstrating moves like “Inch Thunder,” “Armor Shed,” and “Sleeve Gale.”

After about the time it took for an incense stick to burn, Tong Shanquan exhaled in relief, standing to bow in silent gratitude.

Xu Fengnian finally asked with a smile, “When do you plan to challenge him?”

Tong Shanquan replied firmly, “Not within the next three years.”

Xu Fengnian gave a thumbs-up. “Truly the Master Tong who believes in steady accumulation. If it were me, I’d have rushed to show off in front of him already.”

Tong Shanquan, unsure how to respond, quietly ate her persimmon, her demeanor gentle and serene—far from the imposing aura of a saber saint.

Xu Baozao scoffed, “Is that how you compliment people? With such poor skills, you think you can charm swordswomen and fairies?”

Xu Fengnian leaned against a pillar, ignoring her ingratitude, and gazed at the autumn scenery outside the pavilion, falling silent.

Tong Shanquan stood. “I don’t like owing debts. If you don’t mind, I can give you one of the Heavenly Treasures of Martial Virtue.”

Xu Fengnian sighed. “At least wait until you’ve beaten that Jiang fellow.”

Tong Shanquan’s cheeks reddened slightly.

Xu Baozao clicked her tongue, deliberately piercing the unspoken tension.

Tong Shanquan shot her a glance, and Xu Baozao immediately froze, as if struck by an unseen force.

Xu Fengnian changed the subject. “I heard the current Sword Crown and Sword Attendant of the Wu Family Sword Tomb have begun traveling the Central Plains again?”

Tong Shanquan nodded. “Sword Crown Wu Wushan and Sword Attendant Qingyuan—especially the latter—are formidable. Wu Wushan defeated Li Baiyi, the master of the Dongyue Sword Pool, yet Li claimed Qingyuan’s swordsmanship was superior.”

Xu Fengnian teased, “With Wu Liuding and Cui Hua from the Wu Family, plus the new Sword Crown and Attendant, and Dongyue’s Shan Er’yi and Song Tinglu—not to mention Yu Xinlang leading the way—the rivalry between sabers and swords in the coming decades will be fierce. You’ve got quite the burden, Master Tong.”

Tong Shanquan glanced at him, this rogue who had removed himself from the martial world to watch the chaos from afar. “If I ever defeat all the swordsmen in the world, I hope you won’t hide from me. Let me find you.”

Xu Fengnian raised his hands in surrender. “I concede!”

Tong Shanquan took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling, creating a fleeting, picturesque moment.

Xu Baozao couldn’t take it anymore. If she didn’t find the swordswoman so likable, she’d have labeled them a pair of shameless flirters.

Xu Fengnian asked, “How’s your grandfather’s health? Still fond of drinking?”

Tong Shanquan replied softly, “Not as robust as before. No matter how we plead, he insists he’d rather lose a day of life than miss a jug of wine.”

Xu Fengnian smirked. “I bet he always says, ‘If you dare marry, I’ll quit drinking,’ doesn’t he?”

Even the composed Tong Shanquan flushed with anger. “Mocking others isn’t gentlemanly!”

Xu Fengnian rubbed his chin, recalling his clash with the young eunuch in Youzhou. “A gentleman… Meeting one is like enduring a storm.”

Tong Shanquan suddenly closed her eyes, brows furrowed.

Xu Fengnian chuckled softly. “You’ve likely been watched since the Guangling River tides. But this newly emerged qi cultivator is mainly after me.”

Tong Shanquan’s eyes snapped open as she lunged forward, her Heavenly Treasure saber—one of the Ten Great Blades—unsheathing with a resonant ring!

A silent, straight slash.

Then she slowly sheathed the blade.

Xu Baozao gaped. That was it? Even street performers with their chest-shattering stunts seemed more impressive.

Definitely a mid-tier swordswoman.

Outside the pavilion, an autumn leaf drifted from a branch.

Xu Fengnian flicked his finger from afar.

The leaf shattered into dust.

Far beyond Huishan and Longhu Mountain, a thunderous explosion echoed faintly.

On the city walls of Guanhai County, a scholarly man in a tall hat staggered back, blood trickling from his lips.

Wiping the blood, he waved off his concerned followers, muttering, “Two slashes? Concentrated saber energy forming thunder—has Tong Shanquan’s Heavenly Phenomena realm stabilized so firmly? And how did she grasp Gu Jian’s Inch Thunder?”

Back in the pavilion, Xu Fengnian stood with a smile. “Master Tong, I had to let you take the blame this time. Now we’re even.”

Tong Shanquan picked up her persimmon, donned her hat, and left without a word.

Xu Baozao watched her go, then lectured Xu Fengnian like a wise elder, “This isn’t a transaction. Being so calculating with a woman—you’ve broken her heart.”

Xu Fengnian replied irrelevantly, “The most breathtaking beauties in the world are those who ride horses and drink freely.”

In the distance, the swordswoman with twin sabers at her waist, who had been walking away dejectedly, allowed a faint smile to curl her lips.

At the foot of Longhu Mountain, a small stream connected to the She River. Occasionally, bamboo rafts drifted by. Beside the stream stood an ancient, abandoned Taoist temple, long devoid of practitioners, though young disciples occasionally descended to clean.

Xu Fengnian led Xu Baozao to the deserted Qinglong Temple. Pushing open the creaking door, they found the courtyard buried in fallen leaves. An old well stood in the center. Xu Fengnian grabbed a broom leaning against the wall and began sweeping.

Years later, returning to this place, he found no familiar faces.

Xu Baozao eyed the bottomless well, hesitating before deciding against sitting on its edge—lest she tumble in headfirst. Bored, she stood under the eaves, watching the man meticulously pile the yellowed leaves.

She mused that he was indeed a crude martial artist. Scholarly nobles would never labor like this, their hands untouched by toil, devoted instead to poetry, music, and romance—even when traveling, they had servants to tend to their needs.

No sword, no jade—just a long cloth bag slung across his shoulder.

Traveling with him was rather embarrassing.

But for the persimmons and candied hawthorns, she’d let it slide.

Xu Fengnian told her to wait, promising to return shortly.

Just as she was about to venture out to find him, he reappeared, his robe bundled with hawthorns. Annoyed, she turned away when he offered her some. He sat on the well’s edge, occasionally dropping a few into the depths.

She tiptoed over, crouching beside the well to peer into its dark abyss, feeling only a chill.

Xu Fengnian placed a handful of hawthorns beside her.

“How deep is it?” she asked.

“From the water’s surface to the edge? About ten times your height. If you fell in, it’d take ages to climb out.”

She rolled her eyes, then flicked hawthorns into the well, disappointed by the lack of splashes.

After a long silence, Xu Baozao couldn’t bear it. “Why come here? There’s no one.”

Xu Fengnian glanced around. “Once, a disheveled Taoist came to my home, claiming my brother had exceptional talent and wanted to take him to the mountains.”

Xu Baozao’s legs grew numb, forcing her to sit cautiously on the well’s edge. “You should’ve been careful. Not all Taoists are virtuous—many are hypocrites.”

Xu Fengnian grinned. “So I led him inside… then locked the door and set the dogs on him.”

Xu Baozao stared at his stoic face, struggling to imagine him doing such a thing.

“Was it here?” she realized belatedly.

He nodded.

She sneered. “Your family must’ve been desperate, finding such a shabby master for your brother. Longhu Mountain has over eighty temples—any would’ve been better than this dump.”

Xu Fengnian neither confirmed nor denied.

“What exactly are you planning to do with me?” she pressed.

“First, I’ll take you to Difei Mountain, the foremost of Taoism’s Seventy-Two Blessed Lands. It’s close by, and the terrain and energy there will help conceal your aura—like hiding a bright lantern in the dark, so the Fu family’s qi cultivators won’t track you.”

“And then?”

“Then I’ll leave. Did you think I’d drag you around forever?”

She arched a brow but stayed silent.

“Let’s go,” he said, standing.

She grabbed a handful of hawthorns and followed. “We’re at Longhu Mountain’s base. Aren’t we visiting the Heavenly Master’s residence?”

Xu Fengnian pondered. “True. I’ve passed by three times without ascending. But if you want to go, you’ll have to climb every step yourself—no shortcuts, to avoid detection.”

Xu Baozao waved grandly. “Let’s go!”