Outside the Jubei City, the stationed troops began dispersing the idle crowds from the market towns. Scholars who traveled with their books, composing poetry, and gallant heroes who rode with fairies under the western wind gradually retreated southward, alongside the wild geese soaring above. At dawn, a group of over forty individuals stood out conspicuously among the procession—each adorned in tall hats and scholarly robes, all distinguished scholars from the Shangyin Academy, exuding an air of elegance, the finest seeds of intellect in the realm.
After the cavalry crossed the river to the south, a carriage halted by the riverbank, and two women—one tall, one small—stepped out. The little girl, with her twin goat-horn braids, clutched an overly plump white cat in her arms. The woman beside her possessed a graceful figure and breathtaking beauty, like a lush peony that stole the nation’s colors, in the prime of her blooming youth. She gazed northward, where the southern walls of Jubei City stood faintly visible in the distance, its iron-clad soldiers gleaming, but no sign of the prince in his serpent-embroidered robes. The little girl, once praised by someone at the Shangyin Academy as “peerless in fist techniques, unrivaled in leg skills,” pouted and indignantly spoke up for her sister: “Sister Yu, why pine after such a heartless, faithless scoundrel? Hmph! I must’ve been blind back then to think he was anything but a worthless fool, not even fit to compare with that big oaf Qi Shence!”
The woman, alluring yet cold in demeanor, remained unmoved.
The little girl tugged at the white cat’s neck and cautiously asked, “Should we go curse at his doorstep? Don’t worry, if I take charge, I’ll make sure he’s thoroughly humiliated! What nonsense about being a grandmaster or the world’s number one—he’s no match for me!”
The older woman was none other than Yu Youwei, a revered scholar at the Shangyin Academy. She gently patted the girl’s head and said softly, “Some things are better left uncontested. A restless mind only invites trouble.”
The little girl, hands on her hips, unceremoniously dropped the white cat and declared with an air of worldly wisdom, “Sister Yu! No woman in the world is truly magnanimous—we’re women, after all! If you don’t go see him and ask him directly, running away like this, what kind of example does that set? History books say it’s the crafty and deceitful who cloud the emperor’s judgment—maybe that Xu fellow doesn’t even know you came to Jubei City! If you leave without a word, won’t those vixens who’ve stolen your place just reap all the benefits? No, absolutely not! I must uphold justice for you!”
As the indignant girl took a step forward, Yu Youwei gently pulled her back by one of her braids. The girl pouted pitifully, “Really not going?”
Yu Youwei smiled. “No need. I know he knows I was here.”
The girl, still fuming, retorted, “I don’t care about what you know or he knows—I’m just furious! All that talk about ‘better to forget each other in the rivers and lakes than cling together in hardship’ is just lies! How can it compare to the harmony of talented scholars and beauties, or the sweet whispers of immortal lovers?”
Seeing Yu Youwei’s calm expression, the girl, too young to understand love, began to tear up. She lightly kicked the fat, foolish white cat at her feet and wiped her tender face with a slender arm, sniffling, “No wonder my mother always hated *The First Snow*—she said too many lines in it were prophetic, enough to make women lose all desire for longing. Especially that hateful line, ‘Deep affection is always betrayed by heartlessness!’”
True to her lineage of erudite scholars from the Shangyin Academy, the girl’s speech, though not refined, far surpassed that of ordinary children in the Central Plains.
Suddenly, a cold voice rang above her head: “*The First Snow* is full of nonsense. ‘May all good hearts find love’—that’s the most hateful line. Only what you said, ‘Deep affection is always betrayed by heartlessness,’ can be called golden wisdom.”
The girl’s braids tilted back as she blinked her teary, sparkling eyes, gazing up in awe at the uninvited guest who seemed to have descended from the heavens. The woman was tall and striking, like the majestic Mount Emei described in literati’s travelogues—peerlessly beautiful. To the girl, this ethereal sister in purple was breathtakingly lovely, especially her sharp chin, like an icicle hanging from eaves in deep winter. For some reason, the girl adored her at first sight yet also feared her deeply, torn between conflicting emotions.
Yu Youwei asked politely, neither warmly nor coldly, “To what do we owe the sudden visit of Alliance Leader Xuanyuan?”
At the title “Alliance Leader Xuanyuan,” the girl’s eyes lit up like officials hearing the emperor’s name. Mustering courage, she took a step forward, stealthily pinched the hem of the legendary woman’s robe, then turned back excitedly: “Sister Yu, Sister Yu! This purple robe must be woven from the silk of ice silkworms atop Kunlun Mountain’s dragon vein—smooth, soft, and incredibly comfortable to touch! They say it’s impervious to blades and fire, worth a fortune! Alliance Leader Xuanyuan spent half of Daxueping’s wealth to commission four robes from a reclusive Mohist master—one for each season. When she travels, she never touches the ground, just soars over mountains and rivers, her purple robes fluttering majestically!”
In the distance, young talents who had long heard of but never seen the legendary Xuanyuan in purple were captivated by her presence, comparing her silently to the famed Yu Youwei. At the same time, they marveled at the little girl’s audacity. It was well-known that the Xuanyuan family head had a temper more unpredictable than history’s most infamous tyrants. They feared the girl might be crushed to pulp by a single slap from Xuanyuan Qingfeng. Having traveled west to the frontier with the girl and grown fond of her, despite their dread of the infamous “Purple Robe of Huishan,” seven or eight scholars stepped forward bravely, ready to face death.
But Xuanyuan Qingfeng merely glanced sideways, and the righteous scholars involuntarily stepped back in unison, instantly drenched in cold sweat.
No wonder a seasoned martial elder once joked: countless beautiful skirts tempt men to kneel, but none are as hard to kneel before as the purple robe of Huishan. Even if one wished or dared, they’d need the skill to do so.
The oblivious girl, adding fuel to the fire, patted the purple robe and then ran back to the crowd, laughing triumphantly: “You all saw it—I just sparred with the Purple Robe of Huishan! Remember when I said I’d crossed hands with Xu Fengnian back at the academy and none of you believed me? Now you have to!”
Everyone stood dumbfounded. Some timid scholars wiped their brows, bracing for a gruesome scene.
Yu Youwei said gently, “Children’s innocence and words should be forgiven. I hope Alliance Leader Xuanyuan will overlook this.”
Xuanyuan Qingfeng glanced at the girl’s back, her lips quirking briefly before she turned to Yu Youwei and said softly, “Rest assured, I won’t stoop to a child’s level.”
Yu Youwei exhaled in relief, her tense body relaxing slightly—her calm facade belied her inner turmoil. Xuanyuan Qingfeng, a hair’s breadth from becoming a terrestrial immortal, saw through it but couldn’t be bothered to care.
Since her debut, this woman had never lacked for sensational tales. The latest involved the newly risen Taibai Sword Sect, one of the Top Ten Sects of Liyang. Its prodigy, Chen Tianyuan, bypassed the Wudang martial debate and encountered the infamous purple robe on his travels. Rumors painted their clash as earth-shaking, with Chen unleashing three thousand sword strikes in seventeen breaths, lighting half of Hezhou like daylight—yet failing to scratch her. Afterward, Chen’s fame soared, while Xuanyuan Qingfeng’s reputation rivaled the new King of Liang’s. Some swore only a duel could decide the world’s true number one, while neutral observers at least placed her among the top five grandmasters, behind only Huyan Danguan of the Northern Desert.
Hands behind her back, Xuanyuan Qingfeng stood beside Yu Youwei, gazing north at the still-unfinished frontier fortress. The northwestern winds howled, whipping their sleeves violently.
Suddenly, Xuanyuan Qingfeng sneered, “Such a grand sight—how could that Xu fellow bear to miss it?”
Yu Youwei, baffled, couldn’t decipher her meaning.
With a final remark, Xuanyuan Qingfeng vanished: “To fight or not depends on mood. But speak plainly—hiding feelings, dragging things out, blaming the other for betrayal—isn’t that just self-inflicted pain?”
Yu Youwei smiled wryly. As the purple figure disappeared, she murmured, “You’re not me, and I’m not you.”
A streak of purple lightning plunged into Jubei City.
The little girl, clutching her white cat again, stared skyward in awe. “So domineering! So amazing! When I grow up, I want to come and go through clouds and mist too!”
As Yu Youwei bent to enter the carriage, she finally understood what Xuanyuan Qingfeng had meant by “grand sight” and chuckled helplessly.
She recalled a rake’s jest from years past: “If you look down and can’t see your toes, that’s a divine gift—a wonder of the world!”
Now, remembering it, she felt no amusement, only a pang of sorrow.
Back then, even if she’d tried to stop him, he’d have said it anyway. Now, even if she begged him to, he likely wouldn’t care to.
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