Previously, the four figures—the Northern Wilderness’s Martial God, the young feudal lord, the Peach Blossom Sword God, and the white-robed Luo Yang—had all departed from the heart of the Northern Wilderness army, leaving only the resolute Xuanyuan Qingfeng, clad in purple, to press forward alone, facing Deng Mao and the endless waves of grassland cavalry.
Deng Mao, the Broken Spear, couldn’t help but admire the courage of this woman from the Central Plains, which truly rivaled any man in the world.
The usually reticent Deng Mao couldn’t resist asking, “Xuanyuan Qingfeng, why go this far?”
Xuanyuan Qingfeng had fought her way here with a heart heavy with killing intent, her strikes worthy of the description “force like a snapping bow, release like a thunderclap.” Along her path, whether it was heavily armored infantry or elite cavalry, none who crossed her survived intact. Her reputation as one of the Twin Jewels of Liyang alongside the young feudal lord wasn’t just due to her extraordinary cultivation. Her foundation, whether in physique or qi, was exceptionally solid, her internal energy both vast and enduring.
Xuanyuan Qingfeng stood with her hands behind her back, the southern wind sweeping across the battlefield. The mistress of Daxueping, her back to Jubei City, let her black hair and skirt flutter northward.
Her bearing was divine.
Deng Mao had once followed Luo Yang and Yelü Dongchuang to the Central Plains’ Zhulushan, even intercepting a Liyang convoy escorting Gao Shulu south to Guangling Dao. Having traveled extensively with them through Liyang, he was no stranger to the martial world of the Central Plains. Nominally a guest of the Yelü family under Yelü Dongchuang, his status was akin to Huang Fangfo of Huishan or Ji Liu’an of the Dragon Palace—lofty yet not merely a clinging vine. It was said that in his early years, after suffering setbacks in the grasslands, Deng Mao was aided by Yelü Hongcai, revered by the Northern Court nobility as the “Old Master,” and treated as an honored guest. Naturally, Deng Mao was grateful. To say he had no connection with Luo Yang would be self-deception. In truth, the proud Deng Mao held deep respect for Luo Yang, mingled with admiration both as a man for a woman and as a fellow warrior. However, Deng Mao’s ultimate ambition lay in reaching the pinnacle of martial arts, so his faint affection for the Zhulushan sect leader remained buried in his heart like an aged wine stored underground—never to be uncorked, yet too precious to forget, its aroma lingering in memory.
Now, as the two faced off, in terms of cultivation alone, Deng Mao—a Northern Wilderness grandmaster of the same era as Zhong Liang and Murong Baoding—was half a realm below Xuanyuan Qingfeng, merely at the ordinary Heavenly Phenomena realm, far from the threshold of a Land Immortal. Yet even the arrogant Xuanyuan Qingfeng didn’t act rashly, nor did she believe she could easily bypass this man to claim the head of the Northern Wilderness crown prince. This alone spoke volumes of her wariness toward Deng Mao. Of course, Xuanyuan Qingfeng also intended to accumulate qi and return to her peak, a fact she made no effort to hide. Deng Mao’s lack of interference might seem like underestimation, but it was a calculated choice. While her qi steadily climbed, her earlier unstoppable momentum had slightly waned.
Deng Mao was reluctant to see the demise of this legendary woman, but seeing Xuanyuan Qingfeng’s resolve, he knew words were futile.
Placed near the “Tengen” of this chessboard by the Northern Wilderness’s Taiping Ling, as the overt counterbalance to the Northern Liang King Xu Fengnian, how could Deng Mao’s trump card—unleashed too late against Xu Fengnian—be measured by ordinary standards?
Xuanyuan Qingfeng’s temples fluttered wildly, her heart as still as water.
If the Peach Blossom Sword God, Deng Taixue, stood at the highest point of the battlefield, then she unquestionably held the northernmost ground before Jubei City.
Deng Mao finally laughed loudly and asked, “Truly no regrets?”
Xuanyuan Qingfeng’s expression remained indifferent, devoid of grand declarations.
The daughter of Xuanyuan Jingcheng had never known regret in her life.
Deng Mao took a heavy step forward, and Xuanyuan Qingfeng, her purple robes stained with blood, surged ahead almost simultaneously.
Both chose close-quarters combat with silent understanding.
Within ten feet, life or death would be decided!
※※※
The Northern Wilderness’s grand banner fluttered in the wind, rippling and snapping loudly.
The Northern Wilderness crown prince, Yelü Hongcai, clad in golden armor, wore a dark expression. Earlier, a majestic pillar of heavenly authority had descended from the sky, landing on the open ground before him. To his shock, the young Liyang feudal lord hadn’t been reduced to dust under such terrifying suppression but had instead escaped unscathed. It was as if the prince had been slapped in the face, with the added insult of a casual “see you later.” Though Yelü Hongcai had spent over a decade biding his time, cultivating considerable patience, at this moment—when he felt the entire Central Plains was within his grasp—the new Liang King’s defiance of heaven’s will with his own strength filled the prince, who commanded 400,000 troops, with seething resentment, etched into his heart like knife cuts.
In all things under heaven, comparison is the greatest fear—be it beauty, fame, power, or wealth.
Before meeting Xu Fengnian, Yelü Hongcai had heard endless tales of the Butcher’s eldest son in recent years. Deep down, he felt a complex mix of sympathy and admiration for the man who had ousted Chen Zhibao to inherit the title. This was why he had sent the Northern Wilderness princess, disguised as Fan Bainu, to Liangzhou to extend his goodwill to the young feudal lord.
Yelü Hongcai glanced at a distant rider, gathered with four or five representatives of the Qijian Yuefu, likely discussing how to intercept the Central Plains’ grandmasters. His gaze held no tenderness, even after sharing a bed with her for over a decade—their relationship was one of superficial respect. The woman, whose codename was “Cold Aunt,” suddenly turned to look at him. Yelü Hongcai instantly forced a warm smile, and she nodded before resuming her discussion.
Once her gaze shifted away, his expression turned icy. When a Kheshig guard quietly rode up beside him, the prince’s softened expression this time was genuine. In the vast grasslands, this lone rider was the only confidant the Northern Wilderness crown prince could speak his heart to. Unlike Yelü Hongcai’s sweat-blood steed, the attendant rode a towering white horse with a jade-like sheen. The young rider wore an oversized helmet that covered his brows, revealing a strikingly delicate and handsome face. Yelü Hongcai watched him carefully maintain distance, his eyes filled with undisguised affection, and said softly, “Come closer. It’s fine.”
The young rider narrowed his naturally alluring, slender eyes, gazing southward at the battlefield. Slowly, he recited, “The northern steeds gallop with pride, the southern winds sing of death. The first half fits, but the second… not quite.”
The Northern Wilderness prince, unfamiliar with poetry and disdainful of pretentious refinement, couldn’t help asking, “What does it mean? Is there an allusion?”
The attendant, brazenly rolling his eyes, retorted, “Even if we conquer the Central Plains, with your knowledge, how will you deal with the Liyang remnants?”
Yelü Hongcai burst into laughter, then lowered his voice. “I have you, don’t I?”
The young rider smirked, spotting the eye-catching purple figure in the distance. “For a woman to live as she has, she should be content.”
Yelü Hongcai followed his gaze to Xuanyuan Qingfeng battling Deng Mao and scoffed, “What does martial prowess matter? Even Xu Fengnian and all eighteen grandmasters outside Jubei City will fall to our grassland cavalry. The best outcome for this Daxueping martial alliance leader is to die by Deng Mao’s broken spear or under our charge. Surviving the battlefield would be worse than death. With her status and looks, once captured and crippled, not just the Northern Court’s nobles but even some ‘vigorous’ old men in Xijing’s court would pay thousands in gold for her.”
The young rider’s face darkened, his mood shifting. “If that day comes, the moment Xuanyuan Qingfeng loses her martial arts, she’ll already be dead. It’s like court officials—losing their rank is like having their backbone ripped out.”
Yelü Hongcai, utterly unconcerned about Xuanyuan Qingfeng’s threat, said lazily, “Beautiful women are like grassland grass—cut one batch, another grows next year. Though Xuanyuan Qingfeng’s beauty is rare, with the combined resources of the grasslands and Central Plains, we’ll find many peerless beauties. Truthfully, every woman on the Rouge List has a prominent background—ordinary women stand no chance. So, in the end, men in power love women’s faces but love their status even more. Like…”
The young rider glanced at the Northern Wilderness crown princess, now meeting with two chieftains, and sneered, “Like her?”
Yelü Hongcai joked, “Her? Maybe if she becomes empress, she’ll make the next Rouge List.”
After a pause, he turned serious. “You’re different. Not like her, not like any of them.”
The rider didn’t meet his gaze, tilting his chin up proudly. “Of course!”
In Liyang’s southeastern Jianzhou, a prophecy once spread widely, though it faded after the upheaval at Guniu Gang:
“One phoenix, one dragon, the phoenix topples cities, the dragon topples nations, flying together into the Wutong Palace.”
※※※
The Northern Wilderness’s central infantry formation was split in two by two figures in white robes with crimson sashes—Luo Yang and Xu Ying, coordinating flawlessly, leaving no more than three hundred soldiers behind them each time.
The one-armed Sword-Eating Patriarch stood behind the two female grandmasters, his sword qi weaving like rainbows within a twenty-zhang radius. Those who entered uninvited met instant death, as if walking into a trap.
Not only that, but the white-robed, snow-browed Sui Xiegu pinched a long eyebrow between his fingers, murmuring, “Form the battle array.”
The remaining flying swords the young feudal lord had sent outside Jubei City—over two thousand intact blades—rose from the ground one after another, soaring into the sky before landing before Sui Xiegu, plunging into the earth. A thousand swords formed one row, two rows in total, arrayed neatly in the open space before the patriarch.
A sword formation mimicking infantry ranks.
Sui Xiegu closed his eyes, smiling faintly. “A pillar amid the torrent, rising in the river’s heart, against the raging flood, vast as eternal spring.”
He took a deep breath, and nearly two thousand damaged flying swords landed behind him, hovering mid-air instead of embedding in the ground—a sword formation mimicking crossbow ranks.
Finally, Sui Xiegu inhaled sharply once more.
Suddenly, radiant white light burst from the towering old man’s body.
Having devoured countless famed swords, Sui Xiegu dispersed a century’s worth of accumulated sword qi into the two formations. Each blade was infused with a wisp of sharp energy, as if awakened, trembling and keening in unison.
The old man whispered, “Li Chun’gang, you once broke 2,600 armors with one sword at Guangling River. I, Sui Xiegu, refuse to lose to you…”
The old man who had once exchanged an arm with the Spring and Autumn Sword Saint, Li Chun’gang, passed away with a smile.
Two sword formations, completed in two breaths.
A century’s pride, exhaled in three.
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